Wheelin' and Dealin' with a Western Saddle #6/9

8 August 2015
After 2 days in the bustling metropolis of Khatgal (pop 3,000) I was itching to get out into the countryside. I started asking if any of the guides would trade a horse trek for my saddle. Everyone who looked at it upside down and right side up,  gave it a hearty pat and said, "good saddle, good, good." Happily I was able to trade my old saddle plus $200 for a 10 day trek with a guide, food, and a pack horse. Even better, I was able to use my saddle during the trek.

My mighty steed earned the name Pumpkin Thighmaster after the first day. Although he was round and had the slowest walk of any horse I have ever ridden, he galloped like his tail was on fire. 

We set off around the east side if the lake and stopped off to pick up another guide and 2 people from France. This was fine for me as my guide Pembuk spoke about 4 English words and I welcomed the company. Since most of the negotiations for the trip had been done in charades I had no idea where we were going, unfortunately neither did the french, but in traveling, that is all part of the fun.

We started off with one of the (soon to be many) river crossings in a party of 2 guides Pembuk and Sho-ya, 2 Frenchmen, 1 translator, 3 pack horses, and myself. Since the ponies are small and maybe all just a little crazy, you cannot put bags behind the saddle of the horse you are riding otherwise they start bucking like wild. But my blue saddlebags were given much admiration by the guides as they made loading and tying down our packs fast and easy. 

Every meal was cooked over an open fire and we grabbed water from the creeks. Quickly we fell into a routine where the translator Tsetseg cooked food for the French and I would eat with the two guides. Every evening they would repeatedly fill my bowl to the brim until I was uncomfortably full, and then Tsetseg would bring me a plateful of even more food. It turned into a game of who could sneak their extra food into Pembuk's bowl and guilt him into finishing it.

On the second day we stopped at a ger by the lake where Sho-ya keeps his yak herds during the winter. The family there makes butter and yogurt that they sell.

They also make yak vodka (as do most Mongolians) distilled from fermented yak milk. After the first large mug of it, it starts to taste pretty good. Before you drink you dip your ring finger into the vodka, flick your finger into the air three times for the spirits of the earth, sky, and wind, and touch your ring finger to your forehead. 

The next day we set out to see the Tsatan reindeer people who live in the mountains above the lake. There are only about 30-40  families who still herd reindeer in Mongolia and normally they stay high in the mountain valleys, as tourism becomes more popular around the lake, more families are migrating to the low lands in the summer months. The reindeer and beautiful and still have velvet covering their antlers. The families live in Oosks that look like teepees.

On the way back to the ger I understood that the frenchmen would be heading back to Khatgal and just Pembuk and I would be continuing on for the next six days. We spent our last night laughing, playing card games and of course, drinking vodka.