I just need to warn you ahead of time. This is pretty disgusting. If you don't like to hear about humans eating food that humans shouldn't eat (and the related side-effects), then you might not want to read it. Just be warned not to do it while eating hot dogs or burritos.
At just about dinner time, an older Mongolian woman entered the tent, carrying a shallow, blue plastic bucket, filled with what looked like some kind of meat. It smelled like it had just been taken out of boiling water...you know that not-so-nice smell of meat steam, which is not nearly as good as the smell of fried bacon or grilled pork chops. There was also an aromatic hint of cooked blood, grass, herbivore poop, and guts, which was not the best sign of things to come. I sat with four others on the floor of the ger: my driver, my guide Zaya, the owner, and another guy whom I didn't know. With two hands, the woman dropped the bucket on the floor in front of the owner, and handed him a knife. He exhaled deeply onto the shiny blade, causing it to turn foggy, then rubbed it against his sweat pants to "clean" it. He reached into the bucket to take out a piece of meat, and I finally realized why it smelled like it did. We were about to eat a bucket of sheep guts for dinner.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It all started when I handed over the bottle of vodka I bought for the family with whom we were staying. We had just arrived to their nomadic "home", in the middle of the Gobi desert, and I wanted to show the family that I appreciated them letting us stay. It was the early evening and there was nothing else happening, so I asked Zaya if it was a good time. She said yes, so I went into the man's tent and offered him the bottle. He smiled, first at the bottle, then at me, and motioned to his wife to pass him a small wooden bowl. I had fully expected to give it to him, exchange smiles, then go back to my tent for a short rest. Little did I know that I would not be leaving that tent for hours, and would actually not remember going back to my tent at all.
Sitting on the floor, Grandpa Jeremy (that's not his name but I couldn't understand when they said his name, and since he has a little granddaughter, that's his name for this story), opened the 700 ml vodka bottle and poured a small amount in the wooden bowl. Everyone in the room sat in silence as they watched him dip his finger in it, say a few words to himself, then suddenly toss the vodka into the air, all over the floor in his tent. I was a bit concerned that he just wasted good vodka. After this ritualistic "sacrifice" of pouring some out for his homies, he added more vodka into the bowl (about 2 shots worth), and drank it all in one gulp. The rest of us were just sitting and watching; the Mongolians knew what was happening, while I was wondering how to politely step away and leave him in his own little world.
He poured more into the bowl (again, 2 shots), then held the bowl out in front of him, looking at me, wanting me to come take it. I started to move across the tent, when everyone in the room gasped. "Don't go there!" yelled Zaya, and I froze. Don't go where? He was offering me vodka, and me being almost Polish, I know I can't say no to vodka. "You must go around the sticks", she pleaded. I was confused, as there were no sticks anywhere. After a couple unsuccessful translations, she pointed at the pillars in the middle of the tent, which helped support the roof. She explained that it was bad luck to pass between the pillars, and I had to go around. And so the evening of the "stupid tourist" began.
I took the bowl of vodka ("bowl of vodka" just sounds wrong) from Jeremy and sat down next to him. There were other people in the room, and only one bowl, so I thought maybe I should take a small sip and pass it around. But really I had no idea what to do, and Zaya wasn't helping. I felt like a puppy whose owner just put a juicy steak in front of them, and the puppy doesn't know what they're supposed to do. Be polite and take a small bite, allowing others to have some, or savagely eat the entire thing (or at least lick all of it so nobody else will want it). I decided to take the polite route, and took a small sip. I made a loud "yummmm" sound, showing that I appreciated it, and held the bowl out, waving it around for nobody in particular, hoping someone would take it from me. Nobody moved, so I offered it back to Jeremy. But he didn't want it. Instead, he motioned for me to keep drinking. Zaya told me he wanted me to drink all of it. I hesitated for a half-second, then downed the rest. Luckily I have had some training in Poland with drinking straight vodka without a soft drink to wash it down, because the only chaser option in that tent was horse milk (no way!). I wiped my lips and passed the empty bowl back.
