Second day with the Nomads and the weather is sunny and warm. Today we take the short walk to the edge of the Gobi and up onto the dunes. There is a clear demarcation here between the pasture of the Steppe and the sand of the desert. And apparently this demarcation is just as clear in the winter when the snow settles on the Steppe but not on the desert. We have a day trip today to visit the Erdene Zuu monastery at Harhorin which is one-and-an-half hours drive from camp. This monastery is on the site of the ancient city of Karakorum – the capital of Chenggiskhan. Built in 1586 it was the first Buddhist monastery in Mongolia and one of only a few to survive the Communist destruction of the 1930s. We arrive back at the Nomad camp for dinner followed by drinks with hour host Amrya, the maternal grandmother, Craig, Monica, our guides Jenni and Tom (obviously not their Mongolian names) and one of our drivers. One bottle of wine, two bottles of vodka and the best part of a litre of whisky are consumed – mostly by Andy and Amrya it seems! Someone’s going to have a sore head in the morning!
The monastery was partly destroyed by the Communists but four temples and three meditation rooms remain. One temple is still actively used whilst the rest of the complex has been preserved as a museum. This is a place of pilgrimage for Mongolian Buddhists and today is a special day. Many people have come here to perform a ceremony which involves carry the Sutras (holy writings) around the walls of the monastery. The Sutras and wrapped in brightly coloured silk and are carried in people’s arms, on their backs or slung across their shoulders.
In the active temple the monks are conducting a chanting ceremony at the request of one particular family, and the small temple is crowded with monks and visitors. The monks sit in rows of facing pews with the Sutras open in front of them, and milky green tea to hand. This is a noisy affair with the chanting accompanied by lots of crashing of cymbals, banging of drums as well as the sounds of other instruments.
We spend a couple of hours looking around the monastery before taking a walk outside the walls to see the stone turtle that is one of the few remaining relics of the old city of Karakorum. Here are the inevitable souvenir stalls selling an electic mix of jewellery, fake and maybe not so fake antiques, knives, Sutras, silver teapots etc, etc. We are assured by the stallholders that it is perfectly legal to export these antiques, but that seems very unlikely. I buy a pair of silver earrings and a bracelet for the princely sum of £5. A quick stop at the stone phallus nearby and then a very late lunch sitting on the hillside over-looking the monastery.
Our ger is the main family home and it is in here that the fermented mare’s milk is made. And this process doesn’t stop just because we are in residence. The milk is boiled on the stove in the morning and left to stand on a up-turned stool for the rest of the day. This is repeated each day until the process is complete. By pouring laddlefuls of milk back into the pan from a height a froth is produced on the surface which, when left to cool, creates a soft creamy skin that is skimmed from the surface and used as a butter substitute. This whole process gives our ger a faint smell of sour milk.
The stove sits in the centre of the tent with a flu rising up through the central hole in the roof. It is extremely effective in heating the ger, but has to be constantly stoked as the cow’s dung burns very rapidly. So the fire goes out at night and the ger gets very cold. Our sleeping bags and heavy blankets are only just keeping us warm!
We are up until 1pm drinking and chatting and learning all about how Nomads live out on the Steppe from Grandma. Andy is very, very drunk! There’s sure to be a price to pay tomorrow.