elusiveworld

Orosvoi – Semi pastoralist. descendent of Tsataan reindeer herders – still rides a horse using a light twig for a whip as is normal custom when riding reindeer. His characterful face and large-bowled pipe hewn from  juniper root made him a great subject for the interviews.

Nomin – six year old daughter of Tsataan reindeer herders she is  central to the  myth of the yeti story as it was told byt the elders to stop children from wandering too far from home. Nomin encapsulates the spirit of  a nomadic child. Even in the coldest weather she stands at the teepee door in a fine silk deel (coat) surveying the land in ernest as she contemplates the hard winter ahead.

Nomin’s family herd of reindeer, the most graceful of cattle.

Nomin’s brother, a real scamp,  looks for a lost horse through his father’s Soviet binoculars. The horse was later found by a lake in the woods, half a day’s reindeer ride from their camp.

Oyeg is a small white mouse/weaselesque stuffed toy which is hurled across the teepee by a spritely rosy cheeked six year old girl called Nomin.  She laughs hysterically yelling ‘bam’ as it hits her younger grubby faced brother on the head. They are two of three siblings who live under the canvas of a four meter diameter teepee with their mum and dad. The father lounges nonchalantly on a piece of ground sheet and smokes a cigarette. This crude accommodation is all they have to protect them from the freezing winters out here. Their woolen clothes are old and holey but their owners seem to exude a freedom of being and ease which would cause the fashion conscious among us to question the nature of pleasure.

The teepee is kitted out thus -  a central stove, a few sheets and personal effects. Open the flap and you are in the teepee and there is not alot in there.  Where no ground sheets have been thrown down the grass is visible. The canvas is held up by pines cut from the nearby wood. The family have been camped in this location for four days and will migrate again in the next few days as the snows begin to fall and cover high altitude grasses, forcing their migration to a more protected elusive spot under cover of trees further south.

It is so warm in the teepee having spent the last two nights sleeping outside in the mountains with ice forming on our blankets. With the added warmth of a three-nipper family this is a real blessing.  To actually sleep alongside a Tsataan family in the remote forest is a rare treat afforded to few outsiders. We are lucky that our guide knows these families well having taken care of them with food supplies in hard winters. They reciprocate the favour now.

Unrolling a silver reflective sheet transported from the East coast of Korea the kiddies stare wide-eyed as if it is a giant candy wrapper. Nomin is a real character. I gave her a pen and some paper and she started to draw me in stickman form, before moving on to drawing a kindergarten which she had seen in Tsagannur, the nearest steppe town. In recent years, many Tsataan families have begun to migrate to the steppe for winter. This is a transition only seen in recent years and threatening the traditional ways of the Tsataan who have always existed in the forest. But progress brings benefits of modernity to these people and who can deny them that.

Nomin’s future is uncertain. Wearing torn orange over trousers, with a cute fringe and deep dark eyes, maybe she will be one of the last generation of true Tsataan nomads – time will tell. She is very bright and curious and displays an openness and willingness to learn. She is studying Russian and interested in English too. Nomin’s brother is areal scamp. Quite the rascal, he comes at me with a stick raised above his head as though I were a wild animal. The little perisher.

Nomin cracked her head on a power charger for the solar powered wireless radio the family use in the teepee. Instead of crying as a softer western child may, she starts kicking it.

Children’s clothing hangs to dry on a cord, along with  a classic style alarm clock and a pair of Russian army issue binoculars. The feeling is intimate and warm and as night approaches, the father of the family prepares a space for us to sleep alongside them. This is a way of life that has changed little in centuries and I feel like part of the furniture.

From the rock fields we rode hard for ten hours towards the forest valleys away from the Russian border. As a deer bolted across the low scrub, its white fluffy tail bouncing beyond the tree line, our guide stopped to check the direction. The Tsataan had passed this way some days back, but where the valleys converge it was difficult to determine the course they had taken. Hacking through more scrub over a low precipice we look across the valley and there they are. Three solitary teepees. Their white fabric settles softly into the dull brown and orange of the autumn scenery and smoke winds wistfully up in to the air above them.

