Deep in the northern realms of Mongolia, not far from the border with Russia, lives the Tsaatan people, which roughly translates to the reindeer people  

They’re a nomadic group of around 400 people who live in Orts (teepees) and herd reindeer. They rely on the reindeer for survival in such a remote area of the world, using the nutrient-rich dairy products to make yoghurt, cheese, and dried curds. 

Every few weeks they move locations, removing the fabric from their orts, along with all of their possessions from the inside. 

They strap the contents to their reindeer, and travel to another camp where the wooden frame of the orts have been left from a previous stay. 

It all sounded rather fascinating to my boyfriend Craig and I, and albeit I hate tours, some friends returned from a trip with extremely positive reviews, so we decided to go for it. 

It was a five day tour, involving an eight hour drive, four to eight hour horse ride, two nights staying with the Tsaatan people, and then the same journey back. 

We lucked out because some people in our group cancelled, meaning it was a private tour for just Craig and I. 

The tour started an hour away from where we were volunteering so we stuck our thumbs out, trying to hitch a ride. We were picked up by an elderly Mongolian couple dressed in a traditional deel which is a big robe. Their car was incredible, with the entire interior covered in red sequins and a glittery plastic chandelier that dangled above our heads. 

Once we reached the guesthouse, we had to wait two hours for our driver to turn up, but we weren’t surprised about the delay, it seemed to be common in Mongolia and I think they run on island time more than islands! 

The 4×4 Drive 

We were picked up by a 4×4 Toyota car by our guide, Zoigo, and a driver. As soon as we veered off the main road we were felt like we were in the wilderness, just following muddy tyre marks through the grasslands with rivers to cross and sloshy mud to navigate. 

One river crossing was particularly deep, with about 2ft of water which I watched rise up the side of the car as we moved along the stony river bed. 

The start of the journey was through a lush green valley, dotted with gers and herds of yaks, sheep and goats. We certainly didn’t expect to come across a village, but suddenly we were approaching a few buildings which made up the hamlet of Toom Bag. 

There was a bridge leading to the village, with a local man standing guard at a barrier, waiting to take payment to cross. It was almost 3pm but we were stopping for lunch, at long last.

The weather was moody with storms brewing and occasional heavy bursts of rain between patches of sunshine. We climbed up the steppe, arriving on a vast plateau with distant mountains views. Our driver pulled over for us to take photos of the black clouds, with rain visibly falling down and a vibrant rainbow arching across the darkness. 

It was 8:30pm by the time we arrived at the yak herders house where we’d be spending the night. Sadly, there were no yaks and it became evident that the family had sold them and swapped their farming life for tourism. 

There was a guest ger with four beds inside, and our guide pointed to two beds on the right “You two sleep here” and then he pointed to the other two beds on the left “I sleep here, and the driver here”. It was hard to not notice the bed quality deteriorating, with the poor driver being put in the feeblest of beds. 

We were both lent a deel to wear which was great as it was quite chilly outside. They’re worn by locals as an everyday jacket, with many people having a specific jacket to wear for dirty jobs like milking animals.

While we photographed the stormy sunset, Zoigo was cooking us noodle soup for dinner which wasn’t served until 10:45pm. 

The Horse Ride

I woke early as the driver stoked the fire so it felt like I was inside a sauna. When I got out of bed I couldn’t find Craig anywhere and the driver said he may be swimming in the river – but he wasn’t there. 

My mind began conjuring up all the possible scenarios for where he could be; maybe he slipped, hit his head and drifted down the river? Or what if the pit loo broke and he’d fallen into a pool of shit? I went to the loo and had a look down the hole – no signs of Craig down there. 

Then I checked the river, but there weren’t any clothes on the bank so I was starting to get pretty worried when suddenly, I spotted the little fucker who’d gone off and hiked up a mountain, proudly returning with a huge vulture feather in his hand. 

In true Mongolian style we had a very delayed start to the day. It was drizzling with rain and we were told the horseman and horses didn’t like the rain, brilliant. 

Eventually, we were driven about 15 minutes up the valley to meet the horseman. They proceeded to pack the satchels that would go on the horse, squeezing my bag of clothes around an uncovered pot of defrosting chicken – to which I said absolutely-fucking-not. 

I didn’t want chicken juice splashing onto my only clothes for the trip, so they reluctantly found a lid and packed it better. 

We each had a horse, and then the guide led an additional pack horse carrying our food and supplies. The pack horse was feisty, and I didn’t blame him as he tried to resist the big satchels being strapped to his back. As he wriggled around, he bolted Zoigo, knocking the 85kg man to the ground like someone swatting a fly. 

