800days
Observer
The plan was to attempt to circumnavigate the planet in 800 days starting from the UK. Our vehicle of choice an 18 year-old Toyota Hilux Surf 4x4 called ‘Bee Bee’. The trip didn’t quite go as planned due to unforeseen circumstances, but we did manage to get as far as Mongolia and back.
For a long while the trip seemed like some wild fantasy so far in the distant future that at times we weren’t even sure it would happen, but we kept our heads down and kept to our plan. The trip become an all-consuming obsession; every spare hour we had focused on job lists, research and working on Bee Bee. For us, the research and planning period of the trip was half the fun.
In those 18 months of planning we travelled an incredible distance (metaphorically); I knew nothing about ‘split charge battery systems’ and Emma’s knowledge of Uzbekistani visa requirements was minimal at best.
We devised unique ways to facilitate reaching our goal; some complicated sums and distance estimating revealed that a rough expense of travelling one mile (taking into account an average cost of diesel and living expenses) was around 25p ($0.81). This became ‘the adventure mile’ and a comparative cost measurement for every temptation; do you want to eat a Mars bar or drive 2 more miles around the world? A pint of beer or 12 adventure miles? A new sweater or 40 adventure miles? It worked for us and our bank balance flourished as a result.
Every conceivable avenue to make money was discussed; it’s a miracle Emma and I still have both Kidneys (seriously). In an attempt to rustle up the ‘adventure miles’ we sold nearly all our possessions; £2 ($3.25) for an old CD on ebay is 8 adventure miles. These small amounts soon added up and played an important part in reaching our 61,000 adventure mile target.
On June 14th 2012, after some serious Russian visa delays, we waved goodbye to the Slightly Grey Cliffs of Dover, UK, sailed across the channel and stormed the beaches of Dunkerque, in a truly British style; driving occasionally on the wrong side and asking for directions!
Owing to our delay and a pressing need to ‘Rush to Russia’ to maximize our visa validity coupled with the cost of Europe and its proximity to home we decided that the best thing to do is motor straight through and stop at a few carefully selected places en-route.
A glimpse at a sunny Saturday in Germany made us want to temporarily take root in Bremen; rows of tables in beer tents along the riverside with bands playing and Bratwurst vans sizzling but we had culture to absorb and it was in every direction in this city. A staggeringly impressive cathedral and town hall around the main square and a maze of tiny streets packed with haphazard, Lilliput-style buildings housing art galleries, cafes and shops selling kitsch statues of the classic ‘musicians of bremen’ animal ‘stack’.
Europe as a land mass is devoid of borders; thanks to the good old E.U, passport stamping in Europe has become a thing of the past. As we motored up through France, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, Denmark and into Norway it was tough to know where one country stopped and another started. The topography of each country is the dead giveaway though and more so the further you head north.
It isn’t until we got to Denmark that the landscape started getting really interesting. A meander all the way along Denmark’s stunning sand dune and moorland west coast brought us to Thy national park where we camped more comfortably in silent forested wilderness. To round off our day before crossing the water to Norway we visited Grenen, the most northerly point in Denmark where a sandy beach tails off into a sandy spit at which point you can stand with one foot in the Skagerrat and one in the Kattergat sea. A Wadden Seal bobbed in the calm waters as we walked back down the beach and headed for Hirtshals and our ferry to Norway.
After a 4-hour ferry ride we arrived in Norway: land of the midnight sun. In stark contrast to a very flat Denmark we soon arrived at a hill, a hill that soon turned into a mountain. In a very short period we climbed 1250 meters to above the tree line and into the snow.
It’s glaringly obvious that the Roman’s never made it as far north as Norway; they probably turned up at the border, realized their ‘Roman Road’ ideology wasn’t going to work and left. The Norwegian’s however took a different approach! If something is in the way stick a road to the side of it, if that fails dig a tunnel straight through the middle of it…or in the case of the extreme descent from the summit of the Folgefonna Glacier down to the Hardangerfjorden, cut a disorientating 2km spiral tunnel that descends corkscrew like through the cliff edge. This marvel of engineering isn’t a concrete super structure lined with fluorescent lights but more resembled a 19th Century mineshaft filled with lingering exhaust fumes.
Round every corner in Norway is an even more astounding vista than the previous one, framed perfectly by the edges of our windscreen. Due to the commonplace nature of these views we soon became fairly blasé and the en-route in-car photographs mounted up. Occasionally some of the views warranted actually stopping the car and getting out, normally in conjunction with some kind of extreme hill climb that had pushed Bee Bee’s overloaded cooling system to the limit.
For some reason I can’t fathom, Norway has a huge amount of classic American cars. I saw 3 Mustangs, A Dodge Charger, Trans-Ams, two Chevy Impalas and countless 70’s Chevy Vans and Pick-Ups. The American muscle made up for the lack of bear sightings; we did however see plenty of reindeer as we travelled through Scandinavia, we also ate some too. The elusive Elk also remained unspotted, apparently if you are driving the Elk is the last animal you’ll want to see. They stand at least 230 cm tall and when you hit them they spin over and their heavy feet smash through your windscreen. For countries so full of stunning scenery there was a serious lack of wildlife. Emma spotted a Pine-Martin and that was about it!
The Arctic Circle was a milestone for us, back home in the UK it all seemed so far away and to actually get there felt like a great achievement. It was not quite what I was expecting though; I envisaged maybe a signpost, a polar bear and some kind of native fishing around an ice hole. Instead we got hoards of motorhomes, a massive tourist information center and a wealth of tourist tat at exaggerated tourist prices.
Like Norway’s American muscle car mystery Sweden also has a few motoring anomalies. I spotted at least 5 trucks, 1 mini van and a late 80’s Merc with some awesomely bad airbrush work. This isn’t really surprising considering the size of the country but when you discover that we just drove across the Northern part (Norland) in an afternoon the figures seem rather high.
The other observation that was made during this short period of time is that the Swedes love a spotlight, not surprising when you consider that it is dark here for about 70 days straight in winter. Every car has spotlights from the latest BMW’s to the oldest Volvos (of which there are thousands)…But the Swedes don’t just have one extra pair of spotlights or subtle little LED ones hidden away in the bumpers, the chosen amount is three massive individual lights placed in a row between the two main headlights. With the dark winters, forests and snowy conditions it’s easy to see how this ‘neck of the woods’ creates so many great rally drivers.
Sweden was a bit of a blur as we motored straight through towards Finland and Russia. Travelling east we noticed a distinct change in the people, the Fins are much more serious than the Norwegians and Swedes. In Finland we stopped at a city called Oulo to get a taste of Finnish living. The market there sold a delectable display of traditional Finnish foods including ‘Elk in a Can’ and every kind of Salmon you could imagine. The city also has an odd mocking statue of a rather portly policeman, I had the obligatory photograph stood next to the little fella.
We randomly came across a great campsite near the Russian border and decided one last shower would be needed before our crossing. The hammock got an outing and as we were in Finland we decided to test out the campsites Sauna followed by jumping naked into the freezing lake.
It was at this campsite we met a lovely Finnish couple who gave us all the advice we needed on Russia. The advice didn’t actually make me feel anymore confident about our impending crossing. The area we were about to cross into was bear country, we’re likely to get robbed; possibly at gun point and no one is going to talk English. On the plus side though the area we choose to cross was a quiet border and so it would likely take just a few hours…
After a fairly painless but confusing border crossing we were in Russia. From the moment we crossed the border from Finland, we were halted at a checkpoint and our papers scrutinised by a stern looking machine-gun clad soldier with mandatory villainous sneer and cigarette idly dangling from his mouth. The smooth European motorway rapidly deteriorated into pot-holed, bumpy roads; we knew our expedition was about to become more interesting. The placid introduction of road signs, law-abiding driving, all-facility campsites, English speaking societies and familiar culture quickly became a distant memory.
