11

After another half an hour of the old truck battering across the lumpy ground, the nausea has miraculously passed. It has come to a point where we’ve got used to the vibrations, the jumping around, and it’s become normal. I suppose it’s like gaining your sea legs on a long voyage on a ship. I’m slightly concerned about how we’ll feel when the vehicle stops moving, but we’ll deal with that soon enough.

Thankfully, we’re brought back to normal terrain in stages, with the bumps lessening and then like a mirage in front of us, a dusty track and a couple of large yurts, at the foot of a sparsely grassed mountain.

‘Here we are!’ Sarnai claps her hands excitedly, then unclips her belt as Erden pulls into a low-walled area that seems to be a car park.

‘Where’s here?’ Rory asks. He yawns, stretches his arms above his head. ‘Is this the camp?’

‘No, no,’ Sarnai giggles. ‘We are in the Hustai National Park. This is the home of the takhi – the beautiful wild horses that were brought back from near extinction. We will stop for a short while here, and you can see the horses and you can learn about their history—’

‘And can we have something to drink? A Coke or something, maybe?’ I ask, furious again that we’ve been stupid enough to come without anything. Apart from a few sips of Martin’s water, we’ve had nothing for hours, and I’m starting to get the clamping head pain of a blood-sugar dip. I need something sugary before I pass out. Carrie looks over at me and gives me a slightly pained smile, and I can tell she’s feeling exactly the same.

‘Of course. We’ll be having a lovely dinner with the nomadic family right after this, but of course we can have a drink now. I think there will be some water and some tea over at the visitor centre.’

Carrie groans.

‘Might have something for you in my bag, ladies, if you play your cards right.’ Rory winks, and picks up his backpack before jumping off the bus. Martin shrugs and follows him.

‘We’re such idiots,’ Carrie says, as we follow them off the bus and up the dirt track towards the biggest yurt, which is apparently serving as the visitor centre.

‘I’m never drinking again.’ I mean it, at this point.

‘So you might be wondering a bit about the nomadic family we will be staying with, right?’ Sarnai says, as the truck bumps across the steppe again. ‘The buildings are similar to the ones you just saw – and I am sure you think you know these buildings to be called yurts, but actually these ones in Mongolia are called gers…’ She pauses, grinning at us. She obviously enjoys this story. ‘Basically, these are exactly the same thing.’ She giggles. ‘In Turkic, the word yurt means “dormitory” … and in Russian, the word is yurta. But in Mongolian, the word is ger, and it just means “home”. This is the home for the nomadic families, who will set up camp and live there for many months, until…’ She’s saying something about a circular wooden frame and a felt cover made from sheep’s wool but I have mostly zoned out. As long as the beds are comfortable, I don’t really care too much. I’m knackered.

I glance over at Carrie; she is using her sweatshirt as a pillow again, and she appears to be sound asleep.

‘So are the nomadic tribes shamanic?’ Martin asks.

‘Of course,’ Sarnai says. ‘But I will let them tell you all about it. They are peaceful people, who tend to their livestock and live with nature. They are wonderful hosts, and they will be happy to answer all of your questions. If there are things that they don’t understand, I will also translate for you.’ She turns back to the front. ‘Oh, we are nearly there.’

I look out of the grubby window, trying to get a better view. In the near distance, I can see a cluster of gers, plumes of smoke snaking up through their chimney-holes.

‘Thank God,’ Carrie says. ‘I’m not sure my arse can take any more of this bloody banger. Maybe I can knit myself a cushion for the journey back.’

Erden stops the truck on the perimeter of the camp, and we all bundle out. I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s small, and there don’t seem to be any facilities other than the three gers. A little further away, there is a wooden structure standing on its own, and I have a horrible feeling that it is the toilet.

‘Hang on…’ Carrie says, dropping her bag on the packed mud floor. ‘Is this it? Where are the showers?’

‘Oh, sorry. No showers,’ Sarnai says. ‘But we can boil some water. Only two nights so no big deal, right? Did you not read all the information on the leaflet when you booked? This is real, traditional camp. Not like the tourist camps – those are bigger, more expensive. They have showers, but not the true experience like here.’

Carrie sniffs. ‘I suppose the toilet is a massive hole behind those wooden doors.’

‘That’s right,’ Sarnai says. ‘You’ve seen one before?’

‘Only in horror movies,’ Rory quips. ‘I’m pretty sure the leaflet didn’t explain any of this … and I did read it before I booked.

‘We’re here now,’ Sarnai says, still grinning. ‘Will be a great experience. Live with nature, OK? It’s only a couple of nights. You’ll soon be loving it and you won’t want to go back to UB. You know what? Just wait until you see inside your ger – you will just scream!’ She leaves us while she goes off to get the woman from the camp, to tell her we’ve arrived.

Carrie drops onto the floor with a sigh. ‘I have died and gone to hell.’

Rory sits down beside her. ‘Not a nature lover then?’

‘I’m absolutely fine with nature. I’m all over nature. Nature is fucking amazing. I just like a few more home comforts when I’m feeling delicate. After that journey, I’m pretty sure every bone in my body has been displaced. Not to mention all the brain cells that’ve been rattled clean out of my skull.’ She lies back on the ground and Rory laughs.

