Whenever I saw children riding barefoot in the stirrup, or nomads driving and lassoing semi-wild herds of horses, I would think to myself, this is the real Wild West. But for most Mongolians, Naadam is a respite from a tough existence; particularly during winters when temperatures can plummet to minus 30C.I’d had it in my mind, before travelling, that the nomads would be prospering, thanks to the end of Communism and collectivised herds, as these roaming free spirits have never sat comfortably within an ideology of social and political control But Enkhbold explained I was wrong. Translating on several occasions when we spoke to passing nomads, he said they complained that life had toughened with the introduction of a free-market economy. “Under Communist rule,” explained Enkhbold, who was old enough to remember class drills preparing for nuclear apocalypse during the Cold War, “the government owned all the animals, but the nomads had fixed wages, guaranteed markets for their meat and fleeces, and pensions when they retired. But now people worry ­ they can’t believe in the future.” On one occasion, we passed a family with their ger and possessions loaded on three Bactrian camels making a 50-day journey from far western Mongolia to begin afresh in Ulan Bator. How would they cope, I wondered, with the capital’s polluted sprawl?By late morning, Tsetserleg’s archers made their appearance.

I gathered that this was the minority sport of the three, and, indeed, the judge apologised for the reduced field. The best archers, he claimed, were competing at Ulan Bator’s more prestigious naadam. Nevertheless, the prize on offer here of 60,000 togrogs (£40) is around twice the average monthly salary in this region.Archery has been popular since the 11th century in Mongolia, and I doubted if the bows the competitors were using ­ fashioned from twisted cows’ tendons and carved bone or wood ­ had changed at all since then. Watching two female competitors in striking electric-blue dels, I was enthralled by their consistent accuracy. From 60 metres, and in swirling wind, they repeatedly peppered the straw bale targets. Their concentration never waned, even after the governor happened by to try his hand. He was a dismal shot, burying one arrow into the turf in front of him.

Mind you, one of his entourage let fly a magnificent shot, off target, yet fully 75 metres, hitting a judge squarely on the knee. Fortunately, the arrows were blunted ­ some things have certainly changed.By lunchtime, we headed up to a ridge above Tsetserleg, rich in pines and spruces, to picnic in a meadow of wild catmint. “I hope you weren’t disappointed,” said Catherine, referring to the morning’s activities, “because that is about all Mongolia has left, in terms of culture.” I certainly hadn’t been. It’s easy to come here weighed down with historical hang-ups; obsessed with rekindling the spirit of Genghis Khan (there now, I wasn’t even going to mention him). But these days the great leader’s relevance in Mongolia is more prominent as a brand-name for beer, vodka, and cigarettes. Naadam is a colourful beacon for a lifestyle that has flourished under triumph and adversity for several thousand years, yet for all the skills I saw there, none impressed me more than the Mongols’ ability to take time away from the extraordinarily rugged and beautiful steppes, and simply have a good day out.The FactsGetting thereMark Stratton travelled courtesy of Himalayan Kingdoms (01453 844400; ).