“5,000 years ago we started to use the camel. The legend says that the camel evolved from the rabbit. Even now, if you look at a rabbit and a camel, the similar thing is the mouth, the slit that separates the upper lips. I talk about this in my poem. The important thing about the camel is to move, especially in the desert landscape. Nomads usually move twice in the summer, autumn and spring and in the winter, once. Every family used one to three camels to travel to Ulaan Baatar, taking between 40 and 50 days, or 20km per day on a camel. The camel is a safe transport and until 1950 it was the only way of getting between the countryside and the city. The camel is a clean animal. It doesn’t eat much grass, only special grasses that grow in warm places. Twenty to forty litres a day the camel can drink, and then go 7-10 days without drinking. Our Mongolian Bactrian camel has two humps and lots of fat. They are very sensitive creatures. Sometimes mothers don’t recognise their calves, so the herder will bring a horsehair fiddle and sing to them to make the camel cry.”

Our translator Zaya tells us in whispered awe that she had to memorise Camel in school. To her Badarch is a big celebrity. His reading, accompanied by sweeping hand gestures transforms the guttural Mongolian language into a melodious, undulating sound. Badarch barely glances at the book, his first of three written since 1987, speaking from memory a poem he wrote 22 years ago. A family enters the ger-cum-café and orders fermented mare’s milk while Badarch continues to speak. This young family is beautiful and fashionable, the woman in high heels, the man with slicked back hair and sunglasses. Their young child sits quietly, her pretty round face and large eyes listening attentively as the lined face, perhaps 70 years her senior, continues to speak and sing into our camera. First published in 1962, his 1987 poem Camel won the Bolortsom prize the same year.

“It didn’t win because it was good,” Badarch tells us, “It won because it was about the camel.”

He is modest. Thousands of odes to camels have been written over the centuries in Mongolia.

“My emotion is to write poems. Mongolians are good poets; when they talk they use poetry. Even when they play ankle bone games or speak at weddings the language is full of poetry. Now I am writing operas. Opera is developing in Mongolia more than other Asian countries. My inspiration for the camel came from my childhood. Until I was 15 I lived in the countryside and looked after camels. In the morning I took my camels into the wild landscape to feed and drink in the salt lakes. While they ate I would sit and read books. In the summer and autumn it is hard to look after camels because it is windy and camels usually follow the wind. I never even had time to drink tea. If I drank tea the camels would follow the wind. In spring camels have calves and the female usually hide from the male and also from people too. We call this action Shilrene.”

Finally we ask Badarch whether he likes the camel milk products.

“I love every dairy product. When I taste camel ‘cheese’ it makes my mouth water. It tastes like fruits that are not ready to eat”

Walking out of the ger, Badarch hands us signed name cards that we will treasure. Camel herder to poet. One last photo is taken outside before he crossed the busy street and raises his arm to flag down a taxi. We finish our mare’s milk sitting in silence, taking in the wealth of words, experience and respect for the camel we have just been a part of.

And so stepping off our 16-hour bumpy bus-ride over dirt desert roads, stretching aching limbs and bruised muscles, we walk gratefully into an early morning Dalazadgad, capital of the South Gobi province Omnogov. Practically a ghost town at this time in the morning – Mongolians also happen to be notorious for enjoying a lie-in.

Two in the team catch up on sleep whilst two more dash to Mercy Corps whom we had heard were helping a small cheesemaker set up her business. Mercy Corps lead us to Sainaa, bright-eyed camel-milk advocate whose blossoming business was destroyed by last year’s severe winter and drought.

Sainaa is starting again with a new factory, but until that opens at the end of October 2010, she sells products direct from the nomadic herders. It is to these friends and colleagues that she invites us to spend the night. Grandmother and grandfather, Ogod and Tsedenkhuu (try saying that with a mouthful of camel cheese) head the family and camel herd. Their heavily pregnant daughter, Tuvshintungalag, is the main milkmaid, accompanied by whirling dervishes of daughters and cousins. Altogether, a family of eight live in the ger with one more on the way. Still, they welcome all seven of us: the WYTSL team, Turuu our translator, Sainaa and her grandson.

Initiation into family life begins with a cup of fermented camel’s milk. This tastes like tangy yogurt, only sourer with camely undertones. This is the drink of choice, fermenting in order to prolong the life of raw camel milk, and creating an extremely healthy set of probiotics.

It’s not long before we are alongside the camels. A smelly bunch of creatures, recently shaved of their impressive wool. I grab a teat or two, always on the left side of the camel, stand on one leg with a bucket on my leg and pull. Nothing.