The horse ride to the western Taiga region started off as a fairly leisurely route through a flower filled valley before heading up a narrow path on a steep slope. Way below us was the river, where thick slabs of snow still remained in July. My horse was a bit slow, preferring to stay back and then catch up with an annoying canter, causing me to shake about like a rag doll. 

We had to navigate lots of streams and then we spent a couple of hours in a dense forest. The route we were led was totally overgrown, there was almost a natural tunnel for the horse to walk through, but we were getting constantly slapped in the face by wet branches.

The next section of forest was even more challenging, with a mix of boulders and thick mud to walk along and big trees on either side of us. It was a crazy route and the horses kept walking too close to the trees to avoid the mud or rocks, but in doing so it would risk our knees being slammed into the trunks. 

I hated it and felt so anxious the entire time. I watched as Craig’s horse lost its footings on a boulder, its legs slipped down the slick rock before it finally got traction and avoided falling. Zoigo fell off his horse at one point and I had a couple of close calls.

I thought the trip couldn’t get any worse, but the horse guide took us a ridiculous route down to the bottom of a slanted, waterlogged meadow. The field became wetter and wetter until his horse sunk up to its belly in bog. 

The poor thing struggled to get out of the sloshy mess, and just as it did, the pack horse also collapsed in the bog. It was horrible to see them struggling, and what made me even angrier was the horseman and Zoigo were laughing at them struggling. 

I was furious and I didn’t want to take my horse through that section, so Craig and I veered right, taking a higher route through the meadow which still had some scary sections where our horses unexpectedly sunk down, but not enough to cause them to fall. 

We were pretty fed up by this point, but to add salt to the wound my horse made a sudden turn, slamming my knee into a tree. That’s when Craig flipped, telling Zoigo that the route was ridiculous and for expert riders, not beginners. 

Zoigo’s response was “She doesn’t know how to steer the horse.” Then he said something in Mongolia to the horse guide and they both cracked up laughing. I was almost ready to give up. No one had mentioned how hard the horse ride was, the biggest challenge of the trip seemed to be the bumpy journey in the vehicle. 

After three hours on the horse my legs and arse were begging for a break, which we finally got when the horse guide crossed a stream and accidentally dropped the line holding the boisterous pack horse. 

I could see the horse contemplating if it was worth running free and I began picturing all of our belongings and food suddenly running away and us being left to fend for ourselves in the wilderness. Luckily with some slow movements Zoigo managed to grab the rope, and we took that as our queue to take a pause and go for a quick pee and leg stretch. 

The Tsaatan People

We climbed over a pass, and on the other side we got our first view of the Tsaatan’s camp, with orts dotted in the valley below. The dogs living with the families spotted us and came running up the hill, barking like crazy before casually escorting us down. 

After four tough hours – which is actually a pretty short horse ride to visit the Tsaatan people, we arrived at a camp. 

I was expecting to see reindeer everywhere, but there was just one tied up behind an ort and I started to worry that we’d been taken to a fake family of herders, with a token reindeer to tick the box. 

Zoigo told us that three families lived there, alongside 65 reindeer. Each family had a guest teepee and we were given an extremely rustic one with a log-burning stove and creased, unswept rugs laid on the floor.

We were welcomed into one of the families ort to have a cup of hot, reindeer milk tea, along with homemade bread. 

After the tea we decided to go for a walk up a hill to see the surrounding area, and that’s when we came across a large group of reindeer being herded back down to our camp by a man on horseback. 

The reindeer all congregated around the camp, grazing on grass and their favourite thing; lichen, which is the reason they’re kept in the Taiga region as it’s abundant – it’s also the reason that the families move locations regularly, so they can guarantee lichen for their reindeer.

It was early summer so their antlers were all covered in a delightful, velvety fur, and they were so warm and soft to touch. Many of the reindeer were in the process of moulting their thick winter coats which keep them nice and warm during the cold winters, when it can drop to -40°.

Seeing as we didn’t start the horse ride until 1pm, we completely missed out on lunch and it wasn’t until 7:30pm that we finally had a hot bowl of vegetable and tofu soup. 

Just before sunset, the families put on their deels and began collecting the reindeer in groups of around six, taking them to a slope behind the orts. Then they walked in lines along the hill, stopping every time they reached a little wooden stump in the ground so they could tie up one of the reindeer for the night. 

As the reindeer walked together we could hear a strange clicking noise so we asked Zoigo what it was “Their ankles,” he replied “It’s deafening when there are hundreds of reindeer moving together.” 

The kids helped too, excitedly grabbing the reins and running the reindeer to the next post. Even the youngest girl who must’ve only been about three years old was having a great time learning the ropes.

After such an exhausting day on our mind and body, we headed to our ort to get some sleep, but the whole room was filled with smoke. The fire lid wasn’t functioning properly and the chimney seemed to be blocked. We tried adding stones to the lid to keep it sealed, and we shook the chimney to release any blockage, but still, the room filled with more smoke. 

We were at an elevation of 2300m so the temperature dropped to 0° degrees overnight, but we told Zoigo that we weren’t happy to have the fire lit as it wasn’t safe. We preferred to be cold rather than risk carbon monoxide poisoning, but he said he needed a fire. 

So, after speaking to the hosts he arranged for us to move to another ort which was much nicer, with a flatter ground, cleaner floor, and a fire that actually functioned. Then it was time to sleep to the sound of reindeer making funny snorting noises just a few meters away from us. 

Life With The Tsaatan People

It was a cold night, even with the fire lit and stoked throughout the night. I don’t know how much safer our new fire was because the ground next to me was polka-dotted with burn holes and I had an ember come close to my face. 

Rain fell during the night and the dogs were barking like crazy – we later found out that it was due to wolves prowling around the camp.

After breakfast, we watched our host making curd by boiling reindeer milk until it turned to a thick curdled stage. She drained the excess liquid using a muslin, and then placed the remnants between two slabs of wood.

After 24 hours of being pressed between the wood, she cut it into slithers and laid it flat on a tray for it to dry and age.

The plan for our day was to horse ride down the valley to visit another Tsaatan family, but by 11am nothing had happened as our horse guide had galloped off to stay somewhere else and we had no way of contacting him. 

So instead we hung out with the reindeer at our camp, fed them their favourite treat of salt, and watched two ladies strap saddles to the reindeer before riding them up a nearby mountain in search of mobile phone service. 

It was a lovely sunny evening and we watched our host herding the reindeer back to camp on horseback. The ladies took over once they were back, escorting them to their nightly positions and treating them to more salt. The sun was beaming around the reindeer’s antlers as they settled into their positions for the night.

The Dreaded Horseride Back

We made sure to be up at the crack of dawn to witness the reindeer being milked. They had small udders but thick milk, which required a patient hand, and when the lady finished we got to try some of the rather sweet milk. 

Eventually, it was time to start packing up and getting ready to leave this remote corner of the world – and do the dreaded horse ride back. 

I was really nervous about the return trip as the route had been so dangerous and I felt unsettled having to go back the same way. 

After going over the pass the horse guide stopped to tighten my saddle. Suddenly I heard some commotion and Craig’s horse was frantically darting off while he clung to its side. I let out a panicked scream as I watched Craig fall to the ground with a heavy thud. 

I was thinking the worst – that his back could be broken and my horse sensed me freaking out and began doing some crazy side-steps which was the last thing I needed. I was panicking and shouting at Craig, trying to ask if he was ok, but next to me was the horse guide who was smirking. 

Relief swept over me when he said he was just winded and bruised – he was very lucky that he landed on grass instead of rocks. Apparently, he’d been adjusting his twisted stirrup, and when he released his foot the horse just charged off. Without his foot in the stirrup, he couldn’t regain his balance. 

My horse didn’t like getting its feet wet and no matter how many times I tried to pull the rein to direct him to the right, he kept pulling left. I ended up in a situation where I was leaning back so my head didn’t hit a tree, and at the same time my leg was close to being crushed. 

Then Zoigo piped up “Turn right!” As if I hadn’t been trying. The horse was stubborn and just as I was snapping back at Zoigo for his unhelpful comment, the horse bolted down the steep slope, causing me to twinge a muscle in my neck and drop the rein.

Thankfully I managed to lean forward and get hold of the reins, but it was another close call that left me with a sore neck, a cut hand and a grazed knee. 

For the final time, we dismounted our horses – the terrifying ride was over. Instead of a 4×4 car, we were put in a classic, pale blue, Soviet van.

These vans were clearly built without suspension or shocks, or both, because we were flying around in the back, even on the smallest of bumps.

But we were just happy to be off those horses and without serious injuries. 

We eventually made it to a guesthouse where we checked into a room with four beds, expecting to have to share with Zoigo and the driver – but we ended up having it to ourselves. 

The four of us hopped back into the van to head out for dinner at a little canteen. By 8pm we were lying in bed, although it wasn’t particularly comfortable for Craig as his body was tender from falling off the horse.

Tomorrow would be our final day, and it ended up being a crazy adventure staying with a yak herding family so I’ll share more about that in the next post.