‘What about you, Violet?’ Martin doesn’t carry the same mocking tone as Rory, so I don’t feel like punching him right this minute – unlike Rory, who I’m tempted to kick in the shins as he sits beside Carrie, gently prodding her ribs, while she slaps him and tells him what she’s going to do with his finger if he touches her again.

‘I think we’ll be OK,’ I say, hoping I can use positive affirmations to make it true.

I think Martin is going to say something else, but then Sarnai comes back and she’s followed by a wide-hipped woman in a dusky red dress. She looks to be in her fifties, with shiny black hair tied back in a long, low braid and an open, smiley face. They are all very smiley, these people, and I feel myself responding in kind.

‘This is Chinua and she is going to look after you here. Tonight you must relax, and have the wonderful food and drinks, and then tomorrow morning we will go off on a horseback trail and camel ride, and then spend some time at the festival. Make sure you have your cameras ready for the beautiful pictures.’

Carrie is leaning on one elbow now; she’s wriggled away from Rory and his poking finger. ‘Is there somewhere to charge our phones?’ she asks.

‘Oh…’ Sarnai turns to Chinua and they talk in Mongolian for a moment. I’m pretty sure I know what the answer will be. ‘There are some chargers you can use, but not for too long as Chinua’s husband must take these in the morning to be recharged at the centre ten kilometres away.’

‘So there’s literally no electricity?’ Carrie says.

Chinua grins. ‘Come inside, please. We will have milky tea.’

We follow her into the ger. The door has been tied back with twine, and inside is a blast of colour and texture that is so at odds with the bleak landscape outside, that it makes me feel dizzy. Five narrow beds are positioned in a horseshoe shape, each covered with a colourful quilt. In the centre of the room, a large hearth, and up above, the hole that serves as the chimney, with smoke swirling and billowing up and outside. There are a couple of narrow bookshelves behind the beds, and near the roaring hearth, a low table and some colourful, fringed floor pillows – all set on top of a bright-yellow patterned rug. On the hearth, a huge pot is bubbling away, and next to that, a huge, deep frying pan, where Chinua is dropping small pieces of dough.

‘Doughnuts! Excellent,’ Carrie says. She turns to me and whispers, ‘Might not be so bad after all.’

‘You can choose your beds,’ Sarnai says. ‘I’ll take whichever one is left.’

Rory races over to the one further back. He tosses his bag on the floor, then leaps onto the bed, just as Sarnai raises a hand and starts to shout a warning.

‘Ow. Shit.’ He lands with a thud, and immediately starts pulling the covers out from underneath. ‘What’s this made of? Cement?’

‘It’s a hard wood, with a thick woven mattress,’ Sarnai explains. ‘I was about to tell you … not very bouncy, like usual beds. But I promise you will be comfortable … and warm.’

Rory makes a hmmph sound, and rubs his back as if he’s been dropped from a height onto a hard floor.

‘Thanks for testing that out for us,’ Carrie says, laughing.

We all choose which of the remaining beds we’d like, and Sarnai explains everything to us while Chinua serves up mugs of steaming white liquid, dropping a couple of pieces of the fried dough into them. Chinua hands them out to us with a smile and a small bow, as we all make ooh and oh noises of excitement over this new exotic drink.

I have the mug to my lips when Sarnai tells us that it is boiled ewe’s milk and that the incredible-smelling doughnuts are salty rather than sweet. The smell hits, and I just know that I’m not going to be able to get this drink past my lips.

‘Chin-chin,’ Rory says, putting on an over-the-top posh accent.

Carrie takes out one of the doughnuts and sniffs at it, like a dog smelling something nasty it’s found on the pavement. She takes a small bite and pulls a face. ‘Um. Interesting,’ she says. She dips a finger into the tea and sucks her finger, then she turns away and I hear her retch.

Martin is holding his doughnuts like they’re biscuits, and sipping contentedly at the tea. Rory has finished his and asking for a top-up.

‘You might find it’s an acquired taste,’ Sarnai says. She giggles again, and I have the urge to throw one of the doughnuts at her head.

‘Maybe just a glass of water,’ I say, putting the cup down at my feet. I glance over at Carrie and she rolls her eyes at me, and mouths ‘What the fuck?’

Through the open door, I can see the light starting to change, from a pale blue to a dim orange, and I’m wondering how soon we can go to bed. Tomorrow will be fine. We just need some sleep.

As if reading my mind, Sarnai picks up a bag of carrots from the floor and starts peeling. ‘Not long until dinner.’

‘What are we having?’ Rory says.

He’s taken his shoes off and is lying down on his bed. Martin is looking at the ornaments and books on the small display case by the doorway. Carrie is sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions, rocking back and forth gently. A familiar smell fills the air, from the second pot that is now on the hearth, in place of the doughnut pan. I try not to breathe it in, but it catches in my throat. I should’ve guessed – the nomads are pastoralists – they tend sheep … the tea is made from ewe’s milk. The gers are covered with felt, and the beds made of a tight woven wool. I have to try very hard not to gag, and realise it might be too late to pretend to be a vegetarian.

‘Mutton stew,’ Sarnai says. ‘The nomadic speciality.’