Driving allows you to get a real feel for a country, especially in a land as vast as Russia. In our first 10 days we probably saw more of the country than most of its inhabitants would in a lifetime.
On our trip it became apparent that each country had a style of driving that is representative of that countries people. The Germans drove with precision, The Norwegians, courteous and the Russians chaotic!
In Northern Russia many of the roads are literally falling apart at the seams. Most of the roads are subsiding and it is not uncommon to hit 5, 10, 15, 20cm deep potholes. Driving is tiresome and not too dissimilar to playing some kind of concentration heavy computer game. Your eyes are constantly flitting between the immediate road ahead and what canyon sized hazards may be approaching in the distance. This demanding style of driving means that swerving cars are commonplace. This makes for a challenging ride in a right-hand drive vehicle once you take into consideration the Russian approach to overtaking!
Steering Wheel Shrines, at the sides of the potholed roads, covered in bright plastic flowers mark the spots of fatal accidents. These tragic mementos do nothing to deter the Russian drivers who choose to ignore the solid white lines and no overtaking signs and insist on passing on blind corners, hill brows and occasionally on the inside on the even more potholed dirt hard shoulder. Apparently overtaking as close as you can to the car in front is the only way.
Occasionally we witnessed an act of stupidity that demonstrated the prevalence of verge memorials. Once you’ve witnessed a man on a moped with no helmet being towed at about 60mph by a rope wrapped around his handlebars and back to the car it’s hard to be shocked by children cycling or teens riding on the roofs of Ladas on the motorway.
Driving on the M8 south, the main carriageway joining Arkhangelsk in the north and Moscow in the south, we are part of and often overtaken by huge road trains of lunatic Russian truck drivers. The trucks, many un-roadworthy, travelling at speed and often no more than 3 meters behind the one in front, belch out black noxious diesel fumes as they motor through the Russian countryside on this single lane highway. Woman work the fields, raking hay occasionally looking up as this ‘Mad Max’ train rumbles by, the scene is reminiscent of Turner’s famous painting ‘Rain, Steam and Speed’ where the workers in the fields marvel at the steam locomotive racing by.
Driving in the cities is equally as dangerous as on the rural roads. The road surfaces are generally better but around every corner the possibility of swerving cars and potholes still beckon. At times the 8 lane wide streets don’t even have a centerline let alone individual lanes. Like the rural roads, overtaking, undertaking and occasionally forcing your way through are all the norm. This lack of road markings can be a real nightmare at major road junctions. If you are lucky they have traffic lights, not that the Russians obey them, and if you are unlucky the junction collides at 90 degrees with another fast moving 4 lane wide highway where seemingly no one has right of way. To top off the whole junction experience often the Russian’s will place a 50m long pedestrian crossing on each side.
Due to the nature of Russian driving habits accidents happen often and when they do the Russian way to deal with them throws another danger into the road. When cars collide, no matter how minimal, the done thing is to stop immediately. The drivers are expected to leave the cars exactly where they are and get out and stand next to their car, no matter how fast the traffic around them is moving, and wait for the police to arrive.
Chaos ensues as cars block the road and drivers take risks to get past the stranded vehicles and their owners. Don’t panic! As surely once the police are on the scene they’ll take some kind of precautions to calm the traffic, clear the road and make sure the traffic starts to flow? Actually no, what happens is the complete opposite, the police arrive, park badly in the street adding to the chaos and spend about two hours deciding whose fault the accident was with the drivers involved. The whole time this is happening no warning signs are placed, no traffic control enforced and all the police focus on are the cars involved as traffic continues to motor past. Once the police have decided whose to blame the cars are moved and the police leave, clearly it’s not their job to sweep the road of any debris or clean up spilt oil and fuel!
If by some miracle you make it through this motoring minefield you’re likely to get pulled over by the traffic police who inextricably stop vehicles randomly. Luckily having a right hand drive car helps as they always approach the passenger side where Emma awaits with a smile and the phrase “Prabliem, turist?” at which point we are more than often told to drive on!
Luckily avoided any serious dramas. We had a couple of close calls though; the most serious being when a red brick being carried by an oncoming overloaded truck bounced off on a bump and came flying towards our car on the motorway. We watched in slow-motion horror as the truck motored past obliviously at 50+mph and the brick bounced across the road towards our car (travelling at 50+mph). Some serious reaction swerving meant we missed it by inches, as small fragments ricocheted off the bottom of our car.
We decided to take a detour that would allow us to witness the magnificent Kremlin of Tobolsk, then follow the Irtysh River as it flowed southeast, bypassing the huge cities of Omsk and Novosibirsk and re-joining our route towards Tomsk in the East.
The road bends, winds and dips following the watercourse as it meanders serenely southeast through Siberia. Our grumbles about the state of the main ‘red’ highways paled into insignificance as we quickly downgraded on the map from yellow roads ‘with covering’, white ‘without covering’ to grey ‘un-surfaced’. The roads are in terrible condition; potholes, ridges, gravel, mud, sand and dust. If you are unfortunate enough to get stuck behind a slow-moving truck, the clouds of dust it kicks up reduce visibility to almost zero, rendering it almost impossible to overtake and necessitating the windows to be kept tightly shut, increasing the in-car temperature rapidly during one of Russia’s hottest summers. Progress was ‘leisurely’ but allowed us to observe our surroundings off the beaten track.
At several points on our 1cm=30km map, where the road ‘crossed’ a river we were met, not by a bridge, but by an array of ageing ‘boats’; some that can only be described as rusting, floating wooden platforms nudged, shoved and arduously towed by a small, underpowered motorboat throttling under the strain and belching fumes as it struggles across the water channel. With no sense of urgency, these ‘ferries’ wait until they have enough vehicles to warrant the 150m crossing, and so it was we spent an hour with no shade in the sweltering Siberian heat until ourselves, a milk truck, a pick-up and the obligatory Lada were loaded via a precarious ramp from the beach and positioned to balance our vessel for the 8 minute voyage.
Agriculture is on a simpler, smaller-scale; gone are the characterless, machine-rolled hay bales of the highway fields and in their place traditional haystacks, laboriously piled high by hand by gangs of farm workers with pitchforks. Farmers dawdle along the roadside on ancient-looking horse and carts and families bump along the gritty tracks on motorbikes with children balanced not in a sidecar, but some kind of homemade platform. Pockets of woodland are dotted amongst meadows with huge swathes of pink wildflowers, the clover so fragrant you can smell it as you drive past. On one occasion, our camp was visited by a group of young red foxes, a male sniffing and investigating the car as we watched from our roof tent vantage point.
Upon entering a village, the road forks in several directions. The small wooden houses, almost all of which suffer from subsidence and sit awkwardly at uneven angles, display the most intricate, blue and white painted carved edges around the window and door frames. Piles of wood are meticulously stacked in preparation for the long winter ahead and groups of cows, horses and sheep amble through the sandy streets, with as much enthusiasm as the man pumping water from the well or the young girl pushing her buggy over the corrugated mud road.
We continued to travel east towards Lake Baikal. Our first glimpse of the world’s oldest and deepest lake came after we had left the city of Irkutsk 70km behind us; bumping over the brow of a hill this ‘Pearl of Siberia’ twinkled in the valley below stretching endlessly towards the horizon. If you look at a world map and trail your eyes East across Russia, the scale of this enormous water body is evident. Geographically, it is extremely impressive; a maximum length of 395 miles, maximum depth of 1,642 meters and over 25 million years old. In the winter it freezes over and you can drive a car across. Its Ecology is equally extraordinary; of the 1,085 species of plants and 1,550 species of animals, more than 80% are endemic- found here and nowhere else in the world. However, even in the knowledge of these facts and statistics, it is still the sight of Lake Baikal that is the most striking and notable. The expanse of pine forested shorelines, pebbled beaches and water, which stretches as far as the eye can see, is simply stunning.
