In the far north of Mongolia,
there is a huge and uncharted icy land where a surprising population
of nomads live. The Tsaatan. They are known as the Reindeer people. There are only 200 of them, and today their traditional lifestyle
is disappearing. Finding them involves a long expedition. It starts in this old Russian
off-road van from the 60s. It will take me seven days to travel. I will go up from Ulaanbaatar,
the capital, to the far north of the country. To the region of Lake Khovsgol,
just beside the border with Russia. One thousand kilometers
of roads and tracks, often in desert areas. Where's the bridge? The bridge? You're not on the right track. You have to go in that direction. Go that way. In the north,
you have to cross frozen rivers. Three days in a van, to get where
there is no longer a road, nor a path. We delve into the taiga, where only a few Mongolian riders,
like my guide, still manage to find their way around. I had already made this trip
four years ago. I had met the Tsaatan
on my first trip to Mongolia. I'd met a community of nomads, worried at seeing
their traditions disappearing. I wanted to come back to film them
before their way of life changed. The Tsaatan told me to meet them here
in the middle of nowhere. Alongside me, a Mongolian translator,
able to understand the Tsaatan language. Tuvan, a rare language, is still spoken
by some communities in Siberia. After several hours of waiting,
two figures appear. They come riding on reindeer. The only animal able to cross the icy paths
of this mountainous region in the middle of winter. Look at those two reindeer,
they're exhausted. I don't know what to do. They can't travel the road ahead of them. They're too tired, they won't be able to. We will have to spend the night here. It is minus ten degrees. The nomads improvise a shelter
with just a canvas sheet, under which we will all sleep
tightly packed together. It looks like the snow has stopped. Yes, it's snowing less. It's good to let the reindeer rest. I'm going to add more wood onto the fire. The camp is a day's walk away. I'm struck once again
by the feeling of total isolation, which had made such an impact on me
during my first trip. I find the family I befriended
four years ago. Meksa, the father is still dressed
in his traditional blue tunic. Not very comfortable
in front of my camera. His wife, Urchi… and their youngest son. Get out of the way! Stay over there! Dad! I managed to catch it. Sugara is nine years old. I will live with them for a month. It's the end of autumn. A pivotal period that precedes
the great winter seasonal migration. These nomads regularly change their camp, always looking for food
for their reindeer. We're always looking for lichen. We follow the reindeer. Yes, we follow them. That's why we live in the taiga. I have 100 reindeer. Got to sleep now. He said that you can sleep. I can't sleep anymore now. Because of me? Oh, sorry. He was filming you. I didn't know. Come on, move! However, Tsaatan's whole life
revolves around their reindeer. In the camp,
the animals roam around between the tents. Sometimes this cohabitation
is a bit turbulent. Why did you undo it? Even attached, it's dangerous. This morning, one of the males is in heat
and is particularly aggressive. If they fight one another, it'll escalate. Run! Run quickly! Sugara, come. That Tsaatan live in one of the coldest
and most inhospitable regions of Mongolia. However, to be able to follow their herd,
they live in simple canvas teepees, which are easy to transport. Don't spill on your feet, it's hot. I'll put it here afterward. Despite the lack of comfort,
I've never heard them complain. I'm a very lucky man. I live among such beautiful nature
with fresh air and reindeer. I'm so happy with my life. Here in the taiga, we do what we want to. We're free. The Tsaatan always surprise me. They feel privileged. Neither do the extreme temperatures
nor their isolation seem to affect them. What is the hardest thing in your life? In summer, the reindeer
sometimes want to come inside the teepee. That's the hardest thing. We don't want a different life. Staying here is enough for us. The Tsaatan are used to gathering
in small family groupings. Next to Meksa's teepee
is his cousin, Huluk. He lives there with his wife Hulan
and their son Gunnar. I'm 25 years old. My wife is 26. We met in Ulaanbaatar. We worked together there. We wanted to live there,
