A Summer on the Steppe

The town of Altanbulag is a lonely place - a slight blemish on a dominant landscape, which acts as a winter home for the various nomadic families that occupy the nearby plains; if you take a moment to look past the corrugated tin roofs and herds of bleating livestock, your eyes are greeted by successive waves of rolling hills, seated beneath a majestic blue sky, synonymous with Mongolia.

It was in this place that I found myself during mid-July, at the start of the annual Naadam festival. These three days are essentially a celebration of all things Mongolian and the family of nomads who I’d been living with quickly disappeared off in search of culinary delights. I was left to wander, water bottle in hand, around a small stadium, where wrestling matches had taken place the day before. The morning was sultry and tensions ran unusually high. Horses milled all around and it was little surprise when two riders headed in my direction. Being the epitome of a polite Englishman, I stood still to let them pass on either side. Perhaps this was my first error. The man on my right lashed out, catching me unawares and sending my bottle tumbling to the floor. What may have only equated to a harmless joke, was rendered considerably more belittling by his excessive laughter. The riders continued along their original path, clearly undisputed kings of wit. In the meantime, I fought hard to rally my bruised ego. On any other occasion, I might have dismissed it, but today, for some unbeknown reason, was different. Idiocy reigned supreme.

I casually caught up with my tormentor, and in one sweeping movement, gave him a taste of the water he so clearly desired. With a quick nod and a smile, I then strolled into the stadium, where I presumed his horse could not follow. In my mind, honours were now even. Sadly, this was not the case. Upon taking a single step from my safe haven, I was met with the sight of flying hooves and unbridled anger. The world slowed, our eyes met and the horse and rider came crashing into me.

Although the events I have recalled may appear a tad temerarious. my brief altercation with an enraged local is a decidedly poignant memory. My spontaneous display of pride, despite being ill advised, brought me a taste of the stoical Mongolian temperament, vital for those hoping to exist in such a harsh landscape. In the future I would learn to exercise slightly more discretion, but on that day I was curious enough to test a descendant of Chinggis Khan.