If you were to look down on northern Asia from above, the city of Ulaan Baatar would appear as little more than the tiniest of dots in the midst of a vast unfettered field of nothing. Even on ground level it is easy to see…Read More

If you were to look down on northern Asia from above, the city of Ulaan Baatar would appear as little more than the tiniest of dots in the midst of a vast unfettered field of nothing. Even on ground level it is easy to see that once you pass beyond the city limits, you’ll quickly be enveloped in an expansive virtually untamed wilderness. Mongolia is famous for this unbridled countryside, and before I made my way from London to UB, it was Mongolia’s great outdoors that I was keenest to see and explore.

Unfortunately, Mongolia is also famous for being one of the coldest places on earth. From September until well into April, it can be as cold as 40 degrees below 0, with heavy snow and ice covering most of the country. The treacherously low temperatures and dense blanket of snow that enveloped the capital and beyond meant that for much of the time that I lived in UB, getting out and about was not really an option. I arrived in Mongolia in early February, when the harsh winter weather was just about at its peak, which meant that for the majority of my first 3 months, I spent my time wrapped up warm within the confines of the city. The prolonged confinement worked to generate a type of cabin fever, which by early May had reached a worrying height--my friends and I had grown desperate to burst out and breathe the fresh country air.

Ulaan Baatar is ringed by mountains in almost every direction. To the south is a range known as Bogd Khan, at the centre of which are four mountains that roughly adhere to the points of a compass and are known as the Four Holy Peaks. The Bogd Khan range stretches to within just a couple of kilometres from UB, making it the perfect area to begin our exploration of the Mongolian wilderness. The highest of the Holy Peaks is Tsetseegum Uul, which stands at a blustery but achievable 2,200m and quickly became the target of our expedition. Most guidebooks we read and locals we spoke to recommended that we drive out into the country and attack Tsetseegum from the far side before descending through the foothills down into the city.

The path up the mountain runs passed the ruined monastery at Manzshir Khiid (see separate entry) and then climbs gradually to the summit. Everyone said that this would be by far the easiest way for us to head upwards; to get back down, we were advised to descend in the opposite direction along a far steeper incline that lead past the Zaisan Memorial (see separate section). With our route carefully planned, things were looking good. The only problem we faced was that everyone we talked to thought we were nuts. The weather had improved immeasurably since the chilly days of February and the country was beginning to take on a lush green colour. However, even though the spring temperatures felt positively tropical, in all reality they were barely breaking the 10-degree mark and at night they were still dropping perilously close to freezing.

Despite a lot of scepticism over whether we may freeze to death or get lost in the mountains, we were confident in our plans and were looking forward to hiking through the spectacular mountain scenery. Our plan was to camp at Manzshir Khiid on Friday evening before heading to the summit of Tsetseegum on Saturday morning, then spending the evening camped out in the mountains. Unfortunately, our ambitions took something of a bashing on just the first evening.

When we arrived at the monastery, it was a crisp, clear evening. We managed to find a nice secluded campsite in the surrounding woods, where we pitched our tents and made a fire. Everything seemed to be going perfectly to plan as we tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags. It was around 4am, though, when things began to take a turn for the worse. I awoke with the first glimmers of morning light and soon found myself shivering uncontrollably. I poked my head out of the tent and found that the forest floor was frozen and covered in a thick frost. All four of the group were awake and all of us were shocked at just how cold we were--all we could do was get up, start the fire, and have an early breakfast. As we toasted bread over the open fire, we began to reassess our plans. Manzshir Khiid may have been 20km of pretty rough terrain away from Ulaan Baatar, but none of us were keen on spending another freezing night in the wilderness. So we decided we would make a break for it and attempt to get to back to Ulaan Baatar that night. Things started off well as we passed by the monastery and began a steady climb towards the summit. For most of the way the ground underfoot was firm but in many places it was still frozen. Thankfully, by mid-morning the temperature began to rise and the summit slowly began to get closer and closer. It was just after lunchtime when we hit some steeper climbs and the wind began to get stronger as we got higher.

The final approach to the summit was rocky and relatively taxing, but once we reached the top it was all well worth it. The view across the city was truly awe-inspiring, taking in the urban sprawl and the open country and rolling hills on the far side. The four of us sat drinking in the view and enjoyed a tin of cold hot-dog sausages and a pack of Haribo candy for lunch. Once our whistle-stop snack had digested, it was time for our race against time back to the city. If we made good time we would be able to get back before the light faded and then sleep in our warm apartments. If the light ran out before we made the city, we would be forced to spend another night under the stars shivering in our tents.

