Nadaam is the big National festival, kind of like our 4th of July. There are two main areas for it, one in Kharkorin and one in UB. The one in UB is quite grand and showy, with huge crowds and lots of glitz. The one here in Kharkhorin was more like a country fair. More authentic for what the holiday would have been for ages past. Everyone comes out with their best horses and in their best dels (the traditional coat both men and women wear). The “three manly sports” (that is really what they are called) are wrestling, archery, and horse racing. Women also can compete in archery, and girls ride in the races, but mostly the sports are indeed manly endeavors. My host family had a couple of horses that were entered in the races, and they were proud to bring them. For the teens, it was a great time to meet up with city friends, and check out attractive members of the opposite sex. People ride around and watch the events on their horses, and the round area for wrestling has spaces for the horses mixed in with the bleachers, mostly filled with tourists.
For me, Nadaam was rich with lessons about expectations. I started out pretty well, catching a very meandering ride into town where we stopped at many relatives gers, delivering items, picking up people, going over rough terrain very slowly. We finally arrived in town, and not a lot was started yet. One horse race was coming in, and there was a brief opening ceremony, but I was disappointed there weren’t very many people. It was dusty, some gers set up as restaurants and a small round area for the wrestling. This betrayed that I had an expectation of something grander in mind, which made it hard to see what was actually there.
Then the uncle wanted me to go with him to see the horse race. He said I could get great pictures, and it would be fun because “the cars race the horses!” Knowing how difficult the terrain is, this didn’t sound like a fun idea to me, but he convinced me to go. He had me sit on one side specifically to get the best pictures. We followed the young kids on horses out to the starting line about 20 km from town. When the race started, it was exciting because the riders all started yelling and there was a dust cloud from the rumbling hooves. Then we were riding after them, hitting ditches and ruts. The uncle was yelling at me to take pictures, but I was on the wrong side, and could only see the big hats of the other passengers. He stopped and had me switch places. We were off like a rocket again, and everything was so bumpy and chaotic that I only got a couple of pictures before I gave up. He was yelling at me again to take pictures and I was trying to tell him my camera was not a fast action machine when WHAM my head slammed into the ohjesus handle above my head. It hit hard enough to feel nauseous, and I was so ready to be out of that car. I was feeling emotional and carsick with a throbbing bump on my head. I was ready to go to my guesthouse, even though I had only been at Nadaam for an hour. The day was not going at all like I expected.
I had a misunderstanding with the school teacher that translated for me the first few days, and was just ready to go to my guesthouse. I went. I rested. I went back to see what I could with the rest of the day, but things were wrapping up. I had a nice hour long walk back to the guesthouse which helped reset my mental health. The next day I saw a little more horse racing, but decided that Nadaam, at least for me, is more for the locals to enjoy.
For me, Nadaam was rich with lessons about expectations. I started out pretty well, catching a very meandering ride into town where we stopped at many relatives gers, delivering items, picking up people, going over rough terrain very slowly. We finally arrived in town, and not a lot was started yet. One horse race was coming in, and there was a brief opening ceremony, but I was disappointed there weren’t very many people. It was dusty, some gers set up as restaurants and a small round area for the wrestling. This betrayed that I had an expectation of something grander in mind, which made it hard to see what was actually there.
Then the uncle wanted me to go with him to see the horse race. He said I could get great pictures, and it would be fun because “the cars race the horses!” Knowing how difficult the terrain is, this didn’t sound like a fun idea to me, but he convinced me to go. He had me sit on one side specifically to get the best pictures. We followed the young kids on horses out to the starting line about 20 km from town. When the race started, it was exciting because the riders all started yelling and there was a dust cloud from the rumbling hooves. Then we were riding after them, hitting ditches and ruts. The uncle was yelling at me to take pictures, but I was on the wrong side, and could only see the big hats of the other passengers. He stopped and had me switch places. We were off like a rocket again, and everything was so bumpy and chaotic that I only got a couple of pictures before I gave up. He was yelling at me again to take pictures and I was trying to tell him my camera was not a fast action machine when WHAM my head slammed into the ohjesus handle above my head. It hit hard enough to feel nauseous, and I was so ready to be out of that car. I was feeling emotional and carsick with a throbbing bump on my head. I was ready to go to my guesthouse, even though I had only been at Nadaam for an hour. The day was not going at all like I expected.
I had a misunderstanding with the school teacher that translated for me the first few days, and was just ready to go to my guesthouse. I went. I rested. I went back to see what I could with the rest of the day, but things were wrapping up. I had a nice hour long walk back to the guesthouse which helped reset my mental health. The next day I saw a little more horse racing, but decided that Nadaam, at least for me, is more for the locals to enjoy.
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