The birthday party

(Roughing it)

Today is my birthday. 28th to be precise. I've been using this age for the past two months but the actual date is this very day!

I am awoken from a much deserved sleep by unnatural noises nearby the tent. I can hear the sound of horses feet at trot on the soft ground coming closer. With that a young voice singing loudly. The song is occasionally broken with a loud 'Hey!', clearly an effort to wake up the inhabitant of the strange shaped tent. I am reluctant though to fully awaken my mind yet, turn my body around and tuck my head deeper into the sleeping bag.

'Hey!' the person out there is persistent. But so am I - after another cold night getting up at eight is simply too early. So I pretend I am not there and try to remember the dream I had.

You cannot win this game when your opponent is a child though and after five minutes of my mind getting more and more awake with each shout I have to admit losing and unzip the tent to see who dares to disturb me.

It is a child indeed. A boy with a big grin making its way to the front of the tent. And sitting himself down a foot away from my face leaving the horse to itsself yet still holding it by the reigns.

Ah, privacy.. this concept is really nonexistent here but although I would have liked the morning to myself I do not dare to shoo the kid away.

'Hey, kid. You couldn't be any louder, could you?', I dare to complain. He grins even more and responds with a few Mongolian questions. At this stage of conversation I always assume I am being asked where I am from and where I am going so I supply this information in my broken Mongolian.

The boy seems satisfied but is not willing to move an inch. His face still lit up observes my body three quarters still in my red sleeping bag. Ok, time to get up then. As I touch the zip on the sleeping bag the sound startles the horse. The boy looses grip on the reigns and off the horse goes galloping away..

So maybe some privacy afterall? No, the boy shares a big smile and shrugs his shoulders: Oh well, I can always get it later, I can hear him think.

By this time I am out of the tent stretching myself in the morning chill. It is a good morning, the sun is already quite high up and I can feel it's rays warming my face. It's gonna be a good birthday, I think to myself.

'Here kid, have some', I say to my company as I hand him a bag of biscuits I acquired in Tosontsengel two days ago. They sell them by weight here and I can rarely restrain myself from getting some. With this diet I'm soon gonna need to change my skinny jeans for a looser fit!

The kid puts a biscuit in his mouth and continues smiling while chewing. I get out my cooking gear to boil some water for my morning coffee. The boy shows great interest in everything I do and has the need to take all the objects in his hands before I can use them. The water is being boiled and the kid goes off to collect his horse since the herd of sheep and goats he is looking after has wandered off in the wrong direction.

I finally have a few minutes to myself. Sipping morning coffee I recollect the past week and wonder at how happy and lucky I am at being here. Not every one spends their birthday in the Mongolian steppe that's for sure! I do not particularily mind being alone on this day but I would have loved to talk to someone on the phone. There is however no signal coverage here, hopefully that'll change when I get out of the valley. - It still surprises me that there are mobile operators here and so cheap too - covering such a wide and mountainous area for only about 2 million people seems hardly worth while to me. -

The kid is back for some more biscuits and some more inquisition. He clearly does not mind I do not understand as he continues the stream of questions. He is apparently one of the believers in that increasing loudness brings understanding. As he starts shouting in my ear he is definitely getting on my nerves now and I decide to pack up camp without having breakfast.

When I'm finally on the road the kid wants to accompany me but has other duties to attend to and I am not willing to wait.. I press his hand in a manly handshake and give him my farewells. As I walk away I wonder how it is being a herdsman at the age of 10. And how would I turn out being raised in this remote place when the highlight of what is probably the season is a lone foreigner passing by. A nice kid though, thanks for the company.

After stacking up on water in a a little ger compound with at least a dozen eyes following my departure I am finally on the road. No cars in sight again but it is early morning and a different day. The map says it is a main road so traffic is surely a matter of time.

I decide to have breakfast as I am waiting and make a few notes in my man-diary. The sun is now standing tall and I am forced to take some of my clothes off. It seems a good season to be traveling Mongolia: it is rarely too hot and the cold is still bearable. The discomfort of not being able to take a shower is virtually not existent since one does not sweat. And the abundance of lakes and rivers, although fairly chilly, makes a good bath when the sun is high in the sky.

As I am meditating over personal hygiene in the steppe a truck appears on a horizon and soon enough I am being taken further west. The truck's destination is the same as mine but I have another route planned wanting to see the world's most northerly sand dunes and Mongolia's biggest salt lake so I am getting off in this little village about 50 kilometers ahead.

When we get a flat tire about ten kilometers down the road I get off to help the truck drivers. My help is in the end resorted to standing around and passing my flask of vodka around to take the edge of the incredible cold western wind. Within 15 minutes we're back on the road and I am pleased for the warmth of the cabin. The weather here really changes every few kilometers. Bloody continental climate!

As we climb to the top of the last hill I catch the first sight of Nomrog, the village I am to get off in. Surrounded by tall rocky mountains from the north and the east that turn into a valley closed off with another mountain range down south the village is built on a dry and rocky hill side rather then in the green valley bellow which gives it a somewhat dark appearance. A heavy rain cloud towards the northwest making it's way east casts a  shadow over it just accentuating it's sinister appearance. I can feel my blood pulse increasing: Man, this truly is the end of the world!

The truck stops in the middle of the village and the drivers get off to untie my backpack from the roof and to get some supplies from the near by shop. I follow the example and with my backpack securely on my back I get in the shop to replenish the supplies. They have no bread here so I have to do with some sweat pastry whose 'natural' ingredients allow it to be stocked for months.

Good bye and thanks, I wave the truck off. What lovely guys - didn't even consider asking for money.

As I walk westwards to the end of the village following my compass I greet the few people I meet. I openly share the destination of my journey when I am asked and get a few friendly nods and smiles. This is quite alright and when I pass a long concrete building whose surroundings suggest a school I think to myself this is not as bad a place as it had seemed.

When the road makes a slight curve to the north I sight a petrol station about 50 meters in front of me. This is my hitching spot, I note to myself and I make my way forward after taking my camera out to capture what is unfolding in front of me. The sky has turn darker and I watch the menacing looking cloud advancing. The sun rays pierce through a hazy wall forming in the distance and with the wind suddenly picking up create a rather dramatic scene.

It is raining in the distance, I am sure, and the way the wind has started blowing there rain is here in no time. I turn around to take one more photo of a collapsed building on my right and follow a lone rider and his horse out of my line of sight. When I turn back a minute later I see the hazy wall no longer in the distance but  already covering the petrol station in front of me. I increase pace to find a hiding spot when something biting hits my face. Damn, a sand storm!

I quickly put my camera away and lean forward to fight my way through the wind. The sand is biting my legs and my face. Thanks to my cowboy hat my eyes are free to look where I am going and soon enough I find a shelter consisting of a falling apart wooden fence opposite the petrol station.

