This meant a long drive, back through the perpetual traffic chaos of Ulaan Bataar (including a half hour stop for our driver to pick up a new tape player for our trusty russian jeep). This got us to lunchtime where it appeared that the place our Gide had planned to stop was closed, so we went for Mongolian plan B: drop in on some nomads and ask if we could cook, which we did. Once the dog had been called off, the inside of the Ger was clearly a thousand miles form that of the previous night. Whereas the first family had seemed to be fitted out more for comfort than for mobility, this family clearly upped sticks and followed the nomad lifestyle, at the expense of mod cons.
After a hearty lunch we shook, rattled and rolled our way to Khastai national park, one of the havens of Pezwalski's Horse, a wild horse that had been extinct in the wild but reintroduced in the 90s and has flourished since. We'd been warned that we may well not see them, especially as it had recently rained and were prepared for some protracted searching. As it happened we discovered some about 10 minutes into the park, grazing on a hillside and managed to walk a bit closer to get a good look.
This meant we could get our bounce on, endangered animal box safely ticked, out into what can only be described as the very large, very beautiful, middle of nowhere. We stayed with a herding family of 6, where we had clearly taken the nice family Ger for the night. Not long after our arrival the eldest son (around 10 at our guess) was sent to fetch the horses and two were separated, saddled and in due course lumbered with two novice riders. By novice, I mean that our combined knowledge of horse riding consisted of having watched other people do it and got some second hand words of wisdom about rhythms and reins. However, we need not have been so concerned, as our host, clearly recognising our severely limited skills, lead both of our horses at a gentle pace up the mountain to fetch the sheep and goats. Our pace was also kept in check by my horse's leisurely pace, which earned it the nickname "Ploddy Horse" (between us, at least). With the flock (and the eldest son, who had been helping) safely rounded up we were led to a ridge to enjoy the breathtaking view over the plain on which we were camped. Sadly we'd not taken a camera with us so a description will have to do: The flat of the plain could have happily accommodated a small British city and had a thin ribbon of water running through it, reflecting the bronzed evening light,which was made even more striking by the dark rain clouds sitting above the mountains bordering the plain. In the foreground the few solitary Gers of our hosts the neighbours (both if them) and the tiny shapes of the horses and cattle made clear just how huge this tiny portion of Mongolia really was, a rainbow crowning the whole thing.
By the time night came, the sheep and goats were safely back under the watchful eyes of two loveable, if scary anti-wolf guard dogs and we were safely tucked up in the Ger, still trying to get our heads around how amazing our day had been.
Wild Horses in the Distance
Our horses....
Rhys and Ploddy-horse
The view from the Ger
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