Girlfromthecountry Blog

Karakorum: capital of the Mongolian empire in the 13th century, Genghis Khan launched his cavalry from here and now there is a small town dominated by the Erdene Zuu monastery enclosed within a 400m x 400metre wall with gates at each point of the compass. Only a few temples of the original 60 remain, there had been up to 10,000 monks worshipping here before the communist purges. Now there were just a couple of temples and if you were respectful to the Buddhist faith you were welcome to enter.

We rode through the outer settlements to visit Erdene Zuu and after tethering our horses we joined tourists and pilgrims alike. Young monks blew on their conch shells to draw people to prayer. We were now accustomed to the etiquette of entering a temple or a Mongolian ger, hats off, right foot first over the threshold, move clockwise and sit at the side.

The sound of chanting was quite mesmeric and very melodious, interspersed with the clashing of cymbals which gave a sudden wake up call from the hypnotising effect which had increased by the burning of many sticks of incense. Exit, backwards.

Karakorum boasted a number of small shops and market stalls, Devshil, our cook stocked up on supplies and a few parted with money for postcards and souvenirs.

There was just twenty five miles to ride that afternoon and Tumee advised us to have waterproofs ready as it looked dark ahead and thunder was rolling around the mountains. As we rode up the valley the rain started and suddenly we were in a hailstorm the size of peas. A shout from a nearby ger came and we were offered shelter.

It was a young couple and we were immediately made to feel comfortable. We sat on the left side, that is if a circle can have a side, our host sat at the top in front of the family altar opposite the door, his more exalted guests, Tumee and Jargal sat on his left while our hostess squatted by the central fire. The children squatted shyly by the door.

Soon our hostess was busy offering us airag (fermented mare's milk), dried yak butter, curd biscuits and dried cheese, hard, salty with a taste of sour milk. This was their custom, the hospitality in any ger would be second to none and however poor they were some food would always be offered.

The oldest child here was of school age and would be leaving his family in September to 'board' at the nearest settlement to begin his education which is compulsory even to nomadic families. They were a charming couple, dependent on their livestock and also dependent on a huge satellite dish planted beside their ger which brought television and the outside world into their lives.

We eventually left and crunched over an inch layer of hailstones to head onwards and upwards. Much more happened during this afternoon that I think it deserves another post

I woke early again this time by the rain. An hour later I was out of my tent watching the sun rise, another beautiful day. We set off at a fast pace again. My horse likes to be at the front at walk and trot but when it comes to galloping he’s no racehorse.

After a couple of hours riding we headed up from the plains to a rocky pass. The others were in front when there appeared to be some sort of melée, everyone had stopped and were dismounting. When I had caught up it seemed that Gillian had taken a crashing fall.

Tumee was quick to assess the situation, Gillian was visibly shaken but there were no broken bones, just likely to be extensive bruising. There was no way the support truck could get up to us. It was decided that Neemwa was sent off to get Baatar to bring the truck as near as possible, then if necessary Baatar and Devshil would trek up to carry Gillian down. She opted to walk until we met them.

We weren’t that far from our lunch stop, underneath a steep cliff face with a sparkling clear river tumbling down it. There was time for a short doze before the long hard ride to Karakorum. In the shimmering heat I could just make out the town in the distance, it was probably about thirty miles away.

Gillian joined Shuddhabha in the truck for the next couple of days. I kept to the rear that afternoon electing not to race all the time. I had to admit to myself I was a bit tired and a little worried about my lack of stamina, but I knew that I had nothing to prove - I didn’t need to keep up.

I practised styles of riding which kept Jargal amused. With the stock saddles it is customary to ‘sit’ at trot like a cowboy but the Mongolian horse has a short choppy stride at trot which feels as if you are sitting on top of a jack hammer. Being quite well endowed in the chest department and despite my heavy duty sports bra I was in danger of giving myself a couple of black eyes so I opted to ride Mongolian style. This means standing in the stirrups at trot and canter. Thanks goodness for all those gym exercises!

My slow and steady progress still meant that we all arrived at the same time at Karakorum. We rode through the town, marvelling at the walled Erdenezuu monastery before heading across the river to camp at Five Trees. The river clear and cold, the horses and people alike had a good wallow.

