Camp of the secret past

Maybe it was because I was so exhausted that I hardly slept a wink that night? Barely able to move, I lie in bed and think about how I’m going to manage another day of riding across the sea of mountain ranges. “Man oh man, I feel like I’ve been chased by wolves all night,” I say quietly, rising from my bunk bed. As soon as my feet touch the carpet, I sink back into one of the two armchairs and sit stock-still. “That’s right, you really don’t look very good,” says Tanja. “Thank you, I know that even without hearing it from you. If I look the way I feel, it must not be a very good sight.” “Well, it’s not that bad. But I can tell you, every inch of my body hurts too. Do you think we should stay another night? What’s actually driving us on? A day earlier or later in Ulan Bator, that’s not what matters,” Tanja ponders. “Totally agree with you.” “So why aren’t we staying?” “Thought you wanted to get there as soon as possible?” “Me? No, I don’t want to.” “Well then, we’ll stay another night,” I say, feeling an instant sense of relief at this decision.

While eating breakfast, the manager calls her office in Ulan Bator to enquire about the weather forecast for the coming days. “It looks pretty good for the next two days. It’s even getting warmer again. Then there will be another small dip,” she says. “Thank you for the good news,” we say, delighted at the fantastic decision to rest here for a day. After a delicious breakfast of cappuccino and freshly made pancakes, we carry the sun loungers to an area of the spacious terrace that is sheltered from the wind. We lie in the sun under a blue sky, plug the little headphones of our MPR player into our ears, listen to beautiful music and enjoy a landscape that is difficult to describe in words. Only yesterday we crawled up here on our gums and today the breathtakingly wonderful valley lies at our feet. Sipping our cappuccinos with real cream and chocolate shavings, we inhale the uniqueness of a landscape that can only rarely be admired on our Mother Earth. Behind us, to the south-west of the hotel, rise the mountains, which are covered in autumn-colored mixed forests. In contrast to the golden color, the forest floor, where the sun barely reaches, is covered in snow. In front of us, to the north-east, we can look out over the grass steppe, where countless herds graze. Yurt camps and snow-covered areas stand out against the green of the tundra. “We came over these mountains,” I say, pointing to the range of hills that border the wide valley. Tanja smiles and nods. “Yes, it’s something special to have come this far with your own muscle power. Somehow you can enjoy and appreciate the beauty and luxury much better. It feels as if we have earned this wonderful moment, as if Mother Earth is rewarding us for every kilometer of cycling with this splendour,” she says quietly. I think about her words and feel how right she is. Suddenly I feel a deep connection to this country. To the land of the great Genghis Khan. It feels as if we are melting into the steppe, as if it is pulsing through our veins. We sit there for hours and dream. It’s like a meditation. We only leave the terrace and retreat to the artistically designed wooden hotel when the cries of the shepherds reach us, when the sun retracts its rays and hides behind the mountains and the master breathes his icy breath through the valley again.

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