Gobi

by Bailey and Kerry

The nomadic families were incredibly welcoming and kind but all shared an obsession with force feeding us traditional Mongolian dairy produce. At each gur we stopped for food or to sleep we were given; a bowl of fermented horses milk, the national drink which tastes like gone off cheap wine mixed with out of date full fat milk, Mongolian milk tea which would taste okay if they didn't add the salt content of the black sea to every bowl, and a plate of dried sheep's milk yogurt so hard i thought i cracked my tooth eating it. Never wanting to be rude, 1 of us, Josh or Sophie had to take 1 for the team by either: a) taking the lions share in one gut wrenching gulp or bite, b) inconspicuously hiding the yogurt on our pockets, c) pouring the liquid back into the pan while no one was looking. Mongolian food isn't much tastier unfortunately and every meal contained huge pieces of animal fat that could be mistaken for slices of potato. The one exception was horse meat which was delightfully tender. If anyone thinks eating horse is harsh, this is a country with 4 times more horses than people and it tastes a hell of a lot nicer than mutton.

Despite the lack of running water and electricity I began admiring how superior the nomadic lifestyle was to the Western world. The excesses and ills of materialism, greed and vanity hadn't touched this culture where everyone was happy with what they had rather than wanting something they didn't need. Everyone was voluntarily the same as the next person in a kind of ultimate socialism. They could pack their ger away and could move anywhere else within an hour because rent isn't paid in Mongolia. Animals were their commodities and rather than pamper domestic pets like we do, animals were used for transport, food, wool, fur. They even collected the animal shit to fuel the fires, "you need more poo?" became a classic Mongolian phrase.


While the countryside is vast, beautiful, open and clean, the capital Ulaanbaatar is its antithesis. From 2 hours away you can see the cloud of smog that engulfs the city, hundreds of young children beg on the streets and the chaotic roads are a funeral waiting to happen. However, the small backpacker hangouts Chaz Bernards and Michelles French bakery, along with our hostel made our time here relaxed and enjoyable. We met the most random traveler by the name of Pete from East London. He wore a whole tweed suit with waist cost and jacket and tie because he liked to confuse the locals. We went for a curry where he ordered a plate of chopped cucumbers and tomato's with a poppadom. Then the following night he ordered a plate of cheese at a Mexican for his main.