A day at a Mongolian fair

A troupe of strongmen tossed weights around and lifted enormous chunks of metal with their teeth. Picture / Jim Eagles

A flurry of activity from a band of spectators waiting on horseback at the top of the grassy hill signalled the imminent arrival of the leaders in the 14km horse race which was the grand finale of the Dugana Mini Nadam Festival.

The watchers whooped and waved, then rode at breakneck speed down the slope to join us beside the two red flags which marked the finish line.

It was a disparate crowd, a few tourists huddled up against the biting Mongolian wind, several locals on horseback, mostly wearing the traditional long coat and high boots with battered fedoras or bowler hats, and more locals on foot, most of them wearing more colourful coats and the traditional pointed hats.

There was a collective yell when the leader, a dun-coloured horse ridden by a youngster who looked to be about 10, appeared over the brow of the hill, closely followed by two others with jockeys about the same age.

The riders' fathers yelped in delight and galloped out on their horses to grab the reins and lead their sons and the tiring mounts across the finish line.

The crowd surged forward, more competitors came over the hill, some clearly exhausted, and several groups of horsemen appeared from nowhere to join the milling, whooping, enthusiastic throng.

These are the descendants of Genghis Khan, as much at home in the saddle as the ferocious Mongol warriors with whom he conquered much of Europe and Asia, and the race was part of the celebrations to mark the 800th anniversary of his empire, the largest the world has seen.

In Soviet times little was heard of Genghis, because the Russians did not care to be reminded that their country was among those he conquered, and saw him as nothing more than a bloodthirsty monster.

But since independence Mongolians have taken every opportunity to celebrate the feats of the great conqueror who was selected by the Washington Post as the man of the millennium for his unification of the continent which opened up the way for the exchange of goods and ideas between Europe and Asia.

We were taking part in the festivities as a break from our 9107km rail journey from Beijing to Helsinki.

It was around 100km by road and a thousand years in time from the station where we had disembarked at Mongolia's capital, Ulaan Bataar, to the magnificent grassy valley where the nadam was being held.

Participants arrived in a grand mix of styles, some, like us, in buses lurching across the grass, many by horse, a few in vans, several in the four-wheel-drive vehicles which Mongolians adore as much as Remuera socialites, and one or two in natty wooden carts drawn by bullocks.

It is not an easy place to get to because the highways are in a shocking state. As our guide observed caustically after we passed through a tollgate: "The money is supposed to be spent on the roads but I think most of it goes into someone's pocket."

At one point the driver of our bus left the road to bypass a washout, but the track he turned on to had been softened by rain and we got bogged down.

As passengers dug out the wheels and filled the patches of mud with stones a man from a nearby encampment arrived on horseback to check things out and then left.

He returned with a 4WD Lada which was hooked up to the bus and the combination of it pulling, passengers pushing and the makeshift roadworks eventually freed it.

Once we had all assembled at the nadam site, which was marked with tents, strings of blue pennants and the nine white horse-hair banners used by Genghis, the proceedings were launched with short speeches by a local dignatory in a gold robe.

Then it was down to the serious business, the first heats of the wrestling, presided over by two venerable judges, whose wrinkled brown faces and utter impassivity testified to their great experience.

The burly young competitors entered the arena with a peculiar wide-legged stance, dressed in boots, brief shorts and unusual blouses which cover the arms, shoulders and not much else.

Arms extended, they performed an eagle dance around the horse-hair banners, designed to appeal for greater strength. Then they came together in pairs and grappled shoulder to shoulder, twisting and turning to gain and advantage, until one was thrown to the ground.

The contest continued through the day on a knockout basis until eventually two came together for the final. The initial grappling lasted many minutes, the judges watching keenly and occasionally slapping one or the other on the behind to exhort them to greater efforts, until the bigger of the two made a winning throw.

After another eagle dance round the great khan's standards and the prizegiving, the winner was handed a plate of what was described as Mongolian cake to distribute, with the explanation that "whoever eats some will have a prosperous year."

It turned out to be like a chunk of unleavened bread which the beefy wrestler handed over with a smile and a comment that I didn't understand. The best I could manage was a "baryarlalaa" of thanks but he nodded approvingly.

In between the wrestling heats there were plenty of other activities. A group of musicians performed the extraordinary Mongolian music. A troupe of strongmen tossed weights around and lifted enormous chunks of metal with their teeth. Two lissom contortionists twisted their bodies into incredible shapes and were also thrown about by the strongmen.

There weren't many entrants in the archery contest which involved firing arrows at a row of targets on the ground about 100m away, a long way indeed, until you hear that such contests occasionally involve hitting targets as much as 500m off. Perhaps even more amazing than the skill of the archers was the confidence of the officials who stood beside the targets to retrieve the arrows.

One youngster, who turned out to be the son of the eventual winner, took the opportunity for a bit of practice by producing a small bow and firing arrows back to his dad.

But the highlight was the horse race because for rural Mongolians life still revolves around horses for work, transport and recreation.

The contestants paraded round the festival site singing hymns of praise to their horses, telling the world how strong and fast they were, and how confident they were of winning.

The animals needed all the help they could get because a 14km cross-country race is a huge undertaking (New Zealand's longest flat race is a 3.2km event which is part of Taranaki's Extreme Race Day). The riders tend to be boys, because even the tough Mongolian ponies might run out of steam after carrying a grown man that far at speed. After the really long races, horses have been known to die.

After the parade the horses gathered near the start line, wheeling around amid much cheerful shouting, until a barked command and a flourish of a flag from the ancient local horsemaster sent them on their way.

Whereas the wrestling and archery was watched with quiet approval, even the winners getting little more than polite applause, the start of the race was greeted with great whoops of delight and many of the spectators accompanied the competitors for the first part of their journey.

The celebrations at the finish were even more enthusiastic with more whooping, cheering and festive slapping of both horses and riders. But it seemed to be not so much a celebration of victory - though the winners were applauded when they collected their trophies - as of the race itself.