We set off on our way down the back side of the mountain, with the afternoon sun making it pleasant hiking conditions. The way down was indeed far steeper than the approach we had taken up. Regardless of that, though, we made good time for the first hour or so. It was only when we encountered our first boulder that things began to go awry. We had just come out of a small wooded clearing when we were greeted by a giant field of imposing boulders. The only way through was to hop from rock to rock, which at first was tremendous fun. However, since we were all carrying large packs full of tents, sleeping bags, and food, it quickly became a precarious process.

The boulders just would not seem to go away. We passed through field after field of them and never seemed to be able to shake them. After each, we all began to feel more and more tired and were constantly preying that we would soon be rid of them. Instead, it wound up being like some vicious waking nightmare: each time we thought we had escaped, our spirits would rise, only to be dashed by the sight of yet more giant rocks. All the way down Tsetseegum and through the rocky foothills we were watching the light, hoping against hope we would make the city before it began to fade. Thankfully, it was still nice and bright as we found ourselves traversing the last field of boulders and passing the Zaisan Memorial.

Our trip into the mountains had certainly cured us of our cabin fever. We had seen enough of the countryside for the weekend and were glad of our return to the comfort of the city. Getting back in time had been an achievement we were proud of and grateful for, but it had left marks. We all had large blisters and a whole variety of scrapes and bruises acquired from crossing the boulders.

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Mongolia is famed far more for its wide-open countryside and seemingly unending horizons than it is for its city-life. The capital city of Ulaan Baatar is something of a Communist relic made up of blockish 1950s styled buildings, the majority of which have lost what…Read More

Mongolia is famed far more for its wide-open countryside and seemingly unending horizons than it is for its city-life. The capital city of Ulaan Baatar is something of a Communist relic made up of blockish 1950s styled buildings, the majority of which have lost what little lustre they once had. It is also shrouded by a smoggy cloud of pollution produced by the ageing cars and buses that run along its roads and by large coal-fuelled power stations on the outskirts of the city.

Whilst UB may not seem to be the jewel of northern Asia it positively sparkles in comparison to Darkhan – Mongolia’s second largest city. Darkhan was built in the early 1960s with not inconsiderable help from Mongolia’s Soviet neighbours. When it was completed the whole enterprise was heralded as a modern socialist miracle. Nowadays though, it is suffering a massive hangover from the Communist era. Without technology and finance provided from the now defunct USSR, Darkhan has begun to crumble.

Whilst Mongolia’s second city may not have seemed the biggest tourist attraction on offer, when Chimgee – a Mongolian friend – invited two friends and I to head up there to stay with her we decided to give the place a shot. To get there we all hitched a ride with her uncle, a giant of a man named Yamcah, who owned a giant 4 x 4. The road between UB and Darkhan was a single sliver of tarmac bisecting vast fields of snow on either side. Up until then we had not left the confines of Ulaan Baatar, so the unspoilt snow and frighteningly clear blue skies were a welcome change.

We drove north for nearly four hours seeing scarcely another human being save for the occasional truck driver or the odd roadside canteen. Once we closed in on Darkhan the snow began to take on a grey sort of tinge and when the city loomed fully into view the whole atmosphere began to take on a dingy, polluted aura.

Darkhan was bleak and in the most part derelict. Thankfully though, we didn’t spend too much time within the city limits. Instead we paid a quick visit to the town’s monastery before heading out onto the steppe. Chimgee had told us that her grandfather was a champion hunter who was keen to take us out wolf hunting. The idea of actually hunting down wolves gave me somewhat mixed feelings. I was not particularly keen on the idea of going out and killing an innocent animal, but on the other hand the idea did seem tremendously exciting.

We set off at 5.30 am on a cold Sunday morning. We picked up Grandpa from his wooden cabin at some point just before 7 and headed out into the wilderness. In the faint orange morning light the countryside was both beautiful and silent. The only noises to be heard were those we made ourselves, which were mainly the whirring s of the engine as Yamcah struggled to navigate his jeep through the thick snow and ice beneath us. By 8.30 the sun had risen fully to reveal yet more bright blue skies giving us the chance to sight our first wolves. Once Grandpa had picked out our prey we set off at breakneck speed. As soon as the wolves picked up the noise of our engine they turned tail and ran, soon managing to get themselves out of sight. Nevertheless Grandpas remained undeterred and was content to follow them using just their tracks.

The chase went on for almost two hours with Yamcah flinging the jeep around as fast as he could through the snow and over the rolling hills of the steppe. It was thrilling stuff knowing the animals could be just a few meters away, but despite Grandpa’s best efforts we were unable to chase them down. Our pursuit came to an end when the trail dissipated into a rocky path, which lead up a steep snowless hillside leaving the trail cold.

