Mongolia: Hospitable desert

A traditional ger, or Mongolian tent. Photo / Jim Eagles

Driving through Mongolia you soon discover that the nomads - about 30 per cent of the population - have an open door policy.

We've hardly left Ulaan Bataar, the ramshackle capital, when we pass a ger, Mongolia's version of the teepee, and a family emerges and waves us down. They want us to come in and have snack.

And that's how it continues. Drop in, be fed and have some conversation (luckily we have a translator). All they like in return is a spot of vodka.

It's a fantastic concept, and it somehow feels like this is the way things were meant to be before we all security-coded our gates and locked ourselves in apartments.

The menu leaves a bit to be desired for the Western palate. It's a meaty stew, followed by some fermented mares' milk.

You learn pretty quickly in Mongolia that everything comes with meat and that dairy products are left to sit for a few days. I'm handed what I think is a delicious bit of shortbread - the perfect cure for the sour milk that's making my eyes water - but crunching in, I discover it's a tasty piece of curd.

Each day is spent the same way: four to six hours of driving, stopping along the way to eat food that would make a vegetarian... well, you simply couldn't be a vegetarian in Mongolia.

As we go south heading for the Gobi desert it gets dryer and hotter. When we blow our noses blood comes out. And as the greenery disappears, the generosity of the families we encounter simply increases.

One family kills a goat and we get first dibs on intestines, heart, liver and stomach.

There are several distractions going on in this particular ger while I tell my brain to swallow: a baby on the floor having a nap; next to the baby, a fresh carcass; above the baby, two young goats playing on the furniture. One of the kids decides to jump down in goatish delight, landing on the baby; there's crying, the goats are sent outside, and another batch of intestine is served up.

I'm actually in Mongolia to hunt and film a documentary about the Mongolian Death Worm, a 1.5m acid-spitting worm rumoured to live deep in the Gobi desert - but we won't mention that because it would undermine the documentary.

Our expedition starts in Ulaan Bataar which turns out to be in a state of disrepair. Everything is overgrown, cracked, or falling down. Feral dogs wander the streets. Three power stations are dotted round the city, their names boldly written on the side: "Power Plant 1", "Power Plant 2" and "Power Plant 3". Inspiring.