What is twenty miles? Fifteen minutes down the motorway? Well, here on a horse traversing some of the most rugged country that I had been in for a long time it took a few hours. Stopping to look at ancient stones carved with runic symbols, the turks had been here long ago, a huge stone carved into a perfect bowl, what on earth could this have used for?

Ahead was another plain, this time with a river meandering through. This was our next stop. The tents were already pitched, tea and biscuits were waiting. Our horses were left to the horsemen and I was left wondering if my preparations for this trip were enough.

I had shed a stone, should have lost more but hey ho, I love my food. I had worked my way through the programmes on the cross trainer in the gym twice a week, ended up swimming fifty lengths of the pool twice a week too - as well as having sweat outs in the steam room, all this on top of my normal activities of walking the dogs and hacking out on my pony.

Flat out on my back I eased my aching muscles, watched by three children who had trotted over from a neighbouring ger on their horse to see what was going on, yes, three on one horse. Hurrah, they can pull my boots off, I looked up but they had gone, I wasn’t worth watching!

Time to spare so I walked up the river to watch the herds of horses come down to the river to drink. I was woken from my reverie by Corin saying that it was my turn for a hot shower.

What the f…? Hot shower? I was in the middle of nowhere, yet it was true. Water had been heated on an open fire and poured into a water container on the roof of the kitchen truck. A hose pipe with tap and shower attachment worked well by gravity and with the addition of a canvas surround made the shower room complete.

I slept well that night as did others.

The wind woke me early. I started to worry if I was totally under equipped for the weather. Emerging from my tent, the wind whipped the sand around my legs, but it was warm so that was a bonus. I helped ‘Mike’ tighten guy ropes, our dining tent had been hastily erected the night before in the dark and was flapping wildly.

I wandered up the hill away from the lake to watch the sunrise and was surprised to find there was now no wind. It seemed as if the wind had a personal vendetta with the lake, they were arguing, the wind swirled, the lake reacted and lashed and dashed at the shore. It was one of the many micro climates that I came to witness in this strange and beautiful land.

I carried on walking up the hills, the views were stunning as the air was so clear, stupidly I had forgotten my camera. I passed by a couple of gers where life was just stirring, cows and goats being milked.

At breakfast, Tumee briefed us on the day ahead. She spoke excellent English, learnt at school and university, she had never left her country. We were only going to be riding for forty miles today with a stop at lunchtime. Our horsemen, father and son, Jargal and Neemwa picked out our horses for us.

We were riding using Australian stock saddles which are similar to Western saddles and were quite comfortable. We had to keep to the track as the hills were dotted with burrows and our horses would be quite likely to stumble if they put their hoof down one of the holes.

We stopped after about ten miles at a cairn where we duly circled clockwise three times and added our stones to the pile. We kept heading upwards sometimes at quite a pace. Mongolian horses are bred to race and Johnathan wanted to prove he could win. Tumee gave him a good run, letting him take the lead a few times.

Heading downhill slightly we entered a vast plain. Here had been one of the first capital cities of Mongolia in Ghengis Khan’s time, but being a nomadic civilisation there was no evidence. Now, there was a solitary monastery built just fourteen years earlier by the monk in residence after the end of Russian rule. He was keen to welcome us and showed us his precious religious artifacts that had been saved from the communist destruction.

A large pair of cymbals was his most prized possession, they had such a pure sound, they had been hidden away by a nomad and given to him when he built his monastery. Everything around us he had crafted himself, from the prayer wheels to the decoration of the interior which was a bizarre mixture of floral wallpaper and religious inscriptions.

On for a while to our lunch stop and the first casualty. Shuddhabha had insisted on having an English style saddle, this was an old Indian Army style with absolutely no padding and coupled with riding in jeans took all the skin off the inside of her thighs. There is a reason why jodhpurs don’t have seams on the inside of the leg. She joined the back up truck and wasn’t able to ride for a few days.

We relaxed in the shade given by the kitchen truck and that is when Gillian started twittering. The horses were tethered and left to graze or rest. But, how she went on – there’s no shade, they haven’t had a drink, I’m going to give them some water. I stood it for a while, there was general unease in the group and I was the one to say – SHUT UP.

