29/30 July – Ulan Bator
Ulaanbaatar the beautiful. I would have liked to start this story this way, but it would be a lie. The truth is, Ulaanbaatar is ugly. Pollution, traffic jams, anarchic urbanization. The road coming from the airport crosses the old khrushchevkas, witnesses of the Soviet era, as well as modern constructions of its Chinese capitalist neighbour, let’s call a spade a spade. In the southwest, the « Power Plant No. 3 » dump its black smoke onto the surrounding working-class neighborhoods. Cars and horns are everywhere, mostly second-hand Toyota Prius. A few Mercedes G550s or Hummer H2s are a reminder that wealth is there, but just for the elite. In a nuts, Ulaanbaatar recalls the catastrophic result of a bad Sim-City game.
Oonoo (pronounced « Ouno »), our driver, drops us off at the hotel. Our first mission is now to get some cash, something that turns out to be more difficult than expected. We find a first ATM whose Google Translate interface leaves us perplexed. « Enter the withdrawal value which has been divided by 1000 ». With an exchange rate of 1€ for 3,700 Tugrik, a withdrawal of « 400 » returns an error, and we do not dare « 400,000 », for fear that this « divided by 1000 » will generate us a withdrawal equivalent to more than €1,000. Second attempt with another ATM while a guy with a bag of cash accompanied by a police officer fresh out of school fills the nearby ATM. The local Brinks…
Over the next two days, we plan to explore downtown Ulan Bator. Our journey includes a visit to the Baylag Undraa market, a eight-story vertical souk, indulging a generous bowl of ramen for just 3€, exploring the temples of « Gandantegchenling » (as indicated by Google Maps) with their imposing four guardians at the entrance, and finally, enjoying a meal at Pizza Hut since, well, Cyrillic is fine for five minutes. In the evening, we met our group and guide over a traditional Mongolian dish.
Day 2 – Oulan Bator -> Hustai
I lace up my boots and put on my jacket to discover the beasts. Royal Enfield Himalayan. Barely 25 horsepower for 200 kg, while some Italians claims for triple-digit power. Makes you wonder who’s trying to compensate for something…
First roll of the wheels with brand new dirt tires on the asphalt. It wiggles in the turns, lacks power, and shivers for no good reason. In short, not really confidence-inspiring. When we hit the dirt track, it still wiggles, lacks power, and shivers, just like on the asphalt. That’s when you realize that the Indian bike won’t care about 2000 kilometers of dirt roads or highways any more than its first oil change. It will swallow the kilometers at its own pace with a couple of well-placed kicks to straighten out what might have been damaged after a fall. And there will be falls. But not today. We arrive safely at the Hustai National Park, where the Russian truck takes us to observe the Przewalski’s horse.
Day 3 Hustai -> Ogii Nuur
Tonight’s rain wetted the track, saving us from breathing in dust before getting back on the asphalt. Straight roads alternate between rain and sunshine. Our gear is holding up well. The water doesn’t seep through, but we’re drenched from the inside due to sweating. And then, it happens. BAM, a sheep runs into Kirsten, « the L.A. Girl. » Fortunately, it’s not serious. Sheep can be pretty dumb. Not much else to say about this day. We visit the black ruins. We arrive at the lake. This is followed by an aperitif where Oonoo treats us to his homemade 95° vodka.
Day 4 Ogii Nuur -> Tsertserleg
Track day. In Mongolia, you can measure distances in kilometers, or in so. So today will be 120 km, or so.
We were supposed to take the hand-crank ferry to cross the river, but it’s broken. Too bad, it’s a 20 km detour to get to the bridge. So here they are. And so, there will be the next day. And big ones. But that’s another story.
The track is smooth, but a few wet ruts dot the path. Mitchel, the Canadian, pays the price. Stuck in a deep and muddy rut, he manages to get out well for about 50 meters but eventually slides while trying to get out. No injuries, but a jacket got painted.
We cross our first fords. The difficulty is mostly in the mind. Lot of fear on the first ones, but it will decrease throughout the journey. However, I end up with wet feet. Especially since I almost went down on the last one because of a big rock. Getting stuck in the middle of the river is really a terrible idea.
We reach the camp heading for the aperitif. Tuk hands us a kitten to keep us waiting. In the middle of the meal, the Mongols pass around a bowl of fermented mare’s milk. Everyone takes a sip, and the grimaces on the faces of my fellow countrymen don’t bode well. My turn comes. The taste is strange. A base of milk, but with a tangy flavor. It reminds me of Dizzy, that Yop drink that came out of nowhere and was a massive flop in 2008. Anyway, I ask for a second bowl, which I down in one gulp, to the disgusted looks of the French and the admiring looks of the local team. It turns out it’s not that bad after all.
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