Twits on the grasslands(2)

Near the temple, we visited a small market, where we spotted a woman standing over a golden eagle tethered to a log. As Liz approached to take a picture, the woman motioned to ask us if we wanted to hold it. Eagles are used in Mongolia for hunting, from rabbits to wolves, so it wasn't clear to us if it was entirely safe, but we jumped at the chance. After slipping on a thick felt sleeve, the woman lifted the eagle onto my arm. Having a very heavy raptor eyeballing you not an arm's length away is at once an awe-inspiring and pant-wetting experience. As I tried my best to keep its weight up, the woman made a signal at which the eagle deployed its wings and flapped them. I want to believe the sound I made was one of defiance and respect for the beast. I was assured by Liz it was more a mew of fright and alarm. She clearly lies.

The next day, we trekked on for a couple of hours into Arkhangai Province, stopping off briefly in the provincial capital of Tsetserleg, an endearingly quaint collection of pre-fabricated houses with multicolored roofs and yurts nestled under a large mountain. Driving out from there, we were truly in the grasslands, hundreds of miles away from any real city, though we were enrapt. The geographic diversity of Mongolia is stunning. Suddenly, Arban veered off the main road, down a little wooded lane, and we asked Bolor where we were going. He turned and pointed, simply saying, "Canyon."

Bolor did not lie. For my first canyon, I was suitably impressed. Tearing the landscape in two, a river rushing through at its bottom, this canyon was dotted with little groups of yurts on its rim, families having set up home near the water source. We had heard much about the Mongolian predilection for yak, but the local herds were all of camels, a fact we discovered at the canyon when a lone herder on horseback rode past us, shepherding about 50 camels down the path to some unknown pasture. 

Bunking with locals

On our third day out, we reached the scenic Terkh White Lake where we were to stay for three nights with a family. A habitual stop-off for travelers, four yurts were lined up near the lake, while the family lived in another yurt on an elevated platform which also served as a look-out point. From the door of our yurt was a scene of breathtaking beauty. The Terkh White Lake is nestled between mountains, two of which run right down to its shores. Our camp was in a semi-circular plain caught between mountain and lakeside, with only one road leading away. The family's herd of yaks was dotted across the plain, with the dung of the living and the bones of the dead both crunching underfoot.

However, the wind whipping in off the lake coupled with our doubtful decision to visit Mongolia in October brings me to the only real hardship we had to endure. The temperature fell to -20 C at night, and Liz and I took turns waking every couple of hours to stoke the wood stove that takes up the middle of each yurt. We had cut up a ready supply of firewood before going to bed, but still, leaving our sleeping bags even when covered in seven or eight layers of clothing seemed a heroic task, one which Liz took to much more willingly and much less bitchily than I did.

Dinner had been a meat-eater's delight and the preparation was a revelation. The mother of the family placed some dried yak dung in the fire and added smooth rocks. Once they were heated, the red-hot stones were placed in a large cooking pot to which were added fresh chunks of yak and mutton. These would cook in the heat radiating off the stones. Once ready, the pot was placed in the middle of the table for us to eat with our hands, the delicious mutton coming right off the bone. Thick mutton dumplings called khushuur were also on hand with potatoes and carrots the only nod toward a balanced diet. This may seem like overly simple fare, but it was absolute perfection.