Jeremy filled up the bowl again and passed it to Zaya. Zaya told me she doesn't drink alcohol, so I was surprised when she took it. She held the bowl in front of her with one hand, then dipped the middle finger of her other hand into the vodka, and touched it to her forehead. Then, without taking a sip, she passed the full bowl back to Jeremy. This was her way of saying "I appreciate the offer, but I know what will happen if I drink it, and I don't want to go there". I guess it was acceptable to do that, but I preferred to see what would happen. Jeremy took the bowl back and passed it to someone else. So someone else had to drink the vodka that Zaya put her finger in.
Nobody else in the tent wanted vodka after that, so Jeremy took another one, then offered to me again. I took it, and decided that since he told me to drink it all at once last time, I should drink the entire 2 shots in one gulp this time. So I did. And it hurt a little bit. As I passed the bowl back to him, he said something to Zaya, to which she translated "you're supposed to drink it in 3 sips". How was I supposed to know that? She said they would forgive me that time, but from now on, I had to finish each drink in 3 sips. No more, no less. To allow me to practice, Jeremy promptly poured another bowl for me. It was my 3rd bowl of vodka within 10 minutes.
We took a short break, but after a few minutes, Jeremy continued to pour the vodka. At this point only he and I were drinking, as everyone else was enjoying watching me get a little tipsy. A couple other people came into the tent, just to watch. Seriously. They didn't drink, they just sat there giggling and mumbling to each other, acting as the peanut gallery. Jeremy was on a mission to finish the the entire bottle just between the two of us, as I started to wish I bought him the smaller bottle instead. I'm not really sure why we had to finish the whole thing, but he insisted. And since he was treating me like the guest of honor, I didn't dare dip my finger and touch it to my forehead. Within an hour, the bottle was empty.
Soon after, and now feeling very goofy, the wife came in with the blue bucket of steaming "meat". I had enjoyed the food on the trip so far, and after drinking a half bottle of vodka, it was probably a good idea to eat something. I was excited to enjoy a "family dinner" with my hosts, until I saw (and smelled) what was inside that bucket. There were various animal parts that I could only recognize from science class, and other parts I had no idea about - liver, lungs, stomach, and intestines, among other things. Clearly missing was any actual "meat". I wanted to ask for the tenderloin, but the only words that could come out of my agape mouth were "NO. WAY."
A week earlier I had managed to eat parts of the sheep's head (cheek, skin, eyeball, lips and tongue), which wasn't too bad, but a bucket of guts was considerably worse for some reason. It was probably because of the smell, and the fact it looked like a scene from The Walking Dead. It was like we were zombies crowded around a dead body, grabbing the guts from the cut-open torso, and shovelling into our mouths whatever we could get our hands on. Jeremy reached into the bucket, pulled out...ummm...something, sliced it up and passed it out to everyone in the tent. Everyone anxiously grabbed at anything he cut up, and swallowed it instantaneously. Everyone except me. I didn't say no, but I didn't jump right in either. At the time I didn't differentiate between my vodka rule (say yes) and my sheep guts rule (at the time it was "say yes", but it has changed since then), but I wanted to at least understand what was happening before I put anything in my mouth. Jeremy handed me a piece of something, which he wrapped inside a strip of gooey fat. I think it was the fat casing that surrounds the stomach, as it was in a huge sheet. He was using the cut-up fat pieces like tortilla wraps, to wrap up other unknown parts, making some kind of burritos.
If my judgment had not been impaired by the vodka, my interest in participating in this so-called "feast" might have been different. In other words, the vodka made me do it. I reluctantly took everything they game me, crinkled my nose and held my breath, put it in my mouth, and basically swallowed without chewing. Each time was followed by a smile (and grimace), a nod, and a polite "oh ya, it's not that bad". It was always a lie, because it was that bad.
