I never thought I’d describe a camel as cuddly. Then again, living in New York City, there aren’t many opportunities to contemplate camel textures. That’s not to say I’m entirely unfamiliar: I’ve encountered many one-humped Dromedary camels in my past travels to Egypt, Morocco, India, and even Australia. But meeting their two-humped Bactrian cousins in southern Mongolia, pressed against the neck of a particularly shaggy specimen, their cuddliness feels up for reassessment.
I’m at the Ten Thousand Camel Festival, an annual celebration of the fluffy golden-haired Bactrian camel, which is found almost exclusively on the central Eurasian Steppe.
Mongolians from around the country descended in their finest deels (the traditional national garb) to participate and spectate in matches of camel polo, camel racing, ice archery, singing competitions, and beauty pageants for both tediously groomed camels and their festively adorned herders. There are also a myriad of camel products from miniature stuffed camels and gers (the traditional homes of nomadic Mongolian herders) to camel wool blankets and camel milk products.
Bactrian camels make up only a small fraction of the world camel population—around 6 percent (or 2 million) as of today. But in the early ’90s, the population and plight was far worse.
Prior to the peaceful democratic revolution of 1990 in Mongolia, all livestock were managed and purchased by the state. During the transition to an open market under the new democracy, coupled with the low demand for camel products like milk and wool, herders found their camels were worth more for their meat. Many were forced to butcher their camels to make ends meet, plunging the population to a low point of 200,000 in Mongolia. The Ten Thousand Camel Festival was launched by the Amazing Gobi Tourism Association in 1997 as a way to curb the rapidly declining population by promoting camel products and experiences.
Today, the domesticated Bactrian camel in Mongolia is a success story, more than doubling in number to around 480,000. It’s an even greater feat given their slow gestation period: camels are pregnant for 13 months on average, and will only have one baby every two years.
Tourism played a major role in the species’ revitalization. Many families around the country have supplemented their living by offering camel trekking to foreigners, and selling the soft-underside wool for pillowy socks, gloves, hats, and blankets.
“Before we started the event, there was only one family in the southern Gobi organizing camel trekking,” Tumendelger Khumbaa, the founder and director of the festival, told T+L. “Now we have many. Some families can earn 40 to 50 million tugriks (around $11,500 to $14,500) each year. Mining is one of the great benefits and challenges we face in Mongolia. It draws young people to live in the city and work the mines. But they forgo their nomadic heritage to do it. Increasing camel tourism has allowed families to continue as they traditionally have, and to preserve the nomad way of living.”
A series of whooping calls pulled my attention to a pair of marked fields at the edge of the grounds. Here, the opening matches of camel polo have begun. Men in numbered jerseys and white helmets thunder up and down the field on the backs of camels with decorative leg wraps. Leaning over to swing wooden mallets, they hammer a bright blue ball slightly larger than a softball up and down the pitch. It’s a thrilling spectacle to witness, and I spent the next hour watching them shuffle back and forth, occasionally managing to bury the ball into the opponent’s net.
On the other side of the polo fields, a 10-person crowd cascading from a series of risers watched riders jockeying a line of camels across the last few hundred feet of a multi-kilometer race. Drones buzz overhead, feeding the race live onto a jumbotron TV at the center of the grounds.
By mid-day the crowd grew to thousands. Though its aim is to increase international tourism, by and large, this is an event by and for Mongolians. I’ve spotted only two dozen foreigners in the sea of multi-colored deels. It feels refreshingly authentic; a window into the lives and traditions of the Gobi residents.
Beyond the camel adventures, the festival is a reason for locals to gather and celebrate winter traditions. One of the star events is ice archery, where competitors draw arrows blunted with bulbous heads and fire them roughly 150-feet across a frozen pitch of ice. The objective is to land the projectile over a protective snow bank and knock a set of 400-gram balls over a second bank. Each competitor is allowed 20 shots total, and matches last several hours. Champions receive a medal on their hat, and are honored in their province.
“We want to start an American organization,” Munkhjargal Byambadorj, the vice president of the Mongolian Ice Archery Association, told Travel + Leisure. “We started the association in 2008, but ice archery first began over 2000 years ago. We want this sport to be at the Olympic Games. That is our dream.”
Next to the archery fields, around a dozen ger are set up for each of the provinces where camels are herded. Inside, men pass bottles of snuff in a one-palmed exchange to each other, and women distribute copper bowls of the fermented camel’s milk known as Airag. After being ushered inside one by a man in a forest green, fur-trimmed deel, I’m immediately offered a bowl of the sour, tangy beverage. It’s an acquired taste, but a must-try under the encouragement of the encircled crowd.
Back at the center of the grounds, over a hundred people have lined up astride their camels for the official welcoming ceremony, and the parade of camels. Groups from each province strut through lines of waiting onlookers brandishing cell phones to capture the spectacle. Camels covered in chestnut brown to almond colored fur are adorned in anklets, saddles and bridles of every color of the rainbow. More astounding are their riders. In sheepskin deel and elaborate silk patterned jackets, each one is a maximalist fashionista’s dream. It’s a feast for the eyes and the camera.
At the back of the procession, a small crowd has gathered to gawk and pose for selfies with a massive camel decked out with dozens of medals. Waving family to join them for a photo, they laugh while admiring the majestic creature.
I can’t help but nod in agreement. That’s one fine, fluffy camel.