I told her that we weren’t in the Home Counties now, the horses had been born and bred here and had obviously survived a number of years, they were accustomed to this environment. Had she seen a tree to give shade since we left UB? Despite the fact we had ridden them hard had she seen any of them break into a sweat? They are obviously used to conserving energy and were not likely to dehydrate. They were Jargal’s livelihood, I’m sure if he thought there was a problem he would sort it.

Phew! That was sorted, I was now looked at in a different light by the rest and promoted to the wise old woman of the group! Gillian and I from then on remained at a polite distance.

I shot out of bed thinking it was 7.25, washed, dressed and dashed downstairs, we were due to leave at 8 and it was only when I got to Reception and saw the staff asleep on the sofas that I looked up at the clock…it was only 5.50 by now, blind bat that I am, should have put my specs on.

I used the time to sort out what I would leave at the hotel so that I’d have clean clothes to come back to.

We all met at breakfast and then piled into a minibus which took us out of town to meet the two Mercedes Overlanders, one a back-up which was to be our transport for the next eight hours or so, the other a kitchen truck. The metalled road continued for a while and then just petered out. Then the fun began.

We hit the tracks which made for an extremely bumpy ride. We were still on the steppes, surrounded all around by mountains. There was quite a lot of traffic across the steppe, yak carts, horsemen leading teams of horses, motorbikes with what seemed like a family of five on board as well as heavily laden trucks all heading towards Ulaanbaatar. In a couple of weeks the Naadam festival was taking place and everyone was heading for the capital.

We headed up out of the plains and the tracks became even more exciting.We had a lunch stop and were able to stretch our legs. It was very hot by now with quite a strong wind rolling around us.

The ‘road’ by now was extremely rough. We hit ruts about three feet deep, navigated great stony outcrops. Dropped over passes which I thought no motor vehicle could ever navigate. The thing that amazed me most was that anyone knew where we were going, it wasn’t a place where there were convenient road signs.

I developed a crick in my neck from looking out of the window, my eyes were never going to be big enough to see everything and my brain was already imploding, how on earth was I going to be able to store all the images and scenery that unfolded with every minute passed?

I saw hawks, eagles, cranes and then about twenty vultures hovering over a fallen animal. There were little birds, I never found out what they were, that darted about and then disappeared into the ground. In the absence of trees this was obviously their habitat.

That afternoon a number of children riding at speed headed straight towards us. Baatar, our driver shouted questions to them - they were training their racehorses and were off to the ‘start’. A few miles later we came across the finish line. There were possibly eighty horses tied up, they had finished their training and we waited and watched to see the final training session of the day.

Eventually they came into view, they had galloped at least ten kilometers to the ‘start’ and now they were coming back at full tilt.

We arrived at Lake Ugii at about 6.30pm for our first night under canvas. There was no sign of the kitchen truck which also had the tents stowed on board, after an hour or so Tumee was getting anxious and scanned the shores of the lake with Daphne’s binoculars. Baatar was sent off to see if he could find them. Eventually they limped into view, apparently there was a problem with the diesel pump but Mike the mechanic (sorry not his real name but I never noted it down) spent a couple of hours thumping things with a spanner and all was well.

We had spent the time paddling and swimming in the lake which was refreshingly cool after our long, hot drive.

Two horsemen appeared over the hill and trotted down towards us each leading five horses apiece. This was the one of the only two things that the whole motley crew had in common. We all wanted to be in Mongolia and we all wanted to ride across it.

This was the first time I had embarked on an organised tour, due mainly to the time constraints so I was interested yet apprehensive to see who would be my travelling companions.

The cast:
Johnathan: English: in his early thirties I guessed, a hedge fund manager in the city who was used to an annual 6 figure bonus, with a house in Hampstead. He worked hard, he found it difficult to relax and always wanted to push himself to the limit.

Daphne: Johnathan’s partner. A twenty something laid back American living and teaching in London, a complete antedote to Johnathan yet pushed by him to compete with him on his level.

