Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
As a reward for helping with the slaughter, we were treated to a feast: a steaming
pot of boiled intestines, liver, heart and head. The stench inside the stuffy
ger
was
overpowering. Chris and I were given a knife each and told in sign language to dig
in.
The family laughed, chewed, slurped, sucked and gnawed on the sinewy brown
boiled mutton. The sounds of Chris eating paled in comparison to this family -
they were real masters at orchestrating a symphony of revolting, irritating noises.
Inevitably, we too cut off bits of intestine and sheep's lips, but we were amateurs. It
was more like chew, spit, chew, swallow with a look of distaste, and then gingerly
pick out another delightful little treat from the communal bowl.
With this last chore over and done with, we rode off. Over the first hill and out
of sight of the
gers
we dumped the bikes and collapsed in a heap on the ground.
'Bloody hell, from now on I reckon we should try to stop only for civilised
Mongolians. I just don't think I could have taken much more of that,' Chris said,
spitting out a leftover bit of intestine from between his teeth.
'As much as I love the notion of this nomadic culture, I have to agree with you.
There's not much romance in it when it comes down to it,' I said, rolling over in
case I needed to throw up.
'Hey, I've got a thought for you. How does sliced supermarket bread, a meat
pie, and homecooked lasagne sound?' Chris said.
We decided to cook up a more palatable breakfast of semolina before continu-
ing. A flush of shame and embarrassment came over us when, midway through eat-
ing, we turned to see our horseman friend on the hilltop. Presumably he had come
out to check on our progress, only to find us scoffing down more food.
After the meal, I put foot to pedal rather gingerly. Chris was already a speck fast
approaching the warped heat mirage on the horizon. I didn't get far before dropping
the bike and falling to the usual retching position. I watched the intestines lather a
patch of rock shards. The foul sight gleamed in the bright white glow of the sun.
I hadn't kept any food down for twenty-four hours. I wondered what the Gobi
still had in store for us.
Later that day, between running out of toilet paper and discovering that my bike
frame was breaking in half for the third time, a thought struck me: it was Chris's
birthday.
For a couple of hours I tried to think of the best way to congratulate him. In the
afternoon I finally caught up.
'Hey Chris, you old bastard!'
