I'll never have a career as a milkmaid...

No 'cultural' visit would be complete without a visit to a traditional home. Some people find this visit very campy and absolutely refuse to participate. I find it an honour that people around the world allow us (for some sort of remuneration of course) into their homes, eat their food and learn about their way of life. I know that if someone wanted to come and sit in an overpriced Seattle Condo, eat Lean Cuisines and learn about my Apple TV viewing I would welcome them with open arms. So that is how we ended up in a Ger in rural Mongolia, desperately trying to remember the cultural lessons we received to help avoid any social faux pas.

It was a clash of inexperience to start with – obviously none of us had been to a Mongolian Ger home before and the family that we visited had just been added to the roster of participants, we were their inaugural visitors. This family lives a bizarre life of modern mixed with traditional. The family of four reside together in the one room Ger, heated by a wood burning stove in the center - traditional. The Ger is outfitted with a TV, refrigerator and deep freeze - modern. The fridge is full of milk that mom milked from their cow and the freezer is full of meat that Dad hunted - traditional. It's an odd contrast.

The Dad of the house and his adorable 3 year old daughter greeted us with huge smiles and as we were escorted to the Ger, I instantly became nervous. Prior to our visit we were given a briefing on traditional customs so as to not be offensive. This is usually where the wheels fall off for me and I get so nervous trying to not be offensive that I slip up and do something horribly wrong.

After I walked into the home, remembering to veer immediately to the Eastern side, there is an instantaneous cozy feeling that overcomes any guest. The fire crackled away as we sat down and immediately enjoyed a cup of Milk Tea (given that one of the main traditional drinks if fermented mare's milk I was pretty excited for this concoction of green tea, milk, hot water and sugar). We slowly sipped our drinks and nibbled on some fried bread, always careful to accept food with the right hand, while chatting (with the aid of an interpreter) to family some about their unique daily life (we discovered that the Dad was the same age as Tricia, Sarah and I).

So far I have been able to avoid any unintentional and insulting blunders, and for that I am quite grateful…but now comes the homemade yogurt portion of our meal. This yogurt made fresh from farm ingredients is EXTREMELY tart - it is that level of sourness that immediately makes your face pucker in some sort of inadvertent, yet offensive, expression that, in this case at least, caused the mom to start handing out some sugar. After some necessary sweetening, I closed my eyes and just willed this thick, creamy (two of my least favourite culinary descriptors) custard-like food to go down…it was then that I made the biggest gaffe yet...I didn't lick my bowl. It felt like all eyes were upon me until I was gently prodded and advised that I needed to lick my bowl in order to show appreciation for this odd dessert. So my tongue snaked its way around the bowl, silently protesting the action while the pleased faces of my hosts looked on approvingly.

The Dad, excited to share the full Mongolian Family Experience invited to us to help out with the family chores. The yogurt…the milk tea…I should have guessed what we would be up to. Let me ask you...have you ever milked a cow...with your hands...while a feisty calf is trying to feed? It's quite a system - first the baby suckles, stimulating the flow of milk then the Dad has to wrestle the baby away while I squat on a little stool, holding the bucket between my knees and then start squeezing the teets. It took a bit of time, but I was finally able to at least get a little something to flow...it was nothing compared to the torrent of milk that the experts got to flow.

Disappointed in my milking talents and resolved to just purchase it from the store, we return to the Ger for another round of fried bread and awkward questions. As an uncomfortable silence descended upon us…the Dad suggested that we play volleyball for our next activity…WTF? I enjoy these visits but at some point they really do need to end…the sun was setting and now he wanted to play Volleyball in a field in the dark?

Luckily our guide Gurley stepped in and apologized for us…explaining that we would love to engage in a game but we have obligations back out our camp…it’s too bad really – I may have had a few missteps with dining etiquette and I am certainly not a talented farm hand…perhaps Volleyball is where I would have shined?