Glamping in Mongolia
There's something ironic about Britain's current obsession with glamping. Tipis in Tamworth, sheds rebranded as "romantic shepherd's huts", safari tents where the closest you'll get to big game is a squirrel. If a Mongolian nomad were transplanted to a Cotswolds field tomorrow he wouldn't know which yurt to knock on first.
But turn the tables, and Brits who love the posh pitch would find the real thing rather less than glam. Yurts (or ger as they're called in Mongolia) are the functional, felt-lined abodes of central Asian pastoralists. In a country the size of western Europe, half of Mongolia's population still pursue their ancient nomadic traditions, scattered like seeds across the landscape.
Most tours to Mongolia involve hit-and-run jeep itineraries that bounce from one beauty spot to the next, overnighting at ger hotels – essentially steppe Travelodges that sleep four to a tent on iron-framed beds. These dusty digs lack eco-credentials, burning rubbish and employing diesel generators. As for creature comforts – well, there are plenty of sheep.
But, recently, a tiny number of local tour operators have established sustainable, nomad-run ger camps on the Mongolian grasslands that target the luxury, eco-aware adventurer.
"Can I take your bag?" Never has such a question seemed so delightfully incongruous. A car has deposited us on a remote, sun-drenched meadow carpeted in pale edelweiss. A dozen bone-white ger fan out in front, blue mountains dissolving in the distance. All is silent save for the clockwork chirp of grasshoppers.
This is Jalman Meadows, a luxury ger camp nestling in the Khan Khentii, a protected wilderness region between the capital, Ulan Bator, and the Siberian frontier. Within these well-watered valleys and wolf-ridden mountains, the mighty Genghis Khan was born, started an empire and now lies buried. And here I am, ready for some royal pampering.
A king-sized bed dominates our spotless ger, bound tightly in sheep's wool blankets. Wooden chests – the furniture of pastoral people – line the periphery, hand-painted tangerine orange and sky blue. "Filtered river water for drinking, unfiltered for washing," instructs Batdavaa, the camp maid and cook, as she points to the sink in the corner. "If you need more, Yellow Horn will fetch it for you."
Yellow Horn, it turns out, is a shaggy, mild-mannered yak. When he's not chomping grass, he reluctantly hauls water up from the gurgling Tuul river nearby. He belongs to Alexander, local nomad and husband to Batdavaa. Alexander takes care of camp logistics, chopping wood for the stoves, maintaining the ger and butchering sheep and goat from his flock for dinner. His sons tend to several stout grassland ponies, and take guests on horse treks into the mountains.
But there's no obligation to attempt anything so adventurous. On day one, we ramble across boggy grassland aiming for the nearest hills. From higher ground, the views are epic: endless acres of rolling green, punctuated every so often by little pixels of white felt. Wild strawberries grow in clumps on the hillside, and occasionally a marmot pops his head out of a burrow. Black-eared kite swoop past so low and languidly we count their wing feathers. The air is sparklingly clear, and life is good. In fact, it's about time for a drink.
Jalman Meadows is full board, and even out here in the wilderness the restaurant ger is amply stocked with cold beers and wine (from a solar-powered fridge). The tent is the setting for all meals, though lunch can be packed up if you're planning an excursion. Breakfast is a dairy-fest of fresh milk, natural yoghurt and a deliciously thick clotted cream called urum, spread thick and yellow on warm bread. In the evening a communal, three-course dinner centres on mutton and goat, either steamed in an urn banquet-style, or cooked in little dumplings called buuz. Almost everything is local; the concept of food miles largely redundant.
"If you want a shower, come find me," Batdavaa had told us. She requires 10 minutes' warning to light the stove in the compact shower ger, which heats up a tank of Tuul river water that you pump out by hand. Stocked with biodegradable soap and thick towels, it's an innovative, low-impact luxury.
At night the warmth slips away and a silver landscape of galaxies comes into being. The candlelit "library ger" has snug sheepskin slippers, armchairs and a comprehensive collection of books on Mongolia, including an English translation of The Secret History of the Mongols, a 13th-century record of the great Khan's life. Apparently he killed his half-brother aged just 10 in a row over hunting spoils.
As we retire after dinner, Batdaava has already lit the ger stove, and we settle down in glorious silence save for the crackle of wood and the moaning of the wind across the steppe. It's a wonderfully snug, even smug, feeling knowing that the entire camp could be packed up and carted off in a day, a few flattened patches of grass the only echo of our habitation.
It's the mobility of the ger design that Jan Wigsten, the Swedish founder of Nomadic Journeys, a travel company that offers trips to Jalman Meadows and several similar camps, reckons is the future of glamping in Mongolia. He's even coined a new word for it: "Gerscape".
"This year we've started setting up ultra private camping trips where guests can traverse the steppe with their own personal yak or camel-drawn caravan operated by local herders, and accompanied by a cook. Each night the ger is pitched, the stove is lit and guests sleep in collapsible beds. Or for the truly adventurous, we open up a small airstrip and fly people into the great Mongolian void. What makes it better is not that it is posh, just more private – 365 degrees of pristine emptiness."
• Full board at Jalman Meadows through Nomadic Journeys (+976 11 328737, nomadicjourneys.com) costs from £370pp for three nights based on double occupancy, excluding flights and visa fee. The price includes group transfer from Ulan Bator, three hours away by car. Air China (airchina.co.uk) flies to Ulan Bator from Heathrow from £700 return in spring and summer. Private "gerscapes" start at around £4,000pp for seven nights, including private charter flights, staff and facilities. The season runs from June to September.
