A tepee in the middle of Mongolia? Then we saw the two large animals tethered to ropes. One was white, the other half-gray and half-white, and both had enormous racks of horns that sprouted from their heads in fantastic shapes. It was the first time I had ever seen reindeer.
A woman in a thick black robe stood at the door of the tepee alongside her husband, who was dressed in a dirty smock. They were Tsaatan, also known as Dukha, the nomadic herders who used reindeer for every necessity in their lives, from milk to the leather that formed the walls of their tents. My guidebook said there were only 200 of them left in northern Mongolia, and only a handful wandered this close to Khovsgol Lake, away from the Darkhad Depression.
Their tepees and shamanistic practices suggested a connection with American Indians, whose ancestors had crossed over from Asia in prehistoric times. We edged closer to the couple standing by their tepee, but our horses kept their distance because of a snarling guard dog.
We decided to steer wide of the encampment and return to the trail leading up the valley. Two reindeer stared at us from the bushes, then dashed off.
The rain came and went throughout the afternoon. It was during a sunny patch that our horses ran into the beehive along the path. Chaos ensued for a few minutes, as Chuka and I both found ourselves knocked flat onto our backs. I stared up at the sky, shaken and disoriented.
We made camp farther up the valley, setting up tents in the cold rain. Chuka boiled soup for dinner. The next morning, we climbed over a low pass and descended through a windswept bog, a wall of mountains in the distance.
On our third and final day, we came across a small Mongolian camp in a green pasture. A smiling, fresh-faced couple invited us into their new ger. They had just married, and for the summer they lived alone in this ger, affording them some privacy, while other family members stayed in a log cabin next door. The wife, Ulaanaa, made fresh mutton dumplings for us, her belly swollen with their first child.
In the coming months, the entire family would move into the ger, finding warmth together. That was the key to survival here in Mongolia — taking refuge in the goodwill of family, friends and even strangers.
As Ulaanaa ladled out steaming bowls of milk tea and dumplings for us, the wind began to howl outside. Winter was not far off.
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