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Naked among the nomads The desert is naked landscape. And I've always been drawn to the idea of nudity in such stark environments. Where better to guarantee sunshine and solitude? But in all my plans for visiting Mongolia, I didn't for a second factor in nudity at any point, even though it is home to the Gobi desert. My plan was to visit the capital, Ulaan Baatar, and then spent a couple of weeks travelling south into the desert itself before returning to the city and catching a train to Beijing. I planned to stay with nomads, spot wild animals, and marvel at the legendary mountains and cliffs hidden in the heart of the Gobi. Little did I know I was in for the most surprising and unlikely naturist experience of my life. The Russian jeep pulled up noisily outside my hotel in Ulaan Baatar and the engine shuddered aggressively to a halt. I'd read a lot about these jeeps and had mixed feelings about spending a fortnight in one. They are notoriously uncomfortable but hugely functional and unfailingly strong. Like the famous wild camels of the Gobi, they will travel for days across the empty desert without refuelling. My companions for the next two weeks jumped out: a sturdy, taciturn driver and an elf-like guide/translator. After a few minutes of introductions we were on our way and soon leaving the surreal tent-suburbs of Ulaan Baatar behind us. For despite a big influx of Mongolians to the city in recent years, most of the newcomers prefer to bring their traditional nomad tents - called gers - with them. They simply set them up on empty land at the edge of the current city limits, for no one owns the land in Mongolia, and so the city spreads. Looking at one crumbling, broken down Soviet tower block out of the jeep window, you could hardly blame them for sticking with what they knew. These circular felt tents are certainly very comfortable and beautifully decorated inside - there's a picture of one at the bottom of this page. We were going to visit the site of Genghis Khan's vanished city Karakorum before heading into the Gobi desert. Being a nomad warrior, Genghis and his people left virtually no trace on the land where they had passed. But I'd heard that four stone turtles had marked the site of his city, and that two of them could still be found, half buried by scrub. It was extraordinary to think, as I finally spotted one of the stones, that this was all that remained of the capital city of the greatest empire the world has ever known. The speed with which the Mongol empire gained supremacy from Korea to Hungary is as breathtaking as the speed and completeness of its collapse. A couple of nomad women came up to me brandishing some embroidered camels and metal badges of Mongolian heroes. Kingdoms and empires come and go. Genghis Khan, dead for more than 750 years, is remembered in this part of the world by a simple enamel badge and two neglected stone monuments, almost lost beneath the earth. In a reflective frame of mind, we drove on for a few hours across the open land, bouncing violently around inside as the jeep beside the Orkhon river. My driver had promised to take us the difficult 80km journey to the Orkhon waterfall, where the guide told me it was possible to swim. I explained I enjoyed swimming but wasn't planning to enter the icy mountain waters. She seemed disappointed: a couple of Scandinavian women had gone in a couple of years before, she'd been told by another guide, and she wanted me to do likewise. I hesitated at the water's edge for a few moments, but decided it was simply too cold and anyway I didn't have anything to swim in. As we drove away from the waterfall, Odko questioned me closely as to why I didn't go in. She and the driver seemed strangely disappointed. I explained that it was too cold and I didn't have anything to wear. To my great surprise she said that I should swim "with no clothes", pronouncing the last word clo-thez, and told the driver to find another stretch of river, further downstream where it had warmed up. At last we came to a bend in the river, and I walked across the rocks to view the deep pool that had formed in the shelter of some cliffs on the far shore. It certainly looked inviting enough. I turned round to give a thumbs up sign to my companions back in the car, and jumped when I realised they were standing immediately behind me. "Now will you swim?" Odko asked insistently. "Don't mind us, swim no clo-thez." For the first and last time in my life I felt distinctly awkward as I undressed slowly. Mongolians aren't into nudity, just like most people on the planet. They don't even go in for bath-houses or saunas like their Russian friends to the north. But these two stood staring at me as I stripped off about a yard in front of them. When finally naked I walked precariously down the rocks to the water's edge and stood there, feeling rather exposed under the vast empty landscape. Out of curiosity I turned round to them to see if they really were happy with the idea of a European walking around in the country with no clo-thez. They were staring at me still, and both waved me into the river. With a grin and a shrug, I turned and slid into the icy waters, which were a soothing relief after hours in the dusty jeep. I swam hard against the current to cross to a rock on the far shore, tucked up under the cliffs. It formed a handy platform, so I hauled myself out and sat on it in the hot Mongolian sunshine, at ease at last with my nudity as my companions, from a more comfortable distance, waved joyously across at me. When I eventually swam back to change, they both stood there still staring at me from less than a metre away while I self-consciously dressed. I can't imagine how a non-naturist would have reacted in the same circumstances! After this we were firm friends for the rest of the trip, which took us into the stunning Gobi desert for a week. "There are lakes sometimes in the Gobi," Odko informed me that evening, "but not at the moment, it hasn't rained for so long." The novelty of seeing me swim had clearly meant a lot to them. For all of us, it was a truly one-off experience, as unique and as memorable in its own way as my other adventures in this beautiful, empty country. I may well have been the first naturist to have gone skinny-dipping in Mongolia, but I truly hope I'm not the last. It's an amazing place, and if my companions are anything to go by, more bizarrely naturist friendly than anywhere I've yet visited.
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