After 6 weeks in Russia without seeing another fellow ‘camper’ we were met on the Southern shore of Baikal by what resembled a Russian lakeside music festival. During the summer months, this area of the lakes perimeter is a playground for urban-weary Russians who descend en-masse and construct huge temporary canvas settlements along its shoreline. Tired after travelling, we were lucky to find a small spot to camp, only to be woken a couple of hours later by new neighbors 2-metres to the right who started their fire and tunes around midnight. This in addition to the railway line only several hundred meters behind us, with cargo trains of over 60 containers taking over a minute to thunder past what felt like inches from our heads.
We left the Southern shoreline hurriedly in search of calmer waters and didn’t need to travel far; within hours we found a stretch of shoreline with only a few families dotted amongst the woodland. We spent several days in this idyllic spot; the water is crystal clear and perfect for swimming (if a tad refreshing!). The weather in this region is much more changeable and a foggy morning would be followed by blazing sunshine, then a torrential downpour with thunder, only for the clouds to clear and the sun to burn through again. From our hammock swung between the trees, you can watch chipmunks jumping from the branches and waterfowl bobbing past on the lake surface.
Venturing even further north along the east coast, the area becomes quite uninhabited; here we had an entire stretch of sand and pebble beach to ourselves, the roar of the railway had long gone as the tracks snaked away south towards Mongolia and China. Watching the sunset, the whole landscape turns a warm orange and the only sounds are the cries of gulls and the gentle waves lapping at the shore. This was a perfect end to our time in Russia, possibly the most beautiful place we had visited and a time to relax, reflect and prepare for the next stage in our journey.
It’s hard to tell if Russia has benefitted from the fall of communism in anyway, as outsiders we have no benchmark to compare it to. Our first impressions were of a country that was slowly falling apart; the roads are appalling, buildings are subsiding and according to Time magazine, Russia is ranked fairly high in the world’s most corrupt economically developed countries.
One thing that is apparent having spent time there is that Russia is a country of extreme contrast. The freezing winter temperature often hits -40°C, whilst we have experienced sweltering summer temperatures of +37°C with, surprisingly, not a furry hat in sight!
Many major city centers have started rebuilding roads and restoring great buildings, but the outskirts are still drab depressing suburban tower blocks that are slowly falling apart at the seams. Westernization (good or bad) is slowly setting in, Macdonald’s is a regular feature and some cities even welcome tourists in a somewhat ‘novice’ kind of way.
Outside of the big cities it is not unusual to see woman tending fields in a style evocative of the 17th Century whilst Mercedes race past on perfect motorways that can turn into dirt tracks without warning.
The countryside is vast and can be a little overwhelming; on our first day we drove for 8 hours straight, through hundreds of miles of forest that enclosed the road. In that time we didn’t pass one house. The landscape didn’t change much for the first week. On attempting to camp we were continually greeted at every track into the forest by huge piles of rubbish; this was typical of the entire country were seemingly it is ok to ruin the natural beauty of a place by playing excessively loud euro-trance from your car and dumping rubbish.
As visitors driving through the country we encountered a large cross section of the population. Generally speaking, Russians are very serious people with a rude temperament; occasionally they will let you past their tough exterior and be friendly, warm-hearted and sometimes even smile. Normally this unusual phenomenon is fuelled by excessive alcohol consumption, which seemingly is a large problem in Russia. Alcoholism coupled with the language barrier made it hard for us to understand situations; often we were left feeling a little uneasy, as it seems the Russian’s have a fiery temper and it was hard for us to know if we’d upset them.
Sadly, it is said that in Russia a person who smiles too often is generally classed as insane. The deadpan facial expression is common and can leave you a little bemused. Mostly, Russia is filled with the unwelcoming stern-faced Russian who answers ‘nyet’ in a deadpan monotone to every question. This type of Russian normally sees everything in black and white, with no room for negotiation, especially with a foreign tourist. Occasionally we were met by the opposite end of the spectrum; a new, younger Russian, who seemingly understands the importance of allowing foreigners into Russia, and is very proud of their country and will go above and beyond to help.
Our journey took us from Russia into Mongolia, a land of nomadic people whose present way of life remains rooted deeply in the traditions of the past. An immense wilderness of unspoilt grassy steppe, clear lakes, meandering rivers, rugged mountains and windswept desert, where horses outnumber people 13 to 1 in the least-densely populated country on the planet. The vast majority of Mongolia is inaccessible to the average tourist; a lack of paved roads, changeable weather and isolated locations mean travel here is not for the fainthearted. For us this presented a fantastic, if challenging, opportunity with our vehicle to explore wild areas, which see very few foreign visitors, and experience first hand this ancient and fascinating lifestyle.
Historically, Mongolia has been a powerful player in development of the modern world, forming the largest continental empire under Genghis Khan. Nearly 800 years after Genghis Khan conquered most of the known world, the people erected a statue in his honour. This 40m high silver statue was listed as the worlds 8th worst monument but when standing at the base and seeing the fierce-looking emperor atop his horse, shining in the bright sun and surrounded by the rolling grassland hills, you cannot help but be impressed. Despite his frequently ruthless tactics (he is rumoured to have played polo with his enemies severed heads) Mongolians retain an immense pride in their founder, who brought peace by encouraging religious tolerance between Buddhist, Christian, Jewish and Islamic faiths.
In recent centuries, Mongolia has suffered from the power struggle between its heavyweight neighbours, Russia and China, both vying for control over the region. The effects of a suffocating Soviet rule were shockingly evident as we visited several Buddhist monastery sites. In 1937 27,000 people were executed, 17,000 of whom were monks, as Stalin sought to purge Mongolia of it’s religious and cultural heritage. At Gandan Khiid, the counties largest Monastery located in the capital, only a few of the original 100 temples have survived. A magnificent 26m high copper and gold statue of the Buddha of compassion stands defiantly in the main temple; the original statue was melted down and rumoured to be made into bullets for the Russian army. It was only as recently as 1990 that Buddhism was again openly practised here. Similarly, the temples of Erdene Zuu Khiid were savagely destroyed and only 3 of the original 100 remain; monks were killed, sent to Siberian Gulags or forced to join the Russian army. To sit amongst the monks during their morning ceremonial chantings, it is difficult to imagine how such brutality could be inflicted against something so peaceful and non-threatening and even more sobering to think how only recently things had changed.
Throughout history, the Mongolian people have suffered pressure from outside influence to change; Stalin forced them away from their nomadic lifestyle to live in fixed settlements, forming a more ‘civilised’ population. Although the withdrawal of Russia led to economic disaster for Mongolia, their independence and freedom was regained and they chose to return to their nomadic roots. In recent years, Mongolia has seen a rapid economic growth and increased prosperity; wandering around the capital, Ulaanbaatar, we saw traditionally dressed families in their colourful, gilt-trimmed Dels alongside fashionably western-style dressed young people sipping cocktails at swanky bars. In the city backstreets, goods are carried to the black market by ox and cart, whilst brand new shiny Hummers jostle for position on the crowded main street.
Today, the prevalence and strength of the Nomadic lifestyle is evident within minutes of leaving the city; small settlements of a few Gers (white, circular, felt tents) dot the verdant hillsides and valleys and herds of animals are grazing in every direction. Large numbers of goats and sheep amble across the dusty vehicle tracks and men on horseback (or motorbike) herd cows and horses back towards the camp during late afternoon. As we travel west through mountainous regions, Yak replace cows, their imposing horns and shaggy coats a striking image against snowy peaks in the distance and dark, cloudy skies.
In Mongolia, hospitality is more of a necessity than a social requirement; travelling huge distances between any kind of town or village and the small temporary Gers become a lifeline and as such have an open door policy. During a heavy downpour whilst camped on the banks of the White Lake, a motorbike pulled up outside our awning and a Mongolian couple and their 3 year old son hurried inside to take shelter. An hour, several cups of tea, biscuits and communication involving gestures, photos and drawings later and they clambered back onto their wet bike and drove away. Bemused by our roof tent, locals from Ger camps have come over and invited us to eat and sleep in their Gers. This generosity and warmth to strangers is such a basic act of humanity but it is difficult to imagine walking up to someone’s house in Guernsey during heavy rain and expecting dinner and possibly a bed for the night.