I smoke a cigarette waiting for the storm to finish and occasionally peak out to observe the changing sky. It's raining now but the rain falls down almost horizontally thanks to the strong wind so I am completely dry when the storm finally washes over ten minutes later. By this time the sky has cleared up but the wind prevails and there is promise of more rain in another dark cloud on the west horizon.

-

As I climb out from behind the shelter the sun is still high up which gives me plenty time to catch another ride. That is if any cars decide to show up. And they do but only to refuel before going some other direction so I wait and wait.

And then there is a thundering sound coming from the direction of the village. It materializes as a big old lorry truck with four men sitting in the cabin. When I wave at them as they are almost passing me by the driver signals that they're just turning around to park at the petrol pump. Once the big circle is complete and the engine shut off the driver and all his companions get out of the cabin.

They are all different ages, the driver being the youngest somewhere in his later thirties with the rest in their forties and fifties. They all look older, as Mongols do in general, from the amount of sun their skin is subjected to and the hardships life in this part of the world has to offer. The driver although short is very well built and I judge he must attend the wrestling competition at Naadam, the Mongolian national festival. He is definitely employed for his strength and not his looks - his low height and simple and brutish features making him look like a proper thug.

I greet them with a smile and follow with the traditional where are you going? I speak to the driver with the rest grinning behind his back. They're off to Bayan Olgii, my destination again, but skipping the places I want to see. I share that thought with the group as I hear the petrol pump being turned on by the station clerk. Through the low humming noise I listen to the driver quite friendly explaining that the roads to our respective directions part very early ahead.

At this point a motorcycle carrying three other men makes its way to our little company. I greet them politely with a 'Sain bain uu.' The motorcycle driver, clearly having a drink or to in him, steps towards me and babbles something about vodka. The rest of the bunch laugh at something he said and I immediately assume he want's the vodka off of me.

As the truck driver steps closer to shield me from the drunk and shouts something back while putting his hand in my right pocket I therefore assume he is protecting me from the drunks. His smile and a nod only reinforces my opinion as I, not feeling very comfortably about my possessions being checked, let him go through my pockets. 'There's no vodka here. I've got none.' I am saying as he carries out the search.

When he enters and leaves my pockets for the third time I sense there is something wrong. I firmly push him away with 'Hey, what are you doing? I told you I have no vodka!' but he continues smiling and I can see his right hand putting something into his pocket. I quickly recognize it is my mobile since I held it in my hand not long ago. 'Hey!' my hand shoots out and grabs the phone from out of his pocket. 'That's my mobile! What the fuck is wrong with you?'

At this point it is fairly clear that I am being mugged. The rest of the people stand still observing what is going on and laughing at my figure trying to get loose from the grip of the brute.

'Let me go you bastard! What's wrong with you?' is all I can muster when I wiggle around trying to release myself from his grip. He is holding me by the pocket of my jacket and I cannot even consider unziping it and sliding out of it since I have my backpack on.

'Let me go you son of bitch!' I shout at him while pressing my palms against his chest in a last resort of trying to get loose. He does no longer smile. Instead he increases his grip and makes a gesture signaling me to get in the car.

'No way I'm getting in the car with you! What's wrong with you?' I find comfort in the spoken words.

As he starts pulling me towards the car I move my weight backwards preventing him from moving me an inch.

'Let me go I'm telling you. What's wrong with you? My druzia. Ja ti drug.' I try to dissolve the situation with a friendly offering. The words are left hanging as he tries to knock me down of my feet Mongolian wrestling style. I, wrestled a bit myself, know how to stand myself as he repeats his efforts. As I am struggling to counter his force without being tipped over with a clever move having the additional weight on my back my mind registers the violent laughs of the rest of the bunch. What pricks, I think to myself. Surely this is great fun.

Surprisingly I am not afraid. My mind cannot yet believe this is happening here and now in the clear light of day.

I finally manage to let loose of his grip around my neck and as I stand myself tall I spot a jeep heading towards us.

'Hey, over here. Help!' I shout as the car approaches. Thank god, I think to myself as the car parks not three meters from me. The two people in the car are of the ones I have conversed with in the village. As they open the door and are greeted by the laughing company I can see help is still yet to come. They laugh nervously instead of moving a step or saying a word when the wrestler makes his way towards me and shouts something back at them. Surely this is not happening?

I have no where to step away when he grabs me again and the wrestling continues. I can feel his weight tightly pressing against my neck as he tightens his grip around my shoulders and tries to push me to the side.

My arms around his shoulders we look like perfect wrestling partners wasn't there the big weight difference. But this is Mongolian wrestling and there is only one category with no weight limits.

This time I cannot balance the applied force and I can feel my left foot twisting under me as I am landing on my backpack with a full force of being knocked down.

I press my thighs together and put my arms in front of my chest to be ready for any sudden attack but the victor is enjoying his victory. He straightened himself right above me and is looking around for signs of appraisal.

I am too busy processing what has happened to register anything but the background laughs of the rest of them. I am still not afraid. This all feels too surreal. As if it was a part of a theatre being played to please an invisible audience. I can hear Mussorgskij's Night on the bare mountain.. I wish.

As the brute, satisfied with his fans response, turns his attention back to me I consider giving him a good kick in the bollocks. Before I am able to decide for or against it I am grabbed by the jacket and laid on top of my backpack. The brute straightens himself up and touches his belt as if to unbuckle it. He barks some Mongolian towards his compatriots and as he puts his hand in front of his groin and moves his hips in a pissing gesture the crowd cheers.

'You shit!' I say loudly but his hands are already off his belt.

He raises his left hand and with a pointed finger moves it across his neck from one side to another. Or maybe we should cut his throat like a pig's, I can hear him say in Mongolian with the crowd still cheering. This is not good. These people are not normal!

As he leans down with his shovel hands closing on me I do not know what is to follow. As he puts his hands on my hips and start tapping and checking the material moving his hands upwards towards my jacket I realise what he's after.

'Dollars. Dollars.' he keeps repeating as he goes through my pockets and taps me on the hips checking for a hidden pocket.

Oh shit! All my money, all the money I have and had such a hard time getting! It's all in my waist pouch! All the 200000 togrogs (120$), nothing else nowhere else.. with the first bank some 700 kilometers in front of me, if at all. I am totally screwed if he finds it!

'I don't have any dollars, you son of a bitch!' I shout back at him as I slip out of the grip of the backpack and stand myself facing him. 'No dollars', you bastard!

I take out my wallet from my back pocket. 'You want money? Here, take it. That's all I have!' I open the wallet and point at its contents. 'Here, take it!' I am putting the money in his hand as everyone is watching us. He nervously steps forward and shoves the money into my pocket. With his face close to mine I can hear him quietly repeat 'Dollars! Dollars!'.