Next camel…..Nothing. I begin to doubt my ability as a Mongolian milkmaid.

Third camel lucky – or so the saying goes – and it’s spurts away! Something else is spurts away for the camel too – and a fresh spatter of camel pooh is whipped by the delightful desert winds directly onto my leg. Apparently a sign of good luck…I beg to differ…

We take the fresher than fresh milk back to the ger and watch it get boiled up in a mobile oven to make Arul, a cottage cheese-like product. At the same time, from the same camel milk, alcohol is concocted. This happens twice a day. We try three stages of the drying process – a soft cream cheese, a semi-dried curd and  a fully dried curd that you gnaw. It’s no wonder these Mongolians have such pearly whites.

Freshly brewed alcohol is handed around. 18 percent proof but tasting of slightly milky water, this stuff is insidious. Turuu, our translator, testifies to this, telling us that we may not taste the alcohol, nor even feel it, but step outside the ger, feel the wind hit you in the face and THEN you’ll feel it.

As evening approaches we are offered camel meat boats, dumplings stuffed with a finely chopped mixture of meat and vegetables, followed by camel milk tea and finally, warm fresh camel’s milk to aid digestion and help us sleep. In the soft lighting of the cosy ger this doesn’t prove a problem.

Fourteen of us lay down our heads for the night, arranging our bodies with feet pointing towards the door. Water has been conspicuously absent today for all but the camels. A highly prized commodity in the desert where they get just 150-300 millimetres of precipitation per year, water is saved for the most important members of the family, the camels. And these are fussy animals – camels won’t drink warm water, as it doesn’t quench their thirst. Instead they get gallons of cool water from wells every day. Their human herders stay hydrated by drinking the camel’s milk, a substance that has water retaining properties gained directly from the desert-adapted plants the camels eat.

The next day at 12 it is time for us to leave. We see the morning milking and watering of the female camels and calves, drink another few cups of fermented milk, plus one last one for the journey back to Dalanzadgad, and wave goodbye to our ruddy-cheeked hosts.

We’ve eaten more dairy products in these last 24 hours than most of us have consumed in the last year. We are happy.

Rules of the road: Eat whatever is given to you. Failing that, pretend you’re Buddhist.

South Gobi Ger

Milking camels

Delicious camel milk

Herder family

Is it cheese?

'Cheese' on roof

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” – Mark Twain

Chinggis Khaan, the real name for what we call Gengis Khan, the symbol of Mongolia not to be taken lightly. Mongolians reflect their heritage; tough people with serious faces and no word in the native language for ‘please’ (faced with desert heat and -40 degrees in winter there’s little time for pleasantries). Tall and broad, Mongolians differ in physical stature from the majority of Asian peoples, resembling the wrestlers of their national sport. Women are strikingly beautiful, although one swift powerful elbow in the ribs if you get in their way reminds you that they too are not to be messed with. None of this makes the Mongolians rude or unfriendly. Rather they are a straight-forward people, accompanied by a strict series of cultural dos and don’ts:

if you touch someone’s foot by accident you must shake their hand or never be friends again

never fall asleep on your host’s bed unless invited (try keeping this rule in a warm homely ger)

never lean on the side of a ger

as soon as milk tea is served you must stop whatever you’d doing and sit down to accept it

when taking or receiving anything use your right hand and touch your right elbow with your left hand

You will hear much about the famous Mongolian hospitality. Faced with a brusque manner and impermeable steely glare, spend some time, a few shots of vodka to break the Siberian ice.

One surprise was the fashion. We may be a full day’s train ride from neighbouring civilisation but the effortless cool of a New York street is replicated amongst the broken pavements, street-side gers and empty Soviet buildings. 70% of the Mongolian population is under 35 and the youth devote time, energy and money to the top fashions and the latest popular music. For a country of only 3 million people, the number of decent music bands here is impressive. I suppose you have to have something to do in the long winter months….

Older generations still wear the traditional dress – the deel, an ankle-length coat with an oriental collar, trussed up with a bus, a leather or fabric belt. Mongol gutal, leather shoes, pointed and curled up at the ends protrude from underneath, and the ensemble is topped off with a maglai, a trilby-like hat.

Our introduction to Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia’s capital is brief. All too soon we are leaving the comforts of the city to explore the South Gobi desert on our search for camels and cheese…..

Rules of the road: Always bring your host a gift; something culturally appropriate or practical they can use.

