Mongolia, Homeward Bound

Heading back was a little bittersweet.  I was looking forward to getting back on the grid, getting in touch with family and friends again, but it also meant that the last, and in some way most adventurous, part of my trip was soon going to be over.  There's a peace and majesty to that part of the world that's really special.  

The ride back wasn't without its little adventures though.  There had been heavy rains just to the East of where we were, and parts of the countryside had experienced flash floods.  The electricity was down in Tsetserleg, which would be a bummer, but more importantly, a lot of the rivers were fuller than they'd been all summer.  We had a crossed a few rivers on our way West, and we weren't sure if we'd be able to cross them as easily on the way back.

Our driver was pensive on our first attempt.  He drove up to the edge of the water.  He walked upstream.  He walked downstream.  He tossed a few rocks into the water to test the depth.  He smoked a couple of cigarettes.

He seemed nervous.  When a Mongolian is nervous about something, that's a sign it must be really bad.

A Land Cruiser drove up behind us, took a look at the size of the river ahead of it, and decided against it.  They turned around.

So now it was just us.  There were a half dozen Jeeps on the far, far side of the river.  Presumably everyone was waiting for someone else to go first. 

Our guy was the first to try.

He turned on four wheel drive.  He told us to open our windows.  Then he dipped into the water, slowly, in first gear.  The water kept rising, until it was just barely under our door.  Another inch and we'd start getting water in the main cabin.

He kept pushing on.

We almost made it.  We made it as far the far bank of one of many islands - the river was braided through and through - before we realized the channel had cut a steep bank we wouldn't be able to climb.  It was time to retreat.  Except, nothing happened when we reversed.

We were stuck in the middle of the river.

No worries, our guy fought with it, and fought with it.  He seemed to be making progress, until he flooded the engine. 

Now he got really nervous.  I was getting really nervous.  Out come the Mongolian ingenuity.

First, the engine to these Russian jeeps was mounted between the driver and the passenger.  This distributed the center of gravity more evenly, and more importantly, it meant you could basically work on the engine from the drivers seat.  Off came the cover.

He disengaged the belt to the fan.  The fan was splashing a lot of water around, which was getting inducted into the engine.  Ok, done.

Then, he tried to start the engine again.  It was completely dead.  He tried two or three more times.  Nothing.

At that point I started to play forward our options for getting home that day.  In theory, we could abandon the jeep, haul our stuff to the other side of the river - it didn't seem that deep after all - and then catch a ride with one of the Land Cruisers on the other side.  Or we could call for backup and have someone from the White Lake come by with a rope to haul us out.  We'd get wet, but we were still somehow touching the network of assistance courtesy of mobile phones and civilization.

Somehow, incredibly, on the fifth - or was it sixth - try, the engine started, before the battery died.  Somehow, incredibly, with enough pushing and pulling and four wheel magic he pulled us back to safety.  With a little more work he put the belt back on and we were good to go.

And now here's the kicker - there was a new bridge built just downriver!  It added an hour to our trip but it was there.  Why the risk?  Who knows.

But before we were home we had another mishap - this time a different belt had broken, which set us back another hour.  We were operating on Mongolian time.  We barely noticed.  

Mongolian drivers are in a league of their own though - huge points for sheer ingenuity.  I guess drivers in these end-of-the-world kind of places all need to double as mechanics.  He reminded me of our Bolivian driver who fixed a flat in about five minutes.  It's funny - I have all these motorcycle tools back home, but I have no idea how to use them.  This guy could take apart a full engine and put it back together with a screwdriver and his bare hands.  

And so, we made it back to Tsetserleg back in one piece.  There was no electricity there - the rains had washed away the electrical lines from UB, and no one knew when it would be back on again, maybe this week, maybe next, but then again, no one had anything urgent that really required electricity either.  Maybe it was refreshing?  A sign to take things a little more slowly in life.

Our bus ride next morning was long but uneventful.  We didn't get stuck in the mud, and there were no rivers to cross.  Back to the relative safety of civilization - sweet but sad at the same time.    

What now?

Staring out at the wide, wide river.

Alone in never never land.

Stuck, halfway in.

This is the obstacle course.

Our driver, thinking.

Homeward bound.

Fording rivers

Remember the Oregon Trail?  Part of the fun of getting around Mongolia... 

The White Lake

Mongolia has the coldest average temperature of any country in the world.  Even though the summers are warm - they average 65 degrees on average and the sun can make it feel a lot hotter - the winters are just brutal, with average temperatures of 13 below, which masks some of the days when the mercury breaks because the temperature is actually thirty, or even forty, below zero.

That, and the rise in altitude, helped explain why the White Lake was so cold.  The days were warm enough, but as soon as the sun went behind the clouds it was downright cold.  Until then I was wondering why I brought all that extra warm gear... 