After Grandpa had taken out his binoculars and scoured the surrounding area he decided that the hunt had failed and that we should stop for lunch. Chimgee had prepared horsemeat sandwiches and a haggis like dish featuring bread and horse steak stuffed into horse intestine. It was greasy fare, but since the temperature outside was around – 20 it served us well.

As I sat there munching I have to admit that I was a little relieved we had not actually managed to snare our selves a wolf. Even though Chimgee and Grandpa would have used almost every part of the animal – they could use the fur for coats, and its meat and oils for medicinal purposes – I would have felt guilty about being partly responsible for killing such a beautiful wild animal.

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The breed of horses indigenous to Mongolia might not be quite as large as those found elsewhere around the world, but it didn't stop me from finding my animal transport for the day a bit intimidating. Thom and I had signed up for a day on…Read More

The breed of horses indigenous to Mongolia might not be quite as large as those found elsewhere around the world, but it didn't stop me from finding my animal transport for the day a bit intimidating.

Thom and I had signed up for a day on horseback. When I said "Yeah, we should ride a horse," I had meant, "Yeah, let's sit on one for a photo and then go back to reading a book." Thom was far more keen, and thus we were roped into 10 hours of trotting.

Things were sketchy from the offset. Thom and our guide wandered off immediately on their beasts and left me standing on all fours--my new friend wasn't budging. I had the embarrassing privilege of being towed by the guide for the first half-hour, until my equestrian buddy decided he would play ball.

Just as I was getting used to the gentle meandering, it was decided that we should pick up the pace to an infinitely less comfortable trot, which meant I could feel my breakfast churn around in my stomach every time the horse went up and down.

"You just have to sort of stand up and down in time to the bumps."

Thom was no riding expert, but he was clearly better than me. It seemed like a lot more effort than just sitting there, but it appeared to work--if I bobbed up and down in rhythm with the beast, I avoided being thrown all over the place.

Thom was having a great time trying to film my endeavours from the unstable vantage point of his saddle. He even took a detour into a herd of yaks to get a close-up of our next animal target. The footage, if not world-class cinematography, is certainly quality entertainment. Thom's running dialogue over a view that jerked up and down with each lunge of the horse, looking like it was being filmed from the bow of a ship in the middle of a storm, was certainly something to be seen.

It was swelteringly hot beneath the Mongolian sun, and we stopped off beside a stream. Our guide had been wearing a huge jacket that looked like some kind of playboy dressing gown, which seemed somewhat impractical given the current temperature. The only reason we could think of for his donning such an item of clothing is that, as we sat down for a break, he produced from one of the pockets a huge Tupperware pot filled with pastries for us.

After devouring the homemade delicacies, Thom and I stripped down to our underwear and waded into the stream.

It was bloody freezing.

Having not had a shower since Moscow (that was about 4,000 miles back), we weren't put off by a little cold. We dunked our heads in, gasping for breath, and gave ourselves a quick scrub before scrambling back to the banks.

Thom produced a clean pair of boxer shorts from his bag. Unfortunately, I was less well prepared and spent the rest of the day's riding without the privilege of any dry underwear.

We continued in a circuitous route around the hills back to our gers. It was a brilliantly tranquil day, with little more than the birds and the sunshine for company... and some rabid dogs.

Having canine security seemed to be commonplace among the nomads in the national park, and the encampment we passed shortly after lunch was no exception. The dogs went wild as soon as we came into sight, which was pretty normal, but unlike the others, these ones decided they'd give chase. Of course, the other two riders' horses had no problems dealing with the onslaught, but mine, apparently, took issue with them and bolted.

"That's the first time I've seen your horse move all day, mate," Thom added helpfully.

On the final stretch, in an attempt to choreograph some kind of decent video footage on horseback, we somehow managed to lose our camera battery, which was surprisingly hard to find again in the middle of huge plain. Otherwise, we made it back in time for sunset and a steaming plate of pasta.

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Outside my room, a bull returns my gaze. Before I have time to gauge the threat posed by the large horned animal standing 10 feet away from me, two crazed dogs chase it off. I’m in Mongolia, and I’m staying in a ger (hut) just outside Ulaan…Read More

Outside my room, a bull returns my gaze.

Before I have time to gauge the threat posed by the large horned animal standing 10 feet away from me, two crazed dogs chase it off.

I’m in Mongolia, and I’m staying in a ger (hut) just outside Ulaan Bator.

We got into the Mongolian capital in the early hours of Monday morning, after our five-day train trip from Moscow, and soon arranged to get out into the countryside. We found a friendly sounding company called Happy Camel Expeditions, whose centre of operations is based in a café specializing in French pastries. After indulging in a couple of their specialties, an overly helpful member of staff sorted out an itinerary for an outdoor excursion.

Our enthusiastic helper drew us a detailed map of how to get to the post office (the one in our guidebook was apparently not sufficient) and even offered to walk us down there. On our way down, we noticed the first of many curiosities in Mongolia: human mobile phones.

These people sit on the side of the street holding old-school-looking phones (as in, normal house phones rather than the mobile variety), presumably as some kind of public telephone service. That's weird in itself, but it's made even more peculiar by the fact that they all wear big masks over their faces, giving them a sinister appearance like the bad guys from a martial arts film. Another streetside service of which I’m particular fond is the guy outside the post office who sits with a set of scales, awaiting potential health-conscious passersby to weigh themselves.

A taxi picks us up from the Happy Camel Café and ventures into the daunting road system of Ulan Bator. Or, at least, I imagine it would be daunting, but I decide that sleeping through it might save me the stress of trying to brake on behalf of our driver.

I wake up as our driver swiftly turns off the road and down a steep dirt track, where he pulls up next to a river, strips to his underwear, and goes for a dip! Thom and I satisfy ourselves with a paddle before we get back on the road.

We had hoped for a peaceful stay in the Mongolian outback, away from all the city and tourists, but were slightly suspect as to what to expect, given that our hosts were communicating with our tour company via SMS! I know this is the 21st century and all, but I wasn’t aware that Mongolian nomads had been subjected to mobile culture.

Our hopes were further dashed by our scenic tour of the park. Big signs proclaimed different pieces of land as belonging to various tour companies, and rows upon rows of gers were penned in by picket fences – not quite what we had in mind. Worse still were the scary-looking wooden houses in garish colours that lined the road. So when we pulled up to a collection of three small gers surrounded by little more than grass and cows, with no big signs or brightly coloured buildings in sight, we were pleasantly surprised.

We were introduced briefly to the family (spanning three generations), who were, at the time, banging nails into a wooden shed, and we were then shown to our ger. The grins we had been wearing since our arrival broadened as we ducked through the doorway. The place was perfect. We had our own little ger: a bed each, a table and stalls, a dresser, and even a sink, all hidden away inside the little felt hut with Tardis-like properties. It was just what we wanted and just what we needed.

Sleeping was in the forefront of both our minds, but we decided we should venture outside to gain some sense of achievement for the day. The park was a mix of rolling green hills and bold rock stacks that stretched up high above the cows, yaks, goats, and horses that populated the land below. We set our sights on a nearby rock mound and were granted a commanding view of the surrounding area. Having fulfilled our adventure quota for the day, we went back to camp and collapsed on our beds. I was completely zoned out when the mother of the family woke us up by coming through the front door with our dinner.

I think I was feeling a bit homesick because, despite our amazing location, I wasn’t in a happy state of mind. Having been awoken from my nap, I was struggling to get back to sleep again when the mum came back again, this time carrying only a flashlight (it was dark by this point). After having blinded me, she pointed at the blanket I had helped myself to and said something with a hint of shock. "Great," I thought, "I’m having a bad day, and now I’ve pissed off our host." Moments later, however, she returned with a big quilt for me. Evidently, she was just concerned that I was underprepared compared to Thom, who had thought to bring a sleeping bag.

I was woken up again later, only this time by Mother Nature–-a big storm had erupted. Excellent! I was tucked up under my new big quilt in a ger hut in Outer Mongolia, and now thunder and lightning had joined the party and were giving the place real atmosphere! Things were looking up.

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I never thought this would happen. Riding a horse in the middle of nowhere with a strange man possessing an amazing singing voice... well it did.My friend Barbara and I set out three days ago with plans of hiking to the Gunjiin Sum Monastery in…Read More

I never thought this would happen. Riding a horse in the middle of nowhere with a strange man possessing an amazing singing voice... well it did.

My friend Barbara and I set out three days ago with plans of hiking to the Gunjiin Sum Monastery in Mongolia's Terelj National Park. It is a 3-day journey to get there, but we never made it that far. On our second day, Barbara had an accident with her knee and we had to turn back, this was what led up to the horses.

Thanks to a kind hearted, grey eyed, Mongolian man Barbara and I were crossing, on horseback, the raging rivers that separate the base camp and the rest of Terelj. Three days ago we waded across these knee high rivers, but now they raged and flooded from the 3 days of rain (Yes, we hiked in the rain). It was around 10pm, and I rode alone with all the gear while my friend shared a horse with the grey-eyed Mongolian. Her knee was so bad she could not get it in the stirrups.

Approaching the first river I could see it was swollen, overreaching it's banks. As we crossed I pulled my feet in towards my chest and held on. My horse was reluctant, but made it across safely. The second river was different, much faster than the first and I could not convince the horse to cross. I turned it around multiple times and even forced it into a gallop, only to come to a dead stop at the river's edge. Barbara and Grey-eyes were already across the river, but when our guide saw what was happening he rode his horse part way into the river and began singing to my horse. Yes, I said SINGING! Well, my reluctant horse was reluctant no longer and crossed the river with ease.

As the hours wore on it got darker and darker, and since there was no moon and we had no flash light we had to rely on the horses. We crossed five more rivers, all of them deep, but not as fast as the first two. By about midnight we were exhausted. We could see the lights of the base camp, but because it was so dark we could not find a clear path. By 1am we arrived, but one thing stood in our path, a 5-foot fence. There was a small opening for people, but none for horses, so we had to hike around it. Easier said than done.

There was no clear path around the fence, so we had to pull the horses up a rocky 60º incline and hang on to the fence for nearly a half hour. The entire time, pulling the horses and hanging onto the fence so we did not fall into the raging river below. After what seemed like forever, we made it out and pulled our horses through the hole in the fence.

By the way...if you are reading this Grey-eyes...thank you, again....   Close

Okay, so getting pierced in a country like Mongolia is not the smartest thing to do, but I'm still alive and my ear hasn't fallen off.   It all started with my friend buying a dress at the Black Market. It was a sweet, little, red…Read More

Okay, so getting pierced in a country like Mongolia is not the smartest thing to do, but I'm still alive and my ear hasn't fallen off.

 

It all started with my friend buying a dress at the Black Market. It was a sweet, little, red number that reminded you of the Midwest, cowgirls, and tire swings. When we returned home and showed our Mongolian friend, Khulan, she squealed and said that earrings would make it look perfect. Let me note, Khulan is a fashion addict… Barbara and I are Neanderthals who can barely dress ourselves. When Barbara made it known that her ears were unpierced we put our shoes on and set out to remedy the situation.

 

In Mongolia, the majority of piercings are done in the home (Khulan's was done with a sharp pencil), however, after 2 days of searching and wandering into some pretty shady places we found a salon that would do what we wanted.

 

The salon was located in the dirty basement of a building, but from the look of the staff it looked clean and legit…so we sat down. With Khulan in tow, she translated to the beautician what Barbara wanted… I am not entirely sure why I decided to get the cartilage piercing in my ear, I think I decided to get it so Barbara wouldn't be alone.

 The walls of the salon were wallpapered with fashion posters and photos of fancy hairdos. The entire place glowed a sick green from the florescent lights. In the corner a few of the employees crowded around a portable television watching a Russian soap opera. I do not recall who was first but I do remember the chill of my ear being disinfected and then the sharp pain of the piercing gun. I looked in the hand mirror and saw a little silver star glittering back… what had I done? Barb and I paid the lady, said our thanks, and emerged onto the street.

As we walked home and stopped at the various jewelry shops along the way I began to think… did they sanitize the earrings before putting them in? Was the gun clean? Were the lady's hands clean? Will I get an infection?

 

Sitting here today I can answer one of these questions for sure: I did get an infection. However, this was because I had to take the earring in and out when I went to work. Cartilage piercings often need 3 months to heal and mine only got one. I still have the scar tissue as a happy reminder of my escapade... Whatever happened to that silver star? Hmmmm....

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Mongolia is a country that has stolen my heart.... the people, the landscape, and the sheer beauty of the countryside makes you stop and sigh. I have ventured far and wide, but Mongolia has no equal. Here was where I learned to breathe... here is…Read More

Mongolia is a country that has stolen my heart.... the people, the landscape, and the sheer beauty of the countryside makes you stop and sigh. I have ventured far and wide, but Mongolia has no equal. Here was where I learned to breathe... here is where I learned what silence truly is.

I left for Mongolia via China in mid-May, the best time to visit if you want to beat the tourists. I took the Trans-Mongolia train out of Beijing and met my two friends at the station in Ulaan Baatar. Barbara and I had graduated with our bachelor’s degrees (her’s in Russian and theatre and mine in history) that same year, and met through a mutual friend. A few months before she left for a language school in Irkusk, Russia, we met and decided to meet in Mongolia to do a little backpacking. Khulan, a Mongolian exchange student and best friend, was also there and would be playing hostess to us during our 3-week stay.

The first week in UB was spent getting oriented, sight-seeing and buying supplies for our backpacking trip. Barb and I planned to go to Terelj National Park and hike to the Gunjiin Sum Monastery. On foot it is 3 days in, 3 days out, weather permitting… however, in our case it was 1 day in, 3 days out, and a trip to the doctor.

Before heading into Terelj, play it smart and find a map. Barbara and I were fortunate enough to beg and plead and pay our way into a photocopy of a 1986 map, thanks to the sympathetic women at the Map Shop on Ikh Toiruu ( In UB, located in a small shopping center, next to Lamrin Sum). Be warned... if you go into the countryside of Terelj without a guide, you will be hard pressed to find a reliable map with Gunjiin Sum on it. If you are fortunate enough to find a map and venture to Gunjiin Sum, keep in mind that the rivers you see on the map may or may not be there. Depending on the season, the rivers may look like nothing but a trickle, so keep an eye out.

Day 1: Barb, Khulan, Khulan’s friend ( I cannot venture a guess at how to spell her name), and I arrive in Terelj by car and stay at a tourist ger camp. It was a little spendy, but quaint.

Day 2: We say our goodbyes to Khulan and her friend and set out on our adventure. It takes us a while to get used to the 25-pound bags on our backs, but after about 2 hours we don’t even notice they’re there. Barbara and I are forced to cross about eight rivers, the largest one was crossed with the help of some locals and their horses, before we reach the open countryside. All along the way we met various people who would practice their English or Russian with us, asking us questions about where we are going, our names, or where we are from. Many of them think we are crazy to hike without a male escort or guide, one of the women offered us her son as an escort… we gracefully declined.

About half way through the day, Barb and I decided to get our bearings and wandered into a ger camp to ask if we were going the right direction. They instead invited us into their ger, fed us the most amazing yogurt I have ever tasted and offered us salty tea, a traditional Mongolian drink. Barbara and I were grateful for the break and a glimpse into Mongolian home life. Sitting on the left side of the tent, closest to the door (out of respect, all visitors must sit to the left side of the tent nearest the door. Only if you are directed otherwise should you move closer to the head of the ger.) Barb spies a baby boy on the opposite side of the ger swaddled up to his neck and propped up of the bed. Swaddling a baby like this serves two functions: keeping warm and keeping it out of trouble. Of course, like all women do, Barb and I were oooing and aaahing and asked permission if we could hold the baby. After having our fill of yogurt, tea, and babies, Barb and I thank the woman and handed out chocolate to the gaggle of children collecting around our ankles.

Following our map, and the directions we received, we walk another few miles up the “road” and crossed the final river. It was only later we found out that we crossed the wrong river, the Boorinbayaan Gol, the river we were meant to follow north. It wasn’t until much, much, much later that we realized one of the rivers dried up, leading us to miscount the landmarks. So, heading in the wrong direction Barb and I trek on, unaware of the calamities that await us.

After a few more hours, we decide to rest and set up camp along the river we are mistaken into believing is the Boorinbayan Gol. With dinner cooking, two men, one young and one old come over and say hello. After about an hour of using sign language and drawing in the dirt, he communicated to us that we were heading in the wrong direction. He urged us to move our tent next to his family's ger and in the morning he would take us on a short cut through the hills. After much debate Barb and I finally conceded and packed up our tent and set it up next to his ger.

During this time, Barb was nursing some pretty nasty blisters, and by the next morning she was limping.

Day 3: We woke up to a light drizzle and ate breakfast with the old man's family. We set out much later than we would have liked, but we had to wait for our new guide to get ready. As we listened to him talking with his family I had a feeling he wanted us to pay him for services rendered, but rather than bring it up now, I figured I had better wait.

Well, this shortcut through the hills nearly killed me. My lungs burned because of the altitude and Barb's limp was getting worse. When we finally reached the Borinbaayan Gol and thanked the man for his help he demanded payment. Barb and I only had enough money for cab fare back to Ulaan Baatar and not much else, so we hid the cab money and showed him the remainder of our funds. Seeing our meager amount, he felt sorry for us and only took about $4. Well, tired and wet, we set up our tent to wait out the rain and rest for the remaining journey. Our rain gear proved to be unreliable, and both of us were soaked.

After a much needed nap, Barb and I talked about what to do. Hiking through the hills had pulled a muscle along her knee and made any further hiking unwise. Both of us wanted to reach the monastery, but we risked getting stuck there if Barb's condition worsened. Depressed by our joint decision to return to base camp, we packed up our tent and headed back the way we came. Despite the early morning rain and the disappointment of turning back, the rest of the day was beautiful.