but it was too difficult. That's why we chose to live here. That was two years ago. I was born here. This is my mother's land,
my family's land. I was free to live elsewhere,
but I had to come back here. I could never live anywhere else. Hulan, Huluk's wife, is not Tsaatan. She had never experienced
nomad life before and of course, she had never lived
in such a hostile environment. I discovered a new world
and that's what I liked. Outsiders think it's hard to live here. They tell me that I live
in such a hard, cold, and snowy region. I tell them it's so beautiful. So beautiful that I never found it hard. At first I had to get used to the climate
and to these temperatures. Now it's okay. I'm totally acclimatized to it. I'm so proud of my wife. She's so strong. She could live anywhere,
even on this difficult land. She loves me
and she can follow me anywhere. At the age of one and a half,
Gunnar is a real little Tsaatan. Whilst temperatures fall well
below zero degrees, he walks around half-naked. When we were children,
our mothers dressed us like this without anything else. As an adult, you don't need warm clothes. That's why we dressed Gunnar like this. The first year was easy. He spent his time sleeping and eating. Now it's more complicated. He walks and he always wants
to go outside. With the cold,
it's difficult to always protect him. You're so cute. Come here
so I can kiss your little cheeks. My son is already posing. He stopped, he's not a star. Oh, you saw the camera? He's coming close. He's curious. He isn't used to you. He'd like to come closer,
but he doesn't dare. At the camp, little by little,
I lose the notion of time. Life trickles by, simple and repetitive. Only the chores of wood gathering and reindeer milking
give rhythm to the day. The reindeer milk,
which they consume in large quantities, is stored on these wooden trestles
that function as a freezer. Be careful, it'll break. Of course not. Yes, it can break. Your son already broke one,
don't you remember? -What?
-The frozen milk. When it's frozen, it doesn't break. I can break, I'm fragile. You're funny. You throw fragile things
and never solid ones. I'm telling you that frozen milk
doesn't break, don't worry. Even if it breaks, it doesn't spill. If we had a meat grinder, we'd already have finished
cutting the meat. -You scare me.
-Why? Your hair is like a hedgehog. I'll do my hair again then. You're beautiful. He says you're beautiful. I look like a hedgehog. I have now been here for two weeks. The two families are used to my camera and let me
film their daily lives and intimacy. They even make fun of it. You look over there. No. Show the camera your beautiful earrings. No. Huluk thinks I'm filming his wife
a little too much. However, I only find this out
once I get back to France and have their conversations translated. Under the pretext of filming,
he's checking out my wife. I can't tell him, he would take it badly. If I tell him to stop,
do you think he'd be disappointed? I filmed their daily lives, which seemed to have gone almost
completely unchanged for centuries. -Hey, what are you doing?
-I'm taking it for myself. Yet in recent years, the modern world
has been catching up with them. The Mongolian government
requires all children in the country to attend school from the age of six. Now, during the winter,
Tsaatan families have to split up. Children and their mothers
go to the only village in the region where the school is located, whilst the men stay alone
in the taiga with the reindeer. It depends on the age of the child. If the children are under six years old, the family can stay together
in the taiga during the winter. When the child has to go to school,
they cannot be left alone in the village. That is why their mothers
stay there with them. Now our children have to go to school
from the age of six, so we can't stay in the taiga. We have to go to the village
because we worry about them. If you don't send your child to school,
no one will know, not even the state. We don't want that. If the child does not go to school,
what will become of him? He will not be able to read,
count, or even write his first name. He will not be able to have a good life. Sugara, would you rather stay here
with your family or go to school? Stay here with the family. -Of course.
