Roughing it
There are those days when you get up with no clear intentions of what to do with the day. And that may be for various reasons: a continuation of the bad mood carried over from yesterday, stepping out on the wrong foot as they say, or just being plain lazy. But my day fortunately does not start like this even though there is plenty of negative thought on my mind.
There are those days when you get up with no clear intentions of what to do with the day. And that may be for various reasons: a continuation of the bad mood carried over from yesterday, stepping out on the wrong foot as they say, or just being plain lazy. But my day fortunately does not start like this even though there is plenty of negative thought on my mind.
I wake up when the alarm goes off and unzipping the tent I quickly realize that a storm is about to unfold over me. The skies are dark although the hour suggests otherwise and that is generally a clear sign of an oncoming rain storm. The wind is rapidly picking up and in strong irregular blows advance the heavy shapeless cloud over my campsite.
With the mountain across the river already covered in the dark haze that surely must be rain I await the shower calculating how much time I have before my ride leaves town. An hour and a half, that's plenty time to wait out all the bad that is about to occur in the dry cover of my tent.
As I am finish packing up my sleeping bag there is still no sign of rain. I can hear the tree branches above me going mad and think of how good an idea it is to camp in a tiny forest, but a forest nevertheless.
The skies has truly darkened now and when I get out to reassess the tent's position I realise there is no water coming. It is indeed something else carried over by the wind and as it start biting me on my face I am forced to look away. It is sand. Sand carried over from the dunes hundred kilometers away. Brilliant, I think to myself.
After waiting out the worst of it, listening to the sounds of the sand sprays hitting the walls of my tent while chewing a breakfast biscuit, I am in a hurry to finish packing up. After 15 minutes I am finally done and as I make my way through the trees, fallen down branches and the followed dried out marshes I look at the watch to reassure myself of the time.
Shit. Five to ten. The car is supposed to leave at ten so I better hurry. I pick up the pace to make it to the road in time and battle the wind blowing sand straight into my face. As I raise my head from the uneven surface that is passing under my feet I can see a car popping out from nowhere some 500 meters to my left. As my walk turns into a run I start waving my hands and shout. The distance between us is shortening and I have still some 60 meters to make it to the road.
'Hey! For god's sake, hey!' I shout with the last of my voice when the car passes some 30 meters in front of me with no signs of slowing down. Surely it wasn't my ride, surely not..
The wind is blowing stronger out here in the open steppe as I am catching my breath slowly making my way towards the spot where the two roads, one from Tes, and the other one a main road from the capital of another province, meet.
No sign of any cars though, just me and the wind.
In between the sprays of sand I start to feel an occasional drop of rain. Great!
Another 15 minutes have passed before I arrive to the heap of rocks along the road I noticed in the distance. I lay my rucksack down and sit myself with my back leaning against it to shelter me from the wind. I light up a cigarette and let another 15 minutes pass before I am convinced that the car I missed was indeed my ride.
Shit. Out here with no shelter I cannot last all day! Wait all day for a miracle it would seem - I have seen no cars while walking out of the village yesterday for three hours to get here, nor was I told there is any significant traffic here. The map I am carrying and that lists this road as the main link to the west seems to be reflecting someone's wishes rather then the reality! The frequency of passing cars is ridiculously low. And it has been for past three days.
So my outlooks are not very good I must admit. Feeling the chill of the wind getting under the layers of my clothes make me reconsider my options. Ok, I can go back the 10 kilometers to the village. And stay in the warm local canteen waiting for what? No buses, no cars leave the town on any schedule. Not to mention the thought of going back there to those 'morally incoherent' people..
No, the only way of getting out of here is staying out here, observing the long winding road and trying to keep warm
By the time I realise the backpack is no good as a shelter the rain that has increased in volume. With plenty of rocks of various shapes and sizes laying around I force myself out into the wind and start piling them up. When I'm putting the last rock down I cannot feel my fingers from the cold of the wind.
There we have it! A pretty improvised shelter but it'll do the job!