Mongolians retain an enormous respect for the land, recognising and living accordingly to the balance and harmony of nature. Scattered around the countryside are ‘ovoo’, piles of stones; people stop, add a stone and circumambulate several times clockwise to give thanks to earthly spirits. Traditionally, food has been heavily red meat-based with the addition of dairy products and flour in the form of dumplings or flat noodles. This diet still prevails today and we have been able to sample Buuz beef dumplings, Khushuur fried mutton pancakes, Yak noodle stir-fry and even an entire sheep’s head washed down with fermented mares milk.
With a perfectly-pitched camp on the banks of the Zavkhan River overlooked by the holy Otgontenger mountain, dinner was underway (tinned sardines despite two hours spent fishing for Taimen giant trout in the river) when we spotted a small army of Mongolians approaching from the South. Sardines off and tea on, the mother and children gathered on a blanket, entertained by our phrase book and photo album while the father meticulously independently surveyed at, in and under our car and rooftent. The family comprised of parents, four daughters aged 15, 12, 12 (twins, bizarrely with the same name), 10 and a son of 4 years. They were staying at their grandparents nearby Ger and had been dispatched on a mission to locate the occupying foreigners and instigate a peaceful surrender, detainment and imperative retreat to their circular abode.
A stoop of the head through a painted, decorative doorway transports you into the rotund hive of all Mongolian nomadic activity. The Ger, a felt-lined wooden-framed tent-like structure is still home to just under half of the population of Mongolia. Even amongst families which have now settled in urban areas, a third of these still live in Gers rather than houses (something we witnessed in ‘Subgerbia’ areas on the outskirts of towns). This spherical, transportable, dwelling was crammed around the edges with the couples entire possessions, both decorative and practical. Kitchen equipment, pots, pans and stashes of food provisions sit snugly next to beds, boxes, blankets and a modest Buddhist shrine. On the walls are photos of family members and a treasured collection of the grandfather’s horse riding medals alongside framed pictures of Buddhist deities and famous Mongolian folk wrestlers.
At the base of the central yellow wooden support pole was a metal stove burning away, on top of which a large, shallow silver bowl of yaks milk steamed as the grandmother stirred it dutifully. Two tin cups were produced and dipped into the rich milk for both of us. This was followed by a ‘slice’ of Yak clotted cream skimmed from the boiled milks surface, and a warm, salty, weak milk tea decanted from a flowery, fluorescent cork-bunged thermos flask. To accompany the tea, a bag of biscuits were produced; at first glance a sweet treat but on closer inspection a greying delicacy with blue mould spots on one side. The first bite revealed the pungent flavor of musty, fetid goat’s cheese. The second bite was only marginally better due to the lack of expectancy of shortbread rather than the reality of rancid, crumbly goat product.
But this array of calorie-crammed, creamy dairy delights was, unbeknown to us, just the starter. A grubby, battered metal dish was extracted from under one of the wrought iron beds that formed the periphery of the Ger. The bowls contents were the result of a recent rodent genocide; those cute, curious marmots we had witnessed regularly skipping across the path ahead of us or popping up like a periscope from their burrows had been reduced to a greasy, gruesome goulash of flesh and fat. Would we like to try some? Of course we would! Sensing our trepidation with consuming something that looked more pet than picnic, our host pot-rummaged and produced the full boiled head complete with greasy flared nostrils and perfectly intact, protruding buck teeth. He waved it in the air like a ceremonial severed snack much to the raucous amusement of the rest of the family. After rancid cheese biscuits this cold, slimy flesh was actually quite palatable. We even went back for seconds.
A plastic bottle not too dissimilar to the ones that white spirit is sold in was produced from another corner of the Ger with the father proudly announcing “vodka” before filling a tin mug full of the colorless liquid for us. This was ‘Airag’, fermented mares milk, fortunately only around 5% proof but unfortunately also allowing for clear enough thought as to how exactly you milk a horse. The atmosphere in the Ger became animated as the women imitated a drunken Andy trying to climb up the ladder into the rooftent following consumption of this equine homebrew. By this point grandfather had retired noiselessly into his bed but his family continued to chatter enthusiastically. Communication is beautifully basic; an antiquated English grammar schoolbook, a hesitant jumble of gesticulations and actions, illegible sketches and simply smiles. The warm generosity and hospitality of these complete strangers and the genuine welcome into their home was extremely humbling; an experience which we will forever cherish in our memories (and one which took our stomachs a few days to forget).
It is not all nomads and yak though; due to it’s recent discover of copper and gold deposits, it is developing at an extremely fast rate. The country that Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman visited on their ‘Long Way Round’ overland trip; with just 80km of paved road has been superseded. Over the last 3 years an infrastructure has started to appear in the form of roads to make the movement of minerals easier.
Not to panic though, it is still impossible to drive across the country border to border on anything that resembles what we’d consider a decent road. In that regard I would argue that Mongolia is still one of the ultimate destinations for overland travel.
Due to the large distances and small nomadic population much of the driving is still fairly remote. What look like main roads on our map are often no more than tyre tracks in the dirt. These tracks often divide into multiple lanes that cut through the least obstacle-strewn route in the landscape only to reunite again a couple of miles down the road. The transient nature of the roads coupled with the virtual lack of road signs can make navigation challenging. One saving grace that can help direction is that the main routes will often follow telephone lines between larger villages.
Some careful route planning is recommended, as some smaller towns still don’t have fuel stops and ATMs. In stark contrast any town over the population of about 15,000 will have at least 10 brand new fuel stations all strategically placed on the same stretch of road. Despite displaying credit card logos and having brand new credit card machines none of these fuel stops will have phone connections and the attendants will have no clue how to use the machines.
Travelling around the country the most common traffic we have seen are small minivans used by locals as buses between towns. On the steppe cheap Chinese 125cc motorbikes are the vehicle of choice, it is not unusual to witness 4 family members and a sheep riding on one. The motorcycles are a perfect choice for this terrain and can easily navigate the potholes and puddles as well as be used to herd goats. Motorcycles are also much more economical in a country where fuel is fairly expensive. Helmets are not used out on the steppe but in the larger towns road safety is of higher importance and so the rider will wear a building-site hard-hat whilst the passengers (often including children as young as 2 years old) still ride without one.
The nomadic way of life means that fences are non-existent and you can drive virtually anywhere you like. The driving is generally tough on the vehicle and driver, river crossings are commonplace and you are going to encounter some problems. When you do encounter problems the locals are generally resourceful and can often resolve most problems without having to call out the AA. Like in Russia everyone has extensive mechanical knowledge and so it is no surprise to see people fixing cars at the side of the ‘road’. The country is full of Landcruisers, Pajeros and UAZ 4x4 vans mainly used by the rich and tour companies, due to the financial divide most Mongolians drive battered old Japanese hatchbacks.
The locals take the demanding landscape in their stride with a unique ‘gung-ho’ attitude born out of necessity, this coupled with extensive driving skills they seem to manage just fine. Embarrassingly, standing thigh deep in a river checking for large stones, a Honda Civic with 6 people in happily drove through windscreen deep absolutely no trouble at all. This image alone should be encouraging to anyone who is thinking of doing the Mongol Rally.
It was during our time in Mongolia that our dream 800-day trip came to a grinding halt. We received news that both my mum and dad have been diagnosed with Cancer. We decided that the best course of action was to return home whilst our visa’s still allowed us to do so easily. We planned a straight route home allowing for the curvature of the earth and headed straight back through Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Germany and France. We arrived back in the UK after motoring home in 15 days (a feat any Mongol Rally team would be proud of).