The absolute worst was something that Zaya was the most excited about. For her it was like the pinnacle of the sheep insides. Jeremy had tired from cutting and serving, so he passed the knife to the guy whom I didn't know. This guy seemed to be getting a kick out of my squirming every time I tasted something, as he kept laughing and making some comments that Zaya refused to translate. He cut off a piece of intestine and gave it to Zaya, and Zaya squealed like a little girl. She was obviously very excited about whatever she was about to eat. She called me over to her, saying "Look, this is so great! It's a special grass!" She proceeded to squeeze the intestine, forcing out some green goo, from which she picked out a piece of undigested grass and put it in her mouth, chewing excitedly. I would have puked if I wasn't so shocked about what just happened. The combination of the vodka, the chaos, and the fact I was in a scene from a Zombie movie, made it really hard for me to process what was happening.
The guy serving the intestines saw the look on my face and thought it would be funny to offer me a piece. He handed me a section of intestine the size of a bratwurst. Zaya forced me to take it (she was so happy for me), but I motioned to him that I didn't want all of it, and maybe he could cut off a small piece instead. He reached out with his knife and sliced about halfway through it, but it was still in one piece. He thought I wanted to cut into the tube to look inside, not that I wanted only a tiny piece. So now I could see inside the intestine and all of the contents started to ooze out. It reminded me of those cheese-filled Oscar Meyer hot dogs, from which the cheese slowly excapes when you cut into it. Except much worse. There were 3 distinct colors in the tube: green, light gray, and dark gray. I don't want to know what those different colors were and I don't even know if they were part of the intestine or if they were stuff that the sheep had eaten. Everyone in the room was keenly watching, even more than when we were drinking vodka. To avoid it, I wanted to dip my finger in the green goo and touch it to my forehead, like Zaya did with the vodka, but I guess it wasn't an option. So I tried it. I shoved the whole piece in my mouth (which I thought would be the fastest way to get it over with), chewed a maximum of 3 times (which felt like forever), and tried not to actually taste anything (though I was unsuccessful). When I couldn't take it anymore, I swallowed the entire intestine. I paused, making sure that it would stay down, then realized what happened. I just ate sheep poop. Or as I'd like to refer to it: "pre-poop". It wasn't quite yet poop, as it was still inside the sheep...but basically, yea, I ate poo.
After this happened, Jeremy and the intestine guy both wanted more to drink. So they grabbed a 2 liter bottle of beer, and started passing it around. I was happy to drink anything that would wash out the disgusting taste. Just like the vodka, I had to finish a coffee mug full of beer in 3 chugs "in the name of tradition," according to Zaya. And it had to be quick, because the other two were waiting to use the same mug. I was on an adrenaline high from all the excitement, and despite that nasty taste in my mouth, I was having a really good time. I wasn't at all thinking about how I had a stomach full of vodka, guts, and beer. And how that was probably not going to end well.
I don't remember going to bed, but I do remember waking up and having to run outside the tent to throw up everything inside my stomach (surely to nobody's surprise). It was dark so I couldn't see anything, but I'm sure there was a huge pile of unchewed sheep parts just outside the door of our tent. I also had to make a trip to the squatter in the dark, which would normally be pretty scary. I think the fact that I was still feeling the vodka made this easier, otherwise I would have been stressed about going out to the toilet in the middle of the dark desert. When I got back to the tent, I set my alarm to wake up early to clean up the puke outside the door, so Zaya wouldn't see it in the morning. You see, even in this state, I was trying to be polite. When I woke up around 6 am, however, all of the chunks were gone. Someone, or something, had eaten all of it during the night. I hope it was "something", and not "someone".
The food poisoning lasted a few days, and I was completely incapable of eating sheep for the rest of the trip. The family had left the blue bucket out during the night and when I walked past it in the morning I almost fainted from the smell and sight. It was not a good feeling. To keep the mood light, the driver teased me for the rest of the trip, motioning as if he was drinking a vodka shot, then rubbing his stomach and moaning, making an "I'm sick" face. Then he'd point and laugh at me. I don't think he understands that people can get sick from eating sheep guts, because he was teasing me for the vodka part and not the sheep guts part. Anyway, I thought it was pretty funny, but was too miserable to laugh. In the end, it was a priceless experience, no matter how disgusting and painful. I was glad that I got to share the evening with those guys in that setting. Obviously I wish I hadn't gotten sick, but then the story wouldn't have been as fun.