-Yes, of course. Do you like school? It's not interesting, so boring. Do you know of any families who refuse
to send their children to school because they don't want to be separated? No, all the children go to school. We're not savages. In front of me, Meksa and Urchi
don't want to seem like bad parents. However, I know that they are torn
between continuing the tradition or offering their child
a different future. In reality, they allow themselves
some liberties. The school year started two months ago, but they decided to keep Sugara with them
until the beginning of winter. This male is the leader
of all our reindeer. We made a stock of wood in the forest. I'm going with him. You stay here, but I want to go. When I said to Sugara
that I wanted to interview him, he immediately put on his best del,
the traditional nomad dress. My name is Sugara and I'm nine years old. I'm a Tsaatan. What I like is looking
for the reindeer in the forest. School is hard. I'm sad. I must leave my dad. It's so great living here. With my family and the reindeer. I love you, little brother. I love you, big brother. For Gunnar, the issue of school
hasn't yet arisen. However, Huluk and Hulan, his parents,
don't seem to agree with this new law. When the time comes, I'll decide. I can't say for the moment. It's our choice. If we want to split up, we'll do so. If not, we'll stay here
in the taiga together. It will be very difficult. I can't imagine the separation. It's like you here,
without your wife and children. In recent days, the snow has started
to fall heavily on the taiga. Winter is setting in. The lichen begins to run out. We will have to leave the camp. The village where the school is located
is a three-day walk away. Soon, the mountains will be impassable. Meksa thinks that it would be safer
to make the journey with other Tsaatans. He decides to visit another family who live half a day away
by reindeer from their camp. Six adults and six children
live here. In the taiga, visits are rare. The families improvise a celebratory meal. When it snows,
the reindeer gain weight. It's true, you're right. Reindeer are happy when it snows a lot. You're too cute. What is he eating? It's pasta. We should bring several families
together and celebrate. Look, you can slide all the way down. We can remove the branches
to slide better. Sugara, shall we try to slide here? Yes, get out of the way! I can slide faster. Inside the teepees,
the adults are already nostalgic. The time to split up is coming. Now we have to live separately
for several months. The weather is unfavorable. The Tsaatan don't know when to leave. It will clear up at some point. Where it's going, it's unlikely
to improve until next year. You laugh, but what will we do? When it snows, it's difficult. It complicates the situation. It will get very slippery. Finally, without my understanding why the two families will not manage
to agree on a departure date. Meksa and his family return to their camp. Two days later, the sky is clear. It's not easy. The luggage is well-loaded this way. Attach it here, that's good. Huluk and Hulan leave first. I see their belongings spread out
in a jumble on the ground. Their entire possessions
fit onto the backs of their reindeer. Watch your head. Goodbye, my teepee. Goodbye to the place where I grew up. Goodbye to the place where I was born. Goodbye to the water I drink every day. That's what we say
every time we leave a camp. Attach him well. We can't have him falling off
on the journey. With that, he won't be cold. The clan separates. They won't see one another again
until next summer. -Safe travels everyone.
-You too. Safe travels. Their son is still young. Huluk and Hulan have no constraints. They go deep into the taiga
to set up their winter camp. They are free,
as the Tsaatan have always been. Meksa doesn't dismantle his teepee. He will accompany Urchi
and Sugara to the village where their other children already live. Then he will come back here
to round up his reindeer and take them further north. The journey will take several days. Give me the binoculars I want to see. I sense that Meksa is worried. The snow that has fallen
in recent days masks the crevices. However, the family
doesn't have a choice. They have to cross four passes
at an altitude of over 2,000 meters. They walk between seven
and ten hours a day. Sugara's endurance impresses me. At night, we sleep under the stars
on reindeer skins wrapped in simple blankets. The parents worry about Sugara. Tomorrow morning
we'll have to make him soles. Otherwise, he will be cold. His socks are torn
and his shoes are not suitable. I'm young, I'm not cold. Tomorrow we will make you soles. Meksa is relieved. Crossing the passes was the most dangerous
part of the expedition. The reindeer did well. Yes, it was dangerous. When they crossed it, I wondered
if they were going to slip. They risk breaking their legs
and falling to the bottom of the cliff. At last, after walking for three days,
we arrive at our destination. In the plane, a huge frozen lake. This is where we find Sagar Nur, the only village
in this uninhabited region. One thousand people live here. Half of them are nomads
who have decided to settle down. A few kilometers from the village. Meksa built a log cabin
two years ago to shelter his family during the school year. The couple reunites
with their three other children. A girl and two boys. The two eldest
have completed their studies, but they stay in the village
to take care of their 13-year-old sister, who has been back in school
since September. Put the dumplings in the water to cook. Where do I put the offal pot? Should I put it outside? No, leave it there,
otherwise, it will spill. Meksa takes advantage
of returning to the village to try to better insulate the walls. Inside the hut, for the first time,
I discover signs of the modern world that is inexorably catching up with them. On the traditional wooden sideboard, a small television
powered by solar panels. I wonder if they watch it and especially,
what does it tell them about our world? Like old Tsaatan,
Meksa and his family are animists and practice shamanic rituals. Every morning I offer nature and spirits
the first tea of the day. I throw it three times
in eight directions. For the sky, nature, mountains,
spirits, and everything around us. It's been three days since we arrived. However, Sugara
still doesn't go to school. To my astonishment,
his parents say nothing to him. I go to see this school that is shaking up
the traditional Tsaatan way of life. It welcomes nearly 500 students
aged 6 to 18 years. A quarter of them are Tsaatan. Please, miss. No, you have not calculated correctly. You have to multiply, not divide. Thirty teachers and professors
teach here full-time. The head teacher of the school
is Tsaatan herself. I feel she is very invested
in her mission. For someone from Ulaanbaatar,
it's hard to work here. However, I was born here, in this region. I lived and worked in this village. Around ten years ago,
I moved to Ulaanbaatar. There I worked as a teacher,
pedagogical manager, and even academy secretary. Then I decided to return to my place
of birth to bring my contribution. To develop this school,
thanks to my experience. Today, almost all Tsaatan children
go to school, but some in a very irregular way. This is the case for Meksa's elder sons. Bhaskar on the left went to school
from 12 to 18 years old. Sounya on the right,
from 9 to 15 years old. I ask them about their future and about what they'd like
to do later on in life. I don't know. Tsaatan like my father. I have no idea. I want to be a horse breeder. I'd like to take care
of horses in the summer and follow the reindeer in the winter. I love this area, and keeping cattle. That's why I didn't go to university. I missed the reindeer too much. It is so beautiful and especially so cute. The choice of the two boys
does not delight the whole family. Yesterday the children brought back milk. Which is richer? The reindeer or the cow? Reindeer, of course. Galia is 72 years old. She is the children's grandmother. She doesn't really understand them. Do they want to leave school
to live like Tsaatan? Yes. If they really choose this life,
I think it's going to be hard for them. Sugara and Soumya will grow up, and over time,
they're going to want to get married. However, without knowing how to read
or write, it will be complicated to find a wife. Then they will be forced
to stay in the taiga. Later, they might regret it
and blame us for it and say… why didn't you send us to school? Obviously, a child
does not want to go to school. It's up to the parents to force them. Days go by and Sugara stays home. I sense that Meksa is sad and nostalgic. He will soon leave his family and head off to the taiga
alone with his reindeer. We have no choice. Reindeer need to eat lichen. Here they have nothing to eat. Meksa doesn't really want to talk. I try to ask him about Sugara,
who is still not going to school. It's his choice. Do you always let your children decide? Yes. Are you scared for your children's future? I don't know. I hope they will have happy lives. What do you think of today's world? It's going in the wrong direction. I wonder how the Tsaatan will manage
to maintain this fragile balance between their tradition and this modernity
that is gradually encroaching. I leave and promise
to come back to see them. Three years later, I am back in Mongolia. Curious to know what has become
of Meksa and his family. I head to the taiga
in the heart of winter. In this freezing cold, the world of the Tsaatan
seems even more inaccessible to me. Even more isolated. Huluk and Hulan still look so in love. Gunnar is four years old. He has a little sister. I showed them the images which I filmed. Meksa, like every winter now,
had to leave his family. I find him in the mountains
where he joined a group of breeders. Sugara, his youngest son,
stayed in the village. However, Meksa tells me half-heartedly
that he still doesn't go to school or very infrequently. Soumya, the youngest son, is there. This is the first time he has accompanied
his father since he left school. Together, they will carry out
the great winter transhumance. They will take their herd of 100 reindeer
to the north of the country. The Tsaatan delves
into the depths of the taiga. As their ancestors
have done for centuries. It's between minus 25
and minus 35 degrees. Three days on reindeer
back on a forced march. Fatigue and cold
sometimes cause the riders to fall. What's up? You have runny eyes,
can you see all right? My eyes are full of tears,
I'm getting old. Teary eyes are not good. It's the wind that's making me cry. Hey, there's a lot of stones. Ooh, I almost fell. It's really not your day. The nomads only stop when they find
an area that's rich in lichen. At the camp,
there's no more children's laughter or female voices. From now on, it's a man's universe. The breeders will now live separated
from their families until spring. They'll return to the village, each in turn,
a few days a month, weather permitting. When I'm here, I think about my family,
who are in the village all the time. When I go down there,
I think of my reindeer. Meksa resigned himself to spending
the winter isolated far from his family. However, he wonders how much longer
his children will endure living like this. Lost in the heart of the taiga
at minus 40 degrees… under a simple teepee.
