September 12, 2014
Yurts, vodka, bad roads, smelly foreigners in pretend rally cars and electric pylons: Mongolia in a nutshell
After only five kilometres I crested a peak and saw the bright roofs of Bombogor in a valley below me. I followed the electric pylons down the hill into town, shouting promises to them that I would never doubt them again. It was early morning and the village was alive with children on their way to school along dusty streets. I looked for a shop. Of course I still had food and water but I thought I might as well replace what I'd consumed since Bayankhongor, there was no guarantee I was going to find the next village, or any telling how long it might yet take me to get to anywhere. I had drunk six of my fifteen litres of water and I had only cycled a quarter of the distance to Altay. The shop was closed but three gleeful young children knocked on the door until a woman opened up for me and I got what I needed. Generally all the children were wonderful, the adults much less friendly.
When I needed someone to take this photo, you'll never guess who stepped up
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Beyond Bombogor I kept faithfully following the electric pylons down the valley. I was soon accosted by two boys on a motorcycle that had ridden over from their yurt upon seeing me. They invited me to the yurt and I agreed. Although when I got closer I did see an empty bottle of vodka strapped to the outside of the yurt, it was eleven o'clock in the morning and I felt confident no one was going to be able to get me drunk enough to steal my trousers. I ducked in through the door and met the elder son who was sitting in traditional robes, and we were soon joined by the mother and father. The yurt was more brightly decorated than the others I'd seen in Mongolia, with colourful rugs on the walls. I was given hot horse milk which was curiously unfermented, and a big brick of rock hard cheese that I couldn't even bite into. The mother soon brought another type of cheese for me which was softer, but didn't exactly taste nice.
I put the cheeses to one side and got out my map. Everyone crowded around and even the elder son put away his i-phone (sorry to ruin the age-old Mongolian traditional scene, but the 21st century has caught on even here) long enough to come and look. He pointed out the big river that was coming up, that I'd heard so much about, and told me it was 17 kilometres away. After finishing up my horse milk I said thank-you and tried to slip away leaving the cheeses discreetly on the side. They were soon scooped up and handed to me as a parting gift. Such kindness.
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The road was terrible. As I said I was going downhill now, but the rough washboard meant I was only doing seven kilometres an hour. And even when I did occasionally find a patch of smoother ground I could only get up to ten kilometres an hour before the wind said "oh no, you're not going any faster than that buddy." But I persevered and as I was going down steeply towards the river I was rather surprised by a paved road crossing my path. Of all the things I might have expected to see, that wasn't one of them! It was perpendicular to me but I assumed it was going down to the river, presumably at a good place to cross it, and so I turned onto this road. For a few blissful moments I was going 25 kilometres an hour!
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I was going down to the big river that I had heard so much about. The Mongol Rally team had said that they didn't know how to ford it, and had waited and followed a truck through, and it had been 'quite scary.' Of course Bak Hyung Yeol also needed to cross it and he said he'd been able to walk and had got 'very wet' but who knows what to believe from Bak Hyung Yeol. I didn't really fancy getting very wet, it was a very cold day. But the river looked really wide. As the road swung down to it though, I couldn't believe what I saw:
Whatever road those muppets with their GPS were following it wasn't half as good as mine!
The road continued to be semi-paved for a while as it climbed a huge hill on the other side of the river. Halfway up some people were enjoying a picnic and three robed young men ran over to greet me, one of whom was clearly intoxicated. I said hello but didn't hang around too long, vodka appealed far less than the views that were getting better and better as I climbed. I realised that the other road, the one with all the trucks on that the others had taken, must be to the south, because I could see from my vantage point that to the north lay jagged mountain peaks and to the south flat desert.
I stopped to eat an apple and as I did so a truck drove along from the opposite direction and stopped next to me. It was the first truck I'd seen on my road, and a clearly intoxicated man stumbled out of the passenger side. By the way, if you are starting to get the impression that 'clearly intoxicated man' and 'Mongolian man' are almost interchangeable turns of phrase then you would be correct. As luck would have it this one could actually speak English, and I took the opportunity to ask him if there was another road.
"I don't know. Maybe!" was the slurred response. I supposed if they knew about the better road, they'd probably be on it, but I thought I'd check.
"I think maybe there is another road? South of here?" I pursued.
"What? Why do you want to go south? Why do you want to go south? Where are you going?"
"Altay."
"Where are you going?"
"Altay."
"After Altay, where are you going? What is your destination?" He asked. A difficult question to answer. Australia would likely only throw the man into a further state of confusion, particularly as I was going the wrong way. By this stage the driver had also got out and was pouring the drunk another glass of vodka.
"China," I tried.
"China! China is south!" he declared, doing remarkably well to point in that direction.
"Yes but I can't cross the borders in the south, I have to go to the border in the west."
"You should go south! Why are you going that way? Where are you going? Have some vodka!" The glass was passed to me. I declined. "Please you must take a sip. It is Mongolian tradition!" I took a sip. "Where are you going?"
"Urumqi," I said. I had no intention to go to Urumqi, but it was a big city in China in the right direction that would explain why I was going west.
"NO! Don't go to Urumqi! You can't go to Urumqi! It is very dangerous! Fighting! Don't go to Urumqi!"
"Okay, I won't."
"Please, don't go to Urumqi! Promise me you won't go to Urumqi!"
"I promise I won't go to Urumqi. Well, it's been very nice to meet you, but I must be getting on now."
"Where are you going?"
In the evening I had a terrible panic when the electric pylons went away to the right and all of the tracks went to the left. But then three more Mongol Rally cars drove towards me and came to a halt to say hello. They were teams from the UK, Australia and Norway and they told me that I was going the right way and that the road was easy enough to follow.
"But, the electric pylons..." I whimpered.
"Electric pylons? What electric pylons? We haven't seen any electric pylons!"
Today's ride: 66 km (41 miles)
Total: 28,259 km (17,549 miles)
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