Happy New Year - Mongolian Style

We weren’t exactly sure what to expect in the way of celebrations here for the lunar New Year, but were told it was one of the biggest and most important holiday seasons in Mongolia.  Tsagaan Sar, meaning White Moon, is a multiple day celebration which starts with a frenzy of spring cleaning, in preparation for all the guests. Most people have new clothes to wear and it is a time full of family and traditions, which have stood the test of centuries. The prospect of spending it in the city and probably doing very little wasn’t enticing, so when we had the opportunity to go to the countryside, we grabbed it.

Ulzii was to be our host. He is a friend of one of the other volunteers and lives in a town called Dashenchillen. The plan was that he would collect us on Sunday and we would stay with him and his family for a few days. So when he came to pick us up, we didn’t expect there to be extra people in the car. But hey, this is Mongolia, so five of us were to share the 3 – 5 hour drive to Dashenchillen. It was “cosy” and at least we were warm.

We were expecting to spend this holiday season with little English exchange because our hosts don’t speak the language, but fortunately one of the other passengers had a spattering of English and was carrying an English-Mongolian dictionary.

Initially the city street traffic was flowing freely but as we approached the other side of the city, there was holiday congestion. This was the opportunity to establish just how much English was going to be understood. So far so good.

Once out of the city, the air cleared, the snow became cleaner and the traffic thinned. The wide open spaced rolled away to hills in the distance. The sky was a brilliant blue, a contrast to the pure white snow and the bitumen road was narrowed, the edges covered with compacted snow. We followed that black line that snaked through the expanse of white.

 A welcome stretch came when we stopped, I think mainly so Ulzii could have a cigarette, but also to walk around the roadside ovoo to ensure our safe journey. I made it around it once, busy taking photos, fortunately the driver did the recommended three circles, but I did add a stone. Then we piled back in to continue the journey.

Walking around the ovoo

 

As we drove through the nothingness, I pointed out to James a horse galloping across the expanse. As the horse got closer to the road, the car slowed to a stop and there was some chatter in Mongolian.  The rider pulled up the horse, both puffing steam into the cold air. He jumped down, turning the horse around to face the direction it had come from, before he whacked it on the rump and the horse taking off. The rider watched it for a second, then made his way toward the car. The horse finding its own way home, the rider climbing into the front seat with the other two, and we were off.  This I found out, was Ulzii’s brother. About an hour later we were in Dashenchillen.

There isn’t anything remarkable about this town, it looks much the same as other small Mongolian country towns, single storey buildings on either side of wide roads. But it acts as a supply post for the nomadic people who live on the surrounding steppes. Of course, there could be more to the town that wasn’t obvious but without much common language, getting extensive information was difficult.

We were welcomed into the yard of our host’s home by the dog, a big friendly thing that was followed by a smaller furry puppy. I don’t think either of them had a name, their role being a guard dog against intruders, the puppy in training. But neither looked as though they would be much of a deterrent. 

The yard was quite big, fenced with wooden palings. At the top of the yard were two gers, between which was a small wooden building. A path scraped in the snow led to THE toilet in the back corner of the yard. Cars were parked in front of the dwellings and a few meters away was a wood pile. There was no garden, no plants, just snow blanketing the flat ground.

We were welcomed into the permanent building, two rooms, the first being an ante-room, obviously a sort of laundry come storage area housing a motor bike. The main room was protected from the cold by a solid padded door. Once inside it was warm, the room heated by a wood stove, which sat against a wall and surrounded by the kitchen. There were two beds, which also served as seating, against the opposite wall and a dining table to one side. Water gathered from the town well, was stored in a large blue barrel and ladled out as needed. Work area in the kitchen was limited and all cooking was done on the stove. There was a small sink which acted as a hand basin with a bucket underneath to catch the waste water. On top of a chest of drawers were a sewing machine and a few other personal items. A small family shrine with a happy Buddha was collected at the opposite end and quite uncharacteristically, large framed print pictures of Tasmania were propped against the wall.

The "bathroom" in one of the gers we visited

The family we were to spend the weekend with were delightful, so welcoming and friendly, even though we didn’t have a common language, smiles conveyed the message of friendship. Ulzii’s sister, her husband and their daughter shared this house with Ulzii’s mother. His brother-in-law was also there and they made up the happy family. We were offered tea, the traditional milky tea that we have developed a taste for. Next came the first of a long string of servings of buuz.

