ON THE ROAD TO SHAMBHALA* by Will

After our drive up from Olgii, Mongolia and our cold camp just short of the border, it took 4 hours to get out of Mongolia and into Russia. In the end it was a pretty easy and simple border crossing (after much anticipation, and not a little apprehension, on Dad‘s side); the longest parts were driving between the Mongolian border and the Russian border (No-mans land) and doing the customs declaration [Dad adds: which I kept on filling in wrong…(the form was in Russian only) and being told to do it again! After my third go it was accepted.]. To get our passports ‘stamped’ and do the migration stuff for Russia, we needed to drive into the border town of Tashanta, as surprisingly it wasn’t finalised at the actual border itself. We were planning to get insurance for the car but couldn’t find the insurance place, so…

In ‘No-mans land’ the road went from the usual shithouse, on the Mongolian side, to great, on the Russian side. The main roads in Russia were really good…the back roads….well, not so good.

We picked up several hitchhikers. [Dad: There are lots of people hitchhiking in Russia]. On the second day we picked up a young women with her toddler…they both got car sick! When she had finally had enough, or perhaps even, had reached her destination, and got out, another hitchhiker had her hand on our car door handle, ready to open the door and hop in (until warned off by the sick woman, I guess)!

We had brought a map of Russia with us but it was really inadequate [Dad: large scale (1:6,000,000) but more particularly, our map’s town names were in English while names in Russia are in Russian Cyrillic! We had no idea where we were at times, which, come to think of it, is not that unusual for us…] so we searched for a better one in Gorno-Altaisk and Dad ended up finding a really detailed, really good Melways sorta thing on pretty much the exact region of Russia we were driving through to get from Olgii, Mongolia to Semey, Kazakhstan!!! So that made it really easy navigating.

We spent 3 days in Russia. We camped one night in wheat stubble about four Ks off the road. [Dad: we always take pains to be well out of sight of any road when camping.] The first night we stayed in a hotel. We had to open the only widow because the heating was really, really hot, even though it was probably 0 degrees outside. No eating places in that town. Nil. Nix. No dinner.

Even though we had the best map in the world for this part of Russia we still got lost in Rubtsovsk, which is about 30 Ks from the Kazakh border. Dad ended up asking a young couple for directions, then a middle aged man came over to help out so the young couple drifted away slowly. The man tried to give dad directions by drawing on the dirt, then tried to hail a taxi to lead us out (all occupied) but eventually gave up and said why don’t I get in the car and take you to the road u need to be on (in sign language) for about 8 bucks (250 roubles, after a bit of bargaining). Once we got to the road out of town Dad realized he didn’t have the right change. So he and the man tried to change some money at a couple of shops but they were closed. Then Dad decided to top up the car with fuel, got change and gave the agreed amount to the man and off we went to the border. [Dad: the process for getting fuel in Russia is interesting…firstly estimate the amount of fuel you need and enter the figure on a calculator (or scrap of paper) - you can‘t simply fill the tank, take this to the babushka who is hidden behind a small door in a wall of the box forming the service station office. It is quite difficult to know whether these places are open or closed as often no-one is visible. The little door pops open, you indicate which fuel type is required by sign language (diesel is Dt , but in Russian Cyrillic letters), and a slip of paper soon emerges with the amount to pay in Roubles shown. Money is handed to the babushka through a sliding drawer, change given, and then all that is required is to put the nozzle into the tank, and pull the trigger. The flow stops at the volume paid for. No words are spoken. No water, no air, no oil, no maps, no lollies, papers, or milk…no human contact, no nothing, except fuel.]

[Dad: the border process on both sides was fast: 90 minutes saw us through. We had entered Kazakhstan…]

*Lonely Planet, Central Asia, romantically describes a proposed journey between Olgii, Mongolia, and Almaty, Kazakhstan, much as we have just driven, as Journey to Shambhala.

[Photos: Russian evening light; Altai lunch, just after the border crossing. The creek was just starting to freeze with ice forming at its edges.]