We’ve been back in the UK for 3 months now and my parents are fairly stable and so we are planning on heading down to Morocco in February for a couple of months.
Andy and Emma
Follow us on Facebook
Follow us on twitter
For a long while the trip seemed like some wild fantasy so far in the distant future that at times we weren’t even sure it would happen, but we kept our heads down and kept to our plan. The trip become an all-consuming obsession; every spare hour we had focused on job lists, research and working on Bee Bee. For us, the research and planning period of the trip was half the fun.
In those 18 months of planning we travelled an incredible distance (metaphorically); I knew nothing about ‘split charge battery systems’ and Emma’s knowledge of Uzbekistani visa requirements was minimal at best.
We devised unique ways to facilitate reaching our goal; some complicated sums and distance estimating revealed that a rough expense of travelling one mile (taking into account an average cost of diesel and living expenses) was around 25p ($0.81). This became ‘the adventure mile’ and a comparative cost measurement for every temptation; do you want to eat a Mars bar or drive 2 more miles around the world? A pint of beer or 12 adventure miles? A new sweater or 40 adventure miles? It worked for us and our bank balance flourished as a result.
Every conceivable avenue to make money was discussed; it’s a miracle Emma and I still have both Kidneys (seriously). In an attempt to rustle up the ‘adventure miles’ we sold nearly all our possessions; £2 ($3.25) for an old CD on ebay is 8 adventure miles. These small amounts soon added up and played an important part in reaching our 61,000 adventure mile target.
On June 14th 2012, after some serious Russian visa delays, we waved goodbye to the Slightly Grey Cliffs of Dover, UK, sailed across the channel and stormed the beaches of Dunkerque, in a truly British style; driving occasionally on the wrong side and asking for directions!
Owing to our delay and a pressing need to ‘Rush to Russia’ to maximize our visa validity coupled with the cost of Europe and its proximity to home we decided that the best thing to do is motor straight through and stop at a few carefully selected places en-route.
A glimpse at a sunny Saturday in Germany made us want to temporarily take root in Bremen; rows of tables in beer tents along the riverside with bands playing and Bratwurst vans sizzling but we had culture to absorb and it was in every direction in this city. A staggeringly impressive cathedral and town hall around the main square and a maze of tiny streets packed with haphazard, Lilliput-style buildings housing art galleries, cafes and shops selling kitsch statues of the classic ‘musicians of bremen’ animal ‘stack’.
Europe as a land mass is devoid of borders; thanks to the good old E.U, passport stamping in Europe has become a thing of the past. As we motored up through France, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, Denmark and into Norway it was tough to know where one country stopped and another started. The topography of each country is the dead giveaway though and more so the further you head north.
It isn’t until we got to Denmark that the landscape started getting really interesting. A meander all the way along Denmark’s stunning sand dune and moorland west coast brought us to Thy national park where we camped more comfortably in silent forested wilderness. To round off our day before crossing the water to Norway we visited Grenen, the most northerly point in Denmark where a sandy beach tails off into a sandy spit at which point you can stand with one foot in the Skagerrat and one in the Kattergat sea. A Wadden Seal bobbed in the calm waters as we walked back down the beach and headed for Hirtshals and our ferry to Norway.
After a 4-hour ferry ride we arrived in Norway: land of the midnight sun. In stark contrast to a very flat Denmark we soon arrived at a hill, a hill that soon turned into a mountain. In a very short period we climbed 1250 meters to above the tree line and into the snow.
It’s glaringly obvious that the Roman’s never made it as far north as Norway; they probably turned up at the border, realized their ‘Roman Road’ ideology wasn’t going to work and left. The Norwegian’s however took a different approach! If something is in the way stick a road to the side of it, if that fails dig a tunnel straight through the middle of it…or in the case of the extreme descent from the summit of the Folgefonna Glacier down to the Hardangerfjorden, cut a disorientating 2km spiral tunnel that descends corkscrew like through the cliff edge. This marvel of engineering isn’t a concrete super structure lined with fluorescent lights but more resembled a 19th Century mineshaft filled with lingering exhaust fumes.
Round every corner in Norway is an even more astounding vista than the previous one, framed perfectly by the edges of our windscreen. Due to the commonplace nature of these views we soon became fairly blasé and the en-route in-car photographs mounted up. Occasionally some of the views warranted actually stopping the car and getting out, normally in conjunction with some kind of extreme hill climb that had pushed Bee Bee’s overloaded cooling system to the limit.
For some reason I can’t fathom, Norway has a huge amount of classic American cars. I saw 3 Mustangs, A Dodge Charger, Trans-Ams, two Chevy Impalas and countless 70’s Chevy Vans and Pick-Ups. The American muscle made up for the lack of bear sightings; we did however see plenty of reindeer as we travelled through Scandinavia, we also ate some too. The elusive Elk also remained unspotted, apparently if you are driving the Elk is the last animal you’ll want to see. They stand at least 230 cm tall and when you hit them they spin over and their heavy feet smash through your windscreen. For countries so full of stunning scenery there was a serious lack of wildlife. Emma spotted a Pine-Martin and that was about it!
The Arctic Circle was a milestone for us, back home in the UK it all seemed so far away and to actually get there felt like a great achievement. It was not quite what I was expecting though; I envisaged maybe a signpost, a polar bear and some kind of native fishing around an ice hole. Instead we got hoards of motorhomes, a massive tourist information center and a wealth of tourist tat at exaggerated tourist prices.
Like Norway’s American muscle car mystery Sweden also has a few motoring anomalies. I spotted at least 5 trucks, 1 mini van and a late 80’s Merc with some awesomely bad airbrush work. This isn’t really surprising considering the size of the country but when you discover that we just drove across the Northern part (Norland) in an afternoon the figures seem rather high.
The other observation that was made during this short period of time is that the Swedes love a spotlight, not surprising when you consider that it is dark here for about 70 days straight in winter. Every car has spotlights from the latest BMW’s to the oldest Volvos (of which there are thousands)…But the Swedes don’t just have one extra pair of spotlights or subtle little LED ones hidden away in the bumpers, the chosen amount is three massive individual lights placed in a row between the two main headlights. With the dark winters, forests and snowy conditions it’s easy to see how this ‘neck of the woods’ creates so many great rally drivers.
Sweden was a bit of a blur as we motored straight through towards Finland and Russia. Travelling east we noticed a distinct change in the people, the Fins are much more serious than the Norwegians and Swedes. In Finland we stopped at a city called Oulo to get a taste of Finnish living. The market there sold a delectable display of traditional Finnish foods including ‘Elk in a Can’ and every kind of Salmon you could imagine. The city also has an odd mocking statue of a rather portly policeman, I had the obligatory photograph stood next to the little fella.
We randomly came across a great campsite near the Russian border and decided one last shower would be needed before our crossing. The hammock got an outing and as we were in Finland we decided to test out the campsites Sauna followed by jumping naked into the freezing lake.
It was at this campsite we met a lovely Finnish couple who gave us all the advice we needed on Russia. The advice didn’t actually make me feel anymore confident about our impending crossing. The area we were about to cross into was bear country, we’re likely to get robbed; possibly at gun point and no one is going to talk English. On the plus side though the area we choose to cross was a quiet border and so it would likely take just a few hours…
After a fairly painless but confusing border crossing we were in Russia. From the moment we crossed the border from Finland, we were halted at a checkpoint and our papers scrutinised by a stern looking machine-gun clad soldier with mandatory villainous sneer and cigarette idly dangling from his mouth. The smooth European motorway rapidly deteriorated into pot-holed, bumpy roads; we knew our expedition was about to become more interesting. The placid introduction of road signs, law-abiding driving, all-facility campsites, English speaking societies and familiar culture quickly became a distant memory.
Driving allows you to get a real feel for a country, especially in a land as vast as Russia. In our first 10 days we probably saw more of the country than most of its inhabitants would in a lifetime.
