Riding with the Kazakhs

Roughing it

It is early morning.
The morning mist has not yet entirely dissolved in the raising sun but I am up and packing to make it for the bus to Olgii.
I was given three different times as to the departure of the bus by the locals and to play it safe I am on the road to town long before the earliest one.
The village is sound asleep at seven in the morning and I wonder at how can these people sleep so long. (A generic Mongolian goes to bed at ten o'clock.) After a short stroll around I arrive to the bus stop just in time to catch the old Russian minivan. It is me and another three people and I am looking forward to a nice comfortable three hour journey. That is at least until the bus starts driving around the village for the next half hour and picking up people and luggage and more people and more luggage until we are fully packed - understand 200% of the capacity of the van - and are finally on the road.
The next stop about a half an hour down the road with the sun now firmly set above the horizon sees another 4 people joining us on the journey. The last but definitely not least is the addition of a live sheep that takes the honorary spot near the exit door and demonstrates its satisfaction with an occasional baa!

That makes altogether 17 people and one animal in a seven-seater minivan! (See photo.) In the next hour we slowly make our way out of the valley - we are not doing more then 30 kilometers per hour. My fellow passengers are observing me with apparent curiosity but no one is brave enough to vocalise the many questions painted on their faces. Not until I take out my map I am approached and asked to pass it along since maps are a rare sight in these regions. (People drive by instinct in Mongolia. Who would bother with a map?)
I discover that my immediate neighbour speaks pretty good English and I spent the rest of the journey in conversation with her, her pretty sister and her university mate - not before I answer all the usual questions to satisfy the thirst of the rest of the passengers.

Three hours pass rather quickly from here on and after some beautiful scenery in this deserted landscape we finally arrive to Bayan Olgi.
A quick farewell to my fellow passengers and off to the hotel. The best hotel in town as my guide book states and this time around with hot water too!
After a fifteen minute shower all invogorated I take on the town, finding some food and internet. The joys of civilisation once again!
I need to organise my stay with the Kazakhs but with the little time left before my visa finally expires I opt for the local tourist agency. Phoning the two numbers I get my hands on from the internet resources brings me nowhere. But it is the weekend so I spend the rest of the day walking around town taking photos and writing up my adventures.
The next two days are spent in similar fashion. Not until tuesday I am able to meet the tourist agency manager and get a contact to one of the berkutchis (eagle hunters) in a nearby village. We agree on the price for my stay with the family. The price he expects for the ride to get me there is however ridiculously high so I opt for finding my own transport.

On Wednesday noon all packed and ready I make my way to the local market to find a ride. The exhilirating motorcycle riding experience from the two days back leaves me no other option than to approach the five motorcycle drivers lined up in front of the market waiting to take people and their newly acquired possesions home the easy way. When I express my desire to ride all the way to the Sagsai village they are not very impressed. Later I learn why - the road there takes on some serious elevation with steep ascends and descents. In the end the youngest of the drivers who I fear never undertook the journey slightly menicingly encouraged by his older fellows agrees to take me there.
I get back to my hotel, pick up my gear and in no time I'm on the road. The sun is nearing the horizon now. After a short stop to refuel we leave the city limits and follow the river upstream into the mountains. The scenery is shockingly beautiful - the road meanders between two mountains that leave no space for anything else. It eventually flows into a plateu that is far from flat and the engine roars widely to get us all the way onto the top. From there it is a steep downhill but the driver does not seem to care. Cutting off the engine to save on fuel we fly by rocks and bushes with nothing but the wild wind filling our ears turning them a burning red.
With the sun touching the horizon it is really chilly when I finally get off and break with the driver.
I won't be able to make it to the family tonight and I am staying in a ger camp in the village instead.
The next morning and a rough ride in a Russian jeep later I am finally stepping inside the Kazakh settlement that is to be my home for the next five days. No adults are anywhere in sight. We, me and the agency operator who drove me there, are welcomed by two boys, sons of the eagle hunter. After the traditional milk tea offering the driver goes off and I am left in the boys' company.

We spent the afternoon and early evening exploring the area with the younger (age eleven) and brighter of the boys, fishing in the Khovd river flowing nearby and cooking a fish stew from the two caught salmon-like fish.
The surrounding scenery is breathtaking - a wide valley encompassed by two mountain ranges on both sides and a wide river bringing this somewhat desolate place to life. Indeed if it wasn't for the river not a hint of vegetation and life would have been present. I cannot wait to sit myself on a horse and ride out. All will be, soon enough..

The next morning I meet the whole of the family. The father Sedrik, a very run down simple but polite man, shakes my hand a shyly looks away. It is the mother who is evidently running this family. I try to estimate their age - it is in great contrast with the age of their three boys. My very limited knowledge of Mongolian prevents me from inquiring straight away and only later I learn the father is in his early fourties although looking much closer to seventy. These are harsh living conditions indeed...
What better day to start your day then by killing a goat? After breakfast the whole family participates in this ritual and I am snapping my camera for future generations to witness it all!
The afternoon I spent horse riding with the older son who is very happy to show off his bag of tricks. Not within first fifteen minutes since mounting the horse I am lead across the river to the nearby mountain. The river is very deep and I have to put my feet up onto the horses back not to get wet. Kneeling is by no means very stable when carried out on a horse and once on the other side I cannot hide the excitement from not falling off and drowning my beloved camera in the cold mountain waters.
We follow a steep rocky path into the hills - any sane western horse rider would dismiss the steep slippery path up the mountain side because of the loose rocks and gravel - considering the safety of the rider and the horse. But this is western Mongolia and horses here are used to such conditions. And so we climb all the way up never dismounting to get through the rougher and rougher terrain. The views towards the valley and the way ahead are breathtaking.
As we descend from the mountain into a plateau on the other side I see a few solitary camels in the distance. Not far from them is a herd of horses which the kid proudly calls his own. As we ride closer to them the kid lifts himself up in the saddle and in a quick motion throws himself on one side letting one hand go off the reigns and picking up a stone from the ground. All this while in a medium gallop. I am truly impressed and do not try to hide it when he pulls on the reigns and turns around with a big grin on his face looking for sounds of appraisal.
After chasing the horses on the plane we take off and leave the plateau for the river bank a bit further ahead. We follow it down to a large canyon. It is getting late now and the kid wants to go home so we turn around and retrace our steps.. Another day well spent!

After dinner sipping my evening coffee in the comfortable warmth spreading from the stove I try to discuss tomorrow's agenda. I want to witness a hunt with the hunter. All seems to be agreed and I go to sleep looking forward to another excellent day but getting up a disappoinment is waiting for me. Sedrik has left for some business in the village and I am left to wander around with each minute realising more and more that there is going to be no hunting.
Getting anything across to these people is quite a difficult task and I keep failing at it over and over. They really are very simple minded, most probably the simplest people I have ever met.
Being a patient man and all I get really angry a few times when the simplest points that I had no troubles explaining to any other person on my travels just do not get through to my hosts. When I finally realise the hunting will have to wait until my next visit to the country it takes me a long long while to get rid of the frustration and not until a few days later, when I am told the hunting season does not start until mid November when severe cold and first snow covers the plains, I am able to come to terms with it.

In the early evening on this day we ride out for the festival. Me and Sedrik. I am filleed with a feeling of acomplishment mixed with the residual anger but I am happy that I am finally sat on a horse and riding with a purpose.
With our small provisions and little luggage strapped securily on the backs of our horses we head up the steep hill towards the plain I have crossed once before on the way here. The horses are struggling with the steep incline and by the time we reach the top the sun is already casting warm red overtones over the dried grasses of the steppe for kilometers ahead.
We meet an eagle rider fully dressed in his best clothes with his eagle safely resting on his forarm and ride together in a fast paced trot for the next few kilometers. By the time we reach the hills on the other side, leaving the eagle hunter far away to our right - he is taking another shorter route to the festival whereas we are heading to Sedrik's relatives about a third way in - it is pitch black. The night chill is making itself known and as the wind picks up I am considering a break to put some warmer clothes on, but there is no time for that in our fast and rather exhilirating trot down the hill.
My eyes water as they struggle against the wind trying to pickup whatever light there is to guide me safely through the rocky land. I am amazed how well the horse manages with the rocky surface in this dark - not even a moon is up to easy the passage.
When we eventually reach the river leaving the hills behind I force Sedrik to stop so I can put a few more layers on. He seems to be trying to object in his Mongolian but I can't take the cold anymore. This little adventure will surely result in a nasty cold, I think to myself, as I, now much more comfortable, mount the horse again.
To my surprise not within five minutes of galloping we stop at a ger accompanied by loud growls of two vicously looking dogs. A few young men come out and shoo them off. Few words are exchanged, followed by a short walk to the booming river and subsequent shouts across. I am beginning to grasp the situation: the people we are spending the night with are on the other side of the dark, deep and fast flowing river and we need their help to get across.
Soon enough a torch appears on the other bank and a group of men saddle up their horses. We say goodbye to our company and gallop back upstream to the point of crossing.
First I am utterly fascinated as I watch their horses struggle with the fast current and the rocky river bed, their masters surprisingly still on the swaying saddles with their feet up on their horses' backs as they ride across to meet us and lead us back with them. A slight terror is making it's way through at the thought that soon enough I will be doing the same. (My camera is yet again strapped to my neck and I am cursing in hindsight for not bringing my waterproof plastic bag.)
Once their company joins ours I am given one of the larger horses - I am afterall a lousy westerner. I pet it gently on the head and whisper words of comfort more for myself then the poor beast. Hopefully we'll make it across allright.
As we enter the river in a rather magnificent trot, all five of us together in a tight formation with me on the left flank taking the full force of the river, I am focusing hard on assuming the balance needed to be able to put my feet up on the horseback. One of the fellow horsemen takes away my reigns and I have no other option but to subdue to the undeniable confidence with which these men handle their horses.
It is by no means spring but the river is truly wild with all the water from the melted snow that has covered these plains as a result of the unexpected weather a week before. My fellow horsemen, having done this too many times, do not waste time to easy the passage for a novice and we push on with loud choos while the horses struggle to cope with the rocky bottom. At some point I find myself nearly falling off when my horse stumbles on one of the rocks below but manage to regain my balance just before Sedrik rather violently grabs me by my jacket.
The whole spectacle lasts no longer then 20 seconds and upon reaching the other side we waste no time at all and turn to gallop immediately after getting into shallow water. I have to focus all my attention at the horse as it rather wildly follows the almost panicky race of his fellows on the dark narrow rocky path towards home. Falling off here would end up with more damage then a bruise or two but I have no time to turn to fear as I have very little control over the animal and I am forced to subdue to its will. Luckily for me I manage to retain my balance in the few missteps along the way and not after two minutes find myself safely in the compound of the ger.
Once we free the horses of the saddles, reigns and our luggage I am shown to the the ger and introduced to the relatives. I am not exactly sure whether the man of the house is Sedrik's brother or his son. He looks younger and older respectively to be any of those but he is surely one of the two. His very pretty young wife starts serving on us in the traditional Mongolian fashion before I even have the chance to get myself out of the wet trousers - my ride across the water wasn't as fluent as I had hoped for. But the warmth of the stove fire keeps me quite comfortable sitting in my longjohns during the hours of smalltalk and food to follow.
In the morning the next day I am again the first one up. I stopped wondering long ago why Mongolia as a country does not work. People here do not seem to strive for success. They are happy to live their lives in a simple way, doing just enough to get themselves through the day with a little bit of planning for a few months ahead.
The house finally wakes up at around nine but we do not leave until it is almost eleven. We ride in a company of five with the son/brother whose unpronouncable name I unfortunately forgot dressed in his fancy hunter's clothes and an eagle strapped to his arm. We ride for miles to reach Bayan Olgii, the town I spend a few days in before my time with the Kazakh family, and continue another ten-fifteen kilometers in a slow gallop towards the plain where the festival takes place. Even before leaving the town we start meeting many other riders going the same direction to witness the festival either as spectators or participants. There are others going on foor or driving cars.
It is a rather fantastic sight: the clouds of dust raising from the hoofs and wheels for miles infront and behind, men dressed in the fanciest local costumes proudly holding their cherished eagles on their forarms exchanging pleasantries and catching up on lost time and memories. At some point I break off from the company to take my camera out to capture these once-a-lifetime images.
My horse and I are at this point quite comfortable in each other's roles and I feel a certain pride of being able to gallop full on while standing in the saddle the Mongolian way. After I catch up with my company I am encouraged to continue galloping ahead and as I turn back turn back to rejoin I am rewarded by confirming nods about my riding skills. This is definitely my hour.
After a stop at the river to refresh our horses and another half hour ride we finally reach the festival grounds. It looks like quite a turnout - few tens of cars and a double of that of motorcycles parked in a few rows around a semi circle of people awaiting the festivities. The hunters are still gathering, even though I can count about a fifty already, but the festival is already in progress. In the first round the hunters are scored on their costumes and general ambience. The hunters promenade themselves one by one in front of a panel of judges sat up on a a back of a truck with the leader shouting the overall score and what are probably his own impressions into a heavily distorted microphone followed by patriotic cheers of the gathered crowd.
After witnessing a few repeating acts I leave Sedrik behind and go on exploring the grounds from horseback. Not far from the competition area is another semicircle of food stalls and shops catering mostly for tourists who turn out in quite an abundance. A few years back this used to be quite a secluded local event but it is not so anymore. A few vans carrying tens of American and European tourists sporting hefty cameras with ultra-tele lenses have poured in but fortunately not in numbers that would spoil the whole experience. It is nice to bump into a French girl whome I met in Ulaan Baatar just before heading into the Gobi with a team of my own and I spend a good part of the late afternoon in chatter and exchange of travel experiences.
By the time the first day is over I count around eighty eagle hunters who will be spending the night in the few tents built in the vicinity of the festival or their fellows' houses in town before taking up the more serious competition in the morning ahead.
It is now early evening and since it is October in a fairly high elevation it is getting dark and rather chilly. A cold and biting drizzle descents from the thick layer of clouds that moved in from the east. The first day of the festival is over and the place wraps up with an unbelevable quickness. Soon it is only our company and a few stranded hunters making their way home; the darkness spreads across the plain as we ride out - the last living remnants of the events of the day.
We ride hard against the wind and I have to slide the fore of my hat low over my forehead to avoid the icy rain from blurring my vision. The ride feels like a race as our horses sense the direction home and are doing their best to get there as quickly as possible.
We reach the town in under an hour and gallop through the dark and quiet paved streets in a magnificent display of sparks from the iron shoes of our horses. The thumping of the hoofs echoes back from the concrete structures as we ride through one street after another.
We have left most of our company behind and are heading for the house of Sedrik's brother-in-law. I suggest a stop to replenish the supplies and get some manly gift for the man who is so kind to take a stranger in.
The man turns out to be one of those unstoppable talkative types who's idea of entertainment is having everyone listening to his endless repetitions of his life's successes and mildly interesting family stories. By the end of the first hour I begin to regret buying the vodka to fuel his full-on approach and soon I have to give up the idea of going to another festival cultural event in the local theatre even though looking inappropriately rude would not be so inappropriate at all.
Few hours later, by eleven a clock, even he runs out of batteries and after a fifteen minute solo of squeling and playing the Mongolian two-string version of a guitar we all finally retire for the night.
The next morning welcomes me with a rather rapid bowl movement which unfortunately sets the mood for the day. On the way to the festival I stop at the local pharmacy to replenish my long disappeared supply of binding carbon tablets and spend the next hour - rather forcidly - perfecting my Mongolian riding style of standing in the saddle. It's suprisingly easy, however stressing on the calf muscles, when one has no other choice!
We reach the festival just in time for the start of the second round where the hunters, riding their horses and dragging a fox tail behind them attached to a piece of string call on their eagles who descend from a nearby mountain onto the fake prey. At least that is the idea, but quite a few of the eagles have an idea of their own and in response to their masters' shrieks go on after their own agenda to a rather sinister enjoyment of the crowd!
But there are winners to this competition too and after being awarded medals once the competition is over a good few hours later they proudly promenade around accepting congratulations from their lesser fellows.
I spent the waiting time for the last round observing a few side competitions including picking up of flags from the ground at full gallop and wrestling for a sheep skin while being in the saddle. Leaving my horse behind in the company of the aforementioned french lady I venture up the mountain for some rather astonishing views and photoshots.
By the time I make it back the festival ground semi-circle is being widened and there is a lot of commotion going on. A rather large group of people passionately pushing against each other is a good indication that something worth investigating is going on and soon enough I discover that a young wolf is being 'prepared' for the most significant moment of it's lifetime - the hunt!
Seven of the best eagles are chosen to be the predators and are carried up to the top of the hill to be let loose on the unfortunate animal.
The crowd silenced by the expectation anxiously observes as the wolf is let loose into the semicircle in a rather confused search for freedom. When he tries to venture out of the appointed path the crowd forces him back with loud shrieks. The hunt, however artificial, has now officialy started and the hunters begin calling upon their eagles to notice the pray. These are some strange rules, I note to myself, but I am new to this business.Within two seconds three of the eagles take off and rather briskly decent on the poor animal who has very little chance to escape the sharp claws and beaks.
Almost in unison with the fastest of the eagles touching the wolfs skin it's master and the referees run out towards the whirl of feathers and fur soon followed by the more agile of the spectators and after the initial startle wares off me as well.
I reach the pushing bodies with my camera high above my head shooting countless pictures in the desperate will to capture the moment.
Once the eagles and the wolf are rather violently separated I can see a streak of blood pouring down the wolf's nose. Only now I notice that the poor beast has it's jaws strapped to prevent any harm to the eagles. However cruel it seemed before all the more it seems now given the unfairness. But this is Mongolia and in their way of life there is no need for the concept of animal cruelty.
The wolf is tied to a post and more crowd pushes through to see what has become of him. The winning hunter upon tending to his wounds raises his eagle above the head and exhales in an exuberant cry followed by the wild cheers of the crowd. Everyone seems to be sharing his joy as he mounts his horse with his eagle, now capped, calmly sitting on his forearm, and walks around accepting congratulations from everyone.
This is it! For more, come back the next year!

The festival is wrapped up with even more ferocity then the day before since the last light of day has already vanished. We are once again the last to leave but not before spending good twenty minutes sitting in a circle in the picking up wind circulating two bottles of vodka and what I can only assume exchanging views, opinions and reminiscence on the not-so-long and long passed events.
We spent another night at Sedrik's brother in law. This time the evening turns out to be much more subtle in the 'entertainment' value and after dinner and a discussion where, among other things, I try to explain that I need to leave town tomorrow to make it out of Mongolia with my passport still containing valid visa, we retire for the night.
I am convinced that my words have not fallen on deaf ears this time but I am yet again surprised by the simple mind of my host when I get up the next day and have to explain the agenda all over again with not much avail. In the end I am forced to leave the company, explaining once more that I am going to pay off my debt to the tour operator and then hire a motorcycle to get me to the Sagsai village, where my backpack still resides, and back in time to catch the bus to Ulaan Baatar. I am hoping all has been understood but as I find myself greeting Sedrik's wife after a rather exhilirating ride to the village across a few rather wide branches of the Khovd river where we nearly drown the bike at some point and have to resort to pushing it across with our legs wet to the knees I am convinced otherwise.
She is no longer very friendly looking and the whole atmosphere in the house has gone somewhat sour. As I am about to go pack my stuff leaving the taxi driver in her company she gestures with her hands that I should sleep here another night. I am trying to explain to her that my visa expires very soon and I need to get going back to Ulaan Baatar and that my bus is actually leaving in an hour or so. Luckily the driver speaks some Russian so I am able to get her to understand and once I start unpacking a few small gifts I brought for them from town she warms up a bit. As I'm giving some bits and bobs for fishing to the kid the taxi driver translates that she has received a phone call from Sedrik who went to see the tour agent and received only 20,000 togrik from him as a payment for his services for the past four days.
20,000 out of the 65,000 I payed the bloody agent who has not had lift a finger and did not even answer phone calls on the many ocassions I tried to call him. I am truly outraged! To be honest I did not believe him when he told me that all of the money is going to the family as he is trying to lift the community from povetry. But to expect a 70% profit wouldn't occur to me even in my dreams! I take out a piece of paper and try to explain to her how much I payed to the agent and how much he has kept for himself.
I was planning on giving the mother another 20000 as a gift but now I feel it is not enough. To settle the anxiety of all parties I give her 40,000 together with the 20 photos of the family I have had developed in Olgii and the carton of cigarettes I bought for Sedrik. She solemnly accepts but keeps insisting that I stay here for another night. She mentions that Sedrik's cousin is a policeman and they are both on their way down. -
The bus is to leave in an hour and if I am to make it I should be leaving now.. -
Bloody Mongolians I curse quietly. Nothing is enough for them!
I suggest to the mother to call Sedrik and explain to him all was a misunderstanding - I'm pretty sure he thought I am trying to flee without settling the bill. She is quite reluctant so I give her my phone to make the call.
She cannot seem to get through though. I dial the number of the agent to put the matter into his hands but the only person I can reach is his wife who, rather annoyed, tells me she knows about the matter and her husband will be getting here at some point tonight to sort things out. I try to get the exact time from her but she is reluctant to discuss anything anymore and hangs up on me. Bloody Mongolians!
The taxi driver turns to me and expresses his desire to leave right now. He is not happy with the waiting and the agreed price for the ride and demands more money for a ride back. I need him to stay because I would not be able to organise a ride from here and thus I agree. Suddenly waiting is not an issue and he sits himself on the grass in front of the house and lights up a cigarette. Feeling much more talkative he tells me that 'these are not good people'. I try to object that they are just simple folk that got cheated by smarter ones. But ultimately I feel the same.. I went through so much trouble to get the pictures developed, bought them presents and left money behind and this is the treatment I get.
At this thought I get quite angry and force the phone into the mother's hands and tell her to call Sedrik and explain! I am not willing to spend another night here! These people haven't delivered what I was promised - whoever's fault that is - and I have been more then decent and generous to be treated like this.
She finally gets through and as she talks to Sedrik I ask the taxi driver to explain to him what the situation is and how I have dealt with the misunderstanding. He is quite perceptive unlike other Kazakhs I met here and once on the phone I can feel a sensation of order being restored.
All packed I glance at the watch to see that there is no way I will catch the bus today and I thank the foresight of not buying the ticket in advance. I am not willing to wait here another moment and I tell the driver that we're off. The mother finally seems to understand my point of view. I shake her hand and in the sudden feeling of warmth and gratitude thank her for the hospitability and wish her all the best.
It's a shame we have to say goodbye on such terms but it indeed was much worse half an hour ago. I still think I will run into Sedrik somewhere on the way so I will be able to settle whatever left there is of the misunderstanding.
As I mount the motorbike the driver brings up the question of money again. I offer him half of the fare that brought me here but he just pulls on a sad face, points at his wet shoes and trousers and I, cannot really be bothered anymore, accept another full fare. Thus uplifted the driver kicks in the first gear and off we go!
I turn back and wave as we make it out of the bumpy field on to the road but the mother is already in the house going about her daily workload. The kid is however there and waves back passionately.
This is it then! My stay with the Kazakhs is over!

We ride up the hill leaving the countless river streams and the village behind. As we ride higher and higher the cold wind is picking up. I turn around to have a last glance at the valley below and all things considered I am feeling quite happy. As we reach the top we see a motorcycle approaching and who else would it be if not Sedrik himself.
We park our bikes on the vast steppe and sit down to discuss matters as is the custom here. It is Sedrik, his nephew if I'm not mistaken, the taxi drived and me. No policeman cousin anywhere in sight. I take out my cigarettes and pass them around. A random passbyer stops by and joins our little circle and I extend my offer to him as well.
Sedrik takes out a pen and starts writing down figures to explain how cheated he was. I nod my head to show understanding and take the pen out of his hands to write down my side of the story in figures. I write down the amount I left them as gift too so he can feel more at ease. We all agree that the travel agent is a bastard and I feel rather warm at the thought that the word will spread around and the locals will stand up against the exploitation.
The chill of the wind is now making me visibly shake and Sedrik takes off his thick fur coat and wraps it around me. I can see he is regretful about how he approached the problem and as we say our goodbyes a few minutes later we exchange a few manly embraces and I feel satisfaction over how things turned out in the end even though I missed my bus.

Once in Olgii I book myself back into the hotel. After dinner I call it an early night. The next morning I get up early, sort out the bus ticket and spend a good part of the day hiking up the nearby mountain. At 2700m the views are quite magnificent. I meet a local herder at the very top - the poor man has to climb up every single day with his herd of sheep to graze on whatever green is left in this otherwise desolate landscape. We share a few treats we brought up here and after a hearty goodbye I head down to catch the bus.

The bus ride is ultimate in more ways then one. It takes 58 hours, most of it through a desolate and mindnumbingly uninteresting desert terrain. The bus is thoroughly filled with Mongolians and luggage and there is hardly space to put my feet. To be the only white man on the bus feels quite authentic although after 24 hours to have someone to converse with would be more then welcome. With nothing else to read I have to resort to my Mongolian guidebook and reread the more interesting parts.

Finally in Ulaan Baatar I go to the Visa extension office to pick up my passport - it has spent more time here then with me - and hop on an overnight train to the Chinese border the following evening.

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Even with all the bad experiences and the greed I've encountered I still feel very positive about Mongolia. There is simply nothing like this feeling of total immersion into the nature. The many distinct landscapes, the vast spaces and the total sense of freedom in the world with no roads and fences is more then enough to make up for any drawbacks.
I only hope I will be able to come back here one day, buy my own horse and trek and trek for weeks in this georgeous and unspoiled land...

All photos slideshow.