Thursday 11th July 2013

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.