Up until this point we had relished the
challenge of navigating such terrible roads and actually quite enjoyed taking our
Micra off-road. However, Day 48 was where our romance with Mongolia’s
diabolical roadways was severely tested. Heading west towards the large town of
Bayankhongor, Marigold’s weary tyres shuddered over a relentless washboard
surface. Shaking like a brick in a washing machine, we were now yodelling
conversation to each other. Much to our astonishment, Marigold and Bathtub
Bilbo appeared to remain completely intact. Even Monty and Mandy, our very much
in love Mr and Mrs mudguard, who had been hanging off since Goodwood were still
clinging on for dear life. It just goes to show, love is the strongest bond.
Nothing can break it, not even mud.
Despite the poor roads, the vast
magnificent steppe made up for it. As the barren slopes rose up before us,
hordes of horse-mounted warriors riding down from the Mongolian plateau were
imprinted in our imagination. Three dramatic waves of Mongolian empire – Hun,
Turk and finally Mongol – advanced across these very steppes centuries ago,
conquering everything in their path. The Mongols, led by Chinggis Khan,
achieved a unique spot in the world’s imagination as perhaps the most
influential tribe in Mongolia’s rich history. Merciless in battle, the
‘Children of the Golden Light’ conquered the greatest armies of the era and subdued
hundreds of millions of people. Under their great lawgiver leader they shaped
what we now know as Mongolia today.
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| Wild horses |
Reminiscent of the fierce combat played
out during 3 historic eras before us, the convoy battled to collect firewood
and assert their dominance over the steppe. An initial skirmish broke out
between Isaac, or Gosling-gis Khan, in the Kenari and Turk tribe descendant
Will-ge Khan in the Agila. At the sound of the la cucaracha battle horn,
Alf-tilla the Hun and his bath-tub mounted archers led a cavalry charge across
the steppe and into the fray. An out and out bloodbath ensued until total supremacy
reigned. The atrocities committed that day on September 3rd 2016
will forever be remembered as Car Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Bark.
We reached the small rural village of
Buutsagaan, re-stocked our water supply and gained directions to the next town
from the drunk village idiot. Thankfully there was one road in and one road out
so we had a 50% chance he’d be right. Barely a kilometre out of civilisation
and we were alone again in the steppe. Apart from the occasional collection of
wild horses and camels, the beige-tinted grasslands and vibrant blue skies were
all that was in front of us. Given the sort of calibre many of our camping spots
had exhibited so far, standards were high. As sunset neared we located a
suitable spot beyond a small crest and pitched up.
Just off in the distance Rich and
Caleb located a lone horse that was saddled up and ready to go. Rich vaguely
recalled watching Bear Grylls give tips on how to mount a wild horse and
suggested they head over to have a go. Not convinced but intrigued all the
same, Caleb joined him and the pair strolled over to the seemingly owner-less
horse. Not backing their horse-riding abilities or Rich’s vague memory, they
decided to pet the horse instead remembering how the game of Buck-a-roo ends.
As they turned around to head back to camp a Mongolian local was visibly striding
over the hill towards them. When he wandered over, a highly intelligent and
stimulating charade conversation ensued ending in “no you can’t ride my horse”.
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| Trying to tame (and ultimately ride) a horse |
Halfway through dinner we were joined
by the same local accompanied by his brother who had just ambled over from
their yurt the other side of the hill. They came bearing a large 1.5L water
bottle of white liquid - obviously some kind of home brew. Speaking no English
at all, it was the Mongolian phrase book’s moment to shine. We all sat around a
roaring fire and tried to converse through the pocket sized booklet. First
question, “what on earth is that white liquid you have brought with you?” to
which they replied with horse milk vodka, or Arak in Mongolian. In exchange we
offered them some cold pasta, Russian vodka and broke their marshmallow
toasting virginity.
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| Trying to ask the Mongolians all the important questions .... |
Since early on in Mongolia, Team
Rub-a-Dub-Dub have been engrossed in a heated debate in search of an answer to
the question: how long does one large goat feed a Mongolian family of 4. Not
content with how broad the question’s phrasing was, certain constraints were
imposed. We agreed that the meat is to be consumed everyday for lunch and
dinner, and that suitable preservation techniques will be adopted to prevent
the goat surpassing its best before date. The guesses were as follows:
Alf: 4 weeks
Rich:
1 week
Caleb: 5 days
Determined to obtain an answer, Alf
set about trying to describe the question to the curious Mongolians. Although
he persevered well, it was like asking Prince George to explain Hubble’s Law of
Cosmic Expansion. About an hour later and after witnessing a laughably disjointed
conversation, the older brother was ready to give his verdict. Apparently, 1
goat lasts 2 weeks. He then went on to say that he owns 563 of them. That’s 22
years of goat lasagne for him and his family.
As we continued to burn all the wood
we had fiercely contested for earlier that day the elder brother caught site of
what we were burning. They turned out to be small way markers that were
hammered in to the ground to trace out where the road was due to be built.
Utter dismay was etched across his face when he realised we had just significantly
delayed the laying of a tarmac road right up to his yurt. He snatched the
phrase book and began to spell out “I only just received planning permission
for that” but was interrupted by his younger, slightly more drunk brother. He
saw the funny side and started tossing more wood on the fire himself. Confused
by which one to believe, we found the Mongolian word for “sorreh” and continued
to toast our marshmallows.
Seeking revenge for ruining his
planned driveway and diminishing his yurt’s house price, the elder brother
challenged Caleb to a Mongolian wrestle. Railroaded by the rest of the convoy,
he didn’t really have an option but to take him up on the offer. What proceeded
was the Mongolian edition of WWE Midnight Raw between Caleb ‘John Cena’ Murray
and Bazarsad the ‘Village Eagle’ of the steppe. After a cagey opening round
dominated by stalemate grappling, the Village Eagle upended Caleb and floored
him flat on his back just as a loud trouser rip could be heard all down his
leg. Tag teammate Alf ‘The Undertaker’ then entered the arena to claim back
some pride for Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub. Different tactic, same treatment.
The now slightly wobbly younger
brother continued to hurl more and more wood onto the fire in an excitable
fashion. We soon found out why. The horse milk vodka that they had kindly
offered us was only 3% whereas our slightly stronger Russian vodka was more
like 40%. We had served him scotch bonnets when he was used to garlic mayo.
When they retired back to their yurt we extinguished the fire, kissed each
other goodnight and climbed into bed. Barely an hour later the now sloshed
younger Mongolian returned to our camp on his motorbike in an attempt to
re-kindle the party. Camp hero Caleb stepped up and sat him down for a deep
meaningful chat whilst everyone else remained cocooned in their sleeping bags.
The broken conversation descended into neanderthalic grunting until Caleb
managed to coerce him back onto his motorbike. Nearly popping a wheelie
straight into our tents, the merry Mongolian eventually sped off into the
darkness bringing a bizarre end to what was an action packed day.
Posted by: Rich