Saturday 13th July 2013

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Mongolia – moving on to Biger and beyond

All sleep in, so late start. Weather overcast and we feel spots of rain. Tim and I borrow their shower tent, wash and get into clean clothes. Makes such a difference. If we can mend our solar shower, we will put up our own curtain beneath the tent, and be more self sufficient. We both set up our new washing machines, which get strapped to our roof, as The Beast sways about more than Hildefender!!!! We need to decant more clean water today.

Hilde’s car has a flat battery, so jump leads are needed. Atle straightens awning poles. Some rivets are replaced. Where shall we go today? Last night we were discussing plans. We are so privileged to have seen the Nadaam, and the Saiga Antelopes already. Mongolia is so huge, we cannot possibly go everywhere. We have to choose carefully. Just as Astrid and Olav are catching up, they get caught at the Mongolian border. Not sure whether it was already closed for the night, or shut for the days of Nadaam.

Another email from the British Embassy in Ullaanbaatar. They do not take delivery of parcels, but DHL have a local depot. Thank you. Nothing from the Chinese Embassy. We will have to get there soon.

A lizard scurries out of a hole. Camels wander. We soon get on to main road. Drive in light drizzle, which keeps the dust down. Scenery changes, less arid, more green. Hilde borrowed out fly swat last night, wonder where it is? This road is really agitating the washing. Good. Flock of cranes, just standing forlornly. Altay Airport coming up on our right. ATC tower empty. No planes.

Two boys sheltering under large rainbow coloured umbrella. As we get fuel, I look for pen and paper to note the mileage. The suntan lotion bottle has exploded. Spend a mind numbing half hour cleaning it up.

Atle finds out where he can get the welding done. When we arrive, many of the people we have met on the way, are already here. The Canadians have got a puncture. The convertible nearly tips over, with the children in it. The family may change their plans. Too much driving for the children, they have finished all their books and only one of the Nintendo are working. Bored kids doesn’t make for good times. Ship vehicle home early, they carry on, a faster holiday. The French couple in the blue Landy, some more French from the Mongolian border crossings. Everyone is pleased to meet up again, and catch up whilst having repairs done to their vehicles. This garage was obviously busy during the 2012 Mongol Rally.

As work is being done on the Hildefender, we have the Beast washed. One man comes up to Tim, and snatches the glasses off his nose. Tim laughs. He knows the man thinks they are sunglasses, as the lens is dark. He tries to swop, putting on Tim’s pair, and nearly falls over as he loses all recognisable sight. He tears them off and hands them back, laughing.

Hilde and I find a shop, buy some stuff. The French see we have bread, and squeal!!! They run in and buy up all the remaining stock. Make savoury butties, on sweet bread – again. When will I learn?

The Beast is finished. She looks beautiful, all shiny and blue. I point out one of the back tyres. Puncture. Large nail still embedded. Atle has their car washed, and we have our wheel changed.

Rain has continued, it is now 3pm. Do we head further south, to the Gobi Desert, where the weather may be warmer and drier? It is cold and wet all over Northern Mongolia, and in Ullaan Baatar. To think they are having a heat wave at home. Oh well.

Puddles everywhere. Wheels spin as we try to leave garage. Head to Biger, where the weather should be better. One of the French men told us the Northern Route road has completely disappeared. Glad we were not dependent on that.

Look for ATM. Find bank, but it’s a Saturday. Have dollars if necessary. Crack on windscreen getting bigger. Very different driving conditions now, wet and muddy. Last heavy rain in Bulgaria. Our lovely clean Landy. Heating on, drying wet clothes we are wearing.

This detour is one Jacek recommended. It means we see some famous rock paintings. This part should then take us five days to reach Ullaanbaatar, go to Chinese Embassy on Friday 18th, and hopefully meet up with Astrid and Olav.

Soon off route, should be further left. As we change direction, out of the mist appear the telegraph poles. Now driving in low range with diff lock in. Truck slides downhill towards us, with car on back. Road narrows and visibility worsens. Not many photo opportunities. Hilde tells us our exhaust has shaken loose. Stop and repair.

Colder weather, six degree, gives mossie bites time to cool down. If I get bored, I might try to count them. Have over 100 just below each knee. May be try to put wedding ring back on soon.

2,600ms. We crest a peak, and better weather greets us ahead. Sunshine even. Mountain range after mountain range, getting bigger the further back they go. Notice less puddles, and no rain. Is this good, or does it mean the rain is following us?

Confuse camels, who watch us drive past on their right, wrong side of hill, back again, then pass on their left. 180kms may take a long time today. Must be rush hour. We meet four cars. Either that, or weekend drivers. Some layers of rock in the cliff faces are bright red. Sun lights up large patches of earth ahead. Low cloud, but no rain now.

We twist and turn across the steppe. The scenery is never less than breathtaking. Slow up for a tiny puddle. Laugh. It had looked like a deep rut, which at this speed would have caused major damage. Tim keeps having sneaky scratches of his bites. I hit him with the fly swot, which had been returned by Hilde last night.

Biger ahead, a tiny speck on the landscape. We reach it at 18.40. Not bad, 3h 40 mins. We slow right down. Little boy in glasses – haven’t seen that in weeks. Even travelling at this speed, we are through in less than a minute. Plan to stop within half and hour. Or so. A hare sized animal, with enormous ears, darts across the track. Desert hare maybe?

Heading towards Chandmani. This is such exciting navigation. We all need to be using every map and device we have. Routes which look like obvious roads on the printed map, are often just a suggestion of one track amongst many. The GPS systems often show a road running out, and the poor old sat nav sometimes loses herself completely. If ever we stray a little, nobody blames anyone else or gets precious if their route is questioned.

Aim for mountains, somewhere to hide. From what? From whom? Apart from the two villages, we have only seen two dozen gers, and that was hours age. Maybe I mean somewhere to shelter.

A new camp rule was decided last night. Always, always, always peg the awning down. Also last night, until we were sure there were no biting beasties, I wore Atle’s big walking boots which came half way up my calves. Couldn’t get my feet in my own.

Spot an outcrop. Very steep ruts, higher than the cars. We traverse them all. Set up camp. No wind. No Rain. No mossies.

Use the sat phone to call Cornlanders. Spoke to Ned first. Saw no bears, but had great holiday. Catherine and I had long chat, swopped stories, experiences and both agreed that the vast majority of people are kind, helpful, honest and live a good life. Phoned Claire, but no answer.

After dinner, talking about all the travellers we have met, Tim commented that no other outfit had a roof tent. “Let’s be honest about it. The others were all too old or too fat!!” Say it as it is, Atle.

Friday 12th July 2013

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Racing across the Mongolian Steppes.

Well. The Selby nose has grown bigger, the eye which was recovering is closing again, my left hand is swelling so I remove my wedding ring, and both ankles are on fire. I look like a toad. Everyone else is covered in bites, but no one is swelling like me.

Fortunately, the wind is blowing whilst we have breakfast, so we eat in peace. But it blows a glass off the table, and it smashes on the ground. We were well hidden last night. Great big horse flies appear. Go and bite some great big horses. We make our escape as the wind drops. We need to stop and cook earlier tonight.

Drive along for a while. We may continue all the way to Altay, or do a detour to Sharaga Natural Reserve. We don’t think we have seen enough mossies yet. I get my glasses out to read the map. Shock horror, and arm has fallen off. If we can find the tiny screw, it is easily fixed. If not, dental floss.

We stop at the village of Darvi. Find the Mongolian word for bread – talkh. I walk into a Mimi market. A young mum is sitting on a sack of flour, breast feeding her baby. There are three other women, who all stop what they are doing, and stare. Of course. I smell like a pole cat, having slept in my clothes as I didn’t want to expose any more flesh to the beasties, my face is all swollen and warty, and to top it all, I definitely have a bad hair day. I must look like a yeti. They gather their composure, and I buy some little baps. Sorry ladies. I walk behind the others, unclean, as we go in the other shops. See many kettles, all too big. No nail brushes. There are over a dozen shops in a stretch less than 200m long. All of them sell exactly the same produce. None sell bread. The women must bake their own.

As we approach another shop, I see baby swallows fledging. Several manage to jump from their nest in the eaves, and float to the nearby wire. One is not so lucky. It flops to the ground, wings outstretched, and flaps about. A parent gives encouragement, and it finally joins its siblings, joyously on the wire. Well done.

Going off the main road is not easy. We criss cross rutted scrub, and go back on ourselves several times. We should be going down a valley between two ranges, but we are veering off to the left. Turn round. Family collecting firewood from the scrub, and piling it into an open back truck. Tiny gers dotted in the distance.

We approach a little settlement. Horses graze, people are putting up a brightly coloured tent. There is a satellite dish outside every door, and several motorbike and 4X4s parked up. Don’t know how many times I can write the scenery is stunning. But it is.

We trundle on. Three motorcycles approach. The four older men dismount and walk across. The two younger ones watch wearily. You can smell the alcohol way before heads are thrust thought the open window. Ask a local. To make contact I show on the map where we want to go. Of course, they point in a wide arc, back the way we came. “Vodka” one of them barks, and they all laugh. We have none. One offers to lead us, but we decide to carry on. We will sit with a big view, eat lunch and recalculate. If we have to go back down again, so be it.

We park on top of a ridge. Several large herds of cattle and sheep are grazing. They are very noisy close to. Patient herders sit on horses, watching over them. Hilde walks over and gives a young man some bread. I decide to use the baps bought this morning. Sweet. Goes lovely with sliced tomato and Marmite. Mossies are supposed to hate Marmite. Might smother myself in it and not shower until Hong Kong.

Just after 1pm we head down, retracing our route. The truck, now full of kindling, drives towards us. Large Billy Goat tethered outside ger.

Heard from Sue and Nigel last night. They must be in the south of France, listened to the Gig Street band. They said they had missed the last week of the blog, due to lack of wi fi. But we haven’t been able to post the reports since Russia. Hope I look better than this for the wedding. Also had a reply from Will on the sat phone. He was in Bristol, so couldn’t answer. But got the message.

Washed some grapes at lunch. Will eat some as we go. These rough tracks look as if they have been very wet at one stage. Much easier driving over them in the dry. Large gullies where the earth has cracked open and water gushed through.

Reached Darvi. Place y, almost deserted. People will be living with their herds out on the steppes. Newly built school. Weather station. Military bunker. First route leads us to local tip. The usual human detritus. More worryingly, animal carcasses. Why didn’t the people eat them?

Eat some grapes. Spit seeds out of windows. Next next year there will be a vineyard here.
Set sat nav to off road navigation. 54kms to reserve. Just before 3pm. Stony desert. No grazing, no animals. We have done over 14,000 kms. Rutted roads. Diff lock in. Climb a steep incline. One wheel over, two, three. Fourth hanging over still. Will it catch? It does. Disaster. Atle thinks a bottle of red wine has broken in the back. I think Hilde engineered it. She hates the sweet wine we bought in Samarkand, and had already declared she was drinking from the box tonight.

Follow the telegraph poles. We come out looking down on a huge plain, the Sharga Nature Reserve. We stay higher up, hugging the mountains. The telegraph poles march down into the valley. Our track is rutted, and we put the Landys through their paces. There are rare, shy Saiga antelopes living here. We see some as we descend, photograph at least two. In the last half an hour we have averaged 12 kph.

Then the road levels out and we go for it. Fantastic fun driving across the steppes, as fast as safety allows. Plan now to get to Sharga, refuel if we can, then find somewhere to camp. Stop for photos several times. We have dropped to below 1,000m. Actually too hot to stop yet – 31 degrees. Actually, it’s too hot to drive in a dusty Defender with no air con, too. We press on.

We lead again. Harder in a way. If you are following, you see the route, the bumps and potholes. But you also have to hang back, behind the dust. 5.30 pm. Lake comes into view. 22kms to Sharga, in a straight line. So we can double that then. More antelope, more photos from closer to. Now will you believe us?

A road appears on the sat nav. We speed up. We can see the village we are heading for. Suddenly we hear Atle say “new noise.” They have stopped. We turn back. A metal bracket holding a rear shock absorber had metal fatigue. Soon sorted. They lead. Look for fuel. A woman with small child phones the person responsible, but he is having dinner. She brings out food, but we decline. Give some grapes to a teenage boy. He says thank you and shares them with his brother. We leave. Woman milking a cow.

Looks like we may be heading for Altay tonight. Just flat plains for miles around, and not a pimple to hide behind. There. What is that? Small plies of sand and stone. Atle and Hilde search for the direction of the satellite before we park up.

Beer and crisps for starters, and corned beef hash for main. Mashed potatoes in the semi arid desert. Finished the last of the Russian carrots. Once again, lashing rain and howling winds interrupt our meal. Their awning collapses, a pole hits me on the head again, and one gets bent. A job for the morning. It all settles down and we sit late into the evening chatting. We steal some of their Internet, and pick up emails from Jude and Rachel. Thanks you guys. Please tell everyone else to keep in touch, it’s great hearing from home. Oh, and Murray did win, in straight sets. Knew he would.

Spoke to Rachel, too early to get Claire. Will try tomorrow, as weekend. Rachel can’t get over the fact that she is at home, talking to us in the Mongolian desert. Her friends who are cycling the world have arrived in China. She will send us their details, and if we can meet up, we will buy them a meal. Cornlanders arriving later this evening, and staying with her and Matt. Hope you guys have had a great holiday. Speak soon.

Put up roof tent. Notice camel footprints in sand. We all hope for a better nights sleep.

Thursday 11th July 2013

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Namaas in Knovd

Wake up with sore backs, as the bed was so hard. Hilde informs us that our leaking toilet was coming through their bathroom ceiling. As we were watching the national news from Ulaabaatar last night, we all set our watches by that. But we were up an hour too early, as we are still an hour behind.

Breakfast does not appear, the lady thinks we are leaving without paying the bill for the beer, and came running out to the car park with a calculator. We were not going to diddle her out of £2.60. Head to the show ground. On the way we meet the German in his house car. He has stopped by the famous Manchurian walls. We talk, and admire the ancient walls. Will they still be here in two hundred years?

We enter the show ground, and see the Merc and Landy convertibles of two French couples. Park up, by river. We are way too early, so decide to fill Jerry cans with water, and put it through the Life Saver. Have breakfast, attracting the usual crowd. One young man attaches himself to us. We give him jobs to do and offer him some food. Watch him like a hawk, as he snaffled a bag of Haribo sweets, stuffs them in his mouth and throws the paper on the ground. Did he pick it up again? You bet.

An older man in fantastic boots with turned up toes, shoves snuff up our nostrils unbidden. I am presuming it is snuff. Joy of joy, one of my dreams of the holiday has come true. Tim fills the solar shower and puts it on the roof. It promptly empties its contents through a hole in the bag. Gutted. Never been used. An old woman wanders between the families on the riverbank. Se is carrying a tray, with hard boiled eggs and a salt cellar. People buy and enjoy.

We wander round the show ground. A few people are milling around. Stalls are selling fresh fruit and veg. We buy some. Lots of stalls selling plastic toys and games, so that children can whine at their parents. Photography stalls with heroic back drops. A man selling live snails from a plastic box. We don’t buy. When we return to the Landy, somebody inquisitive had disengaged the winch and the cable is unfurling.

Nine of go for lunch, cooked in one of the many gers. We can’t read the menu, so go inside to look. Just what we wanted. Lamb and onions wrapped in a pastry case, then deep fried. We eat 25 between us. Other stalls were selling them more like dumplings, steamed. Hilde is fascinated by the plastic toadstool which dispenses a toothpick every time you press it.

Back to the show ground. We were told the wrestling would start soon. It didn’t. Sat in the shade. Soldiers came out every half hour to stare at the national flag, then four more came out to relieve them. Animated commentary, press and photographers arrived, interviews took place. Our already bad backs were being exacerbated by numb bums.

The competition finally commenced. Young boys fought first. They had to salute the judge and walk around him. Their pointed hats were removed, probably a good idea because it would certainly sting if it ran you through. Then the fight began. Tim reminded us why the combatants wore short, unbuttoned waistcoats. Apparently, when the outfit was much fuller, one of the most revered champions turned out to be a woman. So, hence the skimpier attire was needed to ensure that did not happen again.

It was a great spectacle. The bouts were quick, the rules were simple, first one to be floored is out. The victor ran around the soldiers and national flag, like a lap of honour. They then went into the next round. The men got larger and heavier. All was to play for, as the grand prize was a shiny new motorbike.

Many of the locals are not as entranced as we are. They have come out in their best clothes, stroll about,, meet friends and and family. A ragged boy walks along, eying up the more wealthy families. He sidles in on the end of their row. As the mothers hand out treats to their children, they give an extra one for the boy. He eats greedily. When this hand out runs dry, he slips away, like a shark hinting for its next meal.

We did not stay until the end. We never found out where the archery was taking place. But we had seen the magnificent horse race and the wrestling. Apparently, everybody wants to drink the sweat from the winning horse. Brings good luck.

On our way out of the stadium, many more people were coming in. A group of young soldiers were marching and singing together. Bit of a jiggle round town to find fuel, ATMs and a supermarket. No fresh veg. Glad Tim and I bought some at the market. Even got potatoes. We promised to cook corn beef hash, for Hilde and Atle one night. They promised us mushroom noodles, now without the mushrooms as they didn’t find any. Will be good to have a night off cooking every now and then. Ate an ice lolly.

Head off towards Almaty. Sat nav says it is 2,500 kms. Wrong Almaty. French couples said it is one of the prettiest routes they have driven. Up in the mountains they were the only people there. They saw many Ibex. Can’t wait. On outskirts of town we are stopped by Police, checking we have been disinfected.

Roads return to rough tracks. We follow Hilde and Atle, but can’t keep up their speed. We crash down, bottom out and are in danger of breaking our prop shaft. So they stop, and tell us to lead. We go at our own pace.

Everybody has been eaten alive. A combination of midges and mossies. We pass the soothing ointment around, trying not to have a sneaky scratch as we administer it. My eye is looking a little better today. Think it will bruise. Blame Tim.

We won’t get to Almaty today. Drive a couple of hours and camp. Did not want to use the hotel’s precious hot water, so dirty clothes still dirty. The white Defender convertible was squeaky clean. They had washed it in the river last night.

Driven towards a mountain range for over an hour now. They do not seem any closer. We must seem like tiny ants creeping across the steppes. Even large lorries working on the new road are insignificant.

Suddenly, a keep left sign. What is this smooth, black ribbon we see before us? The Turkish road builders must have been here. We skirt a rocky outcrop, but still not at mountains. We have been driving towards them for over 70kms now.

Three black kites flap up off the road as we approach. Mirages. Large lake which is not a mirage. Atle and Hilde drive alongside us, filming. I bend down to get camera, but seat belt holds me fast. They drop back behind before I extricate myself.

Pass gers surrounded by mud with dung drying on the top. Start looking for somewhere to camp, but nowhere to hide. Grey mountains on either side of flat valley. Lorries and diggers hidden down a large hole they have excavated. Not suitable. Ger shaped mud huts. More heavy plant parked up. Lorry with purple container on back.

Find a big hole that has been excavated. Perfect. We don’t need to put awnings up. Sit around drinking chilled beer and catching up on the days events. Suddenly, the wind drops. Millions of mossies appear. We are all eaten alive. I get bitten through two layers of clothing, and have to retreat to the tent. Tim follows soon after. I want to go home.

A tin can gets blown off the table, and spends the night skittering along the gravel.

Wednesday 10th July 2913

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First Down Day in Mongolia

Well I knew before I went to sleep that my eye would be all puffed up. I had been bitten all over my face, my right eye was nearly shut and I looked like a rotten potato. Deep joy. Hilde invites me to use their shower tent. I even use the no water shampoo, put on a whole set of clean clothes and feel a bit more human. Spend the rest of the day swathed in loose clothing and a borrowed mossie hat. Remember the Hiking Heidi doll, girls?

Tim and Atle spend the morning working on the cars. Oil changes, checking air and fuel filters, tightening hand brakes and trying to sort low range. Hilde and I would normally do the washing, but we have a new rule for this country. We don’t sweat so much, so we won’t wash clothes so much. Instead, we sit in the shade and catch up with the blog.

Hilde says, “Imagine writing a book up here.” I am. It’s now noon, I make more coffee, and since we got up this morning there have been only four vehicles driving along the valley below us. We can see no habitation, animals or anybody moving. Large white clouds hang about lazily. Every now and then a breeze whips up. We hold down airborne objects, and look behind us. Check the weather. That is where the storm came from last night.

We all sort things out, pack away books and maps of countries and cultures already visited. Exciting new materials are ready for a planning session after lunch. Where to next? We may stay here all day, faffing and furtling. Or we may move on and drive a few hours. We’ll see.

What are those little birds with a barred tail? Feels strange under this hat. Can hear mossies very close, but they don’t get my head or face. They do manage to bite through my tropical clothes though, so that is very rude. The sneakiest bites are the ones you get when you go to the bush toilet.

We have lunch. Tim insists we take multi vitamin tablets. I think we are doing alright. Today we have eaten fresh apple, kiwi fruit and yoghurt, tinned sardines, oat cakes, tomatoes and half a pink grapefruit each. I take a tablet anyway.

Tim and Atle bury our rubbish. Hard work as they keep hitting stones. The used oil has been decanted into three empty water containers, and strapped to the outside of the cars. They look like jet packs. We leave at 4.30 pm. Plan a short drive to Knovd, the largest town in the area. It has many Manchu remains, tree lined streets and a university. It is only 42kms away, but we hope to get into a hotel tonight.

We soon become a dust blur on the road. I nurse my eye with a cold pack, feels delicious. As we cross the steppes, we see the 20 kms horse race, part of the Nadaam. Young boys are galloping bare back, urging their horse on. Proud parents are following on motorbikes, or in cars. Hope we are in time for the end of the race.

Soon crest a hill, and see Knovd sprawling below. As we approach, we see hundreds of gers pitched on the outskirts. Thousands of animals are around, some roaming free and some corralled. Huge birds of prey circling, are they trained? Cross over a bridge, where the cows rule. We go at their pace. At the other end of the bridge we are stopped, the cars disinfected again, for which we have to pay 500 of the local currency. Tim puts the pass into his wallet. We have been told that you must carry copies of all paperwork with you at all times in Mongolia.

This is amazing. Gers further into town look more permanent. Everybody is dressed in their best. Women stroll along in long dresses, carrying parasols and waving at us. The younger women all have their wrists showing. We pull up outside a hotel, The Grand, but it is not the one we are looking for. A helpful Policeman blows his whistle and motions us to move on. There are many merry people staggering about.

Tim and Hilde walk and find the Hotel Buyant. The receptionist has to be woken. We choose the best rooms, double bed, sitting room with chaise langue and water cooler, bathroom with toilet which flushes all night and hot water from 18:00 to 22:00. £27. Drank a beer from fridge then headed out on the town.

Got 100m down the drag, and saw a restaurant lively and full. An American popped his head out of the window and invited us in. He and another American girl were working for the Peace Corps. They chatted to us, then helped us with out choice of menu. The recommended chicken soup with bowls of rice was not available, although we did see it being served to some locals. They had obviously ordered before us. So we chose spicy hot meat served on a sizzling griddle, with a bowl of plain rice. The most delicious meal we have bought out in weeks. We also spoke to a young Frenchman and his Belgian friend. They had bought two horses, intending to ride all over Mongolia. The Frenchman’s horse was grumpy, and threw him. So they sold the horses and bought motorbikes. The Frenchman promptly fell off and broke his wrist. But he said ” Hey. I’m still in Mongolia.”

As we are heading to bed, locals are just coming out and the place gets rammed. Everybody is out on the streets and music is being played loudly. We are not sure if the hotel serves breakfast, so arrange to meet at 9am. All dash to shower. There are two settings. Freezing cold or boiling hot. We jump in and out under a lethal trickle.

Tuesday 9th July 2013

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Happy Birthday Will.

We wake up in sunshine, in Mongolia. There is a heavy frost. Large ducks, Shel Ducks?, are making a noise like a truculent teenager. Huuuh. The Russian is swimming in the lake. Later, he gives Tim a present. A Russian Army fold -up shovel. A real work of art, in its own bag. He tells us he lives in Siberia. He has a pent house apartment in Bernaul, and a house deep deep in the forest 25k away. Much better. German in “house car” drives past. He must have camped in the border village.

We breakfast, just before the hordes. Only children this morning, the men will be sleeping off a hangover. Tidy away. The older boy sees a book of Mongolia. I get it out for them. One by one they pour over the photos, entranced. Then I get out a map, they spread it on the bonnet and spend ages looking at it. One girl reads our sticker, including the English “and back again”. A little squint eyed boy asks for chocolate. I count the children. Six. The chocolates given to us yesterday are huge and wrapped in shiny paper. Six. They grab their treat. On, no. A girl was round the other side of Hilde’s car. I remember a bag of melted chocolate buttons. She grins. Every child drops the shiny wrappers on the floor as they walk away. Every child picks them up again, as Tim and I both revert to Head Teacher mode in unison. Can’t help ourselves.

The Swiss couple are ready to go. Tim and Atle compare Landys. He has a tank that holds 280l of fuel, and can carry 60l of water. Except he can only carry 30l as the container has a leak. We tell him where they are planning to go has been closed off, due to illness. The Russians come across. Photo, he barks. He takes a couple. Hilde takes one, on sport mode. We give the Russians a bottle of wine. “Russians, big heart”, he says.

Time to go. Tim notices a crack on the windscreen, driver’s side. Do Auto Glass come out this far? Red kite mobbing a Golden Eagle. Saw our first real life, genuine Yaks. Head off to Khovd. We may see the National Games there. We can take our time. Plan to stop for coffee, and lunch. This morning no one set an alarm. We woke up when it was getting warmer in the tent. Luxury. We also plan to stop before dark, but how many times have we said that?

There is a new gravel road running alongside the old dusty track. Track much better to drive on. Head feeling much better this morning, but not completely right. Gravel road not been flattened out yet, just piles of stones. Still on Russian time, don’t know when it changes. Want to phone Will, but only 5am at home.

Hard to navigate, as tracks go off all over the place. We will have to stop and talk to others.
Decide we are headed in the right sort of direction, we should be travelling along the Southern Route, and we are near enough. Sat nav totally confused. She will probably spend the next few weeks recalculating herself.

Meet up with the French Land Cruisers, but only two of the three. We all head off left, and soon get back on track. Don’t want to follow them all the way, as they are going to the Gobi Desert.

Many yurt villages set up for road workers. New road suddenly has asphalt. We join it. Try to get photo of eagle, only get clouds. Asphalt ends abruptly, startled workers look at us. We crunch down a very steep incline. Good old Landy. Think we were the first cars to travel that road.

Rejoin the main road. Sat nav happy. So are we. This is just how we imagined Mongolia. The steppes, the yurts, the yaks, the mountains. Simply stunning. Over breakfast we admitted that all our planning had been about getting here. Now what? We know we have to be in UlaanB next week. We want to share some of the sporting fixtures. Then, we come across two humped camels, Bactrian. They look down on us, haughtily, then when they know they have been photographed, they move away.

Not far from Olgii, where we may stop. I would love a coffee, may help my head. The roads are so good, we are travelling at over 100kph, we decide to drive on for another hour, or until the road turns bad. Entering Olgii there is an actual road sign. Children in Welles, paddling in puddles. Irish Restaurant Pub. Really?

Once again, new road runs out. Six or seven tracks run parallel. We leap frog over them, just for fun. Climb to top of rise, but too windy to light pocket rocket. Drive over to a tumbled down shelter. No better. NORs cook pizza on manifold. It takes too long. We have a sticky bun each, and share an apple. Not Jazz, more like Pink Lady. Tim knocks back steps into place, and retracts side ones. Lost the tow bar cover. Didn’t get a hot drink after all.

Sat Nav keeps saying off route, but how do we know which track is correct? Drive along a large lake. Keep hopping on and off the road under construction, still bumpy though. Men building bridges. Family with Eagle tied to a post. A man with eagle tied to wrist.

Following a British Landy with a trailer. We all stop, take photos, exchange stories and routes. We have used some of the same border crossings. The young woman had been patted down by a butch female guard at one. Hilde and I look at each other and laugh. She mustn’t have fancied us then!!! We share other experiences too. All got ill in the same country, and the woman was bowled over by the Pamir, in TJ. Must be a girl thing, maybes the plight of the children. The couple have been travelling for six months, and plan to emigrate to Australia. We may meet up in evening.

We soon lose sight of them. Through a pass, then put onto the steppes again. Many days we have been travelling, and turning through 360 degrees, we only see eachl other. We splash through deep water, at least the underneath of the cars will have a wash. Buses do this route. We see two of them. If we choose the wrong track, we can be miles off route in a very short time. All checking maps and GPS, keep in radio contact, or stop if not sure.

If I don’t wash my hair tomorrow, it is officially a BHD. Probably need a shower too. Was difficult this morning washing your bits and bobs, with a gaggle of giggling children all around. Boy with a squint would have seen it all double.

Medical checkpoint. The area we have driven through is infected, carried by animals. We all have to walk over a disinfected mat. Stuff is squirted into out mouth. We spit. Glad I have been practicing. Wash our hands. They spray the wheels, take down details from our passports and vehicle. A woman speaks English. But when we ask what infection is it, so we know to look out for symptoms, suddenly she doesn’t understand. Black Plague.

A pile of sheep, all sitting on each other. Lots of vans and small lorries, stuffed full of families. Groomed horses in the back. Travelling to the Nadaam. Big gathering of locals, camping by the river with their animals. Whole communities on the move. A group of young, very drunk horsemen block our path. They lean in the windows, shake our hands and ask for vodka. We have none.

Thump down so hard the radio pops out. We think we have found a perfect camping place, under a tree and by a stream. But we would get bitten to death. We ford a river, but still nowhere fly free. We move on, and will try to pull off the road further up. No gers or settlements around. We pull off main road, and skirt a rocky outcrop. Atle and Hilde head off. We are having trouble with low range, and get well and truly stuck down a gully. We try to get out, but can’t. If we were on our own we would have had to dig out under the rear wheel, with our new Russian shovel, and maybe use the sand ladders. But we try to call the others on the radio. No reply. I put mossie stuff on, and my hood, and walk off to find them. They are completely out of view. I try to remember all I have learnt about tracking from Ray Mears. I see no tyre tracks or dust or flattened vegetation to give me a clue. I get to top of rise. Nothing. I shout very loud. Nothing.

Tim continues to dig, then hears Atle’s voice on the radio. Help is at hand. It takes less than a minute to get us out, and we remember to have someone co-ordinating the operation from outside the cars. Hilde co-ordinates and I take pictures.

We arrive at the top of a rise, in brilliant sunshine, with spectacular views in every direction. Set up camp. Tim and I are cooking the first of our organic, prepared meals, tomato and chickpea tagine. Two minutes later, we are caught in a violent storm. We all hold on to awnings and windbreaks. I even have to hold down the ladders of the tent, so it doesn’t blow away. We laugh like idiots. As quickly as the storm came, it abates. Nothing damaged. Climb out of wet clothes and into warm, cosy technical gear. Resume cooking, and open the bubbly!!!!!! At last.

Try to contact Will on sat phone. He doesn’t pick up. Tim leaves a message. I text, but no signal. Well, Happy Birthday Will, anyway. All our love.

As I walk round the Landy, I see the children had written “Good luck” in the dust.

Monday 8th July 2013

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Siberia to Mongolia.

So, breakfast in Siberia. Wake a little after 7am, didn’t set alarm. Got chilly during the night, had to pull sleeping bag and car rug over shoulders. A lot of dew and condensation, but won’t have time to dry out. Took photos from the eyrie, mountains with wisps of mist, soon to be burnt off by the sun. A Russian herder walks over with a stick. Shouts good morning in Russian, and a lot of other stuff we didn’t understand. He smiles and is on his way. Notice that the fishermen have two tents, just in a glade further along the river bank. Suddenly hear a terrible racket; the herder dragging his stick along the metal crash barrier. If he’s awake, then the whole valley will be too!

Steps too steep for me to get out, so Tim changes the angle. Thanks. We need to be off early, but decide to have a cup of tea and breakfast. Forgot about the thousands of grass hoppers. Nearly ready to leave, and I get a thumping headache. The over lander drives across, and the German man has a chat. He is travelling alone, with just his dog. Maybe David’s dad.

Take painkiller and close eyes for a bit. That does the trick. Drive along the river again. Two young horsemen galloping bareback. Family of four on a scooter, off fishing, rods in hand. More small souvenir stalls, camp sites, gers and waterfalls. Not seen many of those in the past few weeks. Continue through valley and out on to plain. Rugged mountains surround us. More horse riders. Road flattens and straightens.

So did Murray win? Atle is having challenges with the satellite dish, phone and radio. We change to GB CB channel. That’s one challenge sorted. Little mammals run across the road, like tiny squirrels with their tails shaved on number 2. Picnic areas with portaloos. More Buddhist shrines. Losing the pine forests, and entering sandy scrub. German camper van belching black smoke ahead.

Is that MONGOLIA we spy ahead???? There is a bottle of bubbly in each fridge, which we will crack open when we get there. Hope we get to drink it with dinner tonight.

Very simple grave yards. Old wooden house held up by new front porch. See lots of little settlements, some very isolated, but very few people. Thought more of them would be tending their gardens. Maybe it is lunch time.

Sunny with big, blousy clouds here, grey clouds there and rain over there. Statue of a camel and a yak welcome us to town. Last fill up of fuel, 1,400 roubles left, so don’t overfill. Tim and Atle try to squeeze as many litres as they have got currency between them. Keep going into office to pay for a little drop more. It may make all the difference in Mongolia.

Lady in shiny patent wedges herding a bullock. Stop at shop. We wait outside. Man with Mongolian features come across. English? Horse Milk? Unfortunately we have spent our last rouble on fuel. Treat ourselves to a fun sized Twix – each. Not much fun. Hilde buys some little buns, like profiteroles without the chocolate. Delicious. Unfortunately, she is still keeping off dairy food, so Atle licks his lips. Man comes to the window, asking for change I think. Tim just spent all our coins on some squishy, sticky buns. Sorry mate.

Shall we stop for lunch? No, let’s go to Mongolia. 50 kms to border. Real Russian Radar, left over from the Cold War, still in use. Every single road we have travelled for the last 13,000 kms has memorials at the side. What a waste of human life. Bridge repairs again. We take shorter detour today. Tim pleased with last nights repairs, windscreen wipers and indicators working.

We can’t believe it, we can see Mongolian Mountains. Until a week ago we did not believe we would make it. The first car from Mongolia overtakes us. MGL or MNG. Fancy that. Keep calling them plains, but suppose they are steppes now.

Not so daunting if we have to drive East to West in Russia to get home. Either because we can’t get into China, or no container to freight the cars. Or they may say they are too dirty to pack!! I think we will manage it, and that would be the perfect ending for the expedition.

After even a short stay in Russia, We know where to slow down and look for speed cameras. We have been through customs. We feel welcomed. Last night we were visible from the road, and Hilde and I said we had not felt threatened by anyone the whole trip. Also, it may be different nearer Moscow or other large cities, but we have not had to give a bung to anyone. I am, however, waiting to see the amount of money that was taken from my charge card for yesterday’s shopping. Only after we had left the shop did I realise I had not been given a receipt, but nor did I have to sign a slip. Oh well, I’m sure they had just run out of till roll. If we do have to drive back, Tim will definitely want insurance.

One sun-lit peak. Roadside sign tells us we are 930 kms from somewhere. Suddenly we are at the Russian border. Gulp. 14.12 this side, 15.12 the other. Large dog training area, for large dogs I presume. Sniffer. Little boy sticks head out of car window in front. Isn’t it funny, you see the back of someone’s head, and you have no idea what their face looks like? Woman wearing tee shirt which suggests we should Rock all night, rock all day. If only.

Maybe some time here, so whilst Tim and Atle get something stamped, I get cheese for sticky buns. Cold out there. Even the Mongolians are putting long trousers on. Cars creep forward, Tim still away getting stamped, cheeky Mongolian nips in front. I drive us forward. People around here spit a lot. 943 kms from somewhere now. Anyway, got my wrists covered, wearing a fleecy. Did I mention, many Russians are ginger. German camper van catches us up. Just behind Hildefender. We look so foreign here.

May not get to bubbly tonight. French man from yesterday said he had been waiting since 8am. Another woman said she had to wait 3 hours for the stamp which took Tim and Atle 10 minutes. Oh well. We have food and a bed for tonight if necessary. Tim makes lunch. Sugar and cheese.

Four Swiss motorbikes allowed through. One has a Cymru sticker on pannier. A large motor home from Quebec. Shipped to Belgium, 7 months around Europe, now Mongolia and China. Ship it to Canada from there. More foreigners waiting here than we have seen in weeks. Mongolia must be crawling with us. Cheeky Mongol nips into place left by motor bikes. Suppose he is trying to get home. Lady from MNG car in front asks to borrow a knife, in perfect English.

Nothing is moving. Tim said man in stamping office was grumpy, and said not a word. Shame on you. You let your parents down, you let your country down and most importantly of all, you let yourself down. No point asking about insurance or currency then. Lady brings back knife, and gives us a handful of sweets. “Welcome and enjoy.” She is living in London, and is coming back for the first time in 11 years to go to her sister’s wedding. She introduces the bride and groom to be. I am so looking forward to meeting more Mongolians.

Hilde said if we had some vodka, or fermented mare’s milk, we could throw a party. More NBFs for Atle. There is another challenge. Once we get through this crossing, there are 20kms to the Mongolian side, and they are an hour ahead. We may well be stuck here, or no man’s land. We’ll see. Tim talks to German man, comparing tales of travel. Don’t spit sugary crumbs on him. The Swiss couple in the other Defender, were camping at the same spot as us last night. Hidden from view. A border guard calls the German’s camper van a “house car”.

Well. Not the longest crossing, we got out of Russia at 7pm. Plenty of shinnagins as we queue. People pushing in as they let only 3 cars in every hour. But we meet a lot of people with amazing stories to tell. If we don’t get through the gate, we will not put the roof tents up; sleep in cars, ready to move first thing. Russian guy waiting, drinking vodka, is ashamed of the Russian border guards. Lazy, he says. He gives us good advice. We hadn’t known to go ahead and register the cars. He takes Tim and Atle in. Mad rush to let all the cars in, process everybody and go home at 7pm. Some vans have to take everything out and off the roof, to be scanned. As usual, stuff falls out of ours, the guards jump back and motion Tim to close the doors!! I am the last person to go through passport control.

Now 20kms of no mans land. 8pm in Mongolia, so we may not get through as the Beast was the last car through. We race ahead. Two Golden Eagles eating road kill. Moonscape. Heard about Nadaam festival, on 10th and 11th. We don’t plan to get to Ulaan Baatar by then, but we could go to a closer city. A smaller town, Olgii, has cancelled because of illness, Black Plague. I kid you not.

Arrive at Mongol border 7.19, show passport, they ask for car passport but then wave us on. 7.20. Now onto main border control. Through a water bath, which we have to pay 50 roubles for. We have no money, and there was no water in it anyway. Atle bails us out. On to register car. The guard welcomes us to Mongolia. Our new Russian friend helps us through all the forms. His partner is getting a little cross, she wants him to hurry up. In Russia he has a tank, for tourists to drive. All the clocks are on Russian time, confusing.

We get INSURANCE and road tax. Hurray. Children arrive, two boys with no English. I ask if I can take their picture, they nod happily. On the photo they are so serious. Money changers appear. We plan to drive on and find somewhere to camp. 13,960 kms to here. WE HAVE MADE IT. Bubbly beckons!!!!!

Our Russian friend stops ahead, and tells us there is a city 30km away, or we can camp by this lake. We decide to camp. Also, he has run out of booze, and we owe him. He may well drink us dry. Then the Swiss arrive. Loud music from the RUS. Party time.

We have only been there for two minutes, when people from the yurts arrive. The children are cheeky, but charming. The men are drunk and garrulous. They ask for beer. The German and his dog stand guard, we don’t ask them to. He has a big Russian army knife, he is ex military. We cook, every time we go back to the car or cooker, a gaggle of children are there. Several things go missing. Everybody shares food, and gives some to our guests. The Swiss couple come and join us after their supper. They bring nuts. My head is thumping, and I am not really in a party mood. Two mother cycles ( motor bycles) prowl around. The Russian tries to get them all to go, many do. One man becomes aggressive, the Russlan has an axe and yells. We are left in peace.

It is very cold. We are all in thermal trousers and jumpers. We snuggle into bed smothered in sleeping bags and blankets, and soon warm up. One more motor cycle prowls, but we have packed everything in the cars.