“When you are staying in a ger, never go hiking at night.”

Our representative in Ulaanbaatar gave us this stern warning before leaving the city.   “Because we might get lost?” we wondered.  “No.  Because the wolves might attack you.  Or more likely, the dogs will think you are a thief.”

She wasn’t exaggerating.  We awoke on our first morning to the calls of wolves roaming the very mountains where we had ridden two-humped camels the day before. It was one of those moments where you wake up and think, “Where the hell am I?” Slowly it dawned on us: geographically, we were four hours from Mongolia’s capital – living in a yurt on windswept steppe land.  But in truth, we were in another world.

We had signed up with a local non-profit called Ger to Ger, an organization that connects visitors with nomads who are still living a traditional Mongolian lifestyle.  Payment goes back into the community, providing herders with an extra source of income to help them survive the bitterly cold winters. We had no guide, and while it might seem strange to have two Americans hanging out for no apparent reason, Mongolians are a welcoming bunch, and are accustomed to people dropping in.  Most who met, us barely batted an eye, and we were typically ignored and left to do whatever we pleased.

Along with the tip on avoiding wolves, our representative also taught us several useful phrases such as, “Can I help collect dung?” and “Let’s play ankle bone game.”  But our language lessons quickly dissolved once we were staring wide-eyed at the inside of our loamy ger – replaced instead, with smiles and international charades to communicate.

Snow drifted through a gap in the roof where the stove pipe exited.  The dry flakes made tiny hissing sounds when they struck the hearth.  Next to the fire, a bin held an earthy collection of dry sheep, cow, horse and camel droppings. The stuff is odorless, can be picked up with bare hands, and burns easily enough (though never very long).  It gives off just enough heat for cooking and warmth, but it’s a full time job keeping the temperature just right.

Mongolia is no place for vegetarians or the squeamish.  A bucket of blood, a pile of guts and half of a sheep’s head sat casually within reach of our bed.  And the bathroom?  Walk 50 feet, kick a hole and squat.  Don’t bother looking for a tree or a fencepost to hide behind, because there aren’t any for miles.

Amanda’s Mississippi blood is much too thin for this climate, and even Jeff was unreasonably cold in the single digit temperatures, despite 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of pants, 2 long sleeve shirts, a T shirt, a fleece, a down jacket and a wool hat.  The wind cuts through you and saps your heat at night – yet for our hosts, winter hadn’t even arrived yet.

Three generations typically live together inside a single-room ger, and neighbors constantly drop by for tea and food.  Nomads move four times a year and space is limited, so personal possessions are impractical.  Yet despite the lack of privacy and material wealth, there is a sense of genuine community we rarely encounter at home.  Friendly camaraderie isn’t just a way of life, it’s necessary for survival.

For more Mongolian photos click here