But turn the tables, and Brits who love the posh pitch would find the real thing rather less than glam. Yurts (or ger as they're called in Mongolia) are the functional, felt-lined abodes of central Asian pastoralists. In a country the size of western Europe, half of Mongolia's population still pursue their ancient nomadic traditions, scattered like seeds across the landscape.
Most tours to Mongolia involve hit-and-run jeep itineraries that bounce from one beauty spot to the next, overnighting at ger hotels – essentially steppe Travelodges that sleep four to a tent on iron-framed beds. These dusty digs lack eco-credentials, burning rubbish and employing diesel generators. As for creature comforts – well, there are plenty of sheep.
But, recently, a tiny number of local tour operators have established sustainable, nomad-run ger camps on the Mongolian grasslands that target the luxury, eco-aware adventurer.
"Can I take your bag?" Never has such a question seemed so delightfully incongruous. A car has deposited us on a remote, sun-drenched meadow carpeted in pale edelweiss. A dozen bone-white ger fan out in front, blue mountains dissolving in the distance. All is silent save for the clockwork chirp of grasshoppers.
This is Jalman Meadows, a luxury ger camp nestling in the Khan Khentii, a protected wilderness region between the capital, Ulan Bator, and the Siberian frontier. Within these well-watered valleys and wolf-ridden mountains, the mighty Genghis Khan was born, started an empire and now lies buried. And here I am, ready for some royal pampering.
A king-sized bed dominates our spotless ger, bound tightly in sheep's wool blankets. Wooden chests – the furniture of pastoral people – line the periphery, hand-painted tangerine orange and sky blue. "Filtered river water for drinking, unfiltered for washing," instructs Batdavaa, the camp maid and cook, as she points to the sink in the corner. "If you need more, Yellow Horn will fetch it for you."
Yellow Horn, it turns out, is a shaggy, mild-mannered yak. When he's not chomping grass, he reluctantly hauls water up from the gurgling Tuul river nearby. He belongs to Alexander, local nomad and husband to Batdavaa. Alexander takes care of camp logistics, chopping wood for the stoves, maintaining the ger and butchering sheep and goat from his flock for dinner. His sons tend to several stout grassland ponies, and take guests on horse treks into the mountains.
But there's no obligation to attempt anything so adventurous. On day one, we ramble across boggy grassland aiming for the nearest hills. From higher ground, the views are epic: endless acres of rolling green, punctuated every so often by little pixels of white felt. Wild strawberries grow in clumps on the hillside, and occasionally a marmot pops his head out of a burrow. Black-eared kite swoop past so low and languidly we count their wing feathers. The air is sparklingly clear, and life is good. In fact, it's about time for a drink.
Jalman Meadows is full board, and even out here in the wilderness the restaurant ger is amply stocked with cold beers and wine (from a solar-powered fridge). The tent is the setting for all meals, though lunch can be packed up if you're planning an excursion. Breakfast is a dairy-fest of fresh milk, natural yoghurt and a deliciously thick clotted cream called urum, spread thick and yellow on warm bread. In the evening a communal, three-course dinner centres on mutton and goat, either steamed in an urn banquet-style, or cooked in little dumplings called buuz. Almost everything is local; the concept of food miles largely redundant.
"If you want a shower, come find me," Batdavaa had told us. She requires 10 minutes' warning to light the stove in the compact shower ger, which heats up a tank of Tuul river water that you pump out by hand. Stocked with biodegradable soap and thick towels, it's an innovative, low-impact luxury.
At night the warmth slips away and a silver landscape of galaxies comes into being. The candlelit "library ger" has snug sheepskin slippers, armchairs and a comprehensive collection of books on Mongolia, including an English translation of The Secret History of the Mongols, a 13th-century record of the great Khan's life. Apparently he killed his half-brother aged just 10 in a row over hunting spoils.
As we retire after dinner, Batdaava has already lit the ger stove, and we settle down in glorious silence save for the crackle of wood and the moaning of the wind across the steppe. It's a wonderfully snug, even smug, feeling knowing that the entire camp could be packed up and carted off in a day, a few flattened patches of grass the only echo of our habitation.
It's the mobility of the ger design that Jan Wigsten, the Swedish founder of Nomadic Journeys, a travel company that offers trips to Jalman Meadows and several similar camps, reckons is the future of glamping in Mongolia. He's even coined a new word for it: "Gerscape".
"This year we've started setting up ultra private camping trips where guests can traverse the steppe with their own personal yak or camel-drawn caravan operated by local herders, and accompanied by a cook. Each night the ger is pitched, the stove is lit and guests sleep in collapsible beds. Or for the truly adventurous, we open up a small airstrip and fly people into the great Mongolian void. What makes it better is not that it is posh, just more private – 365 degrees of pristine emptiness."
• Full board at Jalman Meadows through Nomadic Journeys (+976 11 328737, nomadicjourneys.com) costs from £370pp for three nights based on double occupancy, excluding flights and visa fee. The price includes group transfer from Ulan Bator, three hours away by car. Air China (airchina.co.uk) flies to Ulan Bator from Heathrow from £700 return in spring and summer. Private "gerscapes" start at around £4,000pp for seven nights, including private charter flights, staff and facilities. The season runs from June to September.
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