Smackdown in Mongolia

We left Sainschand on an overnight train to Ulaan Bataar. Luck was with us (me) as we shared our compartment with a cute Irish lass named Moreag. The trip was an over nighter and had us arriving at about 7:00 am the next morning. Moreag and Nonie took the top bunks and I the bottom as in all likelihood it would be me making the 3:00 am walk to the bathroom. About 4:00 am I awoke to this gentle moaning coming from the top bunks. Not a snore but more a soft low mooooaaaann. Knowing Nonie's snore, I realized quickly it was Moreag. I fell back to sleep secure in the knowledge that she was probably dreaming of me in the bottom bunk.

We arrived into Ulaan Bataar on the first day of the Nadaam Festival. The festival is celebrated all over Mongolia but the mother of all parties is in Ulaan Bataar, the capital of Mongolia. We were swept off the train and dropped off at a slightly run down stadium. The place was hopping with huge sumo-esque types wearing bathrobes, which we quickly deduced were wrestlers. Wrestling is huge in Mongolia and is a big part of the Nadaam Festival. It is not WWF wrestling. There is no ring, no masks or makeup. The match involves grappling with each other out in the middle of the stadium field till one of them manages to force the other's knee or shoulder to the ground. There are no weight classes so the small guys fight the big guys until there is just one man standing. The wrestling will go on for all three days of the festival.

From the stadium we were rushed out to the other big event of the Nadaam, horse racing. Not the typical North American horse race but a real horse race with the distance any where from 12 to 20 kilometres depending on the age of the horses. The race we were to watch involved horses who were at least 7 years old. The horses are ridden by young male jockeys, some not more than seven years old over a distance of 12 kilometres. You cannot watch the whole race only the finish but you can see them coming from a long ways off. The horses are ridden hard out for the whole race. Just where we were located we watched three horses collapse and die. We heard several more had collapsed and did not get up at the finish line as well. Not a great end to our day.

Our second ger (pronounced gar) camp was a step up from our first one with eight operating showers and hot water. We were still pumped up from the wrestling and perhaps a bottle (or two) of wine and next thing I know I was throwing it down with Aaron and some poor Singaporean honeymooner for the wrestling championship of the ger (pronounced gar) camp. But as you know what happens in Mongolia stays in Mongolia.

Next stop, Russia.