The Mongolian diaspora (or cultural region) stretches from Lake Baikal in Russia in the North to Inner Mongolia in China in the South. Much of Mongolian culture therefore lies outside the boundaries of the present-day state. This wide geographical spread of people of Mongol origin is unsurprising, given the history of the region.
Half the population of the modern-day state of Mongolia resides in the capital, Ulaanbataar. Ulaanbataar was once a (literally) moving, tented city, of Buddhist origin. It only fixed itself to its current location in the 18th Century. In UB, you will find good restaurants, good hotels, international and Mongolian cuisine. Half of the city’s population still lives in “ger districts” which are areas of nomad tents (“ger”). These ger districts have been set up, on a semi-permanent basis, around the more modern city, without fixed infrastructure like roads or sewers or gas. Like many modern cities, Ulaanbataar (UB) has attracted people from the countryside, seeking a better life, seeking employment. The consequence is a concentration of coal-burning stoves in the capital which becomes particularly noticeable in the winter smog of the city, whilst the open-drop toilets freeze in the same winter cold and sewer-smells disappear. In winter, from 20km away, the city appears as a shimmering grey dome in an otherwise pristine blue sky. As you approach it, you start to notice its acrid, coal-like smell as well as see its atmosphere.
Outside UB, the majority of the population still lives in round, mobile, felt tents called gers (these look and are similar to the yurts of other central Asian countries). Each ger has a central, iron stove in which dried dung, wood or coal is burned and upon which stove cooking is undertaken. A single, metal chimney conveys hot smoke out through an opening at the centre of the roof. The air inside a ger is generally clean – if a little sheepy. Despite the incredibly low winter temperatures of Mongolia, a ger in winter is a warm, often a hot (except early in the morning) place. In the late winter, you may find yourself sharing the ger with newborn calves, foals and sheep because outside is too cold for new-born animals.
There is an etiquette to a ger. The left of the ger generally belongs to the men, whilst women live on the right. Often you will find a dresser opposite the entrance containing pictures and family objects. There will be a sink and a jug of water (water is only used sparingly). Be respectful; the owners of the ger will always respect you. If you are wearing a hat, leave it on to enter the ger. No need to knock. Enter right foot first. Always receive objects with your right hand. Keep your palm facing up when holding cups and accepting things. Keep your feet tucked in. Don’t stay on the threshold and don’t lean on the wall! Accept both gifts and food (and, unless advised otherwise, arrive prepared to reciprocate). Follow any additional indications given to you by your guide.
People are incredibly hospitable. You will be offered hospitality. At the least this will be a Mongolian tea or some milk. The milk may come from cattle, camels or mares; be prepared!
The language is Mongolian – which is nothing like either Russian or Chinese. The script is Cyrillic now (although once Mongolia had its own alphabet). A written Mongolian double vowel is generally pronounced as a short western single vowel; a single vowel generally all but disappears. Anything with an h or kh in it sounds more like a Scottish loCH than an English or French or German h (even when it appears at the start of a word). In most words, more syllables are written than a foreigner hears. A good proportion of Mongolians speak English, Russian, Chinese, Korean or German. Mongolia is an outward-looking society and many people have been educated or worked overseas.
There are festivals at Tsagaan Sar (Mongolian Lunar New Year) and Nadaam (summer sports mixed with a bit of independence from China). Both are true national festivals rather than tourist festivals. At the latter you’ll find horse racing, archery and wrestling contests, a reasonably large amount of eating and drinking and quite a lot of noise. The former is much more of a family occasion. There are other, more regional festivals – of Eagles, of Yaks, of Camels, of Reindeer and of Ice.
Mongolian Countryside food consists substantially of meat and a simple pasta. Although you cannot really tell a Mongolian this, meat there is better in late summer and autumn (when it is really good) than in late winter and spring (when the dried variety is often what is left (very tasty, totally unidentifiable and incredibly chewy)). There is also boiled-reboiled meat later in the winter. Animals are killed in late summer or early autumn for meat, after they have fed in the lush summer months and the fattened meat lasts, whether dried first or simply untreated, in the natural freezer that is Mongolia. In late September through to October, you’ll find freshly killed and butchered meat lying out in the open, freezing fast, with a dog chained next to it to keep the wolves away. At this point, the meat is excellent. One horse or cow will feed a family for much of the winter – and diet is limited to that one horse or cow for the winter. Do try the dried meat at least once, if you can.
In Mongolia, vegetables have less than five months to grow. They are not common outside UB and most that there are are imported from China. Berries are good and local in late summer and autumn (seabuckthorn, lingonberries, blueberries and black currants). Seabuckthorn is valued for its wide range of health benefits and is often consumed in the form of juice (warm juice). Mongolian tea is a variant of tea which you will either like or not; imagine a cup of milky tea brewed with a thin meat stock rather than simple water, perhaps with an added knob of fat and some salt). Alcohol comes in the form of locally produced airag (fermented mare’s milk). Airag can be stunningly tasty or stunningly awful or anything in between; but do remember that your hosts probably brewed it themselves, so be polite!). Vodka ranges from good to excellent (with a strong Russian pedigree) and beer is reasonable and a little germanic (although not often available in the countryside; it is too bulky to transport in large quantities). Recognisable and ubiquitous foods are khuushuur (a tasty meat dumpling), tsuivan (a salty stir fry of meat, pasta and vegetable (although the vegetable is likely to be carrot and maybe onion only)) and buuz (another meat dumpling). You will find yoghurts and milk products. Mongolians will cater for vegetarians and vegans – but they need to know in advance (and they will politely think you are missing out). Catering with vegetables is easier to find in the summer than in the winter.
Medical treatment infrastructure is weak. There are a few reasonable private clinics in UB; but for anything serious (more complex than broken bones in arms and legs) you probably want to get to China, Korea, Hong Kong or Thailand. Do remember to bring spares of any regular medications you take because, whilst you may find replacement in UB, finding the same in the Countryside is likely to be as successful as finding a living dinosaur. Remember that most airstrips outside UB do not have night or fog landing facilities. There is one rail line running from Moscow to Beijing via UB. And there are very few surfaced roads outside UB. Beware of missing drain covers in UB!
As for road or horse (or camel) travel, expect to be jolted somewhat, especially in the common Russian jeep (which manages off-road travel well, but breaks down often and is generally easy to repair on the spot, but which rocks like a rowing boat at sea in a strong wind). Horses, for the uninitiated, were designed to stretch every muscle in your legs to breaking point; they travel well and reliably, but… Bactrian camels are much easier to ride than dromedaries – but expect to be rocked back and forth between the humps until your back and your stomach both say “enough!” and you’d prefer to walk. Do be prepared for delays – as a matter of principle, the more comfortable the mode of transport, the more the delays. Do be prepared to be viewed as being odd and sweetly inadequate for not knowing how to gallop a horse or for preferring to use the two legs you were born with.
Expect to be utterly stunned by the beauty of wherever these uncomfortable modes of transport take you. The sheer honourability and scale of the hospitality is astoundingly un-modern. Absolutely every delay and every aching muscle will have been worth it.