Buuz are a traditional meat dumpling, literally made in the thousands by families for Tsagaan Sar. They are prepared then frozen, simply by storing them outside.  Before being served, they are steamed. A bowl full is placed on the table and they should be taken with the right hand, nibbled at and the juices sucked out before biting into the meaty centre. They really are quite tasty, well at least they were before Tsagaan Sar when they are consumed in what seemed like the millions. 

Buuz being steamed at a ger we visited

We were settled into our own ger, a raging fire lit in the central stove to warm us. This was home for the next few days, nice a cosy. The only natural light comes from a plastic covered hole in the centre of the round roof, which also acts as an escape for the flue of the stove. We had the choice of five single hard beds on which to have a rest after our journey.

We joined the family in what was to be the first of the Tsagaan Sar traditions. A sort of round tower, called an ul boov, is constructed of hard oblong shaped biscuits. The first circle is made of odd numbers, the biscuits put on the edge of a tray which can’t be flat on the table. Like building bricks, the next layer is placed on top and again there have to be an odd number of layers. The crowning glory in this case was a bakery cake that had travelled with us from Ulaan Baatar in the boot of the car. Sweets were added and the finished product looked quite good.  As there were three dwellings on the property, we constructed three cakes, one for each house. We got to take one into our ger and placed it on the table, where it was to stay, mainly untouched except for a few sweets, for three days. 

James at work

Ulzii in his ger

Looking very Mongolian

Our first night was disturbed, in strange beds and a need to refill the wood and coal into the fire to keep us warm. And THAT toilet was way down the end of the yard in the dark, no outside lighting. I had my trust torch but the trip was avoided.

In the morning, the first of the traditional part of Tsagaan Sar, we played dress ups before going in to say good morning. James and I had both been kindly lent deels and hats for the day. The gentleman has a long binder that is tied under the tummy, while the lady has a finer binding tied under the boobs. A bit uncomfortable and neither ways are flattering. Of course, under that we had our winter woollies so we both looked a bit rotund, padded against the cold.

Looking the part, we greeted our new friends with the traditional sort of handshake called zolgokh. The first person we had to go to was Ulzii’s mum, because she is the eldest, James before me. The hand-shake is a semi hug, the younger person supporting the arms of the elder person, holding at the elbows. Kissing each cheek you say “amar bain uu”, which means peace be with you (reminds me of Catholic mass). At one ger we went to, rather than a kiss on the cheek, they sniffed. A bit like two dogs meeting each other I think and all that was on my mind was the fact I hadn’t showered. Anyway, you work your way around the room, until everyone has exchanged greetings. There is a superstition that women who are pregnant, don’t do this greeting with other women. Because male babies are preferred, it is thought that, in this close greeting, the baby could steal the gender of the other female, therefore it is avoided. 

Then, the blokes exchange snuff bottles. These are handed one to the other, sort of concealed in an open hand, each hand glancing across the other as the small, decorated bottles are swapped. Each sniffs the others bottle, nods in admiration, then hands it backing the same way. The bottles are folded into a silk purse, wrapped gently then tucked inside the deel’s front opening where they stay safe, secured within the large pocket space. 

Getting some tuition on the right way to exchange snuff bottles

Then airag, fermented mares milk, is spooned out into a bowl. Now this stuff needs frequent exposure to desensitize to the vomit smelling acrid taste. But eventually after tiny sips over time, you do get used to it. Taken in larger quantities, it is easy to get drunk, especially when followed by the copious amounts of vodka consumed with the greetings. Again it can be sipped or skulled straight down from either a small bowl or shot glass, no mixers, just straight vodka. 

Gifts were exchanged, fortunately we were prepared with a few gifts of our own. But what we weren’t prepared for was the generosity to us from those we visited. As we moved among strangers, we were treated as one of the family and included in everything. James was even pulled into a family photo that I took. We were given seats of honour, next to the head of the family we were visiting, and on some occasions, I was invited to the men’s side of the gathering. It is much like an Aussie party, guys on one side of the room drinking and girls on the other side gossiping. Mongolians have a reputation for hospitality and we truly were the recipients of it.

Over the next few days all homes that we visited had a table covered with the biscuit tower, bottles of vodka, a big ceramic pot of airag and a slab of mutton, the back complete with fat padded tail. Mutton is preferred to lamb here, they ask why would you kill the baby. And tails are not docked and as the sheep grows their backside becomes fat and wobbles as they run, looks quite funny.  Mongolians can’t understand why we trim fat off of our servings of meat and they are quite happy to have the excess that we dislike.

Don't mess with his kids

The rest of the day was spent repeating the greetings, drinking vodka and airag, eating buuz, exchanging gifts. Just about everyone was dressed in traditional clothes and it was  a real Mongolian experience. Just like Halloween, children do the rounds of gers, presenting at the doorway for a gift which they accept and step back out into the cold. All of a sudden, Ulzii or his sister would say “let’s go” and there was a quick retreat, into the car and on to the next ger. We travelled bumpy roads between dwellings and at one stage, Ulzii decided to take a shortcut that saw us bogged in the snow. The car that came to our rescue also got bogged and it was good for a laugh.

Ooops, bogged

Just to show how cold it was outside

Toward the end of the day, the level of inebriation increased at each home. Herders would welcome us and proudly show off their homes. Horses are highly valued and as they would climb up, we had to acknowledge their fine steeds before a photo (because I carried the camera) to record the event then us off in the car again.

Exchanging snuff bottles

When we finally got back home, I thought it was the end of the day. Oh no, after a very short rest, we were invited into the house for more buuz, vodka and airag while the family received their own visitors. 

The next day was one of anticipation for Ulzii. As I said, horses are a prize possession and Ulzii has his own race horse. The week prior he had been in town and was proud to show us the “vitamins” which should make his horse go faster (mmm doping). After another trip over bumpy tracks we had met the truck which carried the horse and eventually found the race track (term used very loosely) Out in the middle of nowhere, in the flat part of a valley was a gathering of probably a few hundred people and horses. 

Getting the horse ready to race

The race was over about 12 kms, nobody seemed exactly sure. The jockeys were kids, mostly boys although I did see one girl, all aged from about 4 years up. Mongolian horses are shorter but it would still hurt if you fell off, especially at speed. These kids either ride bare back or with flat saddles. The group of about 30 horses were escorted out to the start line by a few vehicles. We were lucky to have been invited to the half way mark in a four-wheel drive, sitting in the warmth waiting for the start.

Heading out to the start

Eventually in the distance we could see the shapes getting bigger, tiny figures wrapped in thick snow-suits with masks protecting some of the faces against the wind. As they got closer, we could see the enthusiasm that the riders had to win as the whipped the horse to make it go faster. The horses long curly coat a lather of sweat and the faces that we could see were bright red from cold and excitement.

Our car took off and we drove along with the pack, some in front of us but most behind. As they raced they threw up snow from their hooves. We took off away from track and over the uneven ground. Suddenly the car slowed, more horses passed us and eventually we stopped. There was a funny smell coming from the front of the car. Stuck again. Ulzii came to rescue us and we left the car, its owner and a few other passengers to sort out their own mess. 

Ulzii looking good

Ulzii and his horse

We hovered around for what seemed like a few more hours, watched another race and every now and then wandered out of the car to have a look at proceedings. There was a table set up just like those in every ger except this one also had a trophy on it. Not only to Ulzii’s but our disappointment, his steed didn’t quite make the grade. Not sure on the exact position he ran, but it wasn’t first, and that was all that mattered.

We made one more visit to the sweet old chap who sat alone in his ger. I guess everyone else was at the horse race. But because his ger was closest to the track, there would have been lots who wandered in during the day, having a cup of tea and slicing some meat from the fatty mutton before taking off on their journey, just like us.

Over the hills on the icy track and we were heading back toward Dashenchillen, three of us wedged tightly in the back seat stopping any unnecessary movement. We laughed at the car bogged in the tracks we had left the day before when we were faced with the same dilemma. As the sun moved it created beautiful shadows on landscape before us, snow clouds gathered and as the sun shone through, billowy patterns formed.  It truly is a beautiful country and photos don’t do the reality justice.

Belongings were gathered into our bags, we tidied up the ger that was ours before going in to the family home. Another round of buuz (no wonder they prepare so many) and milky tea, but this time we politely declined the vodka. In broken English they asked when could we come back. It is a shame but I think a busy work schedule and diminishing time in the country will prevent it.

The only down side of the whole experience was our drive home. Ulzii had arranged for us to travel with a friend back to Ulaan Bataar.  As disappointing as it was to abandon this idyllic experience, I was looking forward to a shower and a real toilet. I thought I was going to miss out on both and that my kids were going to get their inheritance early, courtesy of our driver and her lack of driving skills. Truly one of the most hair-raising journeys I have ever had. It is the one time in Mongolia that I have fastened a seatbelt. You don’t know how happy we were to see our apartment building.

This really has been our best experience in Mongolia. Being part of a family at such an important time of the year has shown us what this country really has to offer foreigners. Their kindness and hospitality in making us so welcome is truly warming. The countryside and its people are so inviting and such a diverse contrast to the insulated city life we experience.  I hope we can squeeze in another visit before we leave because I would love to see more of the country and our new friends.