It's not going to be easy.. 'No dollars. Togrog. Here take it. That's all I have.' I repeat and take the money out again.

I can see now that few other people appeared in my line of sight to checkout what's all the fuss about including a young man on a motorcycle. Some turn away and go about their business, some observe from afar. The boy on the motorcycle joins in the laughing as he watches me being mugged. What a prick!

The brute has his grip on me again and pulls me behind the petrol station. The station clerk is long gone and when the crowd tries to follow us he shouts at them to stand back. And so I find myself in a wrestling position again very soon having lost my hat and my glasses. When his grip suddenly loosens I manage to reacquire them and only then I see he is kneeling down to pick up a rock that is, I assume, supposed to give more credit to his threats.

I make a quick move in the opposite direction and pull him away before his fingers secure it's grip.

As we turn around and he finds himself out of sight of the peeking crowd his attention turns to my pocket. The one that has the money. He gets them out and starts counting when I, turning the other way, see the crowd slowly regrouping behinf the petrol station.

'This is all the money I have!' I shout at him taking my wallet out of my pocket again. 'You see? There is nothing there.' I go into all the compartments visiting the one storing an extra 10000 only briefly. I point at my VISA card to explain the lack of funds. 'I use this when I travel. I have no more money on me!'

He shoves the money into his pocket having obviously understood. The turn of events is not to his liking however and angered by my explanation he continues his agenda as he pushes me back onto the main road! 'Dollars! Dollars!' he no longer cares whether anyone overhears as he shouts in my ear.

'I have no dollars you fucking bastard. Leave me ALONE!' I shout at him getting pretty angry and helpless at the same time. As he makes the final attempt at the pocket search and finds my Swiss knife in the depths of my left pocket the events take a rapid turn.

He lets me go to use both of his hands to open the knife. As he is standing there with the blade shining in front of his face and signals me to come after him I feel a hint of terror taking over my senses. When he tucks out his shirt, rolls it above his belly and makes an 'Arrrggghh..' sound I almost feel like in a B-grade action movie. Almost! As he makes slow steps forward my mind registers the cheering has quieted down.

It's me and him. As he makes a step I back up a step. I could easily outrun the bastard but I do not want to leave my possessions here. There would be not much left of it I am sure and my super expensive not to mention beloved camera is there too.

So I continue stepping back as he growls at me and beats himself in his chest. That man is mental!

I am still not afraid - at least not in the way I have been in the few fights before, never really been properly beaten up to discover that man is not made of glass - but I feel a very strong discomfort all over my body.

As few more steps would lead me too far off from my possessions I make a quick round turn and for an instance show my back to him. I am however quit far away for him to do anything in case this is not just for show. As I find myself closer to his now completely quiet compatriots I can see worries appeared on their faces. They've had enough and this is no longer fun..

As I look at one of them and point out the mental state of his friend with a hint of desperation in my eyes he throws a few words in the direction of the brute and steps between me and him.

Few other people start collecting my things and as I put my backpack on I see others holding the brute back and calming him down.

Soon enough, as suddenly as it started, I find myself hastily walking away to the sounds of my cooking pan hitting something hard on the bottom of my backpack.  

Fucking bastards! All of you, I say to myself as I walk past the people that witnessed it all from afar. I wonder how much blood would have to have been spilled before anyone would take a stand! I despise you, you bloody cowards!

The crowd behind me is slowly disintegrating when I glance back. The guys on the motorcycle have taken of and the truck crew is getting into the car.

I position myself close to a few buildings for shelter in case they decide to start a pursuit anew and as I can hear the roaring engine coming closer I fear the inevitable. The maneuverability of the truck however gives me an edge and as they come closer I make a quick turn and find myself on the other side of the road again. The car stops and I can hear the door opening as I am hastily trying to increase the distance between us.

I could outrun them all but not with the 15 kilos on my back. The brute leans out and shouts something my direction.

I do not care what it was, maybe an apology, as I observe him from afar closing the door on the truck and drive off into the village.

-

As I am catching my breath after these unbelievable events still not entirely comprehending the sky has darkened and it begins to rain. As I am looking around for a new suitable shelter since the wind has dropped a bit and the rain actually falls vertically a motorcycle pulls into the petrol station. I watch the station clerk getting out to service the vehicle when he waves at me in what is an invitation to come and hide myself in his house. I give him a blaming look for not doing anything when it would have been most welcome but accept his offer. He shrugs his shoulders and makes a gesture saying Ah, never mind those.. It's easy for him to say.
At any rate I am now hiding in a wooden 'foyer' of his house waiting for the elements to take a break. It is not until now that I finally begin to see the things for what they are: I have been mercilessly attacked by a bunch of local thugs with many people witnessing but not raising a finger! So many people and not one had the courage, no, the decency, to stand up! How terrifying! If you're mugged in a remote place while it's dark you expect to be in it alone. But in the light of day with so many witnesses.. And I thought Mongolia was supposed to be a safe country to travel!
As I am meditating over the good, the evil and the need to take a side a half a dozen children enter the door surprised to see me there. 'Hi kids, coming from school, ay?' my mind takes a deserved break. As they observe me standing there in the darkness with my jeans torn on one knee I dig into my backpack and take out a bag of pastries I acquired in the town not long ago. 'Here, have some' I am making friends. The kids eagerly accept the offer and soon I find myself smiling over the synchronised chewing that unfolds.
One or two of them has a streak of snot running down their faces. Ah, Mongolian kids and their perennially running noses.
When they leave to get rid of the school backpacks I see the rain has eased down and I get out as well to resume my hitching. I am totally not ready to take on the adventure yet but there is very little else I can do.
The prospects as I now see them clearly are not very good: my money, some 7 or 12 thousand will be used towards buying some vodka and when it is gone the villains will come back looking for more. It is now past five o'clock and I have to be out here to get out of this hell hole. Never mind the rain, the wind and the darkness!

As I hear a few cars approach in the course of the next two hours I am being very cautious. I have left my backpack out of sight in the hut and allow myself to get out in the open only when I am sure of the coming vehicle. None of the cars go my direction and after the darkness starts to cover the ground around me I see that there is no getting away tonight. I look around to see what my options are but there are wide open spaces in every direction. I would have to walk 4 to 5 kilometers to get away enough for no one to see me - as long as I would not use my flashlight.
This is not good. I am not willing to risk being found at night with no soul near to witness it. Not that that would be of much help but it surely is of some comfort.
I walk around the property of the petrol station clerk who actually probably is the owner as well and find a little spot behind the house just in between a big heap of wood and some scrap metal. Not a very pretty spot but a haven nevertheless.
And so I go find the clerk and get his permission to put up a tent in his 'backyard'. As I finish putting it up it is already dark.
As I sit myself down after a dinner of pasta and tomato sauce I can finally feel my mind relaxing a bit.  It has gotten cold after the storm but I am not worried since I've borrowed a blanket from the house owner's  gorgeous and lovely daughter.

