sand dunes in the Gobi desert
Still in the Gurvansaikhan National Park in the northern part of the Gobi desert, we drove 3.5 hours west to the Khongoryn Els (sand dunes). Known also as the Singing Dunes because of the sound the sand makes when the wind blows across them, the dunes are about 100km long, 5 – 15km wide and up to 300m high. The dunes are a stereotypical image of what most people picture when they think of a ‘desert’; however, these are certainly not the typical landscape in the Gobi.
view from the camp at sunset
Our campsite for the next two days, Gobi Discovery 2, is on the plain in front of the dunes. Behind the bare sand dunes is a rocky mountain range called the Altai Mountains and at the foot of the dunes there is the Khongor river. So you have an emerald green ribbon at the base, golden hills of sand in the middle and purple-grey rocky mountains behind – a stunning view that changes colours throughout the day.
The local people are nomadic herders who have Bactrian (2-humped) camels, goats and sheep. The make most of their money by selling the goat’s hair (cashmere) and camel hair. During the day you can see people – often children – herding the flocks of goats and sheep either on foot or on horseback. I always wondered how/why the animals stayed together and didn’t spread out or combine with other flocks, as there are no fences and multiple families using the same area to graze their animals. Of course the camels just wandered wherever they wanted to.
riding camels in the Gobi
In the afternoon we rode camels provided by a local farmer from the campsite to the sand dunes about 4km away. The camels had been shorn for the summer – the farmer receives about $6/kg of camel hair, more if the hair is from a 2 year old camel – and, apart from their heads and feet, were virtually bald. The disconcerting feature of the camels was their floppy humps. I know they are used to store the fat and water that enables them to survive for up to a week without food or water, but I didn’t expect the humps to deflate when these stores are depleted. We were allocated our camels and sat between the two humps on colourful, thick blankets. There were stirrups for our feet and a piece of rope to hold onto that was connected to a sharp bone/stick through that came’s nose. You steered the camel much the same way you steer a horse. The only difference is when you want to stop or slow down and you pull back on the rope, the camel’s neck just keeps bending until it’s head is almost in your lap! At the dunes we got off the camels and walked around for a while. The kids had fun running up the hills of sand, although it was a lot harder and steeper than it looked. We got back on our camels and plodded back to camp.
We've been through the desert on camels with no names
Later on, we walked across to the camel farmers’ ger, which was behind the tourist camp. This ger was definitely a bachelor pad: no embroidered friezes or fabric wall hangings, no family photographs or offerings, just a twin-tub washing machine and a flat screen TV. During the summer the wife lives in another ger further up in the hills where their herds of goats and sheep are (I bet her ger has all the frills and flounces!). We were offered home-
The camel herder's ger was typical - satellite dish, solar panel and motorbike providing the modern conveniences in a traditional lifestyle
made cheese and deep-fried dough X’s (like you can buy on the street in Bangkok for breakfast) and Nara was also offered milk salted tea. The couple told us that their two children were studying at university in the capital city, which meant there was no-one to help them with the farm work. In spring caring for the new-born lambs and kids is difficult so they keep the males and females separate during winter to decrease the number of newborns. Cashmere makes them about $70/kg and they hand shear their flock – a time consuming process. The camel’s fur can be pulled out pretty easily by hand, or clipped off. In winter they move to the southern side of the Altai mountain range, using their camels to transport their ger and all their belongings. There’s lots of snow in winter but it’s more protected on that side. They lose stock to wolves and snow leopards, but can’t shoot them as they are protected animals. The woman explained to us that the pit fire is used by people with lots of cattle as they have to boil milk all of the time and a metal box stove would make the ger too hot in summer. The couple was in their 50s and their brown wrinkled faces certainly indicated that they had lived a tough life.
The next morning we drove about 40 minutes west to one of the biggest sand dunes. We stopped on the way at another tourist camp to hire sleds which we planned to use to slide down the dunes on. At the foot of the dunes was a small lake and a group of camels browsing the green plants growing in the damp soil. The camels soon moved away when they saw us coming and we had the dunes to ourselves. The brilliant blue sky was the perfect backdrop for the pale golden sand dunes. We could see plumes of sand being swept off the tops of the dunes; however, we couldn’t hearing any singing. What looked manageable from a distance quickly revealed its true colours as we struggled to climb the first hill. In hindsight we should have followed our driver who climbed up the ridges of the dunes rather than the faces.
Elly flying down a sand dune
After 45 minutes of climbing up step-by-step, dragging or carrying the sleds with us, Chris was still 30m from the top, Darren about 50m and Rowan and I were about 75m away. When I heard Chris say he was giving up, I knew it must be really difficult: he is always so determined to ‘get to the top’ to see what’s on the other side that for him to quit meant it was very difficult indeed. At least, I thought, going down on my sled will be fun. Wrong. Last night’s rain seemed to have removed the slipperiness of the sand and, even though it was probably a 45degree gradient, the sled ground downhill like an elephant on a slippery dip. Hot and sweaty and sandy, we sat glumly at the crest of the first sand dune and gathered our strength for walking back down the hill. Suddenly, Chris had the idea that sledding over the tough reedy grasses on the side of the dune might offer a faster ride down than the sand. Here the slope was very steep – you couldn’t see the bottom from where we were standing. He sat on the sled, gave a few kicks to get it started and then he was off down the hill with a shout of surprise as the sled whizzed over the grasses and disappeared over the edge. Minutes later we saw him at the bottom walking back towards the jeep to get the camera. Everyone brightened up with the knowledge that we could zoom back down the hill. And this is exactly what we did.
Chris stopping to take a photograph. Again.
Back at camp we ate another Mongolian-inspired lunch and then decided to hike over the sand dunes that we had ridden to on the camels yesterday. We set off, dismissing the grey clouds and cool breeze, confidently proclaiming that it hardly ever rains in the desert and the storm clouds will just pass by without bringing any rain. Besides, we’ve been caught in downpours in Thailand before and it’s not so bad. Wrong. Not far from camp the first fat raindrops fell. We ignored them and kept walking, still expecting the clouds to blow past us. Soon, the drops were falling faster and a cold wind followed them. We then decided to abandon our hike and head back to camp. On the way back the rain was flung at us like hundreds of tiny spears, stinging our faces, our legs and our arms. Drenched, we jogged into the camp just as the rain clouds broke apart. Undaunted, we changed into dry clothes and set off again. Our persistence was rewarded by the unblemished sand dunes and the utter silence that we encountered on our hike. Just when you think you’ve seen enough, the sun moves across the sky, the colours change, shadows move and you are faced with a completely different view.
Spectacular sunset (photo by Rowan)
Postcards from Somewhere Else 