Lynne Kennedy

(Go West) Life is peaceful there
(Go West) In the open air
(Go West) Where the skies are blue
(Go West) This is what we're gonna do

Ulaan Baatar - 23 July 2004

After the Gobi misadventure I spent a couple of days recovering back in Ulaan Baatar before setting off on my next five-day jaunt. This time the destination was 400km west of the capital and instead of a nice but slightly irritating and occasionally patronizing Englishman, I had a very irritating and extremely set-in-her-(weird)ways Scandinavian. Lesson 1: Never agree to go on a trip with someone until you get to know how annoying they are

We set off on the Friday morning, this time in a proper vehicle – a 4WD –with a very nice driver who did not drink, and a lovely young guide who spoke very good English and was the niece of the people I was staying with in UB.

The road was asphalt most of the way – full of potholes so we still bounced around in the back like lobsters on a hotplate – but at least it was not as bad as last time. Nothing fell off the 4WD but it did suffer its fair share of breakdowns. This was due to the driver being given dodgy diesel (mixed with water) by some unscrupulous village petrol pump owner – a common occurrence in small Mongolian petrol stations.

At 10pm, after travelling 320 kilometers, we decided to set up camp for the night. We were in the middle of nowhere but it seemed as good a place as any. It took us a while to get sorted though as the driver could not figure out how to put the tent up. I decided to take control of the situation partly because it was getting dark but mostly because I am quite impatient. Having discovered that one pole was shorter than the other two, all became blindingly obvious and us three girls had it up fairly swiftly.

Just as I was about to zip us in for the night, I did a quick scan with my torch and caught a pair of eyes in the beam. They seemed to be attached to something small(ish) although I wasn’t quite sure as I had nothing to measure it against and it was very dark.

“There appears to be some kind of beast outside”, I said to the others. They stuck their heads out and saw the eyes. “Oh, what is it?” asked the Scandinavian who was scared of everything. “I don’t know”, I replied, still directing my torch at the eyes, which just stared and stared. The guide asked the driver, who was getting ready to sleep in the 4WD. “He says it’s a dog.”  I wasn’t so sure but it didn’t seem to want to come any closer so that was fine by me and I zipped us in.

The next day we got to our first destination – Kharakhorin – the ancient capital city of Mongolia established by Ghengis Khan himself some 900 years ago, give or take. After a look around the (very old) monastery we went to the post office so that the guide could make a call. I was reading my book in the back, having been left in charge of the vehicle, when, I in my peripheral vision I became aware of a dog pottering around outside the driver’s door, which he had left open ( it was very hot and we didn’t have the luxury of air-con.). It was quite a cute dog but nevertheless probably harbouring fleas and potentially rabies. I slid down behind the driver’s seat hoping it would not see me and wander off. My worry was unnecessary though - all it was after was the driver’s lunch which he had hung in a doggy bag (oh, you have to laugh!), on the inside door handle. Quick as a flash the dog and the bag were off. I have to admit I had a fit of the giggles but he didn't seem too upset when he returned and at least didn't suspect me.

We camped that evening beside a river in a beautiful valley. After erecting the tent I had my first ride and it was quite an experience - once I mastered the technique of getting on and staying on that is! Mongolian saddles are made of wood so they are not the most comfortable things to sit on, even when you have as well cushioned a bottom as I do. However, no pain-no gain as Jane Fonda used to say. Off we went with me hanging on for dear life while the reins were held by my chaperone – a young Mongolian nomad - who was riding beside me. It all went fine while we were on flat ground but it was slightly more difficult when my horse bent down to drink from the river and I nearly went over its head. Whoever said, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink” clearly had a strange horse because mine was drinking every chance it got.

After about 30 minutes or so I began to feel a bit more confident and so I took control of the reins myself. Big mistake! Dobbin decided to up the ante and launched into a trot. Now to any seasoned riders out there, a trot will probably be a walk in the park but to a novice like myself it was a bit of a shock – not to mention dangerous…..I nearly had two black eyes. Thankfully my chaperone grabbed the reins back (while giggling at my cries of “Oooooh, it’s going too fast”) and I was soon back to a more sedate walk, which became even more sedate as time went by. I began to wonder whether I had a lazy horse or whether it was just struggling with my weight and did that mean I was committing an act of cruelty to animals.

Sunday dawned and my bum was very sore which wasn’t helped by the constant bumping around in the back of the 4WD. It did stall a few times but there were always plenty of friendly Mongolian drivers willing to give us a tow start. We didn’t make to our destination that day - the Orkhon waterfall – because of the weather. As we couldn’t camp, we ended up in a small town for the night where there were so many people on horseback I felt like I was in the Wild West. Our ‘hotel’ (i.e rooms on top of a bar) was not quite ready so we were ushered into the bar only to find it was disco night. Oh What A Night!