The thin line of pastel reds and blues on the horizon suggests where the sun set down when I open the bottle of Old Czech, the beer I have acquired to toast myself to good health. What a birthday! I think to myself smiling shyly at the fortunate turn of things. Thinking of my family and my friends in  Slovakia, Czech Republic, England and Germany I regret not having mobile signal. I would have loved to chat to someone!

After another sip of the really disgusting beer I light up a cigarette to take the edge of it. I think of how good a year this has been - I have sorted out most of the shit that has prevented me from being happy for so long, I have finally gotten off of my ass and found courage to do what I wanted to do since I was seventeen and now I am here doing it and surviving! Fantastic!  
Go Ladi ,go! I cheer for myself as I  become aware of quiet dialogue  and girly giggles coming out from behind the tent. Ah, visitors! I smile and get up to greet the clerk's lovely daughter and her brother. They came to inspect the strange visitor who is sleeping in their backyard. As I greet them and 'show them around' my little house the giggles continue. I share with them a beer and offer cigarettes but they do not smoke.

I take out my Mongolian phrasebook and feeling a sudden rush of homeliness I declare that today is my birthday!

What lovely company, they smile widely as they offer their hands in a handshake accompanied by a wish in Mongolian. Thank you so much, you made my day!

The strong wind and low temperature make us say goodbye and farewell too early. My tent does not offer enough space for the three of us and as they are departing for the warmth of their heated home I am wishing she hadn't had a brother. On the other hand she would not have come out here alone..

Tonight is going to be cold I say to myself as I zip up the sleeping back my body already tucked in. Too cold for bad people to come out!
I stop this trail of thought in order not to spoil the fragile little pleasures I was given and take a big sip from the plastic bottle of a fake Czech lager.

Tomorrow it is going to be a good day. I will catch a ride and soon I'll be out of here in a nicer place with better people.
With this comforting thought I undo the string that holds the rolled up tent's entrance cover. Before the sheet unrolls and covers the view of the outside world I wish the stars a good night. Hopefully they'll watch over me, I think to myself as I zip up the tent and close myself in this little nomadic home of my own.

Roughing it 2

What a nice feeling. Waking up into a beautiful sunny day in this lovely setting with no problems to occupy your mind.. Yesterday's resolution of the day's struggles make me feel that anything is possible. Not a bad thought to start a day with!

It's been five days since I left the 'civilisation' of UB. After a short phone call to Lukas to share my positive morning mood I learn he had indeed a good ride to UB. He actually stopped and camped at the sand dunes along the way. Good for him.

Me, well, I have 22 days till the Berkutchi festival in Bayan Olgii which should leave plenty of time for a few distractions. My budget doesn't really allow me to do any major horse riding, at least not until I am in the further West close to the big cities, but I can spare a few togrog towards a ride here and there..

I pack up the tent in the increasing wind and set on to following the lake shore westwards. The wind increases by the minute and soon I find myself chasing my hat around while the wind blows sand in my face. Ah, I did wish for a sand storm while in the Gobi and I almost get it here up north.

From the dust cloud ahead a figure on a bicycle emerges, a German rider taking a similar route in the opposite direction. It's nice to exchange a few words before his colleague joins him and they drive off down hill pushed by the wind.

As I watch them disappear I am a witness to an ox cart procession - a family moving gers to their winter location. Ah, the nomadic life..

After smoking a cigarette and a sip of vodka with a friendly Mongolian parking his minivan by the lake for a reason unknown to me, a little break from the strong wind, I am stopped by a friendly looking woman who calls me off into her hut. She offers me food but I decline and ask for a cup of tea instead. Reverting to my phrasebook I explain to her I'd like to rent a horse if possible. She agrees and offers me to stay with them overnight. I inquire about the price for a day's horse riding and she writes down a figure of 3000 (2$). Brilliant, that's even less expensive then the cheap rent some of the guys I talked to payed on their trip to a lake up north.

It's only early afternoon so I feel a bit reluctant to spend a whole day here waiting for tomorrow's riding 'doing nothing'. After a short walk around when I come to the ger to seal the arrangements I however learn that the figure she was after was 30000 instead. Ah, Mongolians and their skill with numbers!

I negotiate with her and her sons and after a suggestion we leave it at that and I go off somewhere else they accept my offer of half the price. I am getting good at this indeed!

The next morning - I slept in the tent after refusing more offers of sleeping in the hut to make sure I do not end up being charged for it horrendous amounts - I find myself in the ger of the woman's sister talking to her english speaking cousin on the phone! "There are no horses here at the lake now. They have been moved to Tariat to our uncle's farm. So my cousin can give you a ride to Tariat where you take off for a day of riding and when you come back she will drive you back here." Right. And how much do they want for it? "Just for a little bit of money to my cousin for driving you there. 5000 or 8000 togrog." Right. Or 10000?

I do not inquire whether the price I negotiated yesterday is in any way valid today. Something tells me it is not. Bloody hell! I am more then eager to leave this place with these friendly but incompetent  untrustworthy people. Thank you, I do not have the money and I do not want to go back to Tariat. Good bye. Thank you and take care.

I hastily pack up my tent fueled by the irritation. Unbelievable. I have actually waited here for nothing. Next time I make sure I see the horses before asking whether I can ride one!

In next 20 minute I am crossing the nearby little hill with the same strong wind of yesterday and leave the ger and the hut out of sight. After walking a few kilometers with the mindset that it is Sunday and there is no way I'll hitch a ride today - forgetting that Sunday is just a regular day in a non-Christian country.

Not long later two cars pass by and I manage to get the best ride so far in a comfy Mitsubishi Pajero with four well-off looking people. 200 kilometers in one go would you believe!

Soon we leave the lake behind and cross a wide valley with few tiny villages spread quite far apart. When the valley is replaced by a beautifully scenic mountain pass I'm thinking of taking out my camera but I am not yet comfortable with hitching alone enough to do so. You never know and rather safe then sorry as they say..

As we start descending from the two thousand meter plus pass into a gorge a scenery as if cut out from Switzerland Alps unfolds. A fast flowing river making its way down and breaking on enormous boulders lined with yellowy poplars and pines combined. High mountains block the horizon on both sides but the sun is high enough to bring this deep valley to life.

What beauty. Should I get off here? I'd just love to spend a night in this setting. By the river on the green grass surrounded by autumn..

In the end I opt not to. It's too good a ride to let go half way especially since I'm paying almost nothing for it. It seemed that if I didn't ask they wouldn't have expected anything in return.

