I boarded the train in Yekaterinburg for the 3 day journey to Ulan Bator, Mongolia. As I headed further east out of the Urals and into Siberia, I became aware of how the housing appeared more and more rustic, even though the houses looked basic they all appeared to have satellite dishes on their tin roofs. In the forests I spotted graveyards, some looking new, perhaps showing the hard bleak life for the poor people in Eastern Russia. A freight train heading the other way was full of tanks, missile launchers, jeeps and army trucks. The Russians on the train looked more Asian than European, as a family joined me in my carriage who were heading to Mongolia on holiday.
It took 5 hours to cross the border, all the carriages were searched by customs officials with dogs and for some reason the air conditioning was switched off in our carriage so it became like a sauna as we sat and waited for the searches to be completed, passports and visas checked. Eventually we were allowed off the train for some fresh air and I joined a group of Mexicans and Brazilians and together we were chanting “Ulan Bator! Ulan Bator!”. Eventually we cleared the border and went to bed to arrive the next morning in UB.
When I awoke the next morning, I looked out of the window to see the stunning Mongolian tundra with Ger tents clustered together, horses, ferocious looking dogs and the weather hardened Mongolian faces. These people were hardy nomads leading a traditional but tough life, especially in the harsh winters where they would probably lose half of their animals to the cold. In the summer though it looked inviting and ready to be explored.
I got off the train in UB and was surprised to be met at the train station by the couple who ran the hostel, it was just as well that they did as when we arrived at the hostel it was only a small door into a building behind the State Department Store. The majority of the guests at the hostel were young American volunteers from the Peace Corps who used the hostel whenever they were in UB for meetings, medicals, etc.
This included Katie who had obviously fallen in love with the country, people and the way of life despite some of the difficulties. She had been in Mongolia for a year and had one more year to go, so had already experienced one of the harsh Mongolian winters. She had also been attacked by the camp dog, had her money stolen in UB and had to contend with many drunken Mongolians of which there were many, but was still cheerful and enthusiastic about her placement in the remote town of Khushaat, east of UB. There was Vincent from Detroit, he was not Peace Corps, he was looking for business opportunities in Mongolia as well as the rest of Asia and would discuss these with everybody as well as seeking the advice of Iggie who ran the hostel, his catchphrase being “I’m considering my options” There was Isa from Berlin who was working at a German speaking radio station, conducting interviews on the balcony and was looking to head to Moscow on the Trans-Mongolian, but first she was planning a trip to the West with Katie and they asked me to join them.
First though I headed to Terelj National Park with Vincent to do some horse riding, we set out on the local microbus and got off at some Ger tents and asked to hire a couple of horses. After the negotiations using hand gestures, as they spoke no English and we spoke no Mongolian we set off on a couple of horses, well Vincent did but I couldn’t get my horse to move, my horse just wanted to eat the grass and not use up any energy unnecessarily. Eventually after some advice from Vincent and a lot of persuading from me I finally got the horse moving.
We rode up into the hills and down the valleys, the landscape had the feel of an old cowboy movie. After a while Vincent suggested switching horses, but I didn’t really get on with Vincent’s horse and decided to switch back when it started trying to throw me off. I was happy to be back on my horse where I felt like I had more control, probably relating better to the lazy horse as opposed to the lively energetic one. After 3 hours we headed back and left the horses with their owners before hitching a lift back to UB.
In UB it was easy to waste your days and you grow sick of the pollution and unfriendly people in the big city, so I planned to trek and camp in the Mongolian countryside. I headed to the east to the industrial town of Baganuur, from here I headed out into a valley following a river that had dried up in the hot summer sun making it difficult to follow. I slowed my pace when a spotted 2 shapes in the distance which were either wild dogs or maybe even wolves until they were far enough away not to worry about. After several hours the town disappeared and I asked at a Ger tent if I could pitch my tent next to them for the night, surprisingly there was a lady who spoke some English, she was from UB and was visiting her parents with their grandchildren. Her parents provided me with cold, milky, salty tea called ‘Suutei tsai’ and dried curds called ‘Aaruul’. The tea was surprisingly pleasant, but the curds tasted like vomit and I almost broke my teeth with every bite they are so hard.
