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.