Friday 12th July 2013
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.