kek_crazy92's journal

Mongolian motorbikes and wrestling men

kek_crazy92 — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 22:13:00 GMT

Morning light filled the ger as wild horses ran past the door. Our host was extremely thankful for the $3 we gave as a thank you. We walked across the deceptively large plains to a beautiful lake. It took 3 times longer than we expected, so we thought we deserved a nap by the lake. We climbed a mountain by the lake, stopping for dance breaks several times as we walked through the yellow and purple wildflowers.

The view from the top was spectacular, endless empty plains and mountains in every direction. As we climbed down, another storm chased us towards a ger. We stuck out heads in and no questions asked, were told to sit down and drink some warm salty milk and yak butter on bread. We chased the children around the fields, kicking a bottle and patting horses until the sun finally set. We lay down on the floor until they got the hint that it was past our camping bedtime.

The next morning we were treated to more salty milk, hoof-filled dumplings and some dried yak curd which made me gag and run outside, hitting my head on the way out. Food really isn't Mongolia's strong point. We walked towards the road and stick out our thumbs hopefully. After being rejected by the first few sparse 4wds, 2 motorbikes pulled up and we jumped on one each.

We roared thought the valleys, my bedazzled cap casting shimmering light onto my young motorcyclist's neck. As the wind chilled my bare arms, I wondered how a place like Mongolia still exists. Such a slow moving, gentle, nomadic place in an island between super giants Russia and China. I stared into the mountains, and felt like this was a pretty great way to spend my days.

Arriving in Moron once again, we met their expectant expressions with a few dollars for petrol, as is the norm in Mongolia. In town, we ran into a young Australian cycle tourer and together we searches for the one guy in town who spoke English. He informed us that the Nadaam festival we were chasing was in the town we just came from, so we backtracked to the lake and camped by a river.

The traditional festival consisted of all the "manliest sports", including guys wrestling in embroided underpants. The winner got a slap on his bum and his hat placed on his head before his celebratory eagle dance. A storm of dust revealed a stampede of horses ridden by tiny children towards a finish line. They galloped in, smug looks on the kids' faces under their backwards flatbrim caps.

A quick hitchhike later, we were back by the lake for a breathtaking swim in the perfect sunshine.

Mongolian bumps and kindness

kek_crazy92 — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 18:50:00 GMT

After a day spent eating most of Ulaanbaatar, we headed to the bus station to buy tickets and the worlds greatest matching hot pink bedazzled caps. They shine like disco balls in the sunlight, and tell the world that "black, you want your coffee, 65, mut, fashnioe". With a loose plan in our heads, we got on a bus northwest towards a big lake. The bus was reported to take between 15 and 30 hours, but the way the driver fiercely attacked each bump got us there in record time. The bus was crammed full, with a few people and boxes filling the aisles too. Peta and I were assigned the back seats, which sat nearly a metre higher than the rest, and were the bounciest seats on the bus.

Before we had even left the country's paved main road, a pot hole catapulted us up so hard my head left a 10cm crack in the ceiling of the bus. Coming down, I landed on the arm rest, resulting in one of my greatest ever bruises, which nicely complements the falling-off-the-great-wall bruise on the other side of my butt. With a little dance music in our ears, the bumps turned the ride into a giant dance party, the whole bus jumping and swaying to the beat.

The scenery out of the window was stunning, the picture perfect image of green rolling hills and steppe dotted with gers. Flocks of cows and horses and goats roamed free, not a fence in sight. The road soon ran out, and the full sized bus drove along bumpy tire tracks a through small rivers, nearly getting bogged often and the engine struggling over small bumps.

We stopped in the most beautiful places to pee, nothing but 12 sets of bumpy tire tracks and our bus to break the perfect emptiness of the vast land.

We arrived in Moron and jumped into a car towards the lake. The lake was beautiful, huge, ocean coloured and backed by mountains. The town at the bottom of the lake was infuriatingly touristy however, people offering us beds in tourist gers every few metres.

We jumped on a boat, with misguided idea it would take us north, but it turned out to be a tourist party boat that brought us back to the town we were trying to get out of. The boat ride turned out to be hilarious, as the only foreigners on a boat full of Mongolians, our hands were shaken and picture taken endlessly. I was pushed up onto the upper deck, the stage for the upcoming dance battle. Jiving my way through the heats, I ended up head to head in the finals, 26 seconds to shine. I went all out, shimmying my bum to the crowd, star jumping and hand stand kicking. The crowd went wild for my new age moves and bedazzled pink cap and zip off pants, their cheers deciding me as the winner. My prize was a fried whole fish, and I was a celebrity.

With none of our plans going quite the way we wanted, we made a new one. To jump out of a car at a random point of extreme beauty and walk in whatever direction we feel like. After not too much walking, a storm approached, walls of rain visible over the nearby hills. We walked up to a ger, and knocked on the waist high door. A tiny man came out, looking confused. We shook his hand, and mimed us sleeping in his get to escape the storm. He was surprised, but agreed quickly.

We helped him to patch up the whole in the top of the ger for the incoming storm, and went into the dark, warm an smokey ger. He made us some thick salty tea as we patted the lovely ger cat. He didn't quite realize how impossible gesturing was in the darkness, but we managed to understand we could share one of the child sized beds.

