Mongolia🇲🇳The one and only true yak festival

A few days later, the day had come: the mountain yak festival. And because I had enthusiastically promoted this festival everywhere I went, it turned into a complete reunion: the Dutch guy with the VW van, an Israeli girl, a French girl, the English couple, an English guy I had met on the first day in UB and later promoted this festival via WhatsApp, and two French guys from my first days in Kharkhorin. The promised yak festival, indeed.

After five hours of bouncing through meadows in a minibus, we arrived at what Lonely Planet claimed to be the biggest and most beautiful waterfall in Mongolia. We swam under the waterfall, set up tents, played cards, had a campfire, watched the sunset, and went to bed, I mean, laid down on a way too thin mat. The next day, only a wide river (let’s say all the water that would later cascade down the waterfall) and fifteen, twelve, three, or one kilometer of walking separated us, depending on who you asked. With apparently less calluses on my feet than the rest, it felt like it took me half an hour to wade through the painful, stone-filled river. My legs were frozen, but with the temperature reaching 35 degrees for the rest of the day, they completely thawed out after the fifteen to one kilometer walk.

There, six hours away from any village or town, the yak festival began between nine and ten (so at one o’clock). It consisted of a yak race, yak rodeo, yak beauty contest, and yak polo. The four-kilometer yak race was clearly too much to ask in the heat, but the yaks clearly enjoyed themselves at the yak beauty contest.

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