Goats, Ger, and Sunburn - Part 1

The road towards Davaani was hardly a road at all. Mere sand tracks paving their way through the green grass towards the horizon, barely wide enough to fit our Toyota. A few more hills to conquer and we would arrive at our destination - that is until we were stopped by a tribe of goats. Staring as if to dare us to find our way through.

Meeting Goats on the way to celebrate Naadam

One day earlier, I stepped into Mongolia for the first time, and right when I walked out of the airport, it hit me that this country is different. The pure shock and disbelief in my face seeing the steering wheel of the car on the right side must have amused my girlfriend who arrived in Ulaanbaatar a few days earlier to visit her home. Living in Tokyo should have prepared me for this, but realizing that Mongolia has right-hand traffic changed everything. How people safely overtake under these adverse conditions is beyond me. My brain fully short-circuited after hearing the car announcements in the Toyota in Japanese. The right-side steering wheel completely made sense now: this was an unchanged Japanese car, directly imported from its motherland and forced to drive far away from its home.

Being here during Naadam meant we had to check out the festivities in Khui Doloon Khudag, the horse racing grounds outside of Ulaanbaatar. We can now confidently say that Google Maps navigation is not to be trusted as soon as you leave the city. After consulting Google on how to get to the grounds, we got into the car, thinking it would be smooth sailing with our trusty advisor in hands. How wrong we were. It all started when we passed the toll checkpoints at the city gates.

Shortly after getting onto the highway, the command "turn left" rang from the phone. There was only a small problem: there was no way to turn left. It was a highway, and even if we wanted to, the fence neatly separating the two directions would have stopped us. Maybe a few too many people trusted Google here... We looked at each with raised eyebrows, clearly a bit confused by this situation. Not only was it impossible to turn left, but there also wasn't a visible road to turn left onto - unless... They couldn't mean that unpaved strip of sand, could they?

Turns out that's exactly what Google meant.

It was immediately clear we were no longer in Ulaanbaatar - or at the very least no longer in the densely inhabited part of the capital. In the distance, we saw a cloud of dust following the only car in sight. Well, if someone else was driving there, this was supposed to be fine, right? So there we went, following behind and up the small hill, passing a herd of cows so close to the road they could have walked in front of the car at a moment's notice.

Was trusting Google a mistake? Right when we were both questioning ourselves whether the person on the horizon was just as lost as we were, we saw a white car coming our way. Was this a dead end after all? With my girlfriend behind the wheel, my job was to get the attention of the driver. The likely tipsy driver reassured us we were on the correct path to Davaani, where we could take a bus to Khui Doloon Khudag. We simply had to drive past a small stone wall circling the top of the hill, followed by two more hills and valleys.

Did he truly know what he was talking about? We reached the top of yet another tiny hill, and it definitely had been more than "two hills" since our encounter with the stranger. There was grass as far as the eye could see, circled by mountain ranges in the distance, broken only by the two single tracks of dust carved carefully by countless cars exploring the wilderness before us. No person or car in sight. Only us, in the middle of nowhere.

Making our way into the valley from our vantage point, small dark dots came into view right in front of the ascent of yet another hill. He couldn't have been that bad at counting, could he? The closer we got, the clearer it became: a tribe of goats chilling in the middle of the tracks.

This wasn't your regular petting zoo kind of goats. Dozen of goats were blocking the path. Half of them freely roaming around at a snail's pace, while the other half lay peacefully on the road, cleary without a single ounce of intention to move. They were completely unfazed by our car coming their way. Actually, the closer we got, the more interested they became. Approaching the car slowly but with no hesitation whatsoever, it seemed they were immune to the movements of the vehicle; our honking might as well have been the howl of the wind to them.

This is when I learned something new about goats: they like car tires. And not in the way that they are interesting to look at. No. Apparently, they like them enough to start licking the wheels! With more and more gathering around us, we were stuck, grumbling to ourselves and hoping that at least a few would eventually take pity on us. An eternity later, we managed to creep forward ever so slightly, squeeze through the tiny gaps left by sleeping goats, until we finally reached our first destination: a tiny bus stop in Davaani where we could take a shuttle bus to the grounds and Naadam celebrations. It turns out the driver hadn't mislead us, though his estimated count of hills was off by a few hills and definitely needed some work.

