A big load of nothing

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As the rain got thinner and I struggled to find some sleep, I would look up to the sky and be met with the most extraordinary spectacle: the sight of a million clear stars. Never have I seen such a sky: it was perfectly clear and every star could be seen with incredible precision. There was no light pollution to disturb the idea nor any other pollution to disturb the way. Nothing, the purest sky with the most amazing, unpolluted view of the stars. I decided to count them, in order to try to get to sleep (a lack of sheep, and fences for that matter, prevented me from using more traditional methods). After I got to star number 58, I lost track and decided that instead of chasing a sleep that was too elusive, I would just stare in amazement at the moving spectacle above me.


We woke up painfully from our semi state of sleep on the morning of our second day in the steppes. Stinky seemed happy and well rested. I think he was the only one who had a fairly decent night's sleep. Snaily escaped the stench as soon as there was light outside and Bene barely slept but kept the morale up by snoring loudly in an attempt to wake up Stinky. In the morning we awoke, cold and ill rested, to find ourselves surrounded by a pack of proud wild horses coming to drink at the lake: quite a splendid view indeed. The only slight hitch, as we sound found out, was that our own horses had, in the mean time, disappeared, probably traumatized by the resounding snores coming from Bene (or the stink of Stinky but I expect that after 10 years of cohabitation they are used to it). Stinky went running around in a panic while we tried to get a few restoring breaths of fresh air. The idea of breakfast was quickly dismissed as Stinky (who by that time had found the horses, somewhere or the other) proposed to cook us something special. Camp was folded away and we charged the horses and got slowly moving. Stinky was in a good mood, we were all a bit grumpy but happy to be on the move. It is hard to stay grumpy in such an extraordinary surrounding. The old wounds on the inner thighs from the previous night's riding were also rudely awakened. How the Mongols do it on a daily basis, I have no idea!

We made our way painfully over the hill, Moho (my horse) was just as asleep as myself but I think his side of the saddle was more bearable than mine. Once we got on top of the one and only hill nearby, we found fairly much the same view as on the other side: a big load of nothing. There was a distant Ger to be found on the horizon, on the other side of the lake, but that was about it. There were a few groups of wild horses to be seen by the shores of the lake but generally a vast emptiness of refreshing beauty. At such times, one can't help but to think of England (to use a much abused expression) and compare it to Mongolia: when was the last time in England I could look all around me and see no traces of human intervention for 50 kms ? There was not a sound. If you stopped breathing, there was a perfect stillness, nothing moved, no birds, no noisy insects, no cars, no planes, absolutely nothing. It is hard to choose a destination or a point to aim for in this countryside, as it all looks the same. One can ride to the left, right or center and is guaranteed to find fairly much the same thing in every direction. We aimed for the only point of reference we could see: the lonely, far back, ger in the distance. Moho had started to wake up and was gagging for a good run. In readiness for this, I held on to my hat, put the camera away and tensed all my muscles in prevision of the pain to come. Stinky’s horse took off at the mere sound of “thiuu” and mine followed suit. What an extraordinary sensation to be galloping along, at incredible speeds, with absolutely nothing to stop you. Stinky stood up straight in his saddle and looked magnificent for it but I feared that standing up would be the end of my dignity and so remained firmly sat. It seemed to make little difference to Moho who just charged along. We passed a group of wild horses and they joined in the galloping, taken away in the frenzy of it all. Moho increased his speed, my fear increased proportionally as I was by then followed by a pack of 30 horses: a fall at this speed followed by a thorough trampling of the other horses would be, if not lethal very painful indeed, but then the adrenalin and the rush of the realization of what I was doing - galloping in the open steppes surrounded by wild horses - took over. I stood up triumphantly and sung a good old French drinking song. I believe the wild horses have not yet been educated in the proper musical understanding that is required and they all promptly made for another part of the steppe.

Nothing seemed to be able to stop Moho (Stinky stopped to pick up my precious hat, which I had lost in the exuberance of the song) and so I found myself all alone galloping at great speeds, not having any idea of how to stop my horse. It is only 15 minutes later that, finding a serious lack of encouragement from my part, he finally accepted to stop. He then turned around and waited for my companions to catch up. I got off the horse to catch my breath and massage the wounded parts of my body, as well as my wounded ego that not even the wild horses of Mongolia appreciated my musical talent.

The others caught up with me eventually and I put on a brave and proud face at having covered such a great distance in such as short time and, more importantly, having mastered the Mongolia gallop (basically, not having fallen off).

We stopped near the ger to catch some breakfast. We had some bread and water for breakfast. The kids from the ger came out to play with us and our kit. It seems that they are Stinky’s family, 3 kids and a wife. They played with my leathermans, tried on my hat, ate my bread, drunk my water, rummaged through my bags but did it with a smile. I offered each a pack of mints, courtesy of Rolls Royce but they did not seem to grasp the importance of Rolls Royce, nor did they understand that it was mint inside. In this ger, we also met a nice young man from Ulan-Bataar: he is a local teacher and could speak some English (I immediately named him Learny). Learny is on a 3 months assignment to the region. It seems that kids come every week for 2 days to this ger to learn how to read and write and then they return to their gers and nomad lifestyles. Learny was great fun to speak to and he proved to be a useful source of information concerning the local customs and best places to eat and find leisure activities. He told us of a ger nearby the lake (3 hours ride), whose owner was also the proud owner of a boat. He suggested we go and have a chat with him.
After a brief rest and a cup of salty milk, we kept on moving. This was hours of riding through the vast plains following the shores of the lake, with the occasional chance meeting of wild horses or cattle and even sometimes of a ger populated with humans. In the early afternoon, after a few more exhilarating gallops, we reached the ger of the man with the boat. He seemed happy to see us and offered, in addition to the tea, to slaughter a goat for us. We declined his kind offer and merely asked about the boat. This was the occasion for Bene and myself to perform one of the greatest mimes in the history of “Mongolian - Foreign devils” relations. It was full of actions such as rowing in the distance to be followed by an energetic swim and a good wash (something they never heard off). Our mime was so good that they quickly forgot the purpose of it and treated us as a roaming group of clowns, demanding more and calling all the distant neighbors to attend the circus. We got rewarded with salty milk. Soon enough we had quite an audience, some came by motorbikes, other by horse. They applauded us and kept asking for more. Eventually, the airag supply was broken into and there was laughter all round. We eventually got the boat, a small inflatable affair with two hand-made oars. Bene and I rowed to the middle of the lake and jumped in for a swim. It turned out that the lake is no deeper than waist deep. We splashed about for a bit and returned to our guides. They told us thereafter that they were most impressed with our performance: they have never seen anyone swim in the lake, and even more, wash in the lake. After another cup of tea, we made back for the horses and rode off for the horizon. As evening came, we made a fire, put up the tent and prepared some food. Once all was ready, Stinky made it known that he thought it would rain again. In the light of this news, we assembled a quick parliament (Stinky and the horses excluded) and decided unanimously to pack up and ride to the nearest Ger and beg for accommodation, as we dreaded the thought of spending another night quite so close to Stinky’s feet. All was packed in the briefest of times - even Stinky was impressed - and made for the nearest Ger, about 3 hours away. We found shelter with what seemed to be another one of Stinky’s wife and three kids. Another quick dinner, much active discussion, a new bottle of Vodka and off we went to a resounding sleep. What a marvelous day indeed.

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Comments

[anonymous]

More, more, more! Anxiously awaiting the next chapter to see if you make it out alive!

[grantcorp]

Great stuff!
Ha ha ha, that was the funniest thing I read in quite a while! All these tales of Mongolia equally fascinate and scare me away.