So after another hour of riding through another beautiful valley I find myself in Tosontsengel, the biggest town since Tsetserleg with a distinct wild wild west feel.

Besides stocking up on some essential supplies there is little business I have here. I walk through the town to where I think the road my direction should be. With a help of a local I am soon climbing up the right mountain to find a good spot for the night. Damn, not much chance of a nice river setting, unless I choose to walk some ten kilometers in the opposite direction, I complain to myself when I take a short photo break and see a river meandering far behind me. It may as well be twenty kilometers, it's so hard to judge distances here..

Nevertheless on of the cars I wave at is willing to give me a ride just as I am about to reach the top and see what's behind it on foot. Hitching however sometimes does not allow one such spoils so I hop on after I learn they are going the same direction as me although only a few kliks.

This may be the first genuinely hospitable family I meet. The driver, the son, is in his early twenties and I keep meeting his merry gaze accompanied by an open smiling face in the rear-view mirror. The father and the mother sitting next to me have very frienldy faces and are eager to communicate when  I start of explaining what I am doing there. Soon enough I am being invited into their ger although I long for nothing but solitude somewhere in a nice setting. A lonely loner wanting to be left alone.

So I very politely turn down their offer making up a good reason of needing to be somewhere quite far away this very night.

This however does not seem to get through and when we make a slight turn for a road that does not seem as used as the previous one I consult my compass to make sure I am not being taken somewhere of course. As expected I am and when I make the driver stop the car, the boy gets out and with the widest of smiles and a loud voice to accent his invitation he proposes that I really should "come to theirs to see the real Mongolian ger". After repeating my made up reasons for not being able to I probably pass on a very genuine offer that might not repeat itself. When I'm walking away after very warm good byes I turn my head and raise my hand in a wave as the distance between us grows. I can see the road I need to take not far in front of me. The setting is beautiful: a few kilometer wide plateau of yellowy grass accented by the evening sun. Low hills grow up on the horizon in all the directions you look. The shadows are certainly growing longer and I can hardly think of a better place to sleep tonight. Right there in the middle of the steppe.

After 20 minute of walking feeling the weight of my rucksack more and more with each step I finally reach the desired spot. The tent is up in no time and the best of the choices for dinner is chosen: a can of beans on fried sausage with a sprinkling of fresh onion. The dinner to die for!

As I put the empty can away and sigh over the realization there is no more of this stuff to be had - these cans are sold only in UB - I brew my ceremonial evening coffee - with every sip I thank my foresight of buying the good expensive stuff before heading out - and take a few auto portraits (check out the Brokeback Mt. photo to the right) before sinking into the realm of sleep under the endless starry skies above.

The first ride of the next day ends up taking me of course yet again. I dig out my compass far too late though to realize I am being driven too far south. When I get out the car and thank the driver for a free drive there is not much space to ask for a ride back to the road crossing where I intended to get off as I explained to his fellow passenger before I got in.
I thus find myself in the middle of the steppe with the surrounding mountains being just a hazy suggestion on the horizon. It's baking hot and I dig out a sunscreen to make sure I do not end up with a heat stroke. But it is lovely here (see photos) so I do not complain when I throw the backpack on my back and head up north to where I think the other road should be passing. There are a few gers in the distance and I am aiming for one of them to stock up on water.

That is the one good thing about the northern half of Mongolia. Wherever you go there is either a river, a lake or a well. I have never taken water out of a well without making sure it is drinkable but relied on the supply in the gers I visited. People are always friendly to provide this simple service and when I finally make my way to one of those distant gers I am invited in and offered the famous salty mongolian milk tea and a morning snack. "Bayrlaa!", you lovely lady.

Still not being able to see the road or judge how much further I have to go to get there I continue walking in the same direction. I was assured it is there so there is no reason to worry. Except maybe that I've been walking for over an hour already and I have seen no dust cloud, a suggestion of a passing car, forming on the horizon.

When I finally recognize the shapes of a twirling road ahead I am almost near the feet of the hazy mountains I saw earlier. It must have been a good ten kilometers. I consider walking westwards, according to the map the lake is not further then 15 kilometers away. That's doable in about four hours but I do not give it a serious thought until I recharge my batteries with a can of sardines and bread. Before I manage to finish the eating in peace a strange reflection is caught in the corner of my eye and I quickly stuff my mouth with what's left of the food and repack my backpack. Just in time for a lorry to appear as if from nowhere. The cabin is packed with a merry looking bunch in their early forties who do not hesitate giving me a ride those few kilometers. One of them speaks fluent Russian and I have a first 'proper' conversation in the last few days.

The lake turns out to be absolutely stunning. It is set in a fairly barren landscape with little vegetation and I learn only later that is probably is due to the salty water it contains. The salt content is however not as high to prevent me from having a jolly good bath in the still strong sun of the later afternoon. As I am drying myself and considering putting on underwear I witness the horse herd I passed on foot on my half an hour walk to the lake shore drinking the lake water. It is indeed not as salty but I am definitely not using it to brew me evening coffee.

And so yet another beautiful setting to camp in. This time I turn my tent away from the lake so I can observe the golden stems of the tall dry grass moving in the wind as the sun sets beyond the horizon. The herd of horses in the distant left, the herds of goats and sheep on the right and me somewhere in the middle. Nice.

Roughing it

And so here I am. A lonely loner roaming the lonely steppe alone.

Sipping a strong freshly brewed coffee in the comfort of my tent in this middle of nowhere. I can here the wolfs howling from the other side of the lake. Tsagaan Nuur, the White lake the call it. I observer the waves gently making they way towards me in the slight evening breeze. Soon the night will take over and I can only hope my not-so-wintery equipment will take me through the night all right. It's been snowing two nights ago and that was at much lower altitude but the day seemed to have warmed up a bit so the prospects are good.

It's been a long day. Long in terms of obstacles and indecision. It has almost made me wrap it all up and turn back to Ulaan Baatar but there are few things I am less found off then retrieting. And as it turns out luck fancies the brave as well as the prepared! But first things first..

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After coming back from Gobi there was not much left of my ideals of explorer's Mongolia, The lack of infrastructure seems to prohibit one to do any serious individual travelling and one has to resort to private or shared jeeps to get anywhere. No buses exist beyond the links between UB and some of the provincial capitals and the jeeps take away the last of what's left of the original feeling of exploration.

So I find myself back in UB sharing a guestohouse with all my trip compatriots. I must admit my luck when I end up in a different dorm to all the others so I do not have to deal with another hour of listening to the endless banter about nothing i.e. girly things. The relative solitutude, hot showers and all the other comforts of being left alone in a true city with running water and sewage system make me quickly forget all the annoyances of the past 11 days.