At the White Lake we saw Mongolians' stunning efficiency and resourcefulness when it came to turning a patch of grass into a roaring party.  We were just relaxing when, out of nowhere, came two pickups trucks full of Mongolians with a couple of sheep.  In a matter of minutes they turned a piece of grass into a full blown campsite - multiple tents, quartered sheep, a volleyball court and a gazebo.  For a second it made me appreciate the efficiency of Genghis Khan's conquering machine - the largest land empire in the history of mankind.  An hour later men were passing vodka shots, kids were singing and dancing, and our relaxing campsite looked and felt like a Mongolian version of Las Vegas.  Then there was the customary three hour game of volleball lasting until well into the night.

Another gem was the general store at the White Lake, full of items that had improbably made their way to this corner of the world.  There was a bottle of French wine, vintage 2005, tucked away in the corner.  How many time had that thing been sold and resold before it made it all the way to that general store?  There was an old, beat up Nalgene, presumably used?  Who was the owner before and why had he or she sold it?  There were Western candy bars past their expiration date, no small feat, and a collection on Russian, Chinese and Mongolian snacks.  The back of beyond.

Getting used to these gers after a while...

Lots of entrepreneurs are setting up shop around the lake.

Frontier housing.

The famous White Lake.

Pink gers on the far shore.

Yaks - it gets cold enough here that Yaks start to displace cows, especially during the winters.

Locals on their way around the lake.

Prayer flags on the lake.

Our digs.

Getting rugged.

Taking a nap by the lake after some horseback riding.

The house dog.

A shot of the reflection of the flames dancing around the inside of our tent... it got cold at night and the stove was the only way to stay warm.

Our new Mongolian friends, doing Mongolian/English lessons.

Another shrine, this one at the top of a nearby volcano.

Finally getting comfortable!

Sturdy little horses.

The kitchen and living quarters for our hosts.

Mongolia, moving West

Wow, rural Mongolia.  The real frontier of civilization.  Driving through town after town on the way to the White Lake it felt like we were moving through time, back to a world where people's triumph over the wilderness was temporary and tentative.  These towns were full of wooden clapboard houses, with stoves burning dried wood or dung, electrical lines loosely strung around the town, dirt streets, and virgin steppe all around.  It wasn't a shantytown - that's too strong of a word and it didn't feel poverty stricken - it just felt raw, like something out of Little House on the Prarie.

Moving west the weather got colder and colder, and the sky turned an ominous gray.  We drove through steppe, through forests, and over a few ridges.  Our final destination was Tstserleg, one of the biggest towns in central Mongolia, although it's not much more than a collection of mud streets, frontier houses, and one youth hostel.  

The travelers you meet in Mongolia are a little different from the ones I met in South America.  Mongolia is simply so hard to get to, and so hard to get around, that the usual backpacker crowd of college kids and Europeans on their gap years never make it.  The people that do are the determined ones, the ones who have made a conscious effort to see Mongolia.  There's also a good number of people who are on the Trans Siberian and decide to take a week off to get a good look at Siberia.  The vibe is older, more determined, and more lone wolf travelers.  You have to like solitude to go to Mongolia, or most of your friends probably won't fork out to make the trip with you, so either way, people landed here solo and ready to explore the country.

That Dutch guy from my first night at the homestay fit the bill perfectly - he used to be an engineer at a big European multi-national, but after a few years of the cubicle grind he was "lucky" enough to be made redundant with a big severance package.  World travels were next, as he thought about what he wanted to do next.  Randomly, I would also meet a Swiss private banker, whose parents were from Taiwan and who had a thirst for adventure that his banking job didn't satisfy.  He traded credit derivatives.  Who knew.

On the way to the White Lake our group picked up two more travelers - we would spend the next few days together.  One had fallen in love with Mongolia on a trip a few years ago, met some of her best friends there, and was back to see a bit more.  Our other companion was a grad student, also with a mixed cultural background - part of her family was from Vietnam, part was Swiss, she grew up in Switzerland and was studying in Korea.  Maybe Mongolia has some weird attraction for people, including myself, who have various degrees of identity confusion.

Once again, we were saved by expats who had set up a guesthouse for foreigners in Tsetserleg.  A couple of Australians had been in Mongolia on mining work, had married Mongolian women, and then eventually quit their jobs to move back and open a guesthouse with all the amenities international backpackers could want.  They had the best breakfast in town, and wonderful hot showers!  

The last leg of our journey would be a ride in a Russian jeep the last 6 hours or so to the White Lake.  The road started off great, and then deteriorate, climaxing in a river crossing (which went very smoothly).  I had the chance to swap books at the guesthouse, so now I was happily reloaded for a few more days.  Thinking back, it was amazing how much free time I had.  There were whole days when I had nothing to do except look out the window, hang out, and read.  Welcome to life in Mongolia.

Over the hill towards the White Lake.

Ger toursit camp advertisements - it took a few weeks to get the hang of the alphabet.

More braided roads into the back of beyond.

Hawks with gers and livestock in the background.

Our river crossing.

Electrical poles mounted in concrete so that they don't washed away during flash floods.

Our ride.

Our driver.

Our jeep, on the inside.

Our crew.

Frontier life.

Frontier subdivisions.

Taking a break.

Finally, our spot for the next few nights.