Beijing, China
At the airport reflecting on the huge changes since my last visit by train in 1983. Ulan Bator has changed hugely with dramatic office developments, one shaped like a slice of Edam cheese; it complements the Cheese Grater in the City of London. The State Department Store is now a clutch of designer brand concessions. In 1983 it sold clockwork razors which I coveted but could not buy because the shop rarely opened.Now I really need one with my beard approaching that of Raymond Brigg's Father Christmas. Â Hotel B (for foreigners-where I stayed) has been demolished to be replaced by Kempinski, Ramada etc chains. But no Macdonalds' yet; perhaps a Big Yak might be too organic. And the traffic; fast overtaking Tehran as the most alarming place to drive. At least in UB learners have a red flag on their cars. But Beijing is something else. In 1983 there were said to be 4 privately owned cars in the city; last year 17 million new cars were sold in China. But my Vodafone has no coverage here, like in Turkmenistan and Tadjekistan . What a strange coterie.
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
Have been resting up at Idre's Guest house for the last three days; away from our driving/camping regime everything takes on an easy pace. On Saturday Tony took me to the Cashmere Factory shop which was very swish and belied it's name. On Sunday we cleared remaining stuff from Florence, benefitting the car park attendant and a passerby and his daughter. On Monday we delivered Florence to the Mongol Rally Finish Line. We left her, sad and forlorn, in a compound parked next to Storming to Mongolia's travel worn ambulance. Avid readers of this blog will recollect our wager with them to be last to UB. On Monday Tony and Maya took me to the Black Market and other shops for more present buying. Our flight to Beijing via Mongolian Airlines has been brought forward by 12 hours so we will leave today and overnight in Beijing, and pick up our Aeroflot flights home via Moscow tomorrow.
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
In Ulan Bator at last after 12,000 miles in 70 days; a normal bed (rather than a stretcher) and central heating, how these little things make a difference. This morning the outside temperature was about minus 5 C, so our final breakfast of fried eggs and bread revived us. Then only an 80 mile drive on reasonable roads with occasional potholes, during which we have away our Calor gas cooker and cylinder to a bemused horseman, and Paddy's kettle to a family in a roadside yurt. The last 15 miles were ghastly, potholes and bumps straining poor Florence's springs to the maximum. Fortunately we had arranged to meet Tony and Maya of Hovd Tour who were arranging our flights back to London. The met us on the main road in their Mongol Rally car and we went to their office to sort things out, including passing on more equipment useful for the camping tours they organise: our portaloo which was the apple of their eye. They organised a guest house for us, and then we met up with them for a chicken Jalfrezi with other rallyists, washed down with Chinggis beer. A good end to a fine day. We have arranged to hand over Florence to the Adventurists on Monday, and await confirmation of the wooden spoon for being last to UB in the Rally.
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
camping off road 80 miles from UB after a good day.
We did 175 miles on metalled roads, some with disturbing large potholes. But Florence performed well and the broken springs are still operational.
We also spent 4 hours clearing and sorting out our equipment. A young local appeared on his motor bike, and thought it was Christmas. First we gave him Dorota's self erecting tent, then he returned with his wife who was pleased with packs of Deadeye's bras, as well as our folding table and many other bits and pieces, including carpets and underfelt from Florence. They carried it all away on their motorbike.
Corned beef curry for supper before the final push to the Finishing Line tomorrow.
Govi-Altai, Mongolia
Camping by the road side 30 miles east of Altai after a reasonable day travelling, about 110 miles.
The road improved allowing us to travel easily at 30 mph. The scenery semi desert as before; the Gobi proper several hundred km to the south. Very occasional herds of sheep and goats, Bactrian camels, cattle and horses.
Several eagles perched by the roadside, reluctant to fly off.
Reached Altai mid afternoon for diesel and supplies; fortunately I found a well stocked shop for eggs, smoked sausage, apples, yoghurt, bread and cooking oil. A drunken builder offered to swap his wife for Florence. Deadeye explained that she was already spoken for.@
Khovd, Mongolia
Camping here off road after a long and hard day. We started out early to find Paleolithic cave paintings about 20 km away. Deadeye thought he saw three dark horses; in fact huge eagles on a kill. Reluctantly they flapped away as we approached.
Then herds of Bactrian camels; only 350 wild ones remain in Mongolia , but there must be many more domesticated; the ones we saw had tags around their heads. Prewaldski brought back bones and skins of them in 1877 to St Petersburg.
Needless to say we could not find the caves, even with directions from locals, whom we rewarded with cigarettes and black bras; all treated with much merriment.
The road to Altai was straight, down a wide valley, but the surface was bumpy and corrugated, and with innumerable choices of side route. We nearly went down the wrong valley, but were put right by some road builders. In all we only progressed about 75 miles and are now only halfway to Altai.@
Govi-Altai, Mongolia
Camping off road about 70 miles from our next town, Altai. The map gives no place names for about 300 km. Indeed in this semi desert, yurts are few and far between.
Florence is designed for suburban roads, not the pot holes and corrugations here. Either we drive at 30 plus and risk damage in a pot hole, or grind along at 15-20 in third gear. This means about 100 miles per day. We are less than halfway, although we believe the roads improve for the last 250 miles into UB.
We filled up with diesel in Zereg, which was a relief since otherwise we would only have had just about enough to get to Altai, without using our reserve jerry can.
Two cheerful lads from UB arrived in a 4x4 as we were setting up camp and offered us apples, goats cheese, beer and local hooch with quite a kick; we are slimming down our excess baggage, so gave them a tarpaulin, a mattress roll my fathers folding fishing chair which collapsed under me as I tried their beer and a selection of bras; quite an eclectic selection. I don't know what they made of Deadeye and I.
, Mongolia
Deadeye calling.
Just three days ago, I was doing a small hike in a quite valley in the foothills of the Altai mountains, late afternoon. Just nobody about and I doubt this little sloping valley was visited by anyone more than once a year.
There was a little path though, almost certainly worn by herd animals.
I climbed gently between conifers and the occasional birch and began to snake round to the valley proper through a miniature pass. I was hoping to see the high snow capped montains over three thousand metres high but they were yet to come. All was completely delightful and silent, or was it ? What the heck? Sounds like ring tones coming from round the corner, up ahead.
Well, that has spoilt it I was thinking, expecting to come across a party of Russian "holiday makers", mobiles pressed to their ears, vodka bottles pressed to their lips. Well, I'll just turn around after spying on them for a bit.
So I crept amongst the trees and I'll be blowed if I did not spy a herd of twenty five or thirty horses grazing quietly. Strange, not a human in sight and yet the ring tones seemed to come from the horses themselves! I looked very carefully indeed. Were they phoning their bookies to put money on their sister in the 2:45?
No sign of that. Then I cottoned on. They had bells round their necks so they could be located at a fair old distance. The valley reverted to the idyllic, now tuneful as well.
The mares showed a little interest in me and I began to follow them. They had the same idea as me and were quite happy to amble along, grazing and pooing in the late afternoon sun shine (except I was not grazing and pooing).
This was not the ca ** some text is missing **
Tsagaan, Mongolia
Camping on the "road", a 40ft wide gravel corrugated track from the border; another 800 miles of this and we and Florence will be reduced to jelly
Another 4 hours or so at the border, the Russians relatively quick, no requests for pour boires and wishes of good luck.
The Mongolians all good humoured. When I asked the head of customs how long it would take he said that he did not know. After overseeing some 250 rally teams through the border, he was not putting his neck out. In fact excluding the lunch hour we only had an hour and a half wait so no complaints really. I think the procedure involves getting payment of duty from the Adventurists so this must have been forthcoming
We were given probably the most extensive search of the journey; our pepper sprays were prohibited and confiscated and on the same theme my collection of snuffs much appreciated so we passed two tins on. They then came upon Deadeye's package of bras. After some incredulity and much guffawing he was able to give away 4, including one to an ample bosomed lady official keen to get in on the handouts.
Overall we paid $7 as an admin fee, $10 to our customs friend and $ 27 for 15 days insurance to a mustachioed old timer in a small hut. Cheap at the price. We also changed money with the admin lady and the old timer so are now fully equipped for the final leg of our journey.
Altai Republic, Russia
Camping near a stream in the tree covered slopes of the Chuysky Trakt. A bottle of vodka and some tomato juice cooling in the water. Even Russia can feel balmy.
Have left behind the wide collective farm fields, each identical, bisected by a wooded wind break. Dorota tells me how a Polish joke of the 1930's recounts that the fields were so designed to enable Soviet female tractor drivers to work them. Not vey funny.
We have now covered some 10,000 miles. On my 1963 trip to the Middle East, we celebrated this distance by purchasing and drinking the entire stock of a roadside Coca Cola vendor; I'm sure he recounted this to his grandchildren. But no such japes for Deadeye and I!
Instead Borscht for lunch at a roadside cafe