After a good nigfht sleep and a 20 minute morning shower I leave the guesthouse to see whether my ad for a truip to the West (of Mongolia) produced any results. Practically none is the answer since I do not count the Israeli guy whome I met before leaving for Gobi. The hair on his face, neck and arms earned him a nickname Wolfman. He got apparently inspired by my idea and started organising a trip on his own,. Being asked to join in I cannot forget his uberego shining through in every situation in the few hourse I had a chance to spend in his company two weeks ago and the Gobi experience still fresh in my mind my answer is a definitive no.

I have never met a single young Israeli person in my life until I arrived to UB. Spending some 10 days here in between my trips I met at least two dozens of them. Strangely enough they all seem to have similar character features: being loud, very confidently sharing their views and taking over space. At one point in the previous guesthouse, being surrounded by six of them and very few other travelers I could not avoid feeling like a Palestinian in Gaza. Or at least it gave me an insight!

It is at this point I meet Lukas, the 36 year old Berliner who has left his job for a year of traveling . Being on the road for 8 months already he has a very straight view on how he wants to spend his time and who with.

We immediately click and after an Indian dinner, a few beers and a lengthy discussion on world politics we storm the guesthouse and after hearing a faint suggestion to go out to Karaoke - a Mongolian favorite night out - we take over and lead a 'big' night out.

Ten people crammed in a karaoke booth singing the best of the worst over countless pints of Mongolian lager. Brushing up in Bee Gees and the like, my voice turning a nice gritty colour, I am loving every minute of it.

When most people decide to leave for bed at four o'clock we are no where near and order another round. Being kicked out an hour later searching for another bar to star the day with a pint we almost end up in a fist fight over money with a random Mongolian driver who was supposed to take us somewhere but kept circling around instead. Three to one is math easy enough even for his brutish features when he ends up accepting one sixth of the price he asks. As he gets back into the car he and flushes out a stream of colorful Mongolian in my direction I cannot think otherwise. A good night out indeed!

I do not bother to go to sleep at all unlike all my yesterday-night compatriots. The deal has been sealed in my mind and there is a lot to do. The day after tomorrow I am off to the West via the Central provinces. Taking a bus to Tsetserleg and continuing hitching another 200 kilometers to the White lake to do some fishing and hiking in the surrounding mountains. First few days in the company of Lukas, the rest alone.

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The blog is updated, super warm underpants bought and packed, another VISA extension filed and the ten hour bus journey can begin. In the end it turns out to be  a much more comfortable experience then anticipated. The expected Japanese minivan actually materializes as a full-blown Korean bus.

My backpack sitting on the seat next to me serves as a cushion for at least a third of the journey, the rest is filled with scenery watching and friendly banter with my friend.

We arrive at Tsetserleg in the early evening with enough time to try the local Mongolian cafes. The food is actually worse then the bad I am accustomed to and I have to suppress the feeling of guilt over my suggestion to Lukas of what to order. The beer tastes nice thought. It's bottled so I guess there is no other way.

After stacking up on vodka, the only essential item missing in hour backpacks we climb the nearest hill overlooking a city and camp under a clear blue sky. After a little incident involving a Korean cooker, a Mongolian adapter, a Russian gas and Slovak engineering when the camp almost burns down in a sudden fireball we retire for the night. Not before the mandatory few sips of the vodka to takes us through the night safely.

By eleven the next day we're out on the road ready to take on the hitchhiker's Mongolia.

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"Sain bain uu. Ta khashaa yavj bain ve?" I volunteer when the first car stops over and the driver rolls down the window. The puzzled look on his face makes me repeat the sentence. Good day. Where are you heading?

"Bid Tariat ruu khashaa." We're going to Tariat. The driver's face lights up in understanding.

"Ah.. bain bain", the driver responds merrily reluctant to share the destination of his journey. He rubs the fingers of his right hand in the familiar international gesture.

"Yamar untei?" I follow. How much?

The driver looks for a means to explain the figure spoken in Mongolian. As he hands me back the paper and pen I lent him I can see why his face lit up so brightly. 180 000 togrog! Roughly 120$.. You've got to be kidding! 80 US cents per kilometer? The taxis in the west cost less!

When I explain to him that his asking price belongs to another world he does not care to negotiate, utters some colloquial Mongolian with a frown on his face and drives off.

What a f- bastard! Lukas and I agree as we watch him leave. He was surely joking, right?

Well, if he was joking indeed then most of Mongolians in this province share his sense of humour. With five other cars a similar patter is followed, one driver sending us to the bus station when I share my idea of what is a fair fare for the length of this journey - 25000 togrog is what I am willing to spend for the both of us. He laughs wholeheartedly as he drives off.

So this is the friendly and hospitable Mongolia the guidebooks keep talking about? At least the pace is good and ninety percent of the cars stop by. It seems that some do so just to have a closer look at the strange white folk.

When a van with a lovely and friendly looking family stops over our luck seems to be picking up. By this time I extended my knowledge of Mongolian to say we are hitchhikers. When they reveal our destinations match we decide no to ask about the price and hop on to the closed cargo back of their Russian minivan.

The happiness of being finally on the road surrounded by an authentically friendly looking family however quickly wears off when we make a U-turn and end up 500 meters back to where we started. Apparently the family has not finished their shopping yet and are planning to leave in three hours. No way we are waiting here this long and as we are unloading our backpacks I try to explain to them that if we're still waiting at our original spot in that time they are more then welcome to pick us up. As we're heading back on foot to where we started and resume our hitching position the driver father seems to be following us. Suddenly it dawns on me that this ride would in no way have been free nor the price left for us to decide, given as a present rather then a payback.

I cannot help myself feeling disappointed.

Don't get me wrong here. I am all for supporting the local families. They are mostly very poor and can afford little else then what their basic needs require. But there is a huge difference between support and extortion.

The tourist industry is definitely taking it's toll on Mongolia. Wherever there used to be the alleged unconditional hospitality before there now seems to be forward expectation of payback. I guess it is fair and it makes sense to make money on something that is money to be made of. But Mongolian's take this entrepreneurship to a whole new level. They expect to be given things without providing any service. Simply because the foreigner 'is' rich they assume that that money somehow belongs to them too. In the Gobi our driver kept asking me for cigarettes even though he visibly had his own. The owner of a tourist ger (that's how the yurts are called here) we stayed in asked us for beer and other things even though we payed for the night. Refusing in these cases is certainly out of question so one has really no other option than to accept it.

As we resume our hitching position we decide on a different strategy that would hopefully get us moving - to make the journey in a few hops. So we no longer ask for Tariat, the town nearest to the lake, when a jeep stops over but the next village some 30 kilometers away instead. The lady in the passenger seat who later turns out to be a doctor actually negotiates! Starting at 20000 I manage to get the price down to 5000. Not bad.

