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Day 24 - Our last border crossings

Following on from the previous blog…

5.30am. A horrible time in anyone's book, the sort of time you dread seeing. That's the time we all got up, our driving plan to reach the Russian border by the time those gates open and giving us free pass towards Mongolia. It wasn't an overly bad experience, the excitement of our target country so very close.

Us 6 boys (Will, Mackey, Paul (Two Mongoleers), Ed (Mongel Mongrels) and Matt (The Desert Beagles) and I) woke in our school like dorm, the small window giving us a clue of the rather wet and miserable mountain weather that lay in wait outside for us. It was far too early to make breakfast, instead some Russian breakfast bars (which must be an acquired taste) sustained us. Apart from Mackey, who happily dines on 3 Marlboro Reds for breakfast.

We loaded up the cars, always nice to do when we haven't dug the entire boot contents out to camp - tents, sleeping bags, food, stove etc, and headed off. I took the morning shift as per usual, our 3 cars moving out from the last settlement before the border and into the mountains. There were only 3 of us now - This Is Our Everest and The Desert Beagles (or at least one team member) decided to camp, and we'd agreed to meet them at the border.

What followed as we left the town was 2 and a half hours of the most astonishing driving i've ever done. Probably the wrong turn of phrase, as the Mongol Rally is only the 4th time i've ever driven with a license. Perhaps the most incredible drive i've ever seen. The roads were pretty good, tarmac throughout with only a few potholes to avoid, carved into the sides of mountains and peaks. We snaked around these stunning roads completely astonished at the sights that lay before us - it was still early morning, and those dawn clouds hovered all around us. Some above us, on the mountains in which we hugged as we pushed forwards, others gliding to our sides as we looked down over the valleys below.

The pot holes, few and far between but still there, simply turned a stunning relaxing drive into a more exciting, stunning relaxing drive. We all happily cruised along at 50mph, slowing as we entered a corner and accelerated out, but constantly dodging obstacles by using both sides of the deserted roads. I'd even go as far as saying that these few hours were the highlight of my driving life, even pipping the surreal Kazakhstan drive a week before.

We stopped for a few photo breaks, Mackey & Ed doing their things; i'll get the photos up on the site as soon as possible, and am very excited to see Ed's work.

Both a good thing, and a bad thing, we reached the Russian border by 9am, just in time for it opening. We weren't the first team there however, a small congregation of rallyers had already formed around the small immigration hut in an unorganised group around the front door. It seems the immigration hut, the first of 5 border stops we'd be doing toad, wasn't quite open. Russian's not with the best sense of time keeping, as the soldiers manning the border post rocked up some 40 minutes late, somewhat bemused at the bunch of randoms waiting for them.

Will & Ed, the registered drivers of the two cars, began to queue up. Within 10 minutes however, Mackey Emma and myself noticed their apparent lack of queuing ability. The bunch of rallyers made a rough queue, slowly inching their way to the front to begin their final push, but Will in particular always ended up at the back. With instructions for him to hold Ed's hand in the line up, they slowly made progress forward. In the meantime, another Citroen Saxo rally vehicle was queued up ahead of ours - but this Saxo hadn't been so lucky as Pete the Saxo. Completely knackered, dead to the world, having rolled the last mile to the border down the mountain hills. Still, Mongolia was so close and the driver certainly wasn't ready to give us without reaching his last country! Mackey and Emma then helped him push the car to the border gates. That's the rally spirit.

The border was full of local kids, each with a handful of English (which meant they were infinitely more multilingual than us) and determined to look through our cars for toys or sweets. Mackey got angry, his bear like persona shining through and even growled at the harmless children. This didn't scare them though, as they just giggled at the silly man. Do they have no fear?!

After the immigration checkpoint (step 1 of 5), the next was passport control. We sat in the line at the border, a good 50% of cars being fellow Mongol Rally vehicles, every so often inching our way forwards. Bearing in mind that we'd got to the border at 9am, we'd travelled maybe 50 meters by the time 3pm came around. That's one thing we've become very good at - wasting time. Not necessarily doing anything - perhaps reading, or perhaps just sitting there and contemplating life's many issues, but a 6 hour wait is easy these days.
Waited and waited, we did. As we got closer to the front of the queue, where a lone border soldier was letting cars progress to the next stage, we noticed lots of local vans sweeping along the long line and pushing in at the front. Who were these cheeky bastards? Some fine aggressive driving by Mackey kept many at bay, but still they came - on the equivalent of the hard shoulder (in reality a stretch of dirt accompanying the tarmac) and straight to the front.

Will got out to speak to the over-stressed border guard, obviously new at the job else he'd be used to the hoards of Mongol Rally vehicles attempting to cross this time of year. What he did discover, were the vans intentions; rather than skipping the line to return to Mongolia, they'd drive a kilometre into no man's land, and pick up flour. Yes, regular flour. It seems Mongolian flour sells for a much higher price in Russia, so the vans would meet their waiting accomplices in no mans land, stock up with hundreds of bags, and return to flog their wares at a much higher price. Ingenious, yes - but please, queue like us British!

Ed & Emma, exceptionally British in all the best ways, waited politely near the front of the queue. Obviously indifferent to those pushing in, after all it was their trade. Their patience paid off however, and at 3.30pm they were waved to the front and allowed through. Even though Pete the Saxo still lingered half a dozen cars back, we were happy - the other half of our team were through!

Once again, we waited and waited. Yet more flour merchants attempted to push in, angrily rebuffed by Mackey and his hostile revving and acceleration. Some family even got out of their van and stood directly in front of Pete the Saxo so we couldn't move, obviously unfazed by the almost empty threats of the revving engine. Fearless locals, I give them that. It soon became 5pm, and we started to worry; we already knew the Mongolian side of the border would be shut soon, but we didn't want to get stuck in Russia for another night. After a long while worrying that we'd be camping literally next to our cars in the queue, we were let forward and the long procession of vehicles behind us slowly crept forward the 10ft to fill our gap.

Now past the big metal gates and officially being processed at the border (the first step, the immigration hut merely a garden shed before hand) it was time for passport control. Every country has a different way of doing this; mainly checking your passport is you, your visa is valid and in date, and you're not on Interpols most wanted list. Kazakhstan for example is remarkably efficient, but Russia most certainly is not.

The three of us entered the passport control room, a relatively efficient and modern looking structure and filled with such technology as a large bag scanner and computers. This is where the impressiveness of their systems stopped. It's hard to describe without drawing a picture, but the layout of the room accompanied with the direction of the queuing depending on where you were aiming to visit meant it was chaos. We'd queued politely, as we've learnt to do so well, along one side of the building. But coming the other way, intersecting the queue, was the Mongolians visiting Russia. Intersecting is one thing; to do it at the narrowest point of the whole building, where 2 people could rarely pass each other without some casual brushing by, is just ridiculous.

It gets worse - we guessed there had been a major disaster in Mongolia, and no one thought it worthy to inform us; As every single Mongolian -> Russian visitor also brought the entire contents of their house/ger - nay, their entire village, over the border with them. Hoards of families were entering the passport control building, carrying dozens of large bags and boxes and expecting to negotiate the small building with them. 

The first time we saw this happen, our selves politely queued up yet dozens of huge sacks passed around and in front of us, it was amusing. How can a family have so much? And even consider moving it by hand through passport control? Each man in the family was lifting everything, from rugs and carpets to food and toys, through the building and into the scanner for approval to enter Russia.
Second