At just about dinner time, an older Mongolian woman entered the tent, carrying a shallow, blue plastic bucket, filled with what looked like some kind of meat. It smelled like it had just been taken out of boiling water...you know that not-so-nice smell of meat steam, which is not nearly as good as the smell of fried bacon or grilled pork chops. There was also an aromatic hint of cooked blood, grass, herbivore poop, and guts, which was not the best sign of things to come. I sat with four others on the floor of the ger: my driver, my guide Zaya, the owner, and another guy whom I didn't know. With two hands, the woman dropped the bucket on the floor in front of the owner, and handed him a knife. He exhaled deeply onto the shiny blade, causing it to turn foggy, then rubbed it against his sweat pants to "clean" it. He reached into the bucket to take out a piece of meat, and I finally realized why it smelled like it did. We were about to eat a bucket of sheep guts for dinner.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It all started when I handed over the bottle of vodka I bought for the family with whom we were staying. We had just arrived to their nomadic "home", in the middle of the Gobi desert, and I wanted to show the family that I appreciated them letting us stay. It was the early evening and there was nothing else happening, so I asked Zaya if it was a good time. She said yes, so I went into the man's tent and offered him the bottle. He smiled, first at the bottle, then at me, and motioned to his wife to pass him a small wooden bowl. I had fully expected to give it to him, exchange smiles, then go back to my tent for a short rest. Little did I know that I would not be leaving that tent for hours, and would actually not remember going back to my tent at all.
Sitting on the floor, Grandpa Jeremy (that's not his name but I couldn't understand when they said his name, and since he has a little granddaughter, that's his name for this story), opened the 700 ml vodka bottle and poured a small amount in the wooden bowl. Everyone in the room sat in silence as they watched him dip his finger in it, say a few words to himself, then suddenly toss the vodka into the air, all over the floor in his tent. I was a bit concerned that he just wasted good vodka. After this ritualistic "sacrifice" of pouring some out for his homies, he added more vodka into the bowl (about 2 shots worth), and drank it all in one gulp. The rest of us were just sitting and watching; the Mongolians knew what was happening, while I was wondering how to politely step away and leave him in his own little world.
He poured more into the bowl (again, 2 shots), then held the bowl out in front of him, looking at me, wanting me to come take it. I started to move across the tent, when everyone in the room gasped. "Don't go there!" yelled Zaya, and I froze. Don't go where? He was offering me vodka, and me being almost Polish, I know I can't say no to vodka. "You must go around the sticks", she pleaded. I was confused, as there were no sticks anywhere. After a couple unsuccessful translations, she pointed at the pillars in the middle of the tent, which helped support the roof. She explained that it was bad luck to pass between the pillars, and I had to go around. And so the evening of the "stupid tourist" began.
Grandpa Jeremy and the vodka bowl
I took the bowl of vodka ("bowl of vodka" just sounds wrong) from Jeremy and sat down next to him. There were other people in the room, and only one bowl, so I thought maybe I should take a small sip and pass it around. But really I had no idea what to do, and Zaya wasn't helping. I felt like a puppy whose owner just put a juicy steak in front of them, and the puppy doesn't know what they're supposed to do. Be polite and take a small bite, allowing others to have some, or savagely eat the entire thing (or at least lick all of it so nobody else will want it). I decided to take the polite route, and took a small sip. I made a loud "yummmm" sound, showing that I appreciated it, and held the bowl out, waving it around for nobody in particular, hoping someone would take it from me. Nobody moved, so I offered it back to Jeremy. But he didn't want it. Instead, he motioned for me to keep drinking. Zaya told me he wanted me to drink all of it. I hesitated for a half-second, then downed the rest. Luckily I have had some training in Poland with drinking straight vodka without a soft drink to wash it down, because the only chaser option in that tent was horse milk (no way!). I wiped my lips and passed the empty bowl back.
Jeremy filled up the bowl again and passed it to Zaya. Zaya told me she doesn't drink alcohol, so I was surprised when she took it. She held the bowl in front of her with one hand, then dipped the middle finger of her other hand into the vodka, and touched it to her forehead. Then, without taking a sip, she passed the full bowl back to Jeremy. This was her way of saying "I appreciate the offer, but I know what will happen if I drink it, and I don't want to go there". I guess it was acceptable to do that, but I preferred to see what would happen. Jeremy took the bowl back and passed it to someone else. So someone else had to drink the vodka that Zaya put her finger in.
