It all looked wild and wonderful, there was no sign of cultivation, it was a land ravaged by time and the elements. How much could survive there was beyond me, of the little that grew even less could sustain any but the hardiest of animals. But I loved it, it screamed of unclaimed wilderness. No animals, no people and no buildings, not even Gers (yes they are Gers here, not yurts)! Still not having stocked up on food setting up camp without bothering with the few places of habitation wasn't an option, in fact with an empty stomach making it's needs abundantly clear I was getting desperate for fodder. At the edge of town a large building declared itself a Restaurant/Hotel, it was in fact a dilapidated, broken down derelict, with no sign of being used for many years. And then the weather turned against me, the wind picked up to gale force, turning the place into a giant sand blaster. It was viscous, I could hardly breath, had to fight to keep the bike upright and made a snap decision to hole up for the night, bugger camping. Once ensconced in a hotel I could feed myself and relax while the storm blew over. Right on cue it started raining too, double trouble! No-one else was stupid enough to be out in it, I could only ride around in the vain hope of finding a hotel. Three were found, but they all denied being a hotel, they'd feed me but I couldn't stay there. (Photo: Open plains - Nr Darkhan, Mongolia)Puzzled is the only way to explain how I felt, they were all clearly labelled, in one I could even see a whole row of empty rooms. I didn't know what was going on, but wasn't impressed in the least. It wasn't a good start to my time in Mongolia!
My last attempt seemed successful, yes a guy said, this is a hotel, and he called a woman down from the upper floor. No she said, I couldn't stay there, I was flummoxed. So was the guy, with a puzzled look on his face and a shrug of his shoulders he indicated there was nothing he could do to help me. And off into the storm I rode, the Doors tune failing to enliven me, I was livid. Hating Mongolians, doubting the wisdom of bothering to come the extra distance to include it in my tour, I carried on regardless. I couldn't imagine trying to pitch the tent, the wind was raging, blowing me all over the road. My shoulders ached with the effort to keep the BMW on the road, it felt too hazardous to attempt to ride in it, but I didn't feel I had a choice. I don't know what raged worse, the storm or my anger, but it was my anger which kept me going, driven by a raging hunger. As it was my anger lasted longer than the storm, which blew over within the hour. It had got to 8pm, breakfast had been over 12 hours earlier, I was starving. (Photo: Grazing lands - Nr Darkhan, Mongolia)A three hut hovel sat desperately at the side of the road, two with open doors and signboards of gobble-di-gook displayed outside. I reckoned them to be cafe cum restaurants and made a beeline for the first in the row. Drawing up outside a large matronly woman appeared with a welcome smile which overshadowed even her enormous breasts and huge protruding belly.
it doesn't matter the language, make signs of shovelling food into your mouth and people get the idea. In response she simply beckoned me in, I'm sure words weren't needed, my gratitude must have been transparent. Hungry and parched my instant reaction of spotting the freezer was for a bottle of water, until I spotted the beer, then that took precedence. Two truck drivers welcomed me, a third person failed to even register my arrival, until I cracked open my bottle of beer. He then turned round and indicated that if I couldn't drink any beer, because I was riding my bike. Hello Mr policeman, why couldn't you have said so before I opened the bottle. Ok, fine, water it will be then. Until one of the other guys informed me the place was also a hotel. To be honest I thought it was a broken down shack, maybe doubling as a cow shed, not that I cared, if I could call an end to the day it would suffice. Even more to the point, I could have that beer. So with a nod to the copper, off came the cap again and down went the amber nectar. Food was plentiful and better than anything I'd had for days, at least it was more welcome. (Photo: Young lad and his helpers - Darkhan to Ulan Bataar, Mongolia)Wanting an early night I thought my luggage might as well be unloaded, at least the bits I wanted secure with me. I’d only taken off the tank bag when the policeman came out showing his appreciation for the bike, pointing at it and, so I thought, saying he had one too. No, not at all; he was asking to have a go on my bike. Bearing in mind I had no insurance, and didn’t want to offend the local law enforcement officer, but I hesitantly said no.
Bless him, he tried real hard to reassure me he was a competent rider, I was sure he was writing an ‘A’ to either indicate he was an advanced or ‘A’ class rider. Apologising, I still refused, asking what would happen if he dropped it. He would not be put off, emphasizing he was an ‘A’ rider again, and he only wanted a quick spin around the parking area. Then I relented, why not, if he did drop it, it would be his fault rather than mine. I wouldn’t be the one to drop it for the first time, and it would serve him right. Yeah, fine I said and started it for him. Bugger me if he didn’t nearly drop it as soon as he took the weight onto his legs, he was only a short arse and was at full stretch. But it didn’t put him off, and give him his due he was well versed in the operation of bikes. He pulled off clean and took it easy, a satisfied smile creasing his face. Halfway round he stalled it, it doesn’t like walking pace in second, and damned near dropped it again. But again, giving credit where it’s due, he held it up and as he pulled up in front of me snicked it into neutral and pulled up with style. He loved it, making it clear how impressed he was with the suspension, how forgiving it was with the potholes, and when he nearly dropped it. (Photo: Life on the open road - North of Ulan Bataar, Mongolia)After a relaxed start the day felt tranquil, emphasized by the gorgeous scenery. Whilst almost deserted the hilly surrounds were never without a Ger here and there, sometimes in only one or two, more often in clusters. I wasn’t in a hurry, and kept to 60mph. I wanted to make the most of the fabulous land, I was aghast at how phenomenal it all looked. Before Darkhan it was more isolated; a few Gers were to be seen, but not an abundance of them, small herds of animals were to be found widely spaced apart, and only a few people were to be seen. Hills graced both sides of the road, nice rolling hills accentuated by mountains behind them.
