TRAVERSE 57
After giving praise to the eternal blue sky , historically Mongolia ’ s god , these huge men grasped each other in a display of force , each trying to throw the other to the ground or out of the arena . It ’ s as far removed from the world of WWE as you can image , almost graceful as these giants grappled for position before a burst of power saw the opponent sent toppling .
A cheer erupted from the royal tent . The winner had taken a long path to victory , this tournament is one of elimination , pass the first round and you come up against another successful combatant and so repeats the competition until just one man remains . A true test to find the strongest . An offering was presented to the victor , he graciously handed articles of food to the watching audience , Mongolians , foreigners , and the awaiting horsemen .
None older than mid-teens , these horsemen laughed and joked with each other , nervous anticipation to what was to come . Each resplendent in silk shirts , colourful pants , and ornate headdress . I marvelled at how most were just children not yet corrupted by electronic devices and the world of social media .
These kids , between the age of five and thirteen , see racing as an honour , something to aspire to in becoming a Mongolian man , a warrior of the steppe . Most start learning the skills of horsemanship as soon as they can walk , to ride a horse is a privilege , to master the skills a passage , to race is to become respected .
A gathering of the elite signified something important was about to take place , ornate costumes of both women and men that seemed out of place on the open plain dazzled in the midday sunshine . Singing began , both the onlookers and the riders , who ’ s words are called the gingo .
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