Gillian: English: A forty something divorcée computer programmer from Surrey. Slightly bitter about being on her own - she now lived for her two children, one of which was on a gap year in Mongolia. We met her daughter, who was an obnoxious and bumptious (what a lovely word!) young woman. I had little in common with Gillian as the tale will eventually unfold.

Corin: English: Late twenties, a vegetarian, well I shouldn’t hold that against her! She was in the HR department of a major up market hotel chain. Great fun, we eventually got on well.

Esmé: English: A twenty one year old still living with her parents. She had an office job as well as a weekend job all to fund her love of travelling. She didn’t party, drink or have a boyfriend. She and Corin became good friends, hopefully they remained so as they had quite alot in common.

Lavin: American: In her early thirties from California. She had a small farm with her husband. She was a bit of an enigma to me as on one hand she wanted to investigate the Buddhist faith and was keen to meditate with Shuddhabha then again she was excited when she learnt that I used to go hunting and wanted to know all the procedures of the thrill of the kill, total anathema to anyone even thinking of looking at Buddhism.

Shuddhabha: English: Middle twenties from Manchester, she lived and worked in some sort of commune having embraced the Buddhist faith. Never got to grips with her.

Me: English: 58, totally perfect in all respects! Graphic designer just biding her time in a ‘safe’ job until retirement.

Tumee and I were driven into the city by Galsan through the ger settlements which then gave way to the suburbs, these are a relic of the Russian occupation, grey concrete multi storey tenement dwellings. Apparently the electricity supply is erratic and heating spasmodic, not so bad at this time of year but in the winter when the temperature plummets to -30 degrees living can become quite uncomfortable.

I remarked on a portrait cut into one of the hillsides, I should have known - it was Genghis Khan, he is obviously a main feature of Mongolian history. The driving was atrocious mainly because the road into town was in such poor repair that everyone was trying to avoid the potholes which meant that often we were on the wrong side of the road and then have to swerve violently back to avoid oncoming traffic or the odd yak.

Now, we’re in town, the roads are better but the traffic is still manic. It had been over 30 years since I’d been in Asia and still I marvelled at how there were so few accidents. I’d cycled around New York the year before and felt safe but here I learnt to run like hell when crossing a road.

The hotel had a single room which I had asked for, I was going to be on holiday with strangers, I really didn’t want to sleep with them as well. It was a surprise, well I suppose the last time I was in Asia I was on a really tight budget when a charpoy and a mosquito net on a verandar was ultimate luxury, it was comfortable, clean and with an ensuite shower room. I’ve stayed in places a lot worse in England – and this room had a mini bar! Also it had a great location being just by Sukhbaatar Square named after and featuring a statue of Damdin Sükhbaatar, leader of Mongolia’s 1921 revolution.

Tumee asked me to be back in the reception area at 10 as she wanted me to meet a couple of the others and to take us on a bit of sightseeing. I duly arrived on time and was introduced to Johnathan and Daphne from London, then to Shuddhabha, a young woman from Manchester who had embraced the Buddhist doctrine and taken a Buddhist name.

We headed off first to the Natural History Museum, lots of stuffed animals and birds, all a little aged and dusty but this added to the charm of the place. Next stop the Bogd Khaan Winter and Summer Palaces, now a museum, one of the few Mongolian buildings that hadn’t been destroyed by the Russians. It was being renovated at the time but nothing could take away from the beauty of the place. My header photo shows one of the temples. There is the most beautiful collection of Thanghas, silk painted wall hangings and heavily pearl encrusted appliques.

We then headed to the Silk Road Café for lunch, popular with tourists, Mongolian business people and ex pats alike. Tumee briefed us on the possible pitfalls of life on the street in UB, but she hadn’t bargained on being the victim of a bag snatcher herself! She had put her bag behind her on the chair, everything happened so quickly, one of the restaurant staff suddenly shot past our table and ran shouting into the street hotly pursued by another couple of waitresses.

It was only then that Tumee realised her bag was gone, we hadn’t seen a thing. The bag snatcher was caught and brought back to the restaurant where he was made to apologise and to hand the bag back.