Frequently tracks diverged from the highway, often heading off apparently nowhere. More often Gers could be seen in the distance, nestled into the leeward side of the slopes, faints tracks wound their way across the tundra. I was in my element, there was no sense of urgency, no need to hurry anywhere. Ulan Baatar was within easy reach, I could at any time crack the throttle open and make it in a couple of hours or so, but that was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to savour the flavour of the wonderful terrain around me, why would I want to rush through such a lovely place? What had initially been sparse, sandy land gave way to decent grassland, more capable of supporting the limited number of animals evident. Nor was the road itself tedious to ride, curving gracefully round the hillocks, rising and falling with the natural terrain, running through leafy avenues amongst the frequent clumps of trees. (Photo: Horsemanship skills - North of Ulan Bataar, Mongolia)Basically heading directly south the quality of the land for grazing improved. From Darkhan verdant green open pasture provided plenty of rich grazing, herds got larger and filled the available space. Accompanied by old guys in traditional robes, or young horsemen with their playful hounds, the animals were a mix of cows, goats, sheep and horses. One old guy escorted a small herd of camels, leaving them to come take a closer look at my bike. He liked it, giving me the thumbs up, whilst I returned the compliment over his horse. As the grass grew greener the number of Gers increased in proportion, distance between them decreased and tight concentrations of people and animals showed clearly how well the land provided, at least at this fertile period of the year.
The majority of herders were little more than kids, I’d be surprised if any of them were out of their teens. Care had to be taken on the bike, there are no fences to prevent wandering onto the tarmac surface, herders would often be doing little more than following and keeping an eye on the herd, driving them over the road to safety rather than allowing them to congregate so close to danger. But horses were often free roaming, a hundred or so animals hurrying to the nearest source of water, the young frolicking in youthful enthusiasm. Life’s hectic around the communities of Gers, each family with their own herd, all working them, keeping them apart, rounding them up into corrals. Darting here and there one kid seemed to be doing all the work amongst one family, aided only by a dog, who was in no doubt as to what needed doing. A couple of kids on horseback drive their charges back home, another on his BMX helping in the process. Happy smiles and enthusiastic waves brought a smile to my own face, there hadn’t been much of that on the journey so far; the rural communities of Eastern Europe had shown little desire in attracting my attention as I rode past. Of the Gers, they looked in good shape, well maintained with decent quality equipment. Clean canvas was the norm, caste iron stoves, often sitting outside the Ger itself, let out thin trails of light grey smoke. I’d been led to believe they used gasoline stoves, though the smoke didn’t look like it; I’d have expected darker more profuse smoke from a petrol stove, unless it’s a pressurised system, in which case I wouldn’t expect ot see much in the way of smoke at all. They may be nomadic still, they may be very traditional in their way of life and their attire (the older folks dressed so anyway), but they hadn’t refused to take on board modern conveniences. Most of the Gers sported satellite dishes & solar panels. (Photo: Nomadic life - South of Darkhan, Mongolia)Though tarmac the road was slightly lumpy, it had a fair number of patches and was obviously maintained on a regular basis. At one stage, for a few miles, square sections had been cut out in preparation for repair. Twitchy steering plagued me all day, a slightly dodgy feeling that the bike wanted to follow faults in the road rather than where I was steering it. The front tyre looks a bit low, I’ve been meaning to check it and blow it up but haven’t got round to it, I won’t put this off any longer, it will be sorted before I leave the city.
What an awful approach to city, as the road met the city boundaries it stopped and all traffic was diverted. Across what was the puzzling thing, it looked like open steppe, people chose their own route across churned up mud and dirt, over an abysmally wet terrain of horrible craters, pits and trenches. I just followed someone else at first, then decided that picking my own route might just provide a more suitable alternative. Barring loose sand this is my nightmare dirt surface; deep water filled ditches, slippery climbs out, and the pandemonium of busy traffic to contend with as well. Vans were sliding on the slopes, losing their grip and threatening to slip back towards me. It was manic and it scared me, but I held my nerve and trusted the bike would handle it, I only had to use the appropriate controls and relax. Covered in crud we rolled back onto the city streets, and proceeded to get completely lost. Every time I found my way back onto the correct road there would be a detour, I’d have to make wide sweeps around the city, through disgusting looking neighborhoods, to find my way back on course. I stopped dozens of times and it took forever, fighting my way through the traffic was worse than anywhere in Russia. But I made it eventually, poor directions but good advice over where to stay, I’ve taken a private Ger at Gana’s Guesthouse. The Gers are on the roof, and from the premises many Gers can be seen in tiny compounds in this part of the city. (Photo: Summer camp - South of Darkhan, Mongolia)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Any personal information sent via my comments facility will not be published unless deemed devoid of personal content. You can, therefore, send me contact information. Thank you!