Nobody else in the tent wanted vodka after that, so Jeremy took another one, then offered to me again. I took it, and decided that since he told me to drink it all at once last time, I should drink the entire 2 shots in one gulp this time. So I did. And it hurt a little bit. As I passed the bowl back to him, he said something to Zaya, to which she translated "you're supposed to drink it in 3 sips". How was I supposed to know that? She said they would forgive me that time, but from now on, I had to finish each drink in 3 sips. No more, no less. To allow me to practice, Jeremy promptly poured another bowl for me. It was my 3rd bowl of vodka within 10 minutes.
We took a short break, but after a few minutes, Jeremy continued to pour the vodka. At this point only he and I were drinking, as everyone else was enjoying watching me get a little tipsy. A couple other people came into the tent, just to watch. Seriously. They didn't drink, they just sat there giggling and mumbling to each other, acting as the peanut gallery. Jeremy was on a mission to finish the the entire bottle just between the two of us, as I started to wish I bought him the smaller bottle instead. I'm not really sure why we had to finish the whole thing, but he insisted. And since he was treating me like the guest of honor, I didn't dare dip my finger and touch it to my forehead. Within an hour, the bottle was empty.
Soon after, and now feeling very goofy, the wife came in with the blue bucket of steaming "meat". I had enjoyed the food on the trip so far, and after drinking a half bottle of vodka, it was probably a good idea to eat something. I was excited to enjoy a "family dinner" with my hosts, until I saw (and smelled) what was inside that bucket. There were various animal parts that I could only recognize from science class, and other parts I had no idea about - liver, lungs, stomach, and intestines, among other things. Clearly missing was any actual "meat". I wanted to ask for the tenderloin, but the only words that could come out of my agape mouth were "NO. WAY."
I repeat: NO. WAY.
A week earlier I had managed to eat parts of the sheep's head (cheek, skin, eyeball, lips and tongue), which wasn't too bad, but a bucket of guts was considerably worse for some reason. It was probably because of the smell, and the fact it looked like a scene from The Walking Dead. It was like we were zombies crowded around a dead body, grabbing the guts from the cut-open torso, and shovelling into our mouths whatever we could get our hands on. Jeremy reached into the bucket, pulled out...ummm...something, sliced it up and passed it out to everyone in the tent. Everyone anxiously grabbed at anything he cut up, and swallowed it instantaneously. Everyone except me. I didn't say no, but I didn't jump right in either. At the time I didn't differentiate between my vodka rule (say yes) and my sheep guts rule (at the time it was "say yes", but it has changed since then), but I wanted to at least understand what was happening before I put anything in my mouth. Jeremy handed me a piece of something, which he wrapped inside a strip of gooey fat. I think it was the fat casing that surrounds the stomach, as it was in a huge sheet. He was using the cut-up fat pieces like tortilla wraps, to wrap up other unknown parts, making some kind of burritos.
When the sheets of fat are not being used as burrito wraps, they hang out on the roof of the tent
If my judgment had not been impaired by the vodka, my interest in participating in this so-called "feast" might have been different. In other words, the vodka made me do it. I reluctantly took everything they game me, crinkled my nose and held my breath, put it in my mouth, and basically swallowed without chewing. Each time was followed by a smile (and grimace), a nod, and a polite "oh ya, it's not that bad". It was always a lie, because it was that bad.
The absolute worst was something that Zaya was the most excited about. For her it was like the pinnacle of the sheep insides. Jeremy had tired from cutting and serving, so he passed the knife to the guy whom I didn't know. This guy seemed to be getting a kick out of my squirming every time I tasted something, as he kept laughing and making some comments that Zaya refused to translate. He cut off a piece of intestine and gave it to Zaya, and Zaya squealed like a little girl. She was obviously very excited about whatever she was about to eat. She called me over to her, saying "Look, this is so great! It's a special grass!" She proceeded to squeeze the intestine, forcing out some green goo, from which she picked out a piece of undigested grass and put it in her mouth, chewing excitedly. I would have puked if I wasn't so shocked about what just happened. The combination of the vodka, the chaos, and the fact I was in a scene from a Zombie movie, made it really hard for me to process what was happening.
