BootsnAll Travel Network



Central Mongolia, Day One

We meet at 9am and meet our driver Shaga, a 58 year old ex-truck driver who turned to the growing tourism industry five years ago. After a quick grocery run we’re off into the wide open expanse. 

The area west of the capital consists of brown, dust-blown hills in the spring time. The asphalt road gradually deteriorates until Shaga gives up and veers off onto the bumpy valley floor. “Chinese built road good, Korean road, ah, so-so…Mongolian built road not so good.” If anybody knows, it’s Shaga. As we head west past the tiny village of Lun the landscape becomes more barren and flat. This is the northernmost reach of the Gobi, or the semi-Gobi as Ogie describes it. 

We veer north at 4pm and drive toward a range of rocky outcroppings at the base of which three yurts (ger in Mongolian) are nestled and surrounded by a pack of bleating goats. We settle into a cozy ger with an old couple with kind eyes and warm smiles. We head out into the hills and hike up to a saddle from which we can see the mountains rolling off toward the north.

 
When we return the old man is keen to show us everything in his magical coat with seemingly bottomless packets. Winslow breaks out his digital camera and breaks the ice instantly. Winslow and I smoke his pipe, snort his snuff, hold his blade, and then soon after our dinner of rice and dried beef porridge he starts hinting about vodka. We bring out the bottle and he takes the first shot. There is a beautiful Mongolian tradition that I’m happy to take away. With your right ring finger you flick vodka (not too much) once toward the sky, once toward the ground, and then dot your forehead; once for your soul. We all take rounds of vodka, me more than others, I think. More snuff, more admiring the man’s beautiful handiwork in saddle making, boots, and big sharp knives. We lay out our sleeping bags and eventually fall asleep to the sound of the radio weather forecast.



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