Weather is on our side

The hotel staff helped us carry all the bags downstairs. That’s normal here in Mongolia. In Russia, it is extremely rare for a guest to be helped to carry their luggage. Even when we were so weak that we could hardly speak, we had to carry all our equipment, including our bikes, up to the fourth floor and back down again ourselves under the often curious eyes of the staff. We are just about to load our road trains when two heavy, expensive jeeps drive up. “This is the American ambassador and his staff,” says the manager, hurrying towards him. “Oh, look at that. That’s interesting. Where do they come from?” asks the ambassador as he stops next to us on the way to the main entrance. We report on our trip. “Unbelievable. I have to take a photo of that. I’ll have a look at your website when I get back to the office. What did you actually do when the snowstorm hit the country recently? You must have been half frozen? The slippery roads in particular must have been a big problem?” he asks. “We were lucky. We spent the critical time in a small hotel in Darhan,” I reply. “Yes, you can certainly use a lot of luck and protection on a trip like this.” “How long have you actually been in Mongolia?” I ask politely. “For two years.” “And do you like it?” “But yes, it’s an interesting country. Above all, I’m glad to get out of Ulan Bator. It’s a hectic city. Lots of noise and tremendous air pollution. The air and peace and quiet out here is really good. I enjoy escaping the stress for a weekend,” says the friendly man. “I wish you good luck on your future travels,” says the ambassador, shaking our hands as we say goodbye. “If you need help, call me in Ulan Bator,” Daria, an employee of the ambassador, offers us. “We’d be happy to,” I reply and take her business card. Then we say goodbye to the hotel manager and let our bikes roll down the steep hill that we had worked so hard to climb. Five kilometers later, we reach the main road again and pedal up a ridge that rises to almost 1,300 metres, this time with the champion in our faces. “It’s a good thing we gave our bodies a day off!” I shout to Tanja.

“Look at that! Over there! Aren’t those yaks?” asks Tanja. “Actually, I wouldn’t have expected them in this area,” I reply and stop my bike. Fascinated, we watch the animals grazing peacefully at the foot of a rock. The massive body of a wild yak weighs up to 800 kilograms and can reach a head-torso length of over three meters. Because of the black and white or grey coloring, we recognize that these animals are domesticated. Tibetan highland cattle are generally black-brown in color. During our 1,600-kilometer crossing of Mongolia in 1996, we often had to use yaks to get our horse-drawn cart over the high passes. They are immensely powerful animals that are still used today as pack animals and mounts. Butter and quark are made primarily from the high-fat milk. The meat is roasted or processed into valuable dried meat, which can be stored forever and also provides rich food in times of need. In our own experience, it doesn’t taste too bad after chewing for a long time. Many of the nomads use the long-haired fur to spin ropes or weave cloth. The skin of the livestock is also processed into leather to make every conceivable article of daily use. I take photos of the imposing animals with our Leica, then we continue our ascent.

Thanks to the very good weather and pleasant temperatures of 22 in the sun, we make good progress despite the high mountains. The weather even allows us to have a picnic on the steppe grass. We enjoy the last of the Rapunzel trail mix that Tanja has kept for so long and eat a freeze-dried ready-to-eat meal from Travellunch. Knowing that this stage will probably be the last time we dine outdoors, this moment is a special one for us. A little later, we cross another 1,300 meter high pass. As always in Mongolia, we are welcomed at the top by a place of sacrifice, the Obul. Many travelers stop here to place a stone on the ritual cairn, circle it three times and wish each other good health and luck. Some people sacrifice money to the gods, others animals and much more. At this obul I discover a few curiosities such as assistants, crutches, porcelain figurines and, as so often, many empty vodka bottles. It is not uncommon for the holy Obul to look like a small garbage dump. But perhaps it is also due to not recognizing the value of some of the garbage deposited here.

It’s 4 p.m. when we let our powerful bikes glide down a long slope and reach the small village of Ihsuuj. After many questions and two trips back and forth, we find ourselves in front of a completely broken and forbidding house. A drunk leads me in through the backyard. He talks to me non-stop and says that you can get a room here. An unfriendly Mongolian woman doesn’t seem happy about my appearance. It takes a while before she leads me to the second floor and shows me a room with just two forlorn beds with mattresses made of pure wood. “Can we stay?” I ask, because there are no more places to stay for the next 60 kilometers from here to Ulan Bator. In response, I get a cheerless nod of the head. “Can we bring our bikes into the house?” I want to know, to which the woman points into the dining room of a run-down pub.

“So, are we staying?” asks Tanja as I stand outside again. “No idea. Don’t know if this is a good place. But it looks like it’s the only one. “And our bikes?” “They can spend the night in the pub.” “Not a good idea. What if the men drink here in the evening? Our bikes can’t stay there.” “Yes, I know. It’s best if you take a look at the room and let your instincts speak for themselves,” I suggest. “So, what’s your feeling?” I ask Tanja a little later as she comes out of the broken house. “I don’t know. We’d have to carry our bikes to the second floor. They’d be reasonably safe there. But it’s best if we put them in the room.” “It’ll be cramped in there.” “What the hell. It’s only one night. We’ll reach Ulan Bator tomorrow.” “Hm, that’s right.” “Did you ever ask about the price?” Tanja wants to know. “According to the price? No. It can’t cost much here.” “Still, it’s better to ask.” “Okay, then ask,” I say. “Her husband asked for 30,000 tugrik (14.40 euros),” says Tanja as she stands in front of the door again. “I can’t believe it. They’re trying to pull the wool over our eyes.” “Yes, I was horrified too. She then immediately went down to 20,000 tugrik (9.60 euros).” “Still absolutely extortionate,” I say and decide to drive on, even though there is no more accommodation. “You’re right. The energy in the house is bad. The people aren’t good either. It feels like the Gastiniza where we were robbed. We’d better drive on and find somewhere to camp for the night,” says Tanja.

The master has put on his icy robe again to cover us. Tired, we let our bikes roll through the village, at the end of which another pass is already waiting for us. “Look at that over there! It looks like a small inn! At least the advertising poster is promising!” I shout and steer my bike off the road towards the newly built house. “I’ll ask. It can’t hurt!” I say, entering the grocery store with the appealing sign hanging above it. Cafe, Karaoke, Viproom and Hotel can be read on it in boastful lettering. Because the new poster looks like an advertisement for a luxury hotel in Ulan Bator, I ask, somewhat uncertainly, in several languages: “Is that a hotel?” “Tii”, (yes) says the woman. “A hotel indeed. The simple, clean room is large, the beds are made up with fresh sheets, it only costs 10,000 tugrik (4.80 euros) and we are allowed to take our bikes into the room,” I tell the happy news. “Once again, it was very good to listen to our instincts and not let our fear of not finding accommodation today get the better of us,” Tanja replies with a laugh.

Again with the help of the whole family, our equipment including bikes is in the room a little later, which even has a warm heating pipe running through it. We are the only guests in the restaurant room. We buy potatoes, pasta, salad from the jar and a few bottles of beer in the grocery store next door. The friendly hotel owner cooks us a tasty and very inexpensive meal. With our bellies full and tired, we then sink onto the hard mattresses and fall into a sleep of exhaustion.

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