On our trip it became apparent that each country had a style of driving that is representative of that countries people. The Germans drove with precision, The Norwegians, courteous and the Russians chaotic!
In Northern Russia many of the roads are literally falling apart at the seams. Most of the roads are subsiding and it is not uncommon to hit 5, 10, 15, 20cm deep potholes. Driving is tiresome and not too dissimilar to playing some kind of concentration heavy computer game. Your eyes are constantly flitting between the immediate road ahead and what canyon sized hazards may be approaching in the distance. This demanding style of driving means that swerving cars are commonplace. This makes for a challenging ride in a right-hand drive vehicle once you take into consideration the Russian approach to overtaking!
Steering Wheel Shrines, at the sides of the potholed roads, covered in bright plastic flowers mark the spots of fatal accidents. These tragic mementos do nothing to deter the Russian drivers who choose to ignore the solid white lines and no overtaking signs and insist on passing on blind corners, hill brows and occasionally on the inside on the even more potholed dirt hard shoulder. Apparently overtaking as close as you can to the car in front is the only way.
Occasionally we witnessed an act of stupidity that demonstrated the prevalence of verge memorials. Once you’ve witnessed a man on a moped with no helmet being towed at about 60mph by a rope wrapped around his handlebars and back to the car it’s hard to be shocked by children cycling or teens riding on the roofs of Ladas on the motorway.
Driving on the M8 south, the main carriageway joining Arkhangelsk in the north and Moscow in the south, we are part of and often overtaken by huge road trains of lunatic Russian truck drivers. The trucks, many un-roadworthy, travelling at speed and often no more than 3 meters behind the one in front, belch out black noxious diesel fumes as they motor through the Russian countryside on this single lane highway. Woman work the fields, raking hay occasionally looking up as this ‘Mad Max’ train rumbles by, the scene is reminiscent of Turner’s famous painting ‘Rain, Steam and Speed’ where the workers in the fields marvel at the steam locomotive racing by.
Driving in the cities is equally as dangerous as on the rural roads. The road surfaces are generally better but around every corner the possibility of swerving cars and potholes still beckon. At times the 8 lane wide streets don’t even have a centerline let alone individual lanes. Like the rural roads, overtaking, undertaking and occasionally forcing your way through are all the norm. This lack of road markings can be a real nightmare at major road junctions. If you are lucky they have traffic lights, not that the Russians obey them, and if you are unlucky the junction collides at 90 degrees with another fast moving 4 lane wide highway where seemingly no one has right of way. To top off the whole junction experience often the Russian’s will place a 50m long pedestrian crossing on each side.
Due to the nature of Russian driving habits accidents happen often and when they do the Russian way to deal with them throws another danger into the road. When cars collide, no matter how minimal, the done thing is to stop immediately. The drivers are expected to leave the cars exactly where they are and get out and stand next to their car, no matter how fast the traffic around them is moving, and wait for the police to arrive.
Chaos ensues as cars block the road and drivers take risks to get past the stranded vehicles and their owners. Don’t panic! As surely once the police are on the scene they’ll take some kind of precautions to calm the traffic, clear the road and make sure the traffic starts to flow? Actually no, what happens is the complete opposite, the police arrive, park badly in the street adding to the chaos and spend about two hours deciding whose fault the accident was with the drivers involved. The whole time this is happening no warning signs are placed, no traffic control enforced and all the police focus on are the cars involved as traffic continues to motor past. Once the police have decided whose to blame the cars are moved and the police leave, clearly it’s not their job to sweep the road of any debris or clean up spilt oil and fuel!
If by some miracle you make it through this motoring minefield you’re likely to get pulled over by the traffic police who inextricably stop vehicles randomly. Luckily having a right hand drive car helps as they always approach the passenger side where Emma awaits with a smile and the phrase “Prabliem, turist?” at which point we are more than often told to drive on!
Luckily avoided any serious dramas. We had a couple of close calls though; the most serious being when a red brick being carried by an oncoming overloaded truck bounced off on a bump and came flying towards our car on the motorway. We watched in slow-motion horror as the truck motored past obliviously at 50+mph and the brick bounced across the road towards our car (travelling at 50+mph). Some serious reaction swerving meant we missed it by inches, as small fragments ricocheted off the bottom of our car.
We decided to take a detour that would allow us to witness the magnificent Kremlin of Tobolsk, then follow the Irtysh River as it flowed southeast, bypassing the huge cities of Omsk and Novosibirsk and re-joining our route towards Tomsk in the East.
The road bends, winds and dips following the watercourse as it meanders serenely southeast through Siberia. Our grumbles about the state of the main ‘red’ highways paled into insignificance as we quickly downgraded on the map from yellow roads ‘with covering’, white ‘without covering’ to grey ‘un-surfaced’. The roads are in terrible condition; potholes, ridges, gravel, mud, sand and dust. If you are unfortunate enough to get stuck behind a slow-moving truck, the clouds of dust it kicks up reduce visibility to almost zero, rendering it almost impossible to overtake and necessitating the windows to be kept tightly shut, increasing the in-car temperature rapidly during one of Russia’s hottest summers. Progress was ‘leisurely’ but allowed us to observe our surroundings off the beaten track.
At several points on our 1cm=30km map, where the road ‘crossed’ a river we were met, not by a bridge, but by an array of ageing ‘boats’; some that can only be described as rusting, floating wooden platforms nudged, shoved and arduously towed by a small, underpowered motorboat throttling under the strain and belching fumes as it struggles across the water channel. With no sense of urgency, these ‘ferries’ wait until they have enough vehicles to warrant the 150m crossing, and so it was we spent an hour with no shade in the sweltering Siberian heat until ourselves, a milk truck, a pick-up and the obligatory Lada were loaded via a precarious ramp from the beach and positioned to balance our vessel for the 8 minute voyage.
Agriculture is on a simpler, smaller-scale; gone are the characterless, machine-rolled hay bales of the highway fields and in their place traditional haystacks, laboriously piled high by hand by gangs of farm workers with pitchforks. Farmers dawdle along the roadside on ancient-looking horse and carts and families bump along the gritty tracks on motorbikes with children balanced not in a sidecar, but some kind of homemade platform. Pockets of woodland are dotted amongst meadows with huge swathes of pink wildflowers, the clover so fragrant you can smell it as you drive past. On one occasion, our camp was visited by a group of young red foxes, a male sniffing and investigating the car as we watched from our roof tent vantage point.
Upon entering a village, the road forks in several directions. The small wooden houses, almost all of which suffer from subsidence and sit awkwardly at uneven angles, display the most intricate, blue and white painted carved edges around the window and door frames. Piles of wood are meticulously stacked in preparation for the long winter ahead and groups of cows, horses and sheep amble through the sandy streets, with as much enthusiasm as the man pumping water from the well or the young girl pushing her buggy over the corrugated mud road.
We continued to travel east towards Lake Baikal. Our first glimpse of the world’s oldest and deepest lake came after we had left the city of Irkutsk 70km behind us; bumping over the brow of a hill this ‘Pearl of Siberia’ twinkled in the valley below stretching endlessly towards the horizon. If you look at a world map and trail your eyes East across Russia, the scale of this enormous water body is evident. Geographically, it is extremely impressive; a maximum length of 395 miles, maximum depth of 1,642 meters and over 25 million years old. In the winter it freezes over and you can drive a car across. Its Ecology is equally extraordinary; of the 1,085 species of plants and 1,550 species of animals, more than 80% are endemic- found here and nowhere else in the world. However, even in the knowledge of these facts and statistics, it is still the sight of Lake Baikal that is the most striking and notable. The expanse of pine forested shorelines, pebbled beaches and water, which stretches as far as the eye can see, is simply stunning.