What should have been a swift bus ride turned out to take well over 20 minutes for a mere 3km drive. At one point, a snail would have been able to pass us. Seeing row after row of cars, as well as festival attendees and horses everywhere, made me sincerely question what I gotten myself into. For such a low-density country, it felt like half of the population had gathered here to celebrate Naadam. But all that aside, I was extremely excited to finally see and explore the country.

The fields of Khui Doloon Khudag were filled with Mongolians of all ages, and it seemed like at least half of them brought their horses. I've never seen this many horses in my life. It was pure chaos. There were stalls upon stalls selling small items, drinks, and all kinds of local dishes. A drink one just has to try when in Mongolia is airag - fermented horse milk. Fizzy and sour. What a weird combination. Not bad by any means, though my girlfriend certainly was not impressed with that one. Apparently, it was a bad version of the drink. There is nothing I've ever had that I could compare this to. This is something you have to taste to understand.

Famous for horse races, the Saturday of Naadam is when the action happens. To my surprise, the jockeys were young children. In the race we watched, they couldn't have been older than 10 years old, riding the Mongolian horses without saddles like it was the only natural thing to do.

Being from Germany, I never thought twice about the weather when seeing temperatures below 30 degree Celcius. Big mistake. To watch the races, we stood right up against the fences to get a clear view of the finish line. To our demise, the tiny fence did not provide any cover from the glaring Mongolian sun. I learned that day that the sun hits quite a bit differently here than in Germany - a lesson I would, unfortunately, have to learn again later to drive it home. Our wide smiles showed our elation when we spotted a water-spraying truck coming our way. Clearly, the organizers were deeply aware that the viewers required some refreshment. The few seconds it lasted were pure bliss. So here's the recommendation: if you ever find yourself here during Naadam, take a big and stable umbrella with you. Your skin will be eternally grateful.

By the time the truck went by, noticably more people had gathered. A good sign that the show was about to start. Multiple rows of people inched closer towards the fence, with another two rows of horses and their riders on top standing right behind.

A few minutes later, a dust cloud formed, closing in on the finish line. There they were. Three horses flying by. And then? Nothing. This couldn't have been it, right? No way they would make a fuss about a three-horse race. It turned out those three were simply way faster than all the others. A minute went by and a seemingly never-ending stream of horses arrived at the finish line. Most had their jockeys on top, but an unexpectedly large number came without. Hopefully, the children were fine after falling off. To ease worries a bit, the Mongolian horses used for the races are young and significantly smaller, but seeing this sent shivers down my spine.

Shortly before all horses arrived - to escape the stream of people leaving all at once as soon as it finished - and before being competely cooked alive, it was time to go home, lick our wounds, and bandage our bright red crab skin. Getting out of the crowd was more challenging than anticipated. Horses are notoriously bad at walking backwards, so it took the riders in the back of the viewing crowd a few moments to manage to open a passage for the few people already leaving the premise.

We made the same trip back, passing by our furry friends on the way. Yes, they were still there, but a bit more spread out this time, so the ride back went smooth and uneventful. We were both absolutely tired, and it wasn't even evening yet. What a day it was - tire-loving goats, fermented horse milk, horse races, awful sunburn, traffic jam, Google trying to kill us.

I realize that some of this might read like a negative recollection of things going down. But I assure you that is far from what this is. I loved every moment of this. Mongolia is such a beautiful and incredible country with absolutely stunning nature, mouth-watering dishes, and incredibly kind people. I'll make sure to highlight more of this part of the country in future posts. This was a trip I'll never forget and I'm grateful for every second. I can highly recommend seeing all of this for yourself. It will be an astonishing experience like nothing you've experienced before.

Next up: the story of how I got the worst sunburn of my life in Kharkhorin.