THE ALTAI by David

To continue our journey we needed to cross the Altai mountains to the west of the Mongolian Gobi and extending across the Russian (and Chinese) border nearby. The contrast between the barren, dull and Spartan greyness of the Gobi with the scintillating whiteness of the snow covered mountains of the Altai was extraordinary for us, but also unsettling after a couple of weeks spent in the Gobi. Dull grey became dazzling white, flowing streams became still, frozen over, rippling lakes turned to ice and tracks previously ruts in the desert ground became fine ribbons of snow threading across the slopes before us.

While the loneliness of our travelling remained, a tension was added by new uncertainties: travelling in mountain terrain with ice now common, fickle and dramatic changes in weather, now cold days struggling to get much above 4 or 5 degrees C and not the least the approaching Russian border bristling with potential problems but long contemplated and critical as the starting point of probably the last serious and certainly the most exotic leg of our journey, through Central Asia. Oh what a delicious meal of unsettling change and eager anticipation for two boys a long way from home!

We camped many nights across the Gobi but upon entering the Altai this became less attractive with cold mornings the norm, mostly hovering a few degrees below zero C. We spent the last night before crossing into Russia, camped high in the Altai - when we got up it was a very cold minus 11 degrees C. Not much sleep that night. By contrast, most camping evenings in Mongolia, such as one just out of Olgii, were superb - this evening was spent rugged up in crisp, cold air, but in a spot sheltered from the wind behind warm, sun heated rocks; we basked in welcome, low western light, cooked dinner on our faithful MSR and had a beer or two as we looked out across barren grass lands with cattle grazing, a large and alluring lake not yet frozen, and behind, a dramatic backdrop of brooding snow covered mountains. Hard to beat anywhere, let alone in the very foreign land where we were.

Bayan-Olgii airmag (district) is well known for its eagle hunting and holds a festival celebrating the still maintained tradition, in early October each year. While too late for this we did hire a guide, Jupar, for a day to track down an eagle hunter or three, not quite knowing what to expect. While we spent a lot of the day, hunting for even one of the somewhat elusive eagle hunters, calling in to gers, (I can imagine the animated conversation, heard, but not understood: “…seen an eagle hunter, by any chance? No?, well never mind, we‘ll try the next ger…” or “Yes, but he‘s off for the winter…”) getting advice from apparently random people on horseback, motor bike, and on foot and after unexpected hospitality in a ger and later in a very humble family dwelling, we struck gold! Not only were we to view an eagle swooping on a lure and then raw meat, but Will and I became eagle hunters for a few minutes, proudly dressed for the occasion and tentatively holding our eagles in heavily gloved arms! (I gladly handed the gear back after inadvertently letting my eagle loose…!)

After facing a few unsettling problems in Khovd, as we approached the Altai and also issues arising in Olgii itself, we were glad to be finally heading out of Mongolia to face the unknowns of Russia, and what lays beyond…

[Photos: desert & Altai mountains meet; Will, eagle hunter]

GOBI CROSSING…by David

The Mongolian Gobi is a vast and mainly uninhabited desert stretching for probably a few thousand kilometres across the southern two thirds of the country. We have been travelling now for eleven days since our misadventures in UB and have driven through largely empty steppes with scattered ger camps, herds of freely wandering horses, camels, sheep and goats and the occasional wasted and uninviting town with ger dominated housing, dusty dirt and potholed “roads” winding between scrappy and makeshift timber fencing, stray dogs and of course a few locals doing their day to day business. These towns are rough looking, unattractive and bewildering to some extent with almost none of the local business signs having any meaning for us. But for Will and I it is the emptiness of the Gobi that attracted us to come to Mongolia and we are getting that in spades…

For us the Gobi is a vast maze of confusing dirt and rock strewn tracks through featureless terrain with practically no identifying features, and apart from a few of the larger towns, nothing to identify which town you are in, if indeed you have found the town being sought. Four or five days ago we could not initially find the town of Altai, confused and mislead by the only road sign in over 400km. The plains and low hills stretch out to meet a broad, uninterrupted and distant horizon often showing a few dirt tracks wandering away into the distance, mostly going in different directions. Some go to ger camps, some to derelict looking collections of buildings which are hard to tell if abandoned or inhabited; others go who knows where.