Day 4: After packing up the tent, we decided it was best for me to carry all the gear. Barb's knee had worsened overnight, and if we were going to traverse the rivers she need to lighten her load. So, with about 45-pounds of gear on my back we headed out. The day was windy and bright, a perfect day for hiking. After finishing our lunch of canned meat and bread, the skies to the south of us started looking gray... oh no, not again.

We made camp early that day on a very nice spot along the river. It was excellent timing because just as we crawled into the tent and took of our boots the sky opened up and it POURED. It rained like this intermittently for 4 hours. When the rain stopped the first time, a curious young man that was about our age approached our tent to introduce himself. He told us that we need to move our tent to a protected area because of the wolves nearby. Well, I never saw a wolf. Anyway, just to make him happy we moved the tent into a three sided log enclosure... an area too small for our tent. We wrestled with our tent, but in the end ignored his advise and set it up next to the enclosure rather than inside.

As we ate dinner the man approached our tent again and told us we need to leave for the base camp tonight because the rivers were rising... the the bottom of a horse's saddle to be precise. If we left tomorrow it would be above a horse's saddle and we would be stuck in the park until the levels went down. So, at 9:30 in evening we packed up our tent and got on this young man's horses. We traveled across these VERY flooded rivers, without a light or a moon to travel by, and made it to the base camp around 1 or 2 am. Riding the horses was an amazing experience, and the danger of being swept away by a raging river added to the excitement.

That evening, after thanking the man and surprising him with a generous payment for his help, we settled into our tent—a tent that we pitched in the pavilion of the hotel. Barb and I were freezing and damp after our all night escapade, and since we couldn't sleep because of the cold we giggled and laughed until 6am... when we caught a cab back to UB.   Close

It didn’t take me long to get sick of the intense cold that encapsulated Ulaan Baatar. To alleviate that boredom, I decided to look for the best way to get out of the city. As it transpired, the easiest option was to jump onto the…Read More

It didn’t take me long to get sick of the intense cold that encapsulated Ulaan Baatar. To alleviate that boredom, I decided to look for the best way to get out of the city. As it transpired, the easiest option was to jump onto the train and head due south in the direction of the Gobi desert.

The journey from the city out to the desert took upwards of 10 hours. Although sitting in a bare four-berthed compartment was not the most thrilling way to spend most of a day, it gave us an excellent chance to look at the changing faces of the countryside. After we first left Ulaan Baatar, everything we could see through the window was frozen and snow-covered, but as we headed south, things began to change. A couple of hours into the trip, the snow started to thin out and give way to lush grassland, which in turn gradually receded into desert.

We arrived in the desert town of Sainshand late in the evening. Even though we had a full day’s hiking planned the following day, there was still an evening’s entertainment to be found. The Gobi may be famed for its extreme weather conditions and stunning scenery, but it isn’t too renowned for its throbbing nightlife.

Despite the chances of finding lavish entertainment looking decidedly thin, we still managed to stumble upon one of the best nights I sent in Mongolia. The only place we could find to have a beer and spend the evening was a badly decorated discotheque known as the Piramid.

The atmosphere inside Piramid was decidedly subdued. The dance floor was full of young Mongolians busting their best moves, but unfortunately the music was a rather underwhelming blend of placid Asian pop tunes and dated European boy bands. Not even a succession of chilled beers made the grating background noise tolerable, so I hatched a plan to change things dramatically.

I had, tucked in my jacket pocket, my personal CD player complete with my favourite Johnny Cash CD. This got me to thinking how much better hearing the Man in Black would be than putting up with the din we had been enduring up to that point. So, I dived into my pocket and then sauntered over to the DJ booth. I handed over the CD and signalled with my fingers that he ought to play track

None of us had any idea whether or not the song would actually get played, but we crossed our fingers nevertheless. After around 20 minutes and a couple more beers, it looked as though we were going to be disappointed. It was only as I started to give up hope that the first licks of acoustic guitar drifted out across the dance floor. The Mongolian teenagers suddenly stopped dead and looked around in a state of complete bemusement. They were clearly wondering just how they could dance to the new music that they had never heard before. As the floor cleared and everyone in the whole club stared at us in complete confusion, it looked as though my plan was falling flat on its face. However, just as all appeared to be lost, a pair of guys in the far corner of the room began to holler and clap in time. As they did, others began to join in, and a table close to the bar even started to play air guitar. The whole place was going crazy with country music fever.

Our little musical interlude had certainly made our first evening in the Gobi a fun one. However, the next morning we had the serious business of getting to grips with the desert to deal with. Around 10 or 11km outside Sainshand is a large formation of dark volcanic rocks that we decided that they would be the perfect place to hike to.

We stocked up on as much water as we could easily carry and then ventured out to get sand in our boots. It took around 30 minutes for the town to fade into the distance behind us. The sand between us and the rocks was flat, golden, and seemingly unending. As the midday sun beat down from overhead, our target appeared to teeter permanently on the horizon.

It took almost 3 hours for us to reach the rocks. By the time we arrived, the group was tired, thirsty, and just starting to get sunburnt. However, despite the discomfort, reaching the rocks was well worth it. We looked out across the desert seeing Sainshand in the farthest reaches of the distance and unending stretches of golden sands crowned by an unfettered and cloudless blue sky all around us.

Once we had drunk in enough of the impressive view, we all decided it was time to head back towards Sainshand and grab a train back to the city. It was only as we made our way back across the desert floor that we began to understand the harsh realities of tackling the Gobi. In Ulaan Baatar, we had been used to temperatures that never got even remotely close to breaking above the freezing point and then suddenly found our selves in the glare of bright unrestricted sunlight.

By the time we made it back to the train station, almost everyone was suffering. My skin, which back in the city had grown pasty white, had no idea how to deal with the new conditions. The top of my freshly shaven head had gone from white, to pink, to a rather dramatic looking purple colour. The only part of my head that was not scorched was a thin white line where my sunglasses had been.

The difference between town and country in Mongolia was a stark one. The train journey took us from urban sprawl and heavy pollution to unspoilt wilderness and from snow and ice to sun and sand. Despite the burned scalp and bad music, it was well worth it.

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Each day, the train made two 20-minute stops. You were allowed out of the train, but only to the platform area. Still, it was quite a treat to get some fresh air, walk around, and buy food from the vendors (if available).…Read More

Each day, the train made two 20-minute stops. You were allowed out of the train, but only to the platform area. Still, it was quite a treat to get some fresh air, walk around, and buy food from the vendors (if available). That was another thing--food. Although I was glad to have brought 6 days worth of provisions, it was comprised mainly of processed food. Breakfast: instant oatmeal. Lunch: instant soup and a piece of fruit. Snack: Popcorn and a candy bar. Dinner: instant noodles. (There was always hot water available.) Relying on the dining car or platform food vendors would not have been reliable. The hours of the dining car were unpredictable and involved walking through five carriages, with four doors between each carriage. As for the platform vendors, I managed to buy tomatoes, carrots, ground meat patties, potato dumplings, grilled chicken, and cheese, but you never knew when the train would stop and what the choices were.

Seeing that I had no one to talk to (up till the fifth day), how did I spend my time on the train? The Lonely Planet cites "War and Peace" as a popular choice among travelers on this route. I opted for "Harry Potter and the Half-Blooded Prince." I averaged about 8 hours of reading per day, with naps every couple of hours. (The beds were acceptable--linen, pillows, a blanket, and lumpy padding were provided. I was warm enough and short enough, since I still had 3 whole extra inches from my head to the wall.) I also broke up the day by looking out the window and watching the scenery go by. In addition, I placed a lot of importance in cleanliness (making my bed, washing my dishes), but personal hygiene was another matter. There were no showers on the train, but the bathrooms were pretty decent. Although I didn't bathe for the whole journey, I managed to hastily wash my hair twice (by standing over the toilet and dumping water over my head with my cereal bowl). But seeing that I didn't sweat much by reading and napping, I thought my BO was under reasonable control.

All in all, I'd highly recommend this journey to anyone who enjoys confined spaces, is on a preservative-only diet, thinks personal hygiene is overrated, and has a lot of time on their hands.

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The Mongolian people practice both the Lamaic form of Buddhism but Shamanistic practices are still evident in their lives. Ovoo An ovoo is a shamanistic pile of stones that is very sacred in Mongolia. These piles of stones can be found all over the countryside…Read More

The Mongolian people practice both the Lamaic form of Buddhism but Shamanistic practices are still evident in their lives.

Ovoo
An ovoo is a shamanistic pile of stones that is very sacred in Mongolia. These piles of stones can be found all over the countryside often with hadag (the blue cloths) draped over them. It is good luck to walk around the ovoo three times chanting a sutra. The picture I have here is of the largest Ovoo that I saw. This one is located at the top of the Zaisan Monument in Ulaan Baatar.

Hadag
As I mentioned before a hadag is a sacred (usually blue) cloth that is hung in temples and on sacred Shaman Ovoo`s. This picture shows the roof of a ger with a hadag hanging there. The hadag is placed here to keep the family safe. A hadag will also be presented at wedding ceremonies to the newly-weds and will then be displayed in their house (usually surrounding pictures of family) for good luck. Never remove a hadag from a temple or ovoo. If you want one as a souvenir you can buy them at shops near Gandan Monastery.

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