After lunch I headed off to the bank to change a few dollars for a fistful of Togrogs. I then visited the Red Ger gallery which had some excellent graphic buddhist art and also a gallery dedicated to modern Mongolian artists. We met up again in the evening, Tumee was taking us to listen to Mongolian throat singing and horse hair fiddle playing. Off then to a restaurant and a huge glass of Chinggis beer and to meet up with more of my travelling companions.

Gillian had been in Mongolia for a few days and had just got back to UB from visiting her daughter who was on a gap year experience living with a nomadic family. Corin and Esme arrived having spent a couple of days in Beijing. The family was complete and what a motley crew!

Back at the hotel I emailed my husband to say I’d arrived safely and gave him a few last minute instructions: don’t forget to feed the cats, don’t worry about the ponies and sheep, Sue will be up to see them everyday. I hadn’t dare tell him that a mare hadn’t foaled before I left so was bound to do so while I was away. If he’d known he probably would have demanded that I took the next flight home.

Standing just in front of me in the check in queue for the Aeroflot flights was a rather loud, self opinionated young woman, she would engage with anyone nearby about the inadequacies of the airline. The thought did cross my mind that I should tell her to fly with another airline but being of a generally quiet nature and prefering to observe and listen - I kept silent.

I was just hoping that she wasn’t on the same flight. I had a sneaky look at her luggage, drat, she was also booked right through to Ulaanbaatar as well. Then the thought occurred to me that we might even be travelling together in Mongolia. I gave a resigned sigh.

The flight to Moscow was delayed. I had managed to get a window seat and craned my neck to watch as we descended. I’d always wanted to visit Moscow and was keen to know what I could see from the air. The vista was like a painted city backdrop to a 50s B movie. Heavily forested in the foreground, the horizon filled with tall, stark buildings. No sign of the golden onion domes of St Basil.

There was little time to spare before catching the flight to UB. Chaos reigned at Passport control then a quick dash to go through the next set of security checks to board the plane.

The plane was filling up quickly but again I got a window seat before I had a good look around. The plane was quite small and definitely was not in the first flush of youth, I looked for the engines but there were none on the wings – eventually spotted them attached to the body of the aircraft. I spied the woman from Heathrow so ducked down quickly. The passengers in the main were Mongolian and I kept myself hidden until we were under way so that she didn’t come and talk at me.

Soon, far too soon we were coming in to land. For some reason we were landing at Novosibirsk in the middle of Siberia. I can only assume there had been a technical hitch - all I could see in the dark was three fire engines on my side of the aircraft. The announcements had been in Russian and as no-one else seemed concerned I sat back quietly. Not so for my English friend, she was stomping up and down the aisle demanding information from the somewhat taciturn cabin crew. Aaah, she’d spotted me and barked “English?” Not always being quick witted I surprised myself by replying “HET.” My Russian is non existent I only know, no, yes and thankyou but it fooled her.

We took off again after an hour or so and I slept until a shaft of sunlight hit my eyelids. What a sight, a vast expanse of mountain ranges, heavily striated with dry river courses. The air was so clear, the sky so blue not a cloud to be seen, the ranges so majestic that I knew I must be near to my destination. Looking carefully I could make out scattered nomadic settlements, the felt gers standing out white against the barren landscape.

The plane circled the city before dropping down into the valley and we landed safely. I was on the look out as I was told someone would meet me. I was greeted by a tiny, beautiful, smiling girl in her early twenties. Tumee was to be my guide for the next couple of weeks and was to introduce me to my seven fellow travellers during the day. Happily my friend from Heathrow was not one of them.

I have always loved travelling but since the seventies when I went overland to Australia and New Zealand my trips had been confined to Europe. I was left some money by my parents when they died so I decided that I had to fulfill another ambition and that was to go to Mongolia.

I searched the internet, what a wonderful thing it is, to find a company that could answer all my needs. Firstly it had to be a Mongolian company, I didn't want my money going to a UK tour operator, it had to be an intensive tour as well because it could only be for a couple of weeks as that is all the time I could take off work.

Job done. Dates fixed. 29th June 2007 I was on my way.

This will take some time, photos will be added as and when - there are so many to sort through. So hopefully if you are interested you will drop in from time to time and maybe there will be something new to read or to see.