And so after one and a half hours of the we are finally on the road! After we leave the town limits we continue driving through a scenic mountain pass into a valley with a wide river lined with tall birches and poplars. The autumn has reached Mongolia there is no doubt about that. The leaves have all turned beautiful shades of yellow and with the amount of light in this cloudless day and altitude they give out an irresistible shine.

When we get off in this no-where village, which probably has no other purpose then a night stop for a passing by trucks, we do not resist a little hike to the river. Long I have longed for a proper autumn, the previous three spent in the treeless south of England. And so after we cross the river and brew some coffee I walk off into the little forest rejoicing in the colors and the sounds.

Before the night sets in we manage another hop. In the bluish colors of the dusk we can still recognize the contours of the not-far-off mountains when we get off. The deep chill of the wind lets us know we're in much higher altitude. It still catches us by surprise when we wake up to the sounds of snow falling on our tents - within half an hour the whole steppe is covered in white. I observe it from the relative warmth of my sleeping bag and with a few sips of vodka to take the edge of the morning cold creeping in we wait the storm off until the sun pierces through the clouds. As we're packing up our tents there is little trace of it left except for a distant mountain peak in the direction I fear we are heading.

Catching a really quick but equally uncomfortable ride we arrive to Tariat in the early afternoon. The driver of the car we arrived in and his wife own a guesthouse in the town and even when we suggest  we stay there the driver asks a ridiculous amount. He even suggests we take a cheaper ride with someone else and then come to theirs. What business skill! Lukas seems very tempted to tell him to f- off but I calm him down. In the end the driver's wife, speaking fluent English, seems to beat some sense into her husband and we end up riding for about an eighth of the original price.

So we're finally in Tariat walking around trying to find the only restaurant but failing to do so. We haven't committed ourselves to anything and have yet to come up with a plan! The lake is 7 kilometers away. Lukas suggests calling of the those ridiculously overpriced ger camps at its shores. He is totally against camping tonight and since the morale is quite low after the previous few days that opened our eyes and left a bitter taste in our months regarding Mongolians I end up agreeing, We are however again assured in our opinion of working Mongolia when none of the four camps called are able to provide transportation. Anywhere else it would be a matter of a few phone calls but not here!

Hungry, tired, disillusioned and with no other real options we settle for the local guesthouse. Normally the family provides a ger for their guests but since they have just wrapped up this year's tourist season they have none quite ready and we end up sleeping in their own house with the family sharing a tent in the yard. As I am falling asleep with the prospects of comfortable warmth throughout the night I can here fairly loud sighs of passion coming from the tent. As the lady explains in the morning she has been away for two weeks.. I am pretty sure however their little son slept in the tent with them - apparently there are no taboos here..

The next day does not start very positively. Lukas has decided to turn back because of his health condition - an undefined itch that's been 'consuming' him for weeks did not getter better after a trip to the Mongolian doctors. The Chinese once were even less useful so, again with little other choice, he decided to give the Mongolian ones one more try. And thus we shake hands and exchange a manly hug - him regretting he's never gotten to see the lake and me, well, a little disappointed to loose a buddy and slightly scared since my lonely adventure starts right here right now!

I have failed to mention a certain problem that's been occupying my mind for the past few days. I made a mistake of not taking enough cash out of the bank in UB for obvious reasons - well, maybe not so obvious: robberies, thefts and muggings that is - relying on the guidebook information being correct in the fact that I'll be able to get money out as I go. The unexpected spending towards the hitching fares are beginning to stretch my available budget and I desperately need to recharge my waist pouch. I have given the ATM in the last big town a try but with no avail. So it is time to try here and try harder.

I have made a short-lived inquiry yesterday but I was entirely unsuccessful. I try to put much more pressure when I enter the bank this time. There must be a way around even if the bank is not connected directly to the international system. Call the branch in UB, give them my card details, draw the money there and transfer it locally here. And put a 10 percent margin on top. That's what would happen anywhere else from bank manager's own initiation. But not here, no. You have to come up with all the solutions yourself and then hope that you come across someone willing enough to put them into reality.

When I am assured by the guesthouse lady that what I am after is possible I walk into the bank much more confidently. I have some of my 'ideas' written down in Mongolian but the bank teller seems to be finished at first sign of failure after trying the same she has tried yesterday. I have to call the guesthouse lady to translate as I take her through the whole process. She calls the bank in Tsetserleg then in UB and after a few passes of the phone with the lady translator on there and back I learn that it is simply impossible. They would need reassurance in the proof of my signature which I cannot provide and a fax is a non-existent thing here, not that they would be willing to go through all the trouble.

Ok. I suggest a draft from my account. I go to the internet cafe - believe me or not there is one here - to get the international bank account number (IBAN) and branch code and come back fairly confident. That should work. But it doesn't since the lady has never heard of an IBAN or a bank account number not having 10 digits. I give up on her at this point. She however isn't finished with me and I have to pay up 4000 togrog for the privilege of her company. Even thought it ended in an epic failure. I give up though and pay up reluctant to waste another minute arguing.

There is one more thing I came up with in my mini brain storming session and that is to transfer the money to the account of the guesthouse lady and after three days, when they are there, have them draw them out for me minus a margin. I am not entirely trustful when it comes to Mongolians but this lady has been nice and since she is in the Lonely Planet guidebook she cannot afford to do anything evil. As I am discussing these options with here she seems a bit disappointed I won't spend the money on a tour with them but ends up agreeing. To get her to understand that I need the exact international bank account number not just some partial codes she is handing to me however proves more difficult. So difficult that after giving her my phone to call up whomever she needs to find it out and her coming back to me with the same old story I give up.

And so it is then. At least I have 20$ on me I can change in the ban. They take no euros. Why would they.

With the twenty bucks turned into 25000 togrog I finally take off for the lake. There goes the planned horse riding and there goes the fishing too when I discover that the gear went off with Lukas.

As I am making the 7 kilometer trek to the lake on foot thinking how unfortunately it all turned out - me having to go back to UB before starting again for the West - I come across a group of foreigners fishing by the river flowing out of the lake. When I share my day's troubles with a very nice New Zealender who is all eager to help out. And in no time the tourist group including its guides and driver turn into a Fishing/Horse-riding Banking Consortium. A passionate but friendly debate on the exchange rates unfolds with me, being partial, unfortunately having no say in it. So I end up changing all my euros and pounds about 15% under price but stuff it! Anything to get me going forward and never back!

And so it is! I've got enough money now to get me to the west where some sort of solution will present itself I'm sure. There are a few cities with airports and there is no way foreigners pay up cash for the tickets. And so now much more confident I give my regards and make headway towards the lake.

