Country life/town life

After breakfast we went for a walk up to a nearby  col where there was a prominent and interesting rock. There were many strange and lovely plants and flowers to be seen. At the col, we observed a brown dog making his way quietly and purposefully over the pass. There was a great deal of litter in evidence - far more than you might expect at a similar mountainside location in the English Lake District, for example. We looked around for a little while up on the hillside, but rain started in earnest and soon drove us off the hill and back to shelter. I tried without success to light a fire, and the rain came down.

After lunch - which was huge pieces of chicken in a garlicky, buttery sauce - the three of us, our guide and the driver drove in a 22 seater coach (the Land Cruiser having been deemed broken) to the home of a horse herder. This was a moving and very interesting experience. 

The inside of his ger was entirely like the one we had camped in - even to the point of the spokes being orange. We were informed that there were areas of a ger - we as guests sat at the southeast side (the door ALWAYS facing south, they told us). The north (or twelve o'clock from the door at six o'clock) was the most important or special part, and this was graced with a solid looking dresser, on which was perched a modern boom box. A valuable saddle was strung up on the wall at about 1 o'clock, whereas harnessing and other leather materials was behind us guests at about eight o'clock. A large bed was at three o'clock; in it, a boy child of about five lay fast asleep. All around were farm-sized plastic containers, and large metal bowls containing mares milk in various stages of being converted to other diary products. At about five o' clock was a modern set of kitchen shelves with implements and utensils. The actual kitchen was by the stove, on the floor in front of the door.

We were offered a kind of solid substance, being dried curds, and something that resembled (but was not) whipped cream, and also a small bowl of airag or fermented mares milk. This last was not as hard to drink as it sounds: it was cold, and very sour, and clearly moderately alcoholic. No harder to learn to like than any other alcoholic beverage such as beer, or whiskey, or Guinness. I mean, you've got to try, haven't you? None of the substances had that smell that we in the West associate with rancid or unfresh milk products. 

The farmer looked like a cartoon farmer, dressed in a suit jacket, shirt, tracksuit bottoms and wellies. He had few if any teeth. He might have been in his fifties; he might have been older. Who can tell with these people? His wife looked very much younger, at least ten or fifteen years his junior judging by her appearance - she might have been 40; I wouldn't have put her much older. Though she was ostensibly the mother of four children, she didn't look it. 

After visiting with them briefly in their ger, we all went out to see them milking the mares. This was an interesting operation. The foal is brought along to cause the mare to "let down" her milk. The foal gets a few mouthfuls, and is then unceremoniously ejected, and the farmer's wife moves in to milk the mare. For the most part, the mares stand uncomplaining. The little son, awake by this time, stood watching the operation in deep silence, before starting to wail.

As we left, money changed hands, not particularly discreetly, as our lady guide paid the farmer's wife for the privilege of us sharing her household for a few moments. Then, back to the bus and back to Ulaan Baatar in heavy rain.

Later on, we wandered out from our hotel onto Peace Avenue, looking for somewhere to have dinner. We had it in our minds to look for an indian restaurant. It was raining, and the pavements and roads were flooded. Rivers of dirty brown water poured across the road at intersections; lakes and seas of mud covered whole sections of the footpath. This was no place for fancy shoes.
After a good traipse, we spotted a restaurant called the Delhi Durbar, and in we went. We had an excellent meal. Two and a half beers, a Mango lassi, a plate of starters, rice, naan bread, chicken madras, a vindaloo (the real thing, not the rubbish that is served under the title of "vindaloo" in indian restaurants in the UK), chick peas and dahl, cost T 71000 or approximately £30. The restaurant was distinguished by having two fridges side by side, with adverts for BOTH kinds of a certain popular soft drink often associated with the United States. I post a photograph of it here for the record, because it is probably not allowed!