BETA
This is a BETA experience. You may opt-out by clicking here

More From Forbes

Edit Story

22 Photos That Prove Life With Mongolia’s Tsaatan Tribe Is Magical

Following
This article is more than 4 years old.

Life on the taiga isn’t easy. There’s a constant threat of wolves. The temperatures (and weather in general) are unpredictable. And good luck with cell phone service – you’re much too far north, and remote, for that.

But life here is special. The tribe – the last in the world to ride (and herd) reindeer – is small. There are only 44 families left carrying on this way of life. A life that depends and revolves completely around one thing – their family’s herd of reindeer.

And they use them for everything. From using the milk in their tea to transportation. (The only thing they don’t heavily rely on them for is meat, which is mostly only consumed when a reindeer dies of natural causes.)

So, with all my belongings packed in dry bags, I was set to pay them a visit and learn everything that I could about this incredible – and totally different – way of life. From learning how to bake the delicious bread they eat at every meal from our host family, Otgontsetseg and Ganbat, to learning how to tie up the reindeer at night from Grandpa so that the family’s watch dog could protect them from wolves, I was set to immerse myself in all things Tsaatan.

And two days off-roading by Soviet Furgon and two days on top of a semi-wild Mongolian horse later, all while following the expert guidance of Erik Cooper, who leads the most immersive small-group expeditions possible up to the tribe every summer – it would be worth every second of that insane journey just to experience a day in the life with Mongolia’s last reindeer riders.

A Day with the Tsaatan

A typical day for Otgontsetseg starts at 5:30 in the morning, when she leaves the comfort – and warmth – of her ortz (which resembles more of a teepee than the traditional gers other herders across Mongolia can still be found living in) to milk her herd of reindeer.

It’s almost freezing at this time of day, but in her winter deel (the traditional Mongolian garment that most Mongolians outside of Ulaanbaatar, the country's capital city, still wear most days), she’s prepared for the hour of milking that it will take her to fill her pail with reindeer milk. What she doesn’t use of today’s milk she’ll let sour and make into cheese in the days that follow.

Even though it’s early, our horse herders – a family of three brothers and their uncle whose horses we used to get up to the Tsaatan and will eventually use to get back – are also up to help with the chores and to check on the horses, 18 in total, grazing out on the taiga. They are a happy, smiley bunch, despite the early morning wake up, cold temperatures, and lack of coffee. I wish I could say the same for myself.

At 10:00 am a visit from Otgontsetseg’s grandmother is a special treat. At 80-something, her sight might have failed her, but her ability to ride a horse is ingrained in her – she is Tsaatan after all. And thanks to the help of a family member who leads the way, she’s made her way to us from across the valley to visit with us, tell us stories, and sing traditional songs in Tuvan, the regional language most of the tribe speaks in addition to Mongolian.

While her singing undeniably moved the toughest of us to tears, it was this advice for younger generations that I’ll never forget. Because, after a pause, she answered with such wisdom, “if someone needs a horse, give it to them. If they are a good person, they will bring the horse back. Always be generous with what you have.” And that perfectly encompasses the Tsaatan people: kind to their neighbors and generous with everything they have, even though it may not seem like a lot.

With the smell of lunch in the air, it was time to see what Otgontsetseg had been up to during our time with Great Gran Gran, as we’ve all come to call her, having felt that she’s adopted us all as her own.

Today’s lunch is chive pancakes, making use of the freshly picked chive flowers from the hillside just beyond camp. While the tribe doesn’t grow any produce – it’s nearly impossible on this land, a marshy, bog-filled wetland – they forage and use local plants and flowers as often as possible for both cooking and homeopathic remedies.

Otgontsetseg also makes a homemade noodle and mutton soup, a simple yet delicious (and most importantly, filling) soup made with the mutton that’s been hung to dry just outside her ortz. It’s a soup that we eat for almost every meal, but it never loses its appeal.

In the afternoon, following Ganbat and Grandpa’s lead, we’re off on a mission to collect wood for camp.

Each of us mounting a reindeer of our own to take across the valley and up into the nearby hills and into the forest, we quickly learn why reindeer are the preferred mode of transportation here – they handle the bogs and uneven terrain much better (and with more grace) than a horse.

It’s about an hour’s ride before we reach the edge of the forest and begin chopping down a handful of trees to section off and bring back to camp. We’ve brought pack reindeer just for this, which we help load up, securing the logs to each, before mounting our own reindeer for the journey back over the hills and into the valley.

Arriving back in camp, most of the day’s chores taken care of, it’s finally time to relax, even just for an hour. Only Grandpa is on the lookout, watching for the rest of his herd (the ones that we didn’t take out on our afternoon adventure to collect wood) in the distance.

Following the morning’s milking, the herd was released to graze out in the hills surrounding the valley. Later today they’ll be herded back into camp and gathered into a corral where each family will separate their reindeer only to tie them up again for the night. This is the daily routine for the family’s in the tribe.

Dinner tonight is buuz, a delicate steamed dumpling that Otgontsetseg has made by hand in her ortz, but she’ll send to be steamed in the ortz next door under the watchful eye of the neighboring family’s daughter.

Following dinner there’s one last thing to help with before we can call it a day – we’ve brought veterinarian supplies with us and it’s time to help the reindeer herders put antibiotic cream on the wounds of some of their herd.

It’s the end of the day, a day that started at 5:30 that morning, but somehow, I’m not tired. The energy of the day’s activities buzzing through me, but I know that isn’t the case for the family we’re staying with. This is another normal day for them, a day filled with nonstop chores and activities, and tomorrow, and the days after we leave, will be the same for them. It’s not an easy life, but it’s the only one they know. And a life that’s unlike any other in the world, and in one word: magical.

Check out my website