To navigate we use four paper maps of Mongolia - but what is shown on some as a strong red line is a collection of rough dirt tracks on the ground. Apart from in UB and the occasional larger town, there are practically no other bitumen roads in Mongolia. There is only part correlation between the maps - some show different tracks, some include small settlements or other features while others omit these. We also use a magnetic compass, a basic sat nav (in our Garmin World Map, UB and Khovd are the only towns or cities named for the whole of Mongolia and we navigate by the shape of now mainly dry lakes shown on the screen in bright blue, but, usefully, also on some of the paper maps), local terrain occasionally and of course the vague hand wave of locals. Put together these are just adequate for navigating our way across almost 2,000 km of featureless, treeless and forbidding terrain.

The tracks are rough and we are vibrated and tossed around for almost the whole driving day as we try to find the least rough track and dodge sharp rocks and less commonly, large wheel destroying boulders. Occasionally we can gather speed and sail across the vibrations but usually this is not possible. A vehicle or motorbike sometimes approaches and can be seen a long way off by a plume of dust in the distance. But other vehicles than ours may be seen only a few times daily and we mostly have the stark and awesome loneliness of the place to ourselves.

There is a surprising amount of bird life with the occasional eagle, water bird or flock of small birds seen. Now and then we have been surprised by little hamster type animals scurrying across the road and a few apparently stray dogs chasing our car or in packs as we approach towns. But mainly it is the herds of larger animals that break up the monotony of the driving day through largely undistinguished countryside. Now and then a herder on horseback tends his animals. Horsemen and other locals we have seen commonly wear a heavy coat - often drab brown in colour but sometimes maroon or blue, long, well below the knee, full, and buttoned to a braided edge with sa few toggle ties on one shoulder and below, under the same arm. A small collar and a colourful, wide waist tie, often bright orange or yellow and an unexpected hat completes the traditional costume.

Now and then, mainly to get closer to the locals and add some colour to the sameness of each day we pick up a hitch hiker, and explain, always by sign language, how far we can take them (usually the next town), and then make room by shifting stuff from our single spare seat (the other back seat is folded up and its space full). On one day a woman wanted a ride and we stopped, only to have four or five men rush across the road to get in also! One look in our car and our single raised finger indicating we could fit only one person reduced this to one - the woman, who we dropped off at the next town. At one lunch stop in the small, scrappy but friendly town of Delgen we were fed by a woman named Enkhboyar, who cut raw meat and mixed, kneaded, rolled and cut noodles from scratch (ie from flour and water) and made a beautiful mutton and noodle broth for us in surprisingly fast time. While we waited, Tserenpuntsag, her husband most likely, invited me into their ger home behind the tiny, one table, two stool restaurant: the circular wall was lined with cabinets, stacked e suitcases, a couple of beds, a cabinet, photos, sofa, TV and other household items. Colourful is the word to describe the interior, by contrast with the sameness of the generally white exterior. In the centre was a couple of metal chests forming low benches and between a cast iron dung burning heater cast its warmth. Outside head high piles of dried dung wait for winter, which is just around the corner. It is now late in the season for our travelling, and very cold each morning. We hasten west to get up and over the Altai mountains…

[Photos: Gobi camels; inside a ger, Delgen; Gobi campsite; Will and hitch hiker]

BAD DAY IN UB… by David

It wasn’t inevitable but it happened. Our car was broken into two nights ago in Ulaanbaatar (UB). A small side window was smashed and we have lost a sleeping bag, duvet (down jacket), tent and snow chains, as well as other smaller items. In a sense we were lucky in that everything else remains and we can continue, troubled by the losses but thankful in other ways. To cap off an already bad day, a group of four men tackled Will as we were walking back to our guesthouse after dinner, trying (unsuccessfully, thankfully) to pinch his wallet. Welcome to UB…

We acted quickly to restore our situation. Within a few hours of the robbery being detected the broken glass had been replaced after the car had received another 10,000km service. Our servicing requirements, by the way, were all communicated by sign language and pointing (none of the mechanics spoke English, and our Mongolian is just a teensy bit rusty…). As before, we supplied necessary oils (sump and differential) and replacement parts (fuel filter, oil filter and air filter). We stood and watched the whole process. As the glass was being replaced, a helpful man in a beret, taking a keen interest in proceedings, told us to be beware of the Russians - there are bad men and they break into cars…While smiling at the irony, we nevertheless have taken full heed of his warning. We have also started to replace, to the extent we can, essential items (sleeping bag, tent…) which were stolen, with new.