The next morning I asked for some directions and for a refill of my water bottles. They pointed me over the hill and into the next valley, I headed up the hill which was a lot more arduous that it appeared from the bottom and when I reached the top found myself in the middle of a herd of sheep and goats and in the distance could see what looked like the empty channel that was the dried out river. I headed down to follow it, but it was difficult to work out what was the river and what were the irrigation ditches channelled out by the farmers.
I stopped at another Ger to ask for my water bottles to be filled and was invited inside where they prepared me a goat and macaroni soup, suutei tsai, aaruul, pastries similar to scone with butter which was like clotted cream. It made me smile as I was having the Mongolian version of a cream tea. Nobody in the Ger spoke any English, the only bit I understand were when the kids mentioned names of English footballers, “Rooney”, “Gerrard”, “Lampard”. I showed them my map so they could see my route and they tried to offer me a lift on a motorbike and appeared to think I was crazy when I tried to explain to them that I wanted to walk, but they waved me off cheerfully when I set off again.
I stopped for the night at what appeared to be the last Ger in the valley, again asking if it was ok that I pitched my tent close to their Ger, all the while their dog was growling and barking until they managed to chase it away. While I pitched my tent they brought me a huge bowl of stew containing sheep bone and intestines called ‘Makh’ which I thought must be for the whole family. They placed it in front of me, but made no move to eat themselves, so I picked out a few of the bones and chewed the meat off them and just about managed not to vomit as I thought that might have been impolite, although when they weren’t watching I fed bones to the dog who decided against savaging me and very quickly became my best friend.
In the morning I set off, one more hour and I was at the end of the valley and headed down a path through the forest to the next valley which would lead me back to Baganuur. As I passed through the forest I was beginning to run out of water, but when I reached the other side I saw a collection of Ger tents in the distance and headed towards them to hoping to fill up my bottles.
As I approached I realized that some kind of event was going on, although I couldn’t work out what it was but there were lots of people by their tents or cars drinking and some were beating drums.
I found my way to the entrance of the camp and tried to ask a boy what was happening, but he spoke no English, as I headed through the gate he called me back and proceeded to hold burning incense under my chin, armpits and hands, this is when I noticed that some of the people were dancing manically to the rhythm of the drums.
A girl approached who spoke some English and explained that it was a shamanistic ceremony where they were welcoming the angel from the sky and asked me if I was scared. I said that I wasn’t and she explained that a lot of the locals in the area were frightened of their ceremonies.
I would have liked to stay to see more of the ceremony but got the impression that I wasn’t particularly welcome, but they filled up my bottles with water before I set off again towards Baganuur.
After a few hours I had to stop at the side of the road as I was feeling exhausted, my shoulders and feet were in agony. As I sat there 3 boys approached on horseback and stopped to talk even though they spoke no English. They asked me about my travels and I showed them where I was going by drawing a map in the dirt showing them where I had been and where I was going. I said my goodbyes and set off for a few more hours until I could walk no more and pitched the tent at the side of the road to eat the last of my food and sleep.
The next morning I set off knowing that I didn’t have much further to go, but not sure exactly how far, after a couple of hours the valley opened out and Baganuur became visible again which gave me a fresh burst of energy, but as I walked towards the town it didn’t feel like it was getting any closer. As I walked down the path, I passed some Ger tents and a couple of dogs ran towards me and one in particular looked unfriendly and went to block my path. It appeared to have every intention of biting me as it made its way towards me growling and baring its teeth so I started shouting and running towards it which fortunately scared it back to its Ger tent. A couple more hours and I was back and on the bus heading back to UB for a few days needed rest.
My next trip was to the west in an old Russian jeep with Katie and Isa as well as Michael and his Mongolian girlfriend. Michael was also volunteering for the Peace Corps and in his early 70s, his girlfriend was about 40 years his senior and I’m not sure if his wife back in California would have approved. They spoke most of the time in German as she spoke very little English and he spoke little Mongolian, so Isa would occasionally translate some of the things they were saying to each other.
Our first camp would be at But Uldzil at the river Orchon and waterfall, on the way we saw a Nadam and stopped to find out what was happening. It was here that I tried my first airag, alcohol which is made from fermented mare’s milk which tastes strangely similar to scrumpy cider.
I was then approached by a drunk old man who without warning started wrestling with me, much to the amusement of the others, it was an uneven contest as it was to swipe his already unsteady legs from underneath him which I did a couple of times before he gave up.