Batmunkh’s horse skates across an iced stream and we are on the valley floor. As we draw closer to the camp we see a serene sight – the herd of reindeer. Fifty white graceful animals are huddled around the teepees. They do not make a sound as we approach and remain motionless as they lie on the ground. It is a magical atmosphere. Alongside the white of the teepees  they are a subtle touch of light on the late autumn colours of the scrub and forest. People come out from the teepees. Their look, like any indigenous people’s upon seeing something unusual is one of indifference.

Our guide and interpretor for the Almas Interviews was one Sh. Batmonkh. Son of an educated man of society who had to flee the Russians.  These days Batmonkh, educated to a high standard and a capable professional writer, must work manually in Dubai to secure income for his family in UB.  This article details Batmonkh’s experience as a 3D labourer in South Korea. Dirty, Dangerous and Devoid of reward. The lot of the migrant worker.

http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/include/print.asp?newsIdx=5055

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mongolians_in_South_Korea

Soviet colonisation of Mongolia ended in the early 1990 s. This is a picture of a panel within a Soviet monument on a hill outside UB. To the outer reaches of Outer Mongolia, men fled during the colonisation. As Russians saught to oppress academics and free thinkers.  Occasionally these men have been mistaken for the yeti. As hiding in remote mountainous areas they soon become less civilised than our Russian comrades in all their pioneering grandeur.

The axe is heated over the fire which was lit at dawn. Heating the axe prevents brittleness and fracture when used.  It was -10 degrees last night and the air temperature will continue to drop out here as winter approaches.

With the axe we slice the frozen bread for breakfast.

The camp is at an elevation of 2000m and 10 km from the Russian border. Twelve horses ridden by nine men make up the caravan. They are sourcing a transparent stone in the rock fields near Yellow Mountain on the Russian Border. This stone is purchased by the Chinese who will craft medicinal jewellery from it.

It is a restricted area and we have ridden in under the radar, attached to this crew of locals as a kind of renegade Yeti tracking posse.   Ten days on horse back, sleeping rough and telling tales by firelight beneath the huge open Mongolian skies in late October, at risk of being snowed in, the feeling is one of absolute remoteness from civilisation and a deep sense of peace and strength generated by living in these primitive conditions.

Last night’s temperature of -10 was mild, compared to the -50 which these men will sleep out in come January/February. They will huddle together beneath riding pelts, sheepskin blankets and tarps. Shivering in search of these precious stones which can buy them a little hard currency to purchase items which a herder may otherwise go without.

Sleeping out in the open, I woke at 5am. Moisture on the tarp had turned into frost. Those without wool lined boots had some seriously cold toes last night. Orosvoi wakes up and gathers some wood fuel.  Tea is heated in pots suspended from a spit fashioned from nearby pines.

I learn that a wolf approached our camp in the night and disturbed the horses causing several of them to bolt up the valley. Luckily no harm was done and we round up the horses as Orosvoi prepares the tea.

After tea we throw some frozen fish on the fire and cook in rapid thaw style. A delicious touch of protein in the morning which makes a change to the mutton we have been having twice a day. As all we carried from the Lkhagvaa family ger was a slaughtered sheep and noodles.

This is reindeer country. The home of the elusive Tsataan – One of the last truly nomadic herder people on the planet. We passed three of them at the entrance to the forest four days back. But so far on the path up the valley we only saw remains of their camps – ten foot pine poles used for teepee construction and spits. They have gone down to a valley at lower altitude where their deer can find grass available through the winter snows.

Orosvoi tells me If you eat deer semen, you will become a raving sex maniac. Let’s hope none of these men have had any today.

Please refer to ‘Precious Stones’ for further information on the stone trade.