The air is hot and filled with smoke from the 100 something stands on both sides if the road, each one cooking, boiling and frying various exquisite dishes. A centrally located and somewhat quiet stand catches my attention, it offers meat, fish, seafood and vegetables on sticks and naan. As soon as I face the shopkeeper she asks me to choose from the various items being offered. After choosing a bunch of goat, chicken, vegetable sticks and a big naan, I am also being persuaded by the shopkeeper to try the chili fried octopus which she highly recommends. After I have taken a seat by the food stand one of the waiters asks me if I want a bottle of beer, I gladly answer, yes please!

The food arrives within a minute and I quickly make myself busy gulping down the oily but delicious dishes. I quietly enjoy the meal while observing people passing by in the bustling street. Perhaps it was the beer but for a while I find myself zooming out from all my worries and stress, almost feeling like floating through space, back to a time when life was simple and people lived in the now. Feelings of being at peace rushed through me, making me think back on the life that I have lived and the future that rapidly approaches. Why are so many people around the world not happy with what they have? Why are people chasing riches and fame as it is the only thing that can make them happy? Why don´t we just live in the here and now each day? Let´s stop worrying about tomorrow, stop agonizing about the past, live everyday as it is your last.

After quietly finishing the deliciously spicy meal and paying the bill, I slowly head back to the youth hostel. A part of me do not want to leave this place, while another part of me is excited about the journey to Kashgar tomorrow.

A lone ranger in search of unsung camel cheese, the cheese keeps him going, the cheese brings light to the darkest of nights. He respects the camel, he enjoys the cheese.

“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” – Lao Tzu

And step we do onto the 5.35pm 16-hour train to Ulaan Baatar with just minutes to spare. Exquisite scenery accompanies our working train-ride. After 33 hours to Beijing 16 hours breezes by.

We feel the difference in the people – harder, tougher. No pleases or thank yous unless absolutely necessary. Alicia makes friends faster than anyone else, charming the impenetrable faces into the hospitable rosy-cheeked smiles we had seen splashed across out guide. We are told that Mongolians are happier at home, inside their territory. Meet them on the road and first glances may hold suspicion and caution. Small talk, a cup of tea and several shared biscuits later and we’re all smiles.

Ulaan Baatar greets us with cold winds and grey skies. Not one of Mongolia’s 250 days of sunshine today then…

We meet Ogi who works for the Millenium Challenge Account and founded the Global Leadership University where we go and present our project to students and prospective students at the GLUniversity’s Open Day.

Next stop NTV (the national TV station) where we meet News Editor Enkhtuya (who speaks fluent German to team member Fabian!). We tour the studio seeing news rooms and game show sets. Collaboration talks in action > watch this space.

Ogi's book available in all good Mongolian bookstores..

WTYSL at the NTV News desk

Ulaan Baatar architecture

“The journey not the arrival matters.” – T.S.Eliot

We could have lounged in the luxury of the TransMongolian…..but that’s not the way we move.

So here’s how to get to Ulaan Baatar (Ulan Bator) the What Took You So Long way.

STEP ONE: From Beijing take a bus or train to Erlian (Erenhot). Buses are often faster. We went via Hoh Hot for scheduling reasons, but it’s possible to go direct from Beijing. BJ-HH= 7/8 hours. HH-E= 6 hours.

STEP TWO: At the station take a taxi (US$5) to the main market square just 1km away, across the road from local landmark Dico’s (fast food joint).

STEP THREE: Across the road from the square pick up a Russian-style jeep to the border. Without much luggage you can try for 50Rmb per person. We paid 80Rmb per person with all our equipment. Expect to pile up to ten people into one jeep for the short ride. You can take a bus to the border (30Rmb) also but this will take a long time to fill and add hours at immigration.

STEP FOUR: Reach the official border at Zamyn-Uud and watch your jeep driver earn his fee hustling you through border controls. Have 5Rmb handy per person for customs. Passports and arrival and departure cards at the ready and all should go smoothly.

STEP FIVE: The jeep will take you to the main taxi rank which is next to the train station. Ticketing office is upstairs (ATM, bank and currency exchange downstairs) and the first train of the day leaves at 5.35pm. If you arrive after noon expect to go up the pay scale for tickets. Hard seats sell out fast. Zamyn-Uud to Ulaan Baatar takes 16-17hours.

STEP SIX: Sit back and enjoy the scenery.

RULES OF THE ROAD: Bring your own tea bags

Our handy Odyssey guide

Negotiating for a ride at Zamyn-Uud

Train to Ulaan Baatar

On the Ulaan Baatar Express