IN THE HOOFPRINTS OF Genghis Khan
Published 4:00 am, Sunday, April 14, 1996
1996-04-14 04:00:00 PDT MONGOLIA -- WITH 100 horses in tow, we feel like a brigade of the great Khan's Golden Horde chasing a huge thundercloud up into the Hangai Massif, west of Karakorum, the ancient imperial capital of Mongolia.
The excitement of this first, very long day of riding almost turns into disaster when my horse, utterly exhausted, comes close to drowning while crossing a storm-swollen river. Spirals of mist rise from the sacred waterfalls of Orhon as we set up camp surrounded by a profusion of spring wild flowers.
My saddle is wooden, covered in thin red felt and encrusted with small, finely carved silver studs. The horse's mane is cropped short and bristly. No larger than a European pony, each animal has a thick neck, a big, clumsy-looking head and a gawky frame. No Western horse dealer would look twice at them, yet they have the reputation of being the toughest horses in existence.
It is said that they can survive hostile conditions which would kill any other breed. I notice small dark stripes just above the hocks which provide strong evidence of their link with the original wild horses of the Mongolian steppes. These are named after a Russian explorer, Colonel Nicholas Prjevalski, who traveled through Mongolia in the 1870s.
Horses similar to the ones we are riding carried Genghis Khan's mounted armies to victory in their blitzkrieg campaigns of conquest at the beginning of the 13th century, when the Mongol cavalry overturned the established world order. At the height of its power, the Mongol Empire stretched from the China Sea, across Russia, Siberia and Central Asia, and into the very heart of Eastern Europe.
In 1990 a tidal wave of nationalism swept aside the crumbling Soviet puppet state of Mongolia, elevating Genghis Khan to the status of a god. Fifty thousand people gathered in the main square in Ulan Bator, the capital city, to celebrate his birth; resplendent warriors on horseback replaced government soldiers at the National Day celebrations. And in a touch of irony, Genghis Khan became a symbol for the fledgling democratic party.
For seven months of the year, Mongolia experiences a bitter and bleak climate of subzero temperatures and constant winds. With 1.5 million square kilometers of steppe, mountain and desert squeezed between Russia and China - a land-locked country of 2 million people and 5 million horses - it is hard to imagine how Mongolia has managed to survive the long periods of political annexation behind such formidable physical barriers. Taiga forests border Siberia to the north, the mountains of the High Altai and Tien Shan rise to the west and south, and a huge arc of the Gobi Desert - which has been dubbed the "boneyard of the Lost World" - fills the south and east of the country.
But it is these barriers which yield clues as to why Mongolia's giant neighbors 800 years ago had every reason to fear for its very existence, although at the time little was known about the nomadic communities that inhabited these regions.
Genghis Khan was by all accounts a remarkable man. Born in the Hentiyn Nuruu mountains north of Ulan Bator in the late 12th century, his given name was Temujin - "the ironsmith" - and he was the eldest of five children. Bitter fighting between clans left him fatherless at the age of 9. His mother, Ho'elun, was from a rival clan and was subsequently rejected and left to fend for herself and her children.
Temujin and his siblings grew up to be extremely self-reliant, Temujin particularly, earning a reputation as a cunning and ruthless warrior. His eventual rise to power was swift and brutal - a reign which would traumatize generations to come.
You are unlikely to meet such visions of terror today, but the spirit of those warriors lives on in the rich horse culture of the steppe. Agricultural collectivisation during 70 years of Communist rule curtailed much of the true nomadic lifestyle, but it has failed to diminish the Mongolians' deep sense of hospitality and community. There are striking similarities between the arat horse herders of Mongolia and the Plains Indians of North America - no more so than in their horsemanship. Mongols learn to ride before they can walk, and display a unnerving sense of balance and poise.
Tim Severin notes in his book "In Search Of Genghis Khan" that the arats "seemed impervious to the hammering, jarring trot of the small horses we rode, and sat in the wooden saddle, or rather stood in its short stirrups, for hour after hour as if on self-leveling suspension."
The pain and discomfort are reduced only marginally by using a framework saddle with leather cushions. The alternative method, relaxing limply, only ends up with the rider being shaken vigorously like a crushed-ice cocktail. But with infinite hardiness and comic vitality, the arats have honed even this method to a fine art, frequently after becoming very drunk at a friend's yurt - the traditional Mongolian nomad's portable hide covered home - and relying on their mounts to find the way home across the dark and windy steppe.
Arriving at the door of a yurt after some hours on horseback, the greeting is time-honored: a round of snuff from a tiny jade bottle and a bowl of mare's milk, known as ayrag. The arats swallow three or four liters of ayrag in a sitting and hold great store in its nutritional properties, as well as its protection against the sun's rays when rubbed into the skin. There is always a large barrel or leather skin in the corner of the yurt full of half-fermented ayrag, which explains its slightly sour taste. Ayrag is usually followed by an intoxicating derivative called shimiin arkhi, condensed from boiling mare's milk collected in a green bottle which, once opened, has to be emptied.
The Mongols have a long history of being habitual drinkers, whether they were humble herdsmen or Great Khans. Indeed, Genghis Khan's son, Ogodei, ignored numerous pleas from his brother, Chaghatai, to cut down on his drinking and eventually died from alcoholism - as did his successor, Guyuk.
Returning down the steep slopes of Burkhan Khaldun, a 10,000-foot sacred mountain in the northern province of Khentei, after several toasts to the memory of Genghis Khan, I fail to steer my horse clear of some marmot burrows. Her stumbling and my subsequent inebriated flight keep our herders amused for many days.
I arrived in Mongolia a vegetarian but soon found it impossible to sustain. The Mongols don't eat horsemeat like their neighbors in Kazakhstan, preferring instead an endless diet of boiled mutton with salted noodles or rice, washed down with Chinese brick tea.
One of the greatest honors in Mongolia is to be presented with lean mutton sliced from the cheekbone and wrapped delicately in globulous fat from the stomach. The remains of last night's mutton is invariably thinly sliced and dropped into your tea the following morning. They look with bemusement when we collect huge wild mushrooms and fry them in butter and garlic. Rarely do they express interest in sharing any of these supplements.
Marco Polo recorded similar impressions on his journeys to the court of Kublai Khan, during which he paid particular note to one of the most effective tools of the Mongol Empire: the orto system.
Inherited from earlier cultures, the Mongols created a chain of horse relay stations stretching 5,000 miles across their empire. At each there were local horses on standby, ready for use by those who carried the imperial seal or paiza. Many stations would also offer guides and lodging, carts and draught animals. The resources needed for this operation were enormous, even for a people accustomed to owning large numbers of horses. It has been calculated that, in Mongolia alone, the orto system must have needed a reserve of 3 million horses.
The source of its greatest pride however, was the facility it offered to the high-speed dispatch riders who carried imperial messages over distances that no regular system of post riders has ever achieved before or since. Unlike the American Pony Express riders, who handed over their mail bags from one sector to the next, the Mongol couriers were expected to ride the full distance themselves, tightly strapped in leather belts to keep them upright in the saddle and rarely stopping for food or rest. This system was in use up until the 1920s - a unique and very efficient means of strategic communication across a vast empire.
One of the objectives of our journey is to revive and adapt this system. Whenever we reach a settlement or summer yurt camp, we have fresh mounts waiting, so that at any time we are traveling with several spare horses and a groom who can double his daily distance in pursuit of them.
The arats are neither cruel nor particularly affectionate to their horses. They regard their animals simply as working tools which have to be properly maintained for herding life to continue.
When it comes to treating sick horses they have little use for modern veterinary medicines or techniques. If a horse develops an abscess in a hoof, they stand the injured foot in the hot ashes of the campfire. A sore back is swabbed with a simple solution of salt and water; when one of our horses goes lame, it is necessary to "bleed" the animal. Although this practice has long since disappeared from western veterinary medicine, it proves highly effective on our team of remounts.
Crossing the spine of the Khangai Massif, we ride westwards, skirting the northern rim of the Gobi Desert, into the colder and drier wind sweeping in from the High Altai and Pamirs. In the small province of Mandalgobi, we come across granite monoliths, some of which are carved with Tibetan mantras and meditating Buddhas.
In a nearby settlement stands the remains of a monastery, a testament to the brutal anti-religious purges conducted in the 1940s by Choibalsan, Mongolia's Stalinist dictator. Now old and wizened, the head lama is a survivor of those dark years. He and his six junior lamas occupy a small hut, eagerly awaiting funds and permission to rebuild the monastery as part of the mounting revival of Buddhism in Mongolia.
Our journey had started from the gates of Erdene Zuu Lamasery near Karakoram. Surrounded by 108 stupas - a kind of Buddhist chapel - and built on the site of the Great Khan Gatherings or quriltais, the monastery in its heyday housed no fewer than 10,000 lamas. Before we set out, we had joined the lamas on the back of trucks and motorbikes for the short ride to a local horse festival on the nearby steppe.
Young foals were caught and blue silk "scarves" tied around their necks to honor the sky god, Tengri. There was a country fair atmosphere, a chance for arats of all ages to show off their lasso skills and partake in the "three manly sports" - wrestling, archery and horse racing. Despite the name, women participate in both archery and horse racing.
Only wrestling is an all-male preserve, though this was not always the case. Marco Polo told of one formidable Mongol lady who earned her fortune and a considerable reputation by daring all comers to wrestle. Many men accepted the challenge, but none succeeded in beating the woman, forfeiting a portion of their herds as penalty for losing the bout.
In July, regional champions perform at Naadam, the annual National Day celebrations in Ulan Bator, but it is here, in the small horse herding communities, that the spirit of Genghis Khan remains a strong and enduring presence.<