Yummy intestines in the bucket (sorry, no picture of the special grass)
The guy serving the intestines saw the look on my face and thought it would be funny to offer me a piece. He handed me a section of intestine the size of a bratwurst. Zaya forced me to take it (she was so happy for me), but I motioned to him that I didn't want all of it, and maybe he could cut off a small piece instead. He reached out with his knife and sliced about halfway through it, but it was still in one piece. He thought I wanted to cut into the tube to look inside, not that I wanted only a tiny piece. So now I could see inside the intestine and all of the contents started to ooze out. It reminded me of those cheese-filled Oscar Meyer hot dogs, from which the cheese slowly excapes when you cut into it. Except much worse. There were 3 distinct colors in the tube: green, light gray, and dark gray. I don't want to know what those different colors were and I don't even know if they were part of the intestine or if they were stuff that the sheep had eaten. Everyone in the room was keenly watching, even more than when we were drinking vodka. To avoid it, I wanted to dip my finger in the green goo and touch it to my forehead, like Zaya did with the vodka, but I guess it wasn't an option. So I tried it. I shoved the whole piece in my mouth (which I thought would be the fastest way to get it over with), chewed a maximum of 3 times (which felt like forever), and tried not to actually taste anything (though I was unsuccessful). When I couldn't take it anymore, I swallowed the entire intestine. I paused, making sure that it would stay down, then realized what happened. I just ate sheep poop. Or as I'd like to refer to it: "pre-poop". It wasn't quite yet poop, as it was still inside the sheep...but basically, yea, I ate poo.
After this happened, Jeremy and the intestine guy both wanted more to drink. So they grabbed a 2 liter bottle of beer, and started passing it around. I was happy to drink anything that would wash out the disgusting taste. Just like the vodka, I had to finish a coffee mug full of beer in 3 chugs "in the name of tradition," according to Zaya. And it had to be quick, because the other two were waiting to use the same mug. I was on an adrenaline high from all the excitement, and despite that nasty taste in my mouth, I was having a really good time. I wasn't at all thinking about how I had a stomach full of vodka, guts, and beer. And how that was probably not going to end well.
Three sips...
I don't remember going to bed, but I do remember waking up and having to run outside the tent to throw up everything inside my stomach (surely to nobody's surprise). It was dark so I couldn't see anything, but I'm sure there was a huge pile of unchewed sheep parts just outside the door of our tent. I also had to make a trip to the squatter in the dark, which would normally be pretty scary. I think the fact that I was still feeling the vodka made this easier, otherwise I would have been stressed about going out to the toilet in the middle of the dark desert. When I got back to the tent, I set my alarm to wake up early to clean up the puke outside the door, so Zaya wouldn't see it in the morning. You see, even in this state, I was trying to be polite. When I woke up around 6 am, however, all of the chunks were gone. Someone, or something, had eaten all of it during the night. I hope it was "something", and not "someone".
This guy might have enjoyed a recycled mid-night snack outside our tent
The food poisoning lasted a few days, and I was completely incapable of eating sheep for the rest of the trip. The family had left the blue bucket out during the night and when I walked past it in the morning I almost fainted from the smell and sight. It was not a good feeling. To keep the mood light, the driver teased me for the rest of the trip, motioning as if he was drinking a vodka shot, then rubbing his stomach and moaning, making an "I'm sick" face. Then he'd point and laugh at me. I don't think he understands that people can get sick from eating sheep guts, because he was teasing me for the vodka part and not the sheep guts part. Anyway, I thought it was pretty funny, but was too miserable to laugh. In the end, it was a priceless experience, no matter how disgusting and painful. I was glad that I got to share the evening with those guys in that setting. Obviously I wish I hadn't gotten sick, but then the story wouldn't have been as fun.
I will never eat any of you again!
Leftovers, anyone?
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