The bar had five sets of pine table and chairs with plastic flowers decorating the walls; a single strobe light in the corner; 4 fluorescent tubes on the walls and a dodgy sound system, although I did recognize some of the tunes. You can’t escape Westlife can you? They are everywhere, even in the most remote areas of Outer Mongolia. It was very surreal seeing traditionally dressed nomads sitting in a disco. Non of them were dancing but then it was only 7.30pm - perhaps they are like all the other men in the world and can only get on the dancefloor after 10 pints of lager.

I cooked our supper on the gas stove that night. Ainsley Harriot would have been proud of me - with our limited supplies I concocted pasta with tomato sauce and sweet corn. It didn’t have much of a kick as we had no pepper but it did the job. The driver seemed to enjoy it so I redeemed myself for laughing when his lunch got stolen by the dog.  I said I was practicing in case I ever became a housewife. “Good, good”, he said. I’m not sure whether he meant it was good that I might one day be a housewife or good that I was getting some culinary practice!

The disco music boomed out until gone 3am so sleep was intermittent. The next morning on my way to the outside (but not too grim) loo, I came across a bloke lying flat on his back in the mud, snoring his head off. If I had not been dying for the loo I would have gone back for my camera - what a missed opportunity!

The bad weather continued and we were unable to make camp that night either so we stopped at a ger, sandwiched between two houses on the outskirts of a wee village. After a cup of tea we started thinking about going to bed. There was a power cut so I got out my torch which was not the best of ideas. A quick scan of the roof revealed THREE spiders above the sleeping area. I announced that I would be sleeping in the 4WD that night and made a hasty retreat with my sleeping bag. The Scandinavian, who hated all beasties, was quickly on my tail when she realized how many nasties were crawling on the floor. Initially I was pleased to have some company but then I remembered that she had pretty bad BO. I then ended up in the driver’s side because I felt guilty about the BO thought having entered my head so I offered her the passenger seat. I quickly realised what a mistake that was when I got into the driver’s side and saw that the steering wheel meant I could only sleep flat on my back. Och well, tough luck if I ended up snoring then – she had the good bed.

At 2.00 am I was woken up with very bad tummy pains and the realisation that I needed to go to the loo. The only problem was dogs - all gers have at least two guard dogs and they take their job very seriously. I was scared they would wake up and get me. 30 minutes later I no longer had a choice but as you can see, I lived to tell the tale. They were obviously too knackered from barking all day to bother with me. The next morning the Mongolians all had a good giggle at us for sleeping in the car but I didn’t care. I’d rather be a laughing stock any day than stay in a confined space with an army of arachnids.

Several hours and flooded roads later (having passed a camel, towing a gyspy-style caravan with a missionary in it)we arrived at Khustai National Park to see the famous tahki – the only true wild horses in the world. We were a bit late to see them at the watering hole so we set off into the park’s 50,000 or so hectares to see if we could get a glimpse. Needle and haystack sprung to mind but the driver was insistent that we should at least try. Alas, the tahki proved too elusive and it was time to return to UB. We took the cross-country route, which at the time I didn’t realize was a cross-country route and thought the driver was lost (well, can you blame me!?!?!?). However I was assured there was a way out....eventually. Up and down we went, over uneven steppe and the odd big hill. My internal organs felt like they were totally out of kilter with all the bumping around we endured in the back and twice I whacked my head on the roof and nearly ended up in the driver’s lap.

As we rounded another hill, I saw that we were driving towards what looked like deserted army ground. There were a few crumbling buildings dotted around and some rifle practice stands, as well as two or three old tanks. I was just about to get out my camera and take a shot when I remembered what happened to those English people who were put in jail in Greece on spy charges for taking photographs of aeroplanes. MacMata Hari I am not and I certainly ad no wish to see the inside of a Mongolian jail. Even though there was not a soul to be seen, I left the camera in the bag. We made our way out past the sentry point where there was a sign saying Stop! but as there was no sentry it seemed pointless. Then, just as we were about to go over the top of the next hill we heard an explosion and looked back to see a large plume of smoke coming from inside the area we had just driven though. I couldn’t believe it. At that point the driver, who was an ex-Army officer himself, informed us that the area was still used for target practice two or three times a month but usually at night! I must say I was slightly perplexed at the explosion given that there was not a soul or vehicle to be seen when we went through but I did not imagine it and had 3 witnesses...bit of mystery!

We arrived back in UB about an hour later after being towed up the last hill by a truck full of sheep and goats who kept staring out from the back. I’m sure were trying to make a bid for freedom. No wonder, they had probably heard on the sheep-vine that one of their own was served up for my dinner a week before.

So, it is time to leave Mongolia after almost a month of, quite literally, ups and downs. China and the imminent arrival of a fellow highlander, Rona (plus a new jar of Marmite), are just around the corner. But first I’m back on the train for the last leg of my Trans Siberian journey – the 30 hours from here to Beijing.

Mongolia has been interesting, frustrating, hot, dusty, full of surprises and also full of wonderful experiences and lovely people. I am sad to leave but at the same time excited about what China and Rona have in store!