After 6 weeks in Russia without seeing another fellow ‘camper’ we were met on the Southern shore of Baikal by what resembled a Russian lakeside music festival. During the summer months, this area of the lakes perimeter is a playground for urban-weary Russians who descend en-masse and construct huge temporary canvas settlements along its shoreline. Tired after travelling, we were lucky to find a small spot to camp, only to be woken a couple of hours later by new neighbors 2-metres to the right who started their fire and tunes around midnight. This in addition to the railway line only several hundred meters behind us, with cargo trains of over 60 containers taking over a minute to thunder past what felt like inches from our heads.
We left the Southern shoreline hurriedly in search of calmer waters and didn’t need to travel far; within hours we found a stretch of shoreline with only a few families dotted amongst the woodland. We spent several days in this idyllic spot; the water is crystal clear and perfect for swimming (if a tad refreshing!). The weather in this region is much more changeable and a foggy morning would be followed by blazing sunshine, then a torrential downpour with thunder, only for the clouds to clear and the sun to burn through again. From our hammock swung between the trees, you can watch chipmunks jumping from the branches and waterfowl bobbing past on the lake surface.
Venturing even further north along the east coast, the area becomes quite uninhabited; here we had an entire stretch of sand and pebble beach to ourselves, the roar of the railway had long gone as the tracks snaked away south towards Mongolia and China. Watching the sunset, the whole landscape turns a warm orange and the only sounds are the cries of gulls and the gentle waves lapping at the shore. This was a perfect end to our time in Russia, possibly the most beautiful place we had visited and a time to relax, reflect and prepare for the next stage in our journey.
It’s hard to tell if Russia has benefitted from the fall of communism in anyway, as outsiders we have no benchmark to compare it to. Our first impressions were of a country that was slowly falling apart; the roads are appalling, buildings are subsiding and according to Time magazine, Russia is ranked fairly high in the world’s most corrupt economically developed countries.
One thing that is apparent having spent time there is that Russia is a country of extreme contrast. The freezing winter temperature often hits -40°C, whilst we have experienced sweltering summer temperatures of +37°C with, surprisingly, not a furry hat in sight!
Many major city centers have started rebuilding roads and restoring great buildings, but the outskirts are still drab depressing suburban tower blocks that are slowly falling apart at the seams. Westernization (good or bad) is slowly setting in, Macdonald’s is a regular feature and some cities even welcome tourists in a somewhat ‘novice’ kind of way.
Outside of the big cities it is not unusual to see woman tending fields in a style evocative of the 17th Century whilst Mercedes race past on perfect motorways that can turn into dirt tracks without warning.
The countryside is vast and can be a little overwhelming; on our first day we drove for 8 hours straight, through hundreds of miles of forest that enclosed the road. In that time we didn’t pass one house. The landscape didn’t change much for the first week. On attempting to camp we were continually greeted at every track into the forest by huge piles of rubbish; this was typical of the entire country were seemingly it is ok to ruin the natural beauty of a place by playing excessively loud euro-trance from your car and dumping rubbish.
As visitors driving through the country we encountered a large cross section of the population. Generally speaking, Russians are very serious people with a rude temperament; occasionally they will let you past their tough exterior and be friendly, warm-hearted and sometimes even smile. Normally this unusual phenomenon is fuelled by excessive alcohol consumption, which seemingly is a large problem in Russia. Alcoholism coupled with the language barrier made it hard for us to understand situations; often we were left feeling a little uneasy, as it seems the Russian’s have a fiery temper and it was hard for us to know if we’d upset them.
Sadly, it is said that in Russia a person who smiles too often is generally classed as insane. The deadpan facial expression is common and can leave you a little bemused. Mostly, Russia is filled with the unwelcoming stern-faced Russian who answers ‘nyet’ in a deadpan monotone to every question. This type of Russian normally sees everything in black and white, with no room for negotiation, especially with a foreign tourist. Occasionally we were met by the opposite end of the spectrum; a new, younger Russian, who seemingly understands the importance of allowing foreigners into Russia, and is very proud of their country and will go above and beyond to help.
Our journey took us from Russia into Mongolia, a land of nomadic people whose present way of life remains rooted deeply in the traditions of the past. An immense wilderness of unspoilt grassy steppe, clear lakes, meandering rivers, rugged mountains and windswept desert, where horses outnumber people 13 to 1 in the least-densely populated country on the planet. The vast majority of Mongolia is inaccessible to the average tourist; a lack of paved roads, changeable weather and isolated locations mean travel here is not for the fainthearted. For us this presented a fantastic, if challenging, opportunity with our vehicle to explore wild areas, which see very few foreign visitors, and experience first hand this ancient and fascinating lifestyle.
Historically, Mongolia has been a powerful player in development of the modern world, forming the largest continental empire under Genghis Khan. Nearly 800 years after Genghis Khan conquered most of the known world, the people erected a statue in his honour. This 40m high silver statue was listed as the worlds 8th worst monument but when standing at the base and seeing the fierce-looking emperor atop his horse, shining in the bright sun and surrounded by the rolling grassland hills, you cannot help but be impressed. Despite his frequently ruthless tactics (he is rumoured to have played polo with his enemies severed heads) Mongolians retain an immense pride in their founder, who brought peace by encouraging religious tolerance between Buddhist, Christian, Jewish and Islamic faiths.
In recent centuries, Mongolia has suffered from the power struggle between its heavyweight neighbours, Russia and China, both vying for control over the region. The effects of a suffocating Soviet rule were shockingly evident as we visited several Buddhist monastery sites. In 1937 27,000 people were executed, 17,000 of whom were monks, as Stalin sought to purge Mongolia of it’s religious and cultural heritage. At Gandan Khiid, the counties largest Monastery located in the capital, only a few of the original 100 temples have survived. A magnificent 26m high copper and gold statue of the Buddha of compassion stands defiantly in the main temple; the original statue was melted down and rumoured to be made into bullets for the Russian army. It was only as recently as 1990 that Buddhism was again openly practised here. Similarly, the temples of Erdene Zuu Khiid were savagely destroyed and only 3 of the original 100 remain; monks were killed, sent to Siberian Gulags or forced to join the Russian army. To sit amongst the monks during their morning ceremonial chantings, it is difficult to imagine how such brutality could be inflicted against something so peaceful and non-threatening and even more sobering to think how only recently things had changed.
Throughout history, the Mongolian people have suffered pressure from outside influence to change; Stalin forced them away from their nomadic lifestyle to live in fixed settlements, forming a more ‘civilised’ population. Although the withdrawal of Russia led to economic disaster for Mongolia, their independence and freedom was regained and they chose to return to their nomadic roots. In recent years, Mongolia has seen a rapid economic growth and increased prosperity; wandering around the capital, Ulaanbaatar, we saw traditionally dressed families in their colourful, gilt-trimmed Dels alongside fashionably western-style dressed young people sipping cocktails at swanky bars. In the city backstreets, goods are carried to the black market by ox and cart, whilst brand new shiny Hummers jostle for position on the crowded main street.
Today, the prevalence and strength of the Nomadic lifestyle is evident within minutes of leaving the city; small settlements of a few Gers (white, circular, felt tents) dot the verdant hillsides and valleys and herds of animals are grazing in every direction. Large numbers of goats and sheep amble across the dusty vehicle tracks and men on horseback (or motorbike) herd cows and horses back towards the camp during late afternoon. As we travel west through mountainous regions, Yak replace cows, their imposing horns and shaggy coats a striking image against snowy peaks in the distance and dark, cloudy skies.
In Mongolia, hospitality is more of a necessity than a social requirement; travelling huge distances between any kind of town or village and the small temporary Gers become a lifeline and as such have an open door policy. During a heavy downpour whilst camped on the banks of the White Lake, a motorbike pulled up outside our awning and a Mongolian couple and their 3 year old son hurried inside to take shelter. An hour, several cups of tea, biscuits and communication involving gestures, photos and drawings later and they clambered back onto their wet bike and drove away. Bemused by our roof tent, locals from Ger camps have come over and invited us to eat and sleep in their Gers. This generosity and warmth to strangers is such a basic act of humanity but it is difficult to imagine walking up to someone’s house in Guernsey during heavy rain and expecting dinner and possibly a bed for the night.