I arrive to a pretty spot with a happy mindset and setup camp while it's still light. After a dinner of soup and noodles I stretch myself on the warm ground and light up a cigarette. The lake unfolds to my left with mountains as a backdrop. An extinct volcano shines above the trees on the right. The trees growing from a little plateau the river of lava has created few millions years ago. It's been a good day.

When the night sets in I start writing this story. I can hear the wolfs howling from across the lake. That and the voices and synthesizers of Modern Talking, the cheesy 80's East German band. For some strange reason they are still alive here. To my good fortune the person playing the music grows tired of it rather quickly and so I can go to sleep with only the calming sounds of the lake in a gentle breeze. The adventure starts tomorrow. Bloody hell, it's gonna be fun!

Into the Gobi with the A-team

How do you write about people I wonder.. Do you start with a description of their character, the circumstances that brought you together or do you jump to the event that initiated this very need to share the acquaintance with the world? Mentioning this uncertainty is surely a bad start in itself but since they say writing does trigger ideas consider this a scribbled note on the margin. So let's start afresh.

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After returning from the Gobi desert after a cabin-feverish 11 day experience the late evening two days ago. I decide to change the safe grounds of my old guesthouse for a convenience of another one, closer to the city center and our drop off point. After sorting out the formalities I throw my backpack in the corner of a six-bed dorm and go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my tired face. I don't bother to shower in this late hour and choose to run to the net cafe instead to post a note on the net of my successful return to UB in case anyone cares. 10 minutes available are up in no time and for an hour or so I join the rest of the 'cabin inhabitants' for a late dinner at a local diner. It's time to recapitulate and draw a line after what's certainly been a little tour de force.

11 days with same people in an enclosed space test a person. I can tell you.

We'll all agree (at least I hope so for goodness sake!) on the first impressions being the accurate sum of persons' attitude most of the times. But there are those times when your judgment is hazed by sudden play of events which muddy up your critical receptors. That is precisely what has happened that day I have committed myself to the trip. I will have to go onto a short tangent here to explain the circumstances:

Sunday nine o'clock. I get up back to my hostel after a successful day of notice posting on the boards of multiple guesthouses and expat cafes. (A notice for fellow minded adventurers willing to endure the hardships of individual travel in Western Mongolia.) I am stopped by the guesthouse manager who points me to a note on the board from two French organizing a trip to Gobi. I did come across their 'ad' before and chatted with their friend about the possibility of me joining a similar tour (if all else fails) earlier that day but the thought has slipped my mind completely in the hours passed. The phone call to the number I am given connects me with a grumpy guesthouse manager whose English I find very difficult to decode but when the aforementioned friend takes over the phone and cares to explain I learn they are out in a restaurant somewhere in my area. No address, no name, just a mention that the restaurant is in the Lonely Planet guidebook. 

It's half ten now as I quickly weigh my options and give it a go. The lonely planet book is provided in no time from a local source and two restaurants fit the description given. I hastily walk out the door and within 10 minutes find myself entering the first one. Lucky guess or fate? The second group of foreigners reveals the aforementioned French girl and a boy and soon I find myself eagerly sweet talking to please my newly found best friends for life. We are going to do an independent (understand not organized by an agency) adventurous tour of the Gobi. What could be better?


So these are the circumstances. You can surely see how easy it is to misjudge a person in the excitement of these rapid developments and lucky chance. How can a not particularly good looking but the loveliest and super friendly and sweet looking girl with an enchanting mix of French and Oxford English accents turn into a controlling opinion-eating monster with a gift of no self-reflection whatsoever is probably harder to see but trust me, it is possible.


And thus on one fresh Monday morning I find my self in a van with the A-team: a patronizing little witch with integrity problems and/or inability to employ logic in argumentation, a very funny Frenchman lacking a back bone and at least one ball (of the two) and two relatively cute Dutch girls unsuitable for any sort of independent adventurous travel. And of course the jewelery man, our uneducated bad-tempered driver.

And so off we go, into the adventure we ride!

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The illusion of a Team team is scattered very quickly. The jewelery man - ehm, the driver - drives out of the city for 45 minutes in the rush hour before he is finally persuaded by the four that I am indeed not yet in the van and I indeed have yet to be collected. After a 60 minute drive back to my guesthouse where I've been scratching my body parts for last two hours he has no kind words to spare as I am loaded in and meet the rest of the bunch. I don't have to mention that another 40 minute drive out of the city follows but not before we spend some 20 minutes at a train station waiting for the French to buy their tickets out of Mongolia for when we return. Since I was truly the last minute addition to the bunch I have left all the shopping to the rest. Not surprisingly we discover there is no water and we should (probably) buy some.

Three and a half hours behind schedule and a year closer to the coronary operation of our driver we are finally leaving the outskirts of UB. -

I don't particularly want to relive all the aggravating moments of the trip in detail so I will cut the possibly interesting individual stories into a short summary of issues. So: the lack of normal food (apparently one egg for breakfast is enough when there is no lunch and why not fill our selves with the 10 kilos of biscuits during the driving), three women yapping constantly about boyfriends and exboyfriends and exgirlfriends of their boyfriends and boyfriends and girlfriends of their friends (honest to god: how doesn't 20 minutes cover it?!), the Frenchmen totally agreeing with me the Frenchwoman is a control freak but never backing me up when the shit hits the fan, and all of my fellow passengers preferring to sit on their asses when we're passing a fascinating natural scenery rather then getting out there and explore it on foot (regarding this I gave up pushing my opinion forward very early on so I could not really point fingers when we arrived back 'north' 2 days earlier with nothing really to poke into).

When I have learned to take my ego out of the equation in any decision making debate and ignore the patronising (which I have perfected over the 11 days, I tell you) the trip actually became quite pleasant. I did choose solitude most of the time, but rather naturally and never on wrong terms so no one's feelings were hurt. I was hungry for normal food most of the time - even when we bought new supplies - the girls don't need to eat eggs in the morning but once they're done they just smell too good.. I virtually did not do any trekking, I did ride a camel for the most touristy price ever (demanded by the girls who screwed up any chances at bargaining) even though the so called tourist traps were high on the Frenchwoman's list of evil never-to-do things. Oh well.

One thing I regret is not recording the fantastic streams of colloquial Mongolian our driver directed at me at countless occasions when our opinions on where to drive next differed and I happened to sit next to him. What a lovely man!

I would definitely say I would not do it again the way we did it. And I will definitely never go anywhere with three women and only one man. (Done that twice - three times would make me an idiot. No thanks. But I did see some really interesting places and have quite a few pictures to show for it. I will post them up soon, I promise.

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Never again! I give up trying to use the internet here for anything else then writing pure text! Pain in the arse is what it is! No pictures until I get to a civilised country i.e. China. And I'm so getting a laptop there..

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Now successfully in China, got the laptop and here we go:

All photos slideshow.