After I put all my warmest clothes on - by all I mean all in layers one on top of the other - and dig myself in I can see the rain drops turning into snow. I tuck my head deeper into the jacket and light up a cigarette. I smile at how fortunate I am at experiencing this. I am not being sarcastic! The past days I felt pretty miserable with a definite peak yesterday evening. Waking up with traces of it left and experiencing the irony of missing a sure ride I feel strangely cleansed and have to smile at my current situation:
The yellowy steppe everywhere my eye can see. Nothing there to disturb this perfect wide space besides the mountain and the little forest - my campsite - on my far left, the enclosing mountains in the very distant right and the dirt road to my near left. Even that however feels strangely in place here - no dark colour of tarmac to spoil the yellowish tones of the steppe grass. How peaceful - whatever the weather..
The snow is now clearly visible as it falls through the air at a sharp angle. The strong wind is keeping me dry even though the shelter I've built covers me from only one side. The haze of the morning has picked up and the sand and the dust are continuing their way east, probably not settling down until in China.
I can feel the cold slowly crawling in under the layers of the clothes on my unmoving body. An hour has passed already and I feel my legs starting to shake. There is no way I will last here all day. I am smoking cigarettes to keep warmer!
I wish now I had bought that vodka yesterday..
I am considering putting up a tent and observe the road from within its walls but since there is nothing to protect it from the ghastly winds I wonder if my plan is destined to fail.
As I am about o make a decision a car suddenly appears from the smokey mist - now the proper snowfall - ahead. Yes, this is it!
I ran towards the car waving my hands in mild desperation. The car is reluctant to slow down at first and I do not wonder why. The sight of this strange persona with a crazed look appearing from the white wall on the other side of the windshield must put a worry in even the hearts of tougher men! But the cars starts slowing down in a bit and as it almost passes me at walking speed I recognise a family of three with a small girl sitting in the cabin - all the more reasons to be weary!
As the car's wheels come to a full stop and the window rolls down I stick my head in to allow my icy nose this little bit of warmth.
'Baruun Turrun?' I ask quickly my mouths mumbling from the cold. They do not seem to understand the question so I dig out the map from my pocket and using my fingers explain the route of my journey. Take me anywhere along the route. Please!! The father driver looks at his wife whose empathic face has already made a decision. Take him in, husband! And so it is..
I am convinced from the little exchange that follows that I am being taken to my destination - the whole 300 kilometers. Bliss! I can feel my cold body slowly melting and the stiffness giving way to the wave of warmth and cosyness. Bliss indeed!
What lovely people, these fellow passengers of mine. The driver is concentrated on the road since it is hard to see anything through the snowy curtain ahead but his wife turning her head towards me repeatedly showing great interest at who is the strange stranger out here in the weather like this mixed with empathy at how cold it must have been out there. Their little daughter although shying away each time my eyes meet hers cannot avoid returning her gaze at me each time the embarrassment wears off.
And so we ride in this warm cabin through this horrible weather. I do not mind my hip bones rubbing against the door each time we hit a hole or I turn around to check my possessions in the open cargo back. Observing the snow falling down on the steppe is irresistible now that no worries are there to occupy my mind.
And so unencumbered it remains when we pull off the main road after some 30 kilometers and I receive the explanation 'Druzia!'.
Ok, a stop at the friend's ger before taking on the rest of the journey. Fine by me, nothing can dampen my spirits now!
And so I am invited in and greeted by what looks like grandparents to the girl in the van. Soon enough we are joined by three other young men in their twenties. As I learn later they are the brothers of the mother I arrived with and the older couple are indeed her parents.
As I sit myself down on the offered stool next to the burning stove and my eyes get used to the lower light conditions in the ger I recognise that a feast is being prepared.
The stove is housing a big pan of white liquid that is the freshly milked milk When I am offered a cup I accept it happily and drink away this beautifully rich and very potent liquid.
Not a meter and a half away the mother pulls up a stool to join the the grandmother in cleaning the intestines of a clearly freshly killed sheep. As she pulls her pressed fingers down along a meter of the stringy material a pungent smell hits my nose. I turn my head away to see a row of mutton meet hanging from the walls of the ger. Next to it is a giant odd looking balloon filled with a liquid whose source I do not wish to investigate - that must be the sheep's stomach. Next my eyes fall on a few unidentifiable objects leaning against the wall of the ger but there is no space to observe in detail as I am being questioned by the very homely looking grandfather about my origins and the destination of my journey. It is not until later after I notice one of them moving and making a be-e sound that I realise there is an actual live baby sheep hiding in the ger from the whims of the weather. Hiding half a meter from where one of her kin is lying in its quiet dismemberment. Welcome to Mongolia! enters my mind again.