We went to bed before sunset, and a little while later the man came in from fixing his motorbike to throw an extra blanket over us, give us his jacket as a pillow and tuck us in under our feet and behind our backs. I love the overwhelming kindness of strangers.

Photos: China and Mongolia

kek_crazy92 — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 18:33:00 GMT

Beijing to Ulaanbataar, incl. falling of the Great Walll

kek_crazy92 — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 16:47:00 GMT

Bags weighed down with endless snacks and fried dumplings wrapped in napkins from yesterday's favourite restaurant, we set off for the Great Wall of China. 2 subways, a local bus and a riot filled line at the bus station left is sweaty and annoyed. But also mildly amused at the several buses trying to drive straight through the masses of people refusing to get out of the way. We eventually shoved our way into a bus and rode past endless buildings rising into the smog out to another non-aesthetically pleasing Chinese city.

We reached the wall around 10pm, a great time for a walk in the dark. We stumbled up and along the wall for a few hours, getting lost a few times in the darkness. As I was climbing a watch tower in a slightly crumbling section, the rocks I was holding and standing on broke off from the wall and I tumbled down with them. Yep, I fell off the Great Wall of China, and came away a little battered and bruised. On top of that watch tower seemed to be a great place to spend the night. The smoggy glow lit up the silhouette of towers and mountains, promising a great view to wake up to.

The sky gradually lightened, revealing the mountains and snaking wall beneath and above us. Teeth time on the Great Wall was a moment of minty fresh beauty. We packed up our tower-top camp and clambered up and up the steep wall. From every tower a new, higher watchtower was visible in the sweltering heat. The intermittent breeze was cool on all the sweat we were losing.

We climbed onto the roof of watch towers and dangled our legs off the edge, taking in the beauty and the size of the hills we had just climbed. Our water supplies began to dwindle. I had made the wild assumption that if we walk far enough, we'd reach another town. At the top of an especially high and jagged mountain, the view showed us otherwise. The wall slithered on forever, and huge mountains rose through the haze. With only a few hundred mLs of water left between us, we had no choice but to retrace our many, many steps.

We stalked a Chinese couple down a path to an exit, and smiled sweetly and desperately at them in the car park. We jumped into their car, were given water and sped through little villages to a bus stop. We jumped into a beaten up minivan in which everyone was deeply asleep, and reflected on our lack of meals and sleep lately. We had been too thirsty to eat much that day, besides a healthy dose of mysterious Chinese sweets. Very unlike us!

An overnight bus with bunk beds instead of seats took us to the Mongolian border town. Then we jumped into the tray of the ute with 6 other guys and a couple of suitcases and sped towards the border. The border had to be crossed in a jeep, so after endless waiting and bargaining we crammed into a 4wd to drive the meager distance to get our passports stamped. With 4 people crammed into the back, we sat on a huge pile of bags of cement mix, with the door unable to close. Hoping that the white powder stuck to our clothes and bags was in fact cement, we eventually made it into Mongolia.

We drove into the desert town of Zamin-Uyd, and the jeep driver we'd just met gave our passports to his wife who returned a few hours later with train tickets to the capital for us. He took us to his house, a concrete block which towered above all the other humble shacks in the town. This reinforced our drug smuggler theory. Through a game of charades, he informed us that he was hungry and we should get in the kitchen and cook up a feast for 12.

We had no idea how to cook the giant leg of "baa-baa" we found sitting on the counter in 30 degree heat, but it was preferable over the "moo-moo thump-thump". Our pot-bellied host found our struggle hilarious, as did we. How did we end up in our taxi driver's desert mansion peeling vegetables, listening to Russian pop music, drinking Mongolian beer and being photographed while we slept on his couch? Enjoy your food poisoning, kids.

We climbed up a rickety ladder only attached at the top, to be on top of the concrete-barren's home to see yurts and all the way to the dusty edge of town...200m down the road. The teenage boys below mimed us falling and dying, and all confidence of the creaking ladder was gone.

Strolling down the length of the old green sleeper train, we were greeted by dolled up train attendants in polka-dot aprons and tiny skirts. Inside the train was stifling hot and still, the temperature reading 36 degrees, but every passenger was given a sweat towel for the journey.

A party quickly formed around our exotic blonde heads once we sat down. The old "funny man" persisted in speaking Mongolian to us although we insisted our understanding was zero. Eventually 20 year old Akuna (last name unfortunately not Matata, we checked) came to our rescue with some English. The evening went on with compulsory rounds of unknown spirits and warm beer, while they tried to set us up with every young or middle aged man that walked past. We learnt that everyone on the train were brothers.

The endless desert plains out the window finally darkened around 9pm, so Peta and I set up our beds. The party continued on on my bed in the curve of my legs as I curled up asleep. We were woken up for beer and mystery meat every time we fell deeply asleep.

Woke up in "the land of blue skies" to rain snaking along the windows as we rattled along through endless green plains dotted with horses and yurts. We shared a snickers for breakfast and looked forward to the first shower in many sweaty days and our 4th real meal this week...

We're in Ulaanbaatar!