Mongolians retain an enormous respect for the land, recognising and living accordingly to the balance and harmony of nature. Scattered around the countryside are ‘ovoo’, piles of stones; people stop, add a stone and circumambulate several times clockwise to give thanks to earthly spirits. Traditionally, food has been heavily red meat-based with the addition of dairy products and flour in the form of dumplings or flat noodles. This diet still prevails today and we have been able to sample Buuz beef dumplings, Khushuur fried mutton pancakes, Yak noodle stir-fry and even an entire sheep’s head washed down with fermented mares milk.
With a perfectly-pitched camp on the banks of the Zavkhan River overlooked by the holy Otgontenger mountain, dinner was underway (tinned sardines despite two hours spent fishing for Taimen giant trout in the river) when we spotted a small army of Mongolians approaching from the South. Sardines off and tea on, the mother and children gathered on a blanket, entertained by our phrase book and photo album while the father meticulously independently surveyed at, in and under our car and rooftent. The family comprised of parents, four daughters aged 15, 12, 12 (twins, bizarrely with the same name), 10 and a son of 4 years. They were staying at their grandparents nearby Ger and had been dispatched on a mission to locate the occupying foreigners and instigate a peaceful surrender, detainment and imperative retreat to their circular abode.
A stoop of the head through a painted, decorative doorway transports you into the rotund hive of all Mongolian nomadic activity. The Ger, a felt-lined wooden-framed tent-like structure is still home to just under half of the population of Mongolia. Even amongst families which have now settled in urban areas, a third of these still live in Gers rather than houses (something we witnessed in ‘Subgerbia’ areas on the outskirts of towns). This spherical, transportable, dwelling was crammed around the edges with the couples entire possessions, both decorative and practical. Kitchen equipment, pots, pans and stashes of food provisions sit snugly next to beds, boxes, blankets and a modest Buddhist shrine. On the walls are photos of family members and a treasured collection of the grandfather’s horse riding medals alongside framed pictures of Buddhist deities and famous Mongolian folk wrestlers.
At the base of the central yellow wooden support pole was a metal stove burning away, on top of which a large, shallow silver bowl of yaks milk steamed as the grandmother stirred it dutifully. Two tin cups were produced and dipped into the rich milk for both of us. This was followed by a ‘slice’ of Yak clotted cream skimmed from the boiled milks surface, and a warm, salty, weak milk tea decanted from a flowery, fluorescent cork-bunged thermos flask. To accompany the tea, a bag of biscuits were produced; at first glance a sweet treat but on closer inspection a greying delicacy with blue mould spots on one side. The first bite revealed the pungent flavor of musty, fetid goat’s cheese. The second bite was only marginally better due to the lack of expectancy of shortbread rather than the reality of rancid, crumbly goat product.
But this array of calorie-crammed, creamy dairy delights was, unbeknown to us, just the starter. A grubby, battered metal dish was extracted from under one of the wrought iron beds that formed the periphery of the Ger. The bowls contents were the result of a recent rodent genocide; those cute, curious marmots we had witnessed regularly skipping across the path ahead of us or popping up like a periscope from their burrows had been reduced to a greasy, gruesome goulash of flesh and fat. Would we like to try some? Of course we would! Sensing our trepidation with consuming something that looked more pet than picnic, our host pot-rummaged and produced the full boiled head complete with greasy flared nostrils and perfectly intact, protruding buck teeth. He waved it in the air like a ceremonial severed snack much to the raucous amusement of the rest of the family. After rancid cheese biscuits this cold, slimy flesh was actually quite palatable. We even went back for seconds.
A plastic bottle not too dissimilar to the ones that white spirit is sold in was produced from another corner of the Ger with the father proudly announcing “vodka” before filling a tin mug full of the colorless liquid for us. This was ‘Airag’, fermented mares milk, fortunately only around 5% proof but unfortunately also allowing for clear enough thought as to how exactly you milk a horse. The atmosphere in the Ger became animated as the women imitated a drunken Andy trying to climb up the ladder into the rooftent following consumption of this equine homebrew. By this point grandfather had retired noiselessly into his bed but his family continued to chatter enthusiastically. Communication is beautifully basic; an antiquated English grammar schoolbook, a hesitant jumble of gesticulations and actions, illegible sketches and simply smiles. The warm generosity and hospitality of these complete strangers and the genuine welcome into their home was extremely humbling; an experience which we will forever cherish in our memories (and one which took our stomachs a few days to forget).
It is not all nomads and yak though; due to it’s recent discover of copper and gold deposits, it is developing at an extremely fast rate. The country that Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman visited on their ‘Long Way Round’ overland trip; with just 80km of paved road has been superseded. Over the last 3 years an infrastructure has started to appear in the form of roads to make the movement of minerals easier.
Not to panic though, it is still impossible to drive across the country border to border on anything that resembles what we’d consider a decent road. In that regard I would argue that Mongolia is still one of the ultimate destinations for overland travel.
Due to the large distances and small nomadic population much of the driving is still fairly remote. What look like main roads on our map are often no more than tyre tracks in the dirt. These tracks often divide into multiple lanes that cut through the least obstacle-strewn route in the landscape only to reunite again a couple of miles down the road. The transient nature of the roads coupled with the virtual lack of road signs can make navigation challenging. One saving grace that can help direction is that the main routes will often follow telephone lines between larger villages.
Some careful route planning is recommended, as some smaller towns still don’t have fuel stops and ATMs. In stark contrast any town over the population of about 15,000 will have at least 10 brand new fuel stations all strategically placed on the same stretch of road. Despite displaying credit card logos and having brand new credit card machines none of these fuel stops will have phone connections and the attendants will have no clue how to use the machines.
Travelling around the country the most common traffic we have seen are small minivans used by locals as buses between towns. On the steppe cheap Chinese 125cc motorbikes are the vehicle of choice, it is not unusual to witness 4 family members and a sheep riding on one. The motorcycles are a perfect choice for this terrain and can easily navigate the potholes and puddles as well as be used to herd goats. Motorcycles are also much more economical in a country where fuel is fairly expensive. Helmets are not used out on the steppe but in the larger towns road safety is of higher importance and so the rider will wear a building-site hard-hat whilst the passengers (often including children as young as 2 years old) still ride without one.
The nomadic way of life means that fences are non-existent and you can drive virtually anywhere you like. The driving is generally tough on the vehicle and driver, river crossings are commonplace and you are going to encounter some problems. When you do encounter problems the locals are generally resourceful and can often resolve most problems without having to call out the AA. Like in Russia everyone has extensive mechanical knowledge and so it is no surprise to see people fixing cars at the side of the ‘road’. The country is full of Landcruisers, Pajeros and UAZ 4x4 vans mainly used by the rich and tour companies, due to the financial divide most Mongolians drive battered old Japanese hatchbacks.
The locals take the demanding landscape in their stride with a unique ‘gung-ho’ attitude born out of necessity, this coupled with extensive driving skills they seem to manage just fine. Embarrassingly, standing thigh deep in a river checking for large stones, a Honda Civic with 6 people in happily drove through windscreen deep absolutely no trouble at all. This image alone should be encouraging to anyone who is thinking of doing the Mongol Rally.
It was during our time in Mongolia that our dream 800-day trip came to a grinding halt. We received news that both my mum and dad have been diagnosed with Cancer. We decided that the best course of action was to return home whilst our visa’s still allowed us to do so easily. We planned a straight route home allowing for the curvature of the earth and headed straight back through Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Germany and France. We arrived back in the UK after motoring home in 15 days (a feat any Mongol Rally team would be proud of).
We’ve been back in the UK for 3 months now and my parents are fairly stable and so we are planning on heading down to Morocco in February for a couple of months.
Andy and Emma
Follow us on Facebook
Follow us on twitter
Last edited:
