The Nomadic Lifestyle:

Out of the two point seven million people living in Mongolia forty seven percent of them continue to live a nomadic life style. This means they live in circular tents made of canvas and wood called ger's or yurts that they move according to the season. They live off the land by raising sheep, goats, camels and horses. These Mongolian's are continuing a national tradition that has lasted twelve centuries.

So when you go on a horse back riding trek in Mongolia you are not only enjoying a picturesque and unique vacation but you are also journeying into the past. On the step it is unusual to see a car. One day when a plane flew over our camp we all came rushing out of our tents to find out what that strange and incredibly loud noise was. The air and land are uncorrupted by human influence. Riding horses is the main form of transportation.

The Horses:

The horses are the size of large pony's. They come in every color including brown, black, white, grey and red. Some of their manes are long, some are cut very short, some are partly cut short and partly left long. Their tails reach down to the ground. They all have a black line that runs from the base of their manes to their tail. The horses have powerful back haunches and steady feet. They are clearly not bred for their heads which are big and undefined.

They are a perfect combination of the kind of horse who sticks his nose in the next horses tail and a horse who does not. They like to ride close to each other, very close, as in touching each other. Often we would all be riding pressed up against each other. It felt like we were riding in a pack of wild horses. However, the horses are far from wild. They follow any command without hesitation. But if you don't feel like giving any commands they will just follow the herd, no questions asked.

Horses in Mongolia are allowed to wander free when not being used. They travel in packs with a single stallion leader. Often they roam alone over the Steppes for months before their owners come to collect them. While riding we saw groups of horses traveling together in this natural state. One day we saw a young boy, no older than twelve, collect a herd of around fifty horses from a lake. He pushed the horse into a canter by rushing them with his horse. As the horses ran they looked wild. Biting and kicking at each other, neighing and snorting. We galloped with them for a ways, the smell of freshly turned earth mixed with the musk of horse all around us. The Mongolian horse knows how to run. They have incredible seemingly never ending stamina. We galloped for long periods of time over rough terrain and the horses never showed fatigue. They knew the landscape as well as our guides. Picking up the pace when camp was near or a watering hole was around the next bend. They also avoided the many holes in the ground created by Marmite's and ground squirrel's burrows. Often, at a full gallop, my horse would jump a hole or swerve sharply around one that I never saw. However, the horses hooves would sometimes break through the soft ground into one of the burrows. There would be a brief moment when I was looking straight at the ground thinking, well this is it, it's all over, goodbye face, and then the horse would recover and continue to gallop at full speed, barley missing a beat, which is more than I can say for my heart.

The People:

Everyday two wranglers along with our English speaking guide lead the group of westerners (three americans, three Swedes, two Greeks and a Frenchmen). While two more wranglers and our two chef's went a shorter way with the Camel Carts loaded with our luggage, tents, food and a ger. Our guides used traditional Mongolian saddles, which are small, made of wood and leather with a high front and back. They wear their stirrups very short because when traveling at any faster than a walk they stand. Our wranglers were incredible horsemen. It was clear that they had been riding for as long as they had been walking.

The nine westerners on the tour used Russian military saddles, which are pretty much english without the padding. In fact my saddle was old and buckled in the center. By half way through the trip everyone was trying to figure out a way to pad their saddle. No one did.

After our ride each day we would arrive to a fully set up camp. The wranglers and cooks who had gone with the Camels built their ger and our tents. Tea and cookies would be served a half hour after arrival. We were all starving from the days ride and the cookies (everyone got two and no more) would go fast. Then we would sit and enjoy Lipton black tea with powdered milk until dinner.

Dinner was a four course meal. Salad, always cabbage with a mayonaise dressing, a soup, you never knew what was coming and often not even after it had left, a main course, some sort of meat and rice dish, then dessert, canned fruit and whip cream. After dinner we would fight to stay awake until at least nine thirty. One night we played a very competitive game of Old Maid. Another we drank Mongolian vodka and Fanta in the Greeks tent. Two nights I passed out right after dinner, unable to keep my eyes open because of the thirteen hour time difference and vigrouse ride. The sky, on clear nights, looked like the planetarium.

The Climate:

"It is sunny two hundred and sixty day of the year, you know." Our fellow traveller, Fredrick, would tell us every morning. "This must just not be one of them, eh." In our eight days of riding we saw one day of perfect blue sky. One day we rode through a freezing rain storm. The other six days were somewhere in-between, ranging from ninety degrees in the flat deserts to seventy five in the mountains. At night it was always cold and damp, with the sound of horses munching grass and snorting.

The Massive Gobbi:

We rode for around five hours every day. This included many gallops, some lasting as long as thirty minutes. We saw softly rolling hills covered in green and gold grasses with pale blue Sharply peaked mountains in the distance. We walked through a pass where red, sand colored boulders were piled up on either side of us blocking out the sun. We cantered passed giant sinewy mountains that rose out of perfect pasture land. We saw thick green grass that lead up to salt ponds with sand dunes in the distance. A lake where ducks, black silhouettes against the bright morning sun, covered the silver surface while horses waded in the shallows. Miles of perfectly flat land covered in dark green desert scrub. On the map, we saw less than my pinky nail of the Gobbi.

The End:

At the end of our trip, filthy, exhausted and worn out, the nine of us bumped along in a bus with big wheels over a dirt road taking us out of the Gobbi. We all had funny sun burns, sore bodies and an undeniable wish to return as soon as possible.