The tour we took to visit the Tsaatan reindeer people in northern Mongolia was supposed to include a night in a ger with a yak-herding family. The problem was, when we got there we didn’t see any sign of yaks. In fact, it became clear they’d sold the animals to make more money from tourism.
I wouldn’t mind if it was advertised as ‘A night staying in a Ger’ but it specifically said with yak herders. When I mentioned the lack of yaks to the lady we booked with, she did her best to rectify the situation.
Her whole family were nomadic so on our drive back to Khuvsgul Lake we stopped at her sister’s Ger for lunch. She was a yak herder, but the yaks were far away on the hills and it wasn’t the same as staying with them as you get to see them herding and milking the animals. I was kind of over it by this point as the tour was exhausting and Craig had fallen off his horse the day before. But then she suggested staying the night with her cousin who lived near Khuvsgul and had “Too many animals.”
We agreed to the offer – after all, it would be more memorable than staying in the guesthouse that we were supposed to sleep in.
The final approach to the family involved driving across the grassy fields until we arrived at their ger. We were welcomed by the mum (Bailama), dad (Chuka), and their 16-year-old daughter.
We joined them inside for yak milk tea and we were served bread with thick, homemade cream. It was a typical Mongolian ger with beds along the edges, a log burner in the centre of the room, and a wall covered in trinkets, medals for the dad’s horseman skills, and a picture of his father. The family owned 60 yaks and 200 goats who were all free roaming the land during the daytime.
After about ten minutes our guide stood up and bid us farewell. We thought he was staying with us for our last night but apparently that wasn’t the case. The family didn’t speak any English so he just said “Use translator, goodbye” before driving off.
Well – I guess we wanted an authentic experience so that’s what we were about to get.
We took a stroll along the river that flows out from Khuvsgul lake, and when we got back to the camp Chuka waved for us to follow him. Behind the ger was a shed where they butchered animals and stored the meat.
On the floor was a skinned goat with an extremely bloated belly. Before we could absorb what we were looking at, Chuka asked Craig to grab the goat’s back legs to hold it in place. He then proceeded to use his sharp knife to slice the goat open.
I was standing in the doorway, gradually backing away as I watched his knife split open the layers of skin and fat, expecting the next slice to penetrate the bloated stomach and to be splattered in goat guts.
But the explosion didn’t happen – and Chuka casually pulled out the heavy stomach and heaved it onto a tray. When the stomach was sliced open we could see it was full of grass – at least it had a big feast before it was killed.
All of the organs were removed and put in another tray, while the blood was ladled from the carcass into a bucket. We wondered what their plan was with all of the offal; maybe it was for the dogs?
The good slabs of meat were then hung up in the drying room next door, and that’s when we realised the organs were probably our dinner.
Bailama spent a long time cleaning out the intestines and other organs by pouring water through them. I didn’t want to help with any of the animal preparation so I offered to collect more water from the river.
Back in the ger she began pouring the blood into the intestines and tying the ends with string. Then she finely chopped up the liver and kidneys into a lumpy paste which she ladled into what looked like the goat’s penis and ballsack.
The stuffed offal was added to a pan, along with a pinch of salt and four potatoes, before it was left to bubble away on top of the log burner.
In the meantime, we watched the daughter horseback riding across the river and over the hills in search of their goats and yak, eventually herding them into their enclosures for the night.
When dinner was served it was evident that they hadn’t been told that I was a vegetarian. I didn’t want to cause them any more work so I wrote on my translator that I didn’t eat meat and would have the leftover bread and cream that we ate when we arrived. They looked quite surprised; I hope I didn’t offend them, but at least Craig could dig into the feast on my behalf.
They cut off the tip of the penis and put it on a small plate – at which point Craig began to panic, assuming it was for him. Luckily, it turned out to be an offering for Chuka’s late father, which he placed under a photo of him. We later found out that it wasn’t a penis, but the tripe, which was shaped in a very phallic manner.
The offal was put on a large plate on the floor, and a couple of pickles and sauces were provided. But that was it, meat and one potato each – no rice or noodles.
The smell of the meat was quite unpleasant, and I watched in anticipation as Craig warily tried a small mouthful. Much to my surprise, he said it wasn’t too bad. He certainly didn’t love it but he managed to eat it – after all, it was basically just a more rustic version of black pudding which is a Scottish delicacy.
His favourite part of the meal was the goat’s tongue which he actually enjoyed. In the meantime, I was struggling to wash down my stale bread that had dried out so much that it tasted like old toast.
Chuka was devouring the feast, cutting pieces off with his knife and nibbling meat off the goat’s jaw.
Once dinner was finished it was time to get the goats into a pen and give some of them medication. Only a couple of goats needed treatment so Bailama and the daughter began trying to separate the flock before Chuka swung the rope above his head and released it with incredible precision.
He was very skilled, and soon enough he’d managed to lasso the goats, while Bailama inserted medicine up their bums, causing some rather horrifying squeals from the goats.
We were shattered, and thankfully so were our hosts because it meant we could all go to bed at the same time – which was convenient seeing as we were all sleeping in the same ger.
Bailama created a futon-style bed on the floor for us by laying down a bunch of blankets, and she shared a small single bed with Chuka.
They had a cat which was unusual as most people had dogs at ger camps to help keep wolves away. It was a friendly cat, but I didn’t appreciate it lying on top of me all night.
We were up at 6am, when we watched the low sun mask the landscape in a golden hue. The next hour was spent watching Bailama milking the yaks. Once she’d finished we helped carry the full metal milk churns back to the ger where they already had people waiting to buy some.
We were happy to leave first thing – we’d truly had an authentic experience but after five days we were ready to head back to the camp where we’d been volunteering so we could relax and have a hot shower.
But we weren’t finished yet – they insisted we have breakfast before we left which was ever so sweet.
We were happy to walk back to the main road but they insisted on driving us as they had to do some jobs in town. From the junction we stuck our thumbs out and made our way back along the western shores of Khuvsgul, returning to our happy place and full of gratitude for the glimpse into nomadic life in Mongolia.