On a much brighter note, we received our visas for Kazakhstan today, to our great relief (after an initial scare that the Embassy might be temporarily closed, our Central Asian travel agent in Melbourne, Brent McCunn, acted immediately on our sat phone call and email: he spoke to the Embassy here in UB (the numbers we tried didn’t work) and gave us the current address by email. We went to this address that same afternoon by taxi to lodge our applications complete with passport sized photos). We have been given more liberal travel dates (now start earlier, end later) in the visas than indicated in our letters of introduction (LOIs), which assists significantly with the timing of various legs in Central Asia. Brent has already emailed LOIs for our last visa to be obtained - for Uzbekistan - in Almaty, southern Kazakhstan.

Will has taken on the job of flagging down taxis for various trips we have needed, probably nine in all, in the last few days (to and from the Kazakhstan Embassy, to the Embassy’s bank and back, for car servicing (with Will in the taxi, I followed behind in our car), etc.)) We’ve needed taxis to get to these places, which in the main are well beyond LP territory. None have been “official” taxis, (ie with an illuminated dome on the roof) which are nigh on impossible to find, but are unmarked and probably private cars used by the owner to make a bit of money on the side. No meters, etc. I asked W ill how he picked them to flag down. His response: “I look for small, crappy cars, (sometimes) with an aerial…”. It works! Of course, none of the taxi drivers speak English so we have had to get our guesthouse owner to write the addresses out in Mongolian to show the driver. This also works until the driver cannot find the place and asks us for directions…

So what is UB like, apart from apparently being a den of thieves? UB is unexpected; it is largely western in appearance with a few glass towers, traffic lights, modern cars, and heavy traffic. As in many countries we have driven through the traffic is chaotic at times and needs to be accommodated, but we are well used to doing this by now. There are strange (to our eyes) electric busses with dual poles linking up with power wires above, and there is a small, but noticeable presence of locals wearing colourful traditional costume, as a matter of course. There are numerous restaurants and a lot of bustle and vibrancy on the main streets.

What however characterises UB, once one looks beyond the thin sheen of the main drags is thousands of drab, and mainly poorly maintained Soviet era, walk ups of about three or four stories. In our eyes they are grim places, even now, in bright sunshine, and I shudder to think of what they would have been like in cold war times, in Winter, at night…. They appear concrete walled and all have heavy steel doors facing the street, without portico, porch or entry alcove to provide any sort of perceived welcome or shelter. The same type of steel doors are also used in all the dark and grim stairwells for accessing the apartment or tenement beyond. On closing the doors there is a dull clang of steel on concrete; they do not have handles, only a key lock or set of press buttons. Just inside each steel door is a further door, with lock. The word forbidding comes to mind…

Our first sighting of these types of apartment buildings was while we were driving to UB. Just out of Choyr at the start of the bitumen road is an abandoned Russian air-force base with rows of stripped out shells of similar appearing buildings. The odd abandoned MiG fighter still can be seen but there is mainly rubble and sad, hoarded up remains of lesser buildings. Somehow this place wasn’t as grim as the present backstreets of Soviet era apartment blocks in UB itself are, as this was history, abandoned and left to crumble - a relic of times past. Not so in UB…

We are now eager to be on the (dirt and rocky) road again and leave tomorrow - our heading west (after driving north for months) is significant for us. We are now not heading away from home but towards London, and that, folks, is really something!

[Photos: stripped out shells of abandoned Russian air-force base apartment building, near Choyr, electric bus, Ulaanbaatar, steel door of current Soviet era apartment block, Ulaanbaatar]