In the next two hours while the food is being prepared I spend in a conversation with the grandfather. A conversation that involves more gesticulation and body language than the actual words. But the grandfather is clearly a smart man and it all goes well. When he asks me for the second time how I am getting to Ulaangom, the provincial capital 300 kilometers away, I sense there is something wrong. After a ten minute dialog we establish that the family is actually spending the weekend here and after tomorrow they are heading back to Tys.
Ouch, that's not good, I can feel my pulse increasing. When I ask about the main road to my destination and am lead outside and shown a thin stripe of the road in the far distance in front I gulp heavily. Luckily for me the outstretched arm of the very helpful grandfather continues moving westwards and after skipping a near by hill reattaches its index finger to the hint of the road in the field some 200 meters from where I am standing. Uff, that was close!
The snow is now a distinctly visible feature and adds a hazy dreamy quality to the vast planes ahead. I expect it will soon cover the whole landscape in its whiteness. As I return to the ger with my respectable company I lay out my plans of how to get out of here: I'll stay outside near the ger and observe the road in the distance. If there is a car I'll run down to the road near the hill just in time to catch it and voila, off I go! Simple.
Simple indeed, my host agrees although not entirely sure about the waiting outside and observing bit. But all of this will wait until after dinner, which I gladly accept.
The dinner consists of all parts of the aforementioned dismembered sheep boiled in a big pan of water with a few potatos and onions thrown in. The guts were stuffed with mix of sheep's blood and some onions and thrown in without ever being properly sterilised. First on the menu is the liver which the grandfather cuts into smaller pieces and passes around while the rest is still being cooked.
When the pan is finally taken off the stove and to my surprise all the liquid drenched away I am handed a knife and together with the rest of the family reach into the pan using my bare hands and dig out whatever takes my fancy.
After about twenty minutes and quite a few pieces of meat of rather undefinable origin I am properly stuffed.
The time has come to start hitching and so I collect my jacket, put on my hard riding hat and exit into the cold.
The wind is biting and so I try to hide away by the ger's eastern wall. The air is too cold to remain still so after about ten minutes I get out and wander around the property.
In the next four hours only one car appears on the horizon but it is a false alarm. After reaching it in a car together with the father I learn they are going nowhere close to where I need to get.
Before the day is over the grandfather kindly offers me to stay with them and continue hitching tomorrow. I tap him on the shoulder and thank him very much for his kindness. I am not yet however prepare to give up the hitching.
And so I stand out there in the cold for another hour and a half. When I am just about to call it a day another car appears on the distant horizon and I end up running down the hill to meet it.
The distance is in reality much longer then it looks from the top of the hill and by the time I reach the road, gasping for my breath, I must have covered at least 400 meters. As the Russian jeep stops and the window rolls down I peek in to see about 8 people inside. Damn!
After a short confused conversation we agree on the fact that we share the same destination but there is no more space for a single other soul not to mention the backpack I have left in the ger.
And thus I wave them goodbye, exchange a few smiles with the teenage girls sitting in the back and off they go.
So it is then! A night spend in the ger with these nice people can however hardly be called a setback!
I retreat to the warmth of the ger but not after I help the sons chop some wood for the fire. The milk tea is served and I am offered leftovers from lunch which I kindly refuse to 'settle' for homemade yogurt, some bread and thick homemade cream.
All eight of us watch some television, sipping some more of the milk tea and I almost feel a part of this family.
When they show a news clip about the NATO shield in Czech Republic and a map of the whole central Europe unfolds on the TV I throw myself forward and point my hometown to my companions. This is where I'm from! I only wish I had some pictures to show them how beautiful my country is!
After the news finishes I still feel the strange warmth of a distant traveler who is so vividly reminded of his home. The weather man announces that the weather arriving today is going to last for the whole of tomorrow and after that we should be back to the early autumn temperatures. Next they show the weather around the globe and the figure next to London says 23 degrees. Lucky bastards!
At around nine o'clock the mattresses are spread on the floor. Since there are only two used beds in the ger and they are reserved for the grandparents we all sleep on the floor. There is another ger built right next to this one and I thought it's where the family I arrived with will stay but I am wrong. I assume it's because it is not ready for this weather yet and so we all squeeze on the floor next to each other.
Before we say good night the grandfather passes around a few shots of the old Chinggis (Mongolian vodka) to take the edge of the cold to come - the fire in he stove is not kept up during the night - and I gladly accept two before bidding everyone a farewell and goodnight.
I am so tired from standing out in the cold and the wind that I fall asleep before anyone else.
The peace and rest does not last long though and in the middle of the night I wake up to a strong pain in my gut. A fever is shaking my body as I force myself out of bed for a sip of water and a few pills to aid digestion.
Sitting awake wrapped in my sleeping back and waiting for the meds to kick in I curse the two vodka's I had. Milk and alcohol apparently don't mix too well and as I see no positive developments in the next half hour I get up and exit the ger into the cold of the night to aid my body the old fashioned way!
I walk some twenty meters into the dark and cold not to wake my hosts to the gagging sounds of their guest throwing up what they so kindly put on the table. The mission ends up in a failure and I return to the ger with the hope that I'll sleep it off!
That is not to happen though and I wake up a few more times being forced to exit into the cold for a more natural way of releasing the poisoned bodily fluids.
In the morning I find my body in the same state and I refuse all the food offered. I can see the worry on the faces of my hosts and I am sorry for them more then I am for myself. There is no other way but to continue hitching since I feel I am in debt to these people already. Thus I drag myself out into the cold and wind and continue my observing of the still landscape ahead.
In the five hours to follow nothing much happens. I take long walks to keep the edge of the cold since the clouds block all the sun rays. On the rare occasions when they get through I actually enjoy the strolling. One of the few tea breaks makes me miss the single car in all of this time and I can only hope that it was not going where I am as I follow if out of my line of sight.
Long five hours of cold and shivers. I am surviving on a piece of bread 'toasted' on the stove and a few cups of tea. My stomach is not ready to take in anything else and when there is no sign of relieve and I am starting to observe symptoms of a bacterial infection I turn to my mighty med-kit and start a course of antibiotics.
Jolly good time hitching in Mongolia!
As I am making myself comfortable behind a tall flat rock with pointy edges I catch a sudden reflection on the horizon. This is it I tell myself as I sprint down the hill. Every step makes me want to stop and cover the steppe with what's left in my stomach but I am not willing to miss this ride!
After a 5 minute wait on the road thinking that my mind is playing tricks on me a big fat truck appears.
Damn! Three people in the cabin.. But that does not stop me from waving wildly and stepping into the truck's path.
The truck comes to a halt and the three friendly looking guys get out to greet me with a smile. I take out my map and go through all the usual. They are actually going all the way to where I am with one stop to unload the cargo on the way. And they will take me with them! Great!
5 minutes I tell them and point to the ger on the top of the hill. Let me collect my stuff and I'll be back in no time!
I sprint up the hill reaching the ger exhausted and out of breath. I grab my backpack, check the room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything and give my lovely hosts a farewell. I cannot restrain myself from giving a hug and a kiss to the mother and the grandmother, something very unusual to the Mongolian custom and which leaves them somewhat startled. I shake the hand of the father trying to give him some money for the troubles and the fuel. He refuses and since I have no time to argue and it is considered impolite to leave a present anywhere else then the hand of the person it is intended for I let it be at that.
Since the grandfather is not there I can only hope he knows how grateful I am for his kindness. One of his sons offers me a ride to the truck since I am already running late. I try to show my gratitude again but he does not accept the note and seems a bit offended. I shake his hand and thank again for everything.
The door is closed behind me with a loud bang and I finally find myself in the cabin with the three friendly looking strangers. I am offered the passenger seat and one of my fellows takes the uncomfortable 'seat' between the driver and me facing the right passenger window.
The recent jog makes me feel rather uneasy and I have to force myself into the introductory conversation. Luckily for me the guys speak very basic Russian and English so the conversation is much more interesting then anticipated.
The guys are delivering some building material all the way from Ulaan Baatar to Zuungov, a little town on the south western corner of the 150 kilometer long strip of sand dunes - the world's most northerly dunes. If all goes well we should reach it today, unload and continue to Ulaangom, the first big city in the ten or so days of traveling that are behind me.
It is nice to be sat down in the warmth of the cabin leaving the weather on the other side. I am day dreaming about a cosy hotel in Ulaangom with hot showers and a television set. With a bit of luck, that is my programme for tonight. Please let it be so!
I pass the time observing the peaceful road ahead and answering the stream of investigative questions from my fellow passengers. I am forced to disclose the state I'm in to make sure they do not mistake my slight reluctance to talk with arrogance.
In an hour we seem to make very little headway since the car, loaded up with 60 tons of material, cannot go fast on these nonexistent roads. I assume we make about 25 kmph on average. When we hit a bump here and there I find myself in the air on a few occasions. I wonder what is the life expectancy of such a vehicle.
In the next few hours we finally reach the eastern tip of the sand dunes and follow along them some 100 kilometers. It starts to get dark when we manage to get lost and navigate the truck through this time really non-existent roads.
After a few mishaps that cost us two hours of our lives we arrive at Baruun Turuun, a town one of the guys is originally from. Since it is completely dark now there is no way we can finish the unloading tonight and I must accept that the comforts I am so longing for will have to wait another night.
I can hardly keep my eyes open as we continue further. I thought we were going to spend the night there but the guys seem to want to push for the unloading point. Sounds good with me although I am not too sure about their navigating skills at night.
I am awoken from my nap to the sound of the truck's horn to find us in halt in the middle of nowhere. I recognise a shape of a ger nearby. When I inquire to the meaning of all this I am answered that we are close to Zuungov but we will sleep somewhere out here.
They are clearly trying to wake up a poor herdsman that will, in the traditional Mongolian fashion, offer them a place to stay. No one however comes out to greet us and a similar pattern is followed at another ger about a half a kilometer further down the road.
It seems another night is going to be spent in the tent and so it is! We park the truck in between two 'lanes' and my fellow passengers head for the cargo area to find a place to sleep on top of the piles of concrete and polystyrene blocks.
I reluctantly put up my tent in the freezing cold of the late night - it must be below zero I am sure. Once the tent is up I put on all my clothes including my jacket and lay my mat on top of my emptied backpack to provide more insulation from the cold earth. All tucked in the sleeping bag I actually feel quite warm and very comfortable and being completely worn out by the day's hardships I fall asleep in no time.
I wake up to the sounds of my companions getting into the truck cabin. The walls of the tent are completely frozen from the inside but I don't feel particularly cold. Being semi-well rested I force myself out not to make my friends wait.
Outside it is bitter cold and the sun has hardly made it above the horizon - it can't be later then half seven. I pack up the tent and soon enough we're on the road again.
By eight o'clock we reach Zuungov. When the unloading starts around 9 o'clock and ten men make themselves available all looks good and I can almost see myself in Ulaangom by early afternoon. That of course would require the ten men actually working and not having a break every time they carry away five cement sacks. Not to mention that before the work even commences two bottles of vodka are passed around!
When we're finally done some three hours later I learn that the driver made a deal with them to take some cargo to Ulaangom and we have to wait another two hours for them to load the truck. I pass that time entertaining a large group of children at the local school's playground. As it gets a bit intense I retreat into the truck and spend the rest of the time reading about west Mongolia.
I am pretty eager to get out of town when the clock hits four o'clock and the truck, loosing 56 tons of it's weight, finally storms out of the village.
In the next 150 kilometers the sand dunes give way to Uvs Nuur, the UNESCO protected lake with seven different eco-systems surrounding it's shores.
I am in no mood to get out to investigate as was my plan last week and little else is on my mind that the cosy hotel with a warm shower!
All will have to wait until I recharge my strength and morale! I only hope that the hotel is the answer to that...