Next we headed to the finish line of the horse racing just as the tiny kids on horseback appeared on the horizon and headed towards us at breakneck speed. I couldn’t believe how young some of the children were, the oldest were about 11 or 12, while the youngest can only have been about 5 or 6.
The next stop was at a small patch of sand dunes where we stopped to climb to the top of the dunes and take photos of the camels. By the time we reached the waterfall it was later than we expected so we had to cook and pitch the tents in the dark.
The next morning we walked along the river to the waterfall and arrived at the top of the waterfall as it flowed into pool below surrounded by cliffs, the river then continued down the small valley. At the top and bottom of the waterfall there were trees with khadags wrapped around them, they are sacred to both Buddhists and shamanistic people. There were also people relaxing around the pool and a boat that was rowing people out underneath the waterfall.
There was no obvious way down to the bottom so were had to follow the cliff around until we spotted a hidden pathway down to the valley, we then followed the river back to the pool and waterfall and most of us relaxed while Katie went out into the pool and the boat and got soaked under the waterfall.
We then set off to Kharkhorin Monastery and the penis statues which were “erected” to suppress the urges of the randy monks and then spent the night in Khushaat where I spent my first night in a Ger tent where Katie was spending the two years of her Peace Corp Placement.
The following day we swam in Lake Uginnur and ate some delicious fish before heading to a canyon in Bulgan province, on the way we stopped at the Gers belonging to relatives of the driver where we saw the airag being made. The mares’ milk is put in a large barrel and then the milk is mixed to start the fermentation. We then played a simple drinking game with his relatives, you shake your fist three times before displaying a finger to see who had won, the rules seemed to change based on whether our hosts wanted to see us drink the airag or whether they wanted a drink themselves. Although the airag is not very strong, my stomach suffered for the next few days as it takes a while for your system to get used to it.
While we were in the Gers, the weather started to worsen, the wind picked up and then rain started and you really began to understand the hard lives that these Nomads lived although the Ger was still warm and cosy.
When we arrived at the canyon we found a Ger tent to stay as nobody fancied pitching our tents in that weather, we found a bar to visit and drank a few beers and had a dance with the locals before going to bed.
The next morning the weather had cleared so we could walk along the canyon, which was nice but not particularly spectacular before we headed back via Bulgan and Erdenet. We stopped again at the driver’s families’ gers, this time I had to decline the airag because of my dodgy stomach, then one of the driver’s relatives turned up on a bike with a freshly shot marmot. When we reached Erdenet we camped in the driver’s garden and the next day we headed back to UB.
My final trip was with Isa and Katie to the Gobi Desert before I would cross the border into China. We got the overnight train to Sainshand arriving early in the morning having had very little sleep, we had only just arrived when Katie had her money stolen and then we tried to get some sleep in the waiting room, the cleaner however didn’t appear to be too happy about us staying there, but we did manage to get a bit of sleep before heading to the Monastery in the desert.
When we awoke we looked for a cheap taxi before foolishly accepting a free ride from a large drunken Mongolian and his brother. It started with a search around the town to that the drunk could buy more vodka before heading out into the Gobi. The more the big guy drank, the stranger and stranger he became and when he took over the driving, followed by some wrestling with me and a few strange comments to Isa and Katie we decided to take our bags and climbed to the top of a hill where we knew they couldn’t drive, although they did follow us to the bottom and the drunk tried to persuade us to get back in the car. We decided to stay there and have our breakfast, wait for them to drive off and then try and find another lift.
After a while the two brothers made their way slowly back to Sainshand and we made our way down the hill and found another lift to the monastery. We were then fortunate to then get on a tour for a good price that took us around the monastery, to the caves used by the monks and a sacred mountain and finally dropped off back in Sainshand.
After some food in a restaurant I said farewell to Isa and Katie as they made their way back to UB and I waited for my train to the China border. After they had got on the train I decided to find a bar to have a few drinks before the train left at about 2am.
In the bar I met some Mongolians and we drank vodka, danced and sang before I headed back to the train station. For the second time that day the Mongolians turned strange. One of the girls from the bar appeared to be getting pressure from her boyfriend to get some money from me whatever way she could. By the time I got on the train i was exhausted and found my bed and went straight to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment