Mongolia

All alone once again, I took the train from Beijing to Ulan Bator, the coldest capital on earth, round the end of November. It was the first leg of my long journey back to Europe, back to Belgium, by train.

The journey took one day and two nights. I was in good company; at least, that's what I thought at first: I shared the compartment with a nice Mongolian girl who studied in Shanghai. But then she said "I'm a little bit tired" - she had partied a lot in Beijing before she went back home - and she slept for the best part of the thirty-odd hour train ride. Oh well, it gave me time to catch up on some reading and writing. At the border crossing, which takes a couple of hours, I met two friendly Dutch girls, with whom I would spend most of my time in Mongolia.

The first few days in UB were mostly hanging around and arranging stuff. Since it was -10°C outside, I didn't really think it was a good idea to go and wander around on the vast steppes of Mongolia on my own, so I had decided I would book a tour. It wasn't really what you would call high season, so I had to wait for a group to form before I could organize something. In the meantime, I also had to arrange my Russian visa. I had already learned in Shanghai that I couldn't get a proper tourist visa outside of Belgium. My only option was a transit visa; luckily, I read on the Internet that I could get one for up to ten days. I really had to bargain with the diplomat ("you're asking too much", he literally said at first), but I managed to get it done. In the few days before I left on the tour, I learned a bit about the country and its people. Ulan Bator, with over a million inhabitants, is the only real city worth the name. The second largest city, Erdenet, has about 90,000 inhabitans. About 40% of Mongolians live in UB; 30-40% of the population are still nomads, living from breeding livestock. This makes them very vulnerable to climate change. In the 2009-2010, Mongolia experienced an very dry summer, followed by an extremely cold winter. This caused more than 10% of Mongolia's livestock to perish. The climate also makes that Mongolian food is not very varied. When you order a dumpling soup, you get dumplings which are filled with nothing but meat, and the soup is seasoned with additional meat and fat...nothing else. Mongolians eat tons of fat, you know, the tough white stuff we wouldn't even think of putting in our mouth because it takes hours of work to chew it. It is said to get them through the harsh winter, but it seems to me that you waste more energy in the working of your jaw muscles than you gain.

Two soviet-style vans, two drivers, two guides, twelve travelers. That was the small caravan that left to explore central Mongolia. As on most tours in Mongolia, we would sleep in gers, the traditional felt tents nomads live in, with local families. Half of us were going on a twelve day trip, while the others - including me - would drive back to UB on the sixth day. Our group was divided between the two vans. I shared a vehicle with my two Dutch friends, an English guy, an English girl and a German girl. In the other van, a Dutch couple and two British couples. We soon realized there was one "singles" van and one "couples" van; the two groups had acquired their names. Of course, we would change between vans, but the running joke was that the couples' van was boring, while the singles' van was the setting for some kind of continuous orgy. Also pretty remarkable is that half of the group spoke Dutch, while the other half were English-speaking.

The first day we mainly did a lot of driving. We had a lot of fun in the singles van. The seats were arranged in a way that three people were facing forward, and three people were facing back, which made it very cozy. We talked about very personal subjects, and shared way too much information with people we had only just met. We stopped at a natural park with Przewalski's horses, the only surviving species of wild horses. After watching a cheesy video, we drove a bit inside the park and took some pictures. We didn't stay long; the guides and drivers seemed to be in a hurry. In fact, we had left a couple of hours late, because some people had had to arrange their Chinese visa first in the morning. The management had warned us and asked us if we didn't want to skip the horses to avoid arriving late, but we didn't really understand why that would be a problem.

After the natural park, I went into the couples' van. After some time (talking about science and sports) we suddenly turned back. We had lost the singles' van, which had been driving behind us. We found them on the side of the road; the night had fallen, and their lights didn't work. The reasonable thing to do in that situation would probably be to fix the problem, but the drivers thought it better to just go on. We drove behind them, a little to the left (people drive right in Mongolia), to give them light. Their driver could barely see the road, and the van swerved dangerously from left to right. Every time we had to pass someone coming the other way, we held our breath. When we drove alongside the other van, we saw that its passengers were not in the least deterred by the minor inconvenience. More the contrary, we saw them dancing, singing and drinking vodka - the singles' van lived up to its reputation. Not willing to stay behind, we tried to have a bit of party in our own van. Out came the bottle of vodka, and the Dutch guy took his guitar and we played a couple of songs. Then came the moment when we had to get off the road. Driving across the snow-covered steppe with no lights proved to be slightly problematic. But there's no problem a bit of creativity can't solve. The guide taped a couple of our flashlights on the front of the van, and we were good to go. We weren't really worried, because we would probably die of laughter before anything else could happen. At one point we had the luck of hitting upon a herd of gazelles; even our guide seemed genuinely surprised. But then our luck ran out: we got completely lost. The reason that the management had been worrying about us arriving late, which they hadn't told us, was that there is no clear trail leading to the gers. The drivers are experienced enough to find them during the day, but when it's dark, it's a whole lot more difficult - especially when you have a small electric torch for a light. We drove around and around, sometimes on tracks, sometimes seemingly randomly in one direction. A couple of times we found other gers, where the drivers asked for directions. One time, an old man with an adorable, though very dirty little girl accompanied us to show us the way. Apparently, our hosts had just moved their gers to a different location; that's what you get with nomads, I guess.

Guide taping flashlights to the front of the van

We were all very tired of the bumpy ride and were glad when, after a couple of hours of driving around, we finally arrived at our destination. Although it was 9 pm already, the family received us very kindly. We had dinner and drank some vodka, which we shared with the whole family. It was interesting to see life in a ger. The ones we went to were beautifully decorated, with Chinese style, colorful furniture. Beds and closets are arranged along the sides. Right in front of the entrance, which always faces east, stands the stove. Left and right in the middle of the ger stand two poles, roughly 1.5m apart. It's impolite to walk between or pass anything through these poles, as they symbolize the husband and wife. At the other side of the poles there usually stands a low table. The way people look and dress reminded me a lot of Tibetans. Apart from the similar Mongolian features, they too have a healthy blush on their cheeks. I previously attributed this to the altitude, but on second thoughts, it might well be the result of the rough climate Mongolians and Tibetans alike live in. This might also explain why they dress so similarly. The long, heavy, dark-colored robes with a colorful belt tied around the waist looked very familiar. Apart from the similar look and clothing, the majority of Mongolians also embrace Tibetan Buddhism.

Ger sweet ger

The next morning, we awoke to a mild snowstorm. We were supposed to go camel-riding, which, considering the circumstances, didn't seem like the best idea. Also, a camel is about the last animal you'd expect to see in a blizzard at -15°C. To get out of your tent, look around the steppe and let your eyes rest on a group of a dozen of those impassive-looking, grass-chewing double-humped fellows, covered by a thin layer of snow, is a pretty absurd experience. It must be said that, contrary to their southern cousins in the desert, these guys are amply provided with a dense fur. After a hearty breakfast, each of us settled comfortably between the two humps of his designated camel. A small photo shoot, and off we were! Slowly, almost solemnly, we walked across the steppe. Luckily, the wind had ceased, and during our walk the light snow even stopped completely. The landscape was predominantly flat and white, dotted with tufts of dry grass, and rocky hills here and there. The camels were all tied together, so we didn't have much freedom, but we had a lot of fun. We weren't too cold, partly thanks to the big felt boots they had given us. And the camel with two humps is definitely more comfortable than the one-humped edition. After our short but beautiful ride, we drove on through the desolate scenery. We got stuck in the snow once or twice, but it wouldn't be the last time, and it would always be solved by the right amount of digging and pushing. By the end of the day we came to an area with some trees - trees! We realized we hadn't seen those in a while. And then the sun set again - the lights on the singles' van were still not working, so the torches served their second time as head lights. Luckily, this time, we didn't get lost, and we got to the ger at a reasonable time. We would stay there for two nights - a welcome break after two days of mainly driving. To celebrate, we had some vodka, and spent a few hours chattering and playing the guitar in one of the gers.

Camels in the snow

Gers + vans + cattle

When we got out of our tents after a night of vodka-enhanced sleep, the steppe looked beautiful in the golden light of the rising sun. On the program for that day: horse riding. Riding a horse on the endless, barren plains is regarded as the ultimate Mongolia experience, but as always, I didn't expect too much of it. It was only the second or third time I would ride a horse, so I had to take it easy. In the morning, we would ride up to a waterfall and back. After lunch, the enthusiasts/survivors could go for another ride. We would ride half-wild horses. They ran around in a big herd, and were captured and saddled that morning. Mongolian horses are small - about the size of a pony - and furry (at least in winter). The way to the waterfall was beautiful. The golden-brown ground was almost completely covered by snow there; rolling dark-brown hills rose up in the distance. The sun, still low, cast long shadows as we trotted along. The waterfall itself, which we had been warned was nothing special, was in fact pretty impressive, because it was completely frozen. On our way back to the gers, some people with some experience in horse riding started galloping. I spurred my horse to do the same, and he followed. Breathless, I clutched my saddle and felt the adrenalin flowing. This just the kind of exhilarating experience I hadn't dared hope for - I was euphoric.

After lunch, a smaller group set out again, in the opposite direction this time. It was 4 pm already; sunset was around 5, so we didn't have much time. I enjoyed it just as much as the first time, although we went rather slowly and I was very impatient to start galloping again. It was soon getting dark and some people were getting very cold, so it was time to go back. Since we knew which way to go, we didn't need to follow the guide anymore. Three of us galloped all the way back. At some point, we saw the whole herd of wild horses, probably about thirty to fifty of them. They were running around in group, like a flock of birds or a school of fish. We went towards them and at some point found ourselves right next to them. We spurred our horses to go even faster, uttering shouts of joy and amazement. Galloping there, among dozens of semi-wild horses, while the sun was slowly setting on the golden stepped, was one of the most incredible, amazing, exhilarating things I have done. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case for everyone. Three people fell of their horse. One of them was thrown off while galloping, and fell badly on her elbow. Probably because of the shock, she was very ill for the next twenty-four hours, vomiting and with diarrhea (which is even more horrible when it's 15°C and there is no proper toilet). Since we were in the middle of nowhere, there weren't really any doctors around. But she was to be considered lucky: the next-door neighbor - about a half an our drive from there - happened to be an acupuncturist.

Horse riding on the golden steppe

On day four, we drove back towards UB and visited the monastery at Karakom, Ginghis Khan's former capital. Although a big part of the complex was destroyed by the communists, a couple of temples were spared, and a handful of monks still reside there. It was nice to see the monastery from the outside, but after Ladakh and Tibet, I'd had enough of previous, present and future Buddha's, Buddha's of longevity, etc. The rest of the day was mostly driving, with a short stop to see a penis-shaped rock (mhuh!?).

The next day we drove south to see some mountain. It better be worth it, I though, because I was getting very tired of driving. At some point, the drivers had the brilliant idea of crossing a frozen river. My heard skipped a beat when I saw the back wheels of the couples' van crashing through the ice. Luckily, it didn't collapse completely, but the van just stayed stuck the, so ours had to pull them out. In the late afternoon, we arrived in a sweeping desert landscape with sandstone hills - I was pleasantly surprised. When we were dropped off to take some pictures, a strange announcement was made. We would climb up the hill and then go down into a cave. You had to be "a bit brave" to do it, so those who wanted could just stay inside the van. Oh yes, and you "might need a flashlight". One van had already taken off, leaving some people with the wrong clothes and shoes for such an improvised expedition. We didn't really understand what was happening, and it seemed like a pretty crazy idea to go down some cave when the sun was about to set. But most of us thought we’d just check it out. A few moments later, a mix of shouts like "help, I'm stuck!", "can someone give me light?", "okay, put your right foot on that little ledge there", and "watch out, I'm coming!" was resonating inside the mountain. We found ourselves wriggling through impossibly narrow cracks and abseiling down drops of a few meters. Don't think abseiling in the conventional way, though. The guide simply took off is belt, held it with his bare hands, and the terrified amateur-speleologist would clutch to the provisional rope and make his way down, following directions from the people below him. There were no safety directives whatsoever; the first descent, I struggled not to fall, because my gloves didn't have enough grip on the belt. By the time we got down to the cave, which offered a view on the hills on the other side of the mountain, the night had completely fallen. We now had to crawl our way back up, with the help of the few torches we happened to have (it was a complete coincidence that I had mine on me). Having reached the top, the ordeal wasn't over yet: we still had to go down the snow-topped hill (a couple of 100m I think), in the dark, while some people were wearing dangerously inadequate shoes. We all made it without a scratch, apart from some torn clothes. As someone remarked, it had been an excellent, though slightly irresponsible, team building exercise. By the time we reached the van, the poor others had been waiting for a least three hours.

Sandstone mountain

The last day of the tour was my birthday. To wake up to your twenty-fifth year of life in a ger in the Mongolian desert is something I can warmly recommend. My sweet companions sang happy birthday (in English ánd in Dutch) and gave me a symbolic birthday biscuit. We drove back to UB and for once, to our relief, we arrived before dark. After a rewarding hot shower, some people cooked a delicious dinner at the hostel. I was really spoiled - I even ended up with two birthday cakes. Although we were all very tired, helped by more than medicinal amounts of vodka, we managed to have a lot of fun at a local club. I could look back on an amazing tour in Mongolia and a memorable twenty-fourth birthday. I had a few days left to get ready for the long Trans-Siberian train ride, which would take me to lake Baikal, to my friends in Moscow and St-Petersburg and, eventually, home.