On the second day, we decided to go see the horse race at Khui Doloon Khudagt. The event, categorized by 6 age groups, is raced by 244 horses at once. We were originally planning on taking the bus to this remote site, but a guy we met at the guesthouse had chartered a jeep, and was kind enough to offer us available seats. All Naadam events are thought to require skills considered necessary for life, but this one in particular, not only an essential transportation method but being able to connect with one of the respected mammal here, is viewed as most important.
One thing we quickly learned on the way to the location, is that Momgolians who appear to be calm and nice, turns 180 degrees when behind wheels. One hand constantly on the horn, all drivers take any available path whether paved or not, and the two lane freeway soon turned into 7 lane offense race, even using the road on the opposite side. Our jeep jumped up and down going through dirt and ditch, puddles and gas stations. We later learned that there were many travelers who took the bus that never made it there as the traffic was unbeatable. An hour and a half later we got off the car and saw a field full of vehicles. We walked another 30 minutes to get to the goal area, and just barely caught the end of the first competition.
The race is takes place on an open field, and depending on the category, horses run about 15 to 30 kilometers. Two scheduled races on this day were 5-year old horses category, the fastest and most powerful age group, and the youngest 2-year old category. It is said to bring a good luck if you put horse's sweat from the race on your forehead, and we can see from a distance that there are people waiting at the end line for exhausted creature to pass by. Mongolian horses are small in size compared to other breeds, and so usually boys aged around 12 with adolescent expression still remaining, are jockeys for this long tough races.
We sat on a metal-pipe welded bleachers way early to save good spots, as our expectation grew. More than an hour later, a referee like figure with a national flag in a hand rides the horse to a starting area, far from where viewers were, and 244 young studs followed.
There was no indication of the start, as horses started to scatter out and got smaller and smaller into the horizon. Not knowing howling it would take to come back to the goal, we patiently waited, and it was a bit later that there were more and more people climbing onto bleachers, hanging off with one hand like a monkey bar. People on top of one another, and soon my shoulder became someone's armrest.
We saw dust in the far distance, and small dots grew larger and larger. One horse had an amazing lead to the rest, and as he came near and near to the goal, roaring cheer in the stand reached it's peak, enough heat to start a blaze on this dry land. More and more horses reached the goal, and people ran after them for a pat on the back. It was such an amazing experience, it took me a while to realize to take a breath.
Needless to say, the drive back to the city became another race in itself.
Both Sahe and I are looking forward to your comments on any of our blog entries, and for home page photos^^
One thing we quickly learned on the way to the location, is that Momgolians who appear to be calm and nice, turns 180 degrees when behind wheels. One hand constantly on the horn, all drivers take any available path whether paved or not, and the two lane freeway soon turned into 7 lane offense race, even using the road on the opposite side. Our jeep jumped up and down going through dirt and ditch, puddles and gas stations. We later learned that there were many travelers who took the bus that never made it there as the traffic was unbeatable. An hour and a half later we got off the car and saw a field full of vehicles. We walked another 30 minutes to get to the goal area, and just barely caught the end of the first competition.
We sat on a metal-pipe welded bleachers way early to save good spots, as our expectation grew. More than an hour later, a referee like figure with a national flag in a hand rides the horse to a starting area, far from where viewers were, and 244 young studs followed.
There was no indication of the start, as horses started to scatter out and got smaller and smaller into the horizon. Not knowing howling it would take to come back to the goal, we patiently waited, and it was a bit later that there were more and more people climbing onto bleachers, hanging off with one hand like a monkey bar. People on top of one another, and soon my shoulder became someone's armrest.
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