Darkhad Depression

 

Our guide arrives leading two horses behind his stead. He stops at the log house and ties his horses. In his fifties, with a sturdy gait, a slash below one eye, ragged deel (the traditional mongolian overcoat) and orange sash. He walks into the canteen.

The police have cuffed the artist to a post in the town square by his wrists. He is wild and screaming with rage,on his knees, raising his hands to the sky. His wife ashamedly takes the order from the guide in the canteen.  The guide carries two heavy duty leather satchels, a carpet and extra deel for sleeping rough in the mountains.

In the canteen a Tsataan elder sips tea from a goblet.

forest battle 2-15

It is no word of a lie that Tsaganuur is a bad town. The very title of this district – Darkhad Depression – is enough to drive a man to drink and onward quickly to his grave. Few survive long out here. Those who hack it through the winter do so only by the bottle – vodka is vital currency here.   We carry five litres. One for each of our hosts along the way. Invariably these are consumed within the first couple of hours of meeting when we sit at the hearth of our hosts. And a shot is beyond western measures, averaging 500ml.  A couple of those helps stave of the cold, but brings a fire to the mind of the locals.

Tsaganuur is a violent town, with remote hospitality.  It took twelve hours to get here by jeep from Moron and before that a further 24 hours by cramped russian minibus from the capital. From here there is only horseback to carry one further into the wild and the realms of the reindeer herders.

In this outpost, there is nothing more than a sinking feeling as the piercingly harsh beauty of the landscape overwhelms you. At an altitude of 1500 metres and sunk below the surrounding mountains, the very energy of the place is low and deadening. Fighting for breathe in the dry air the people here choke on the first sip of vodka to touch their lips.

From this town we begin our expedition into almas country to find what tales we can of creatures that go bump in the night, folklore to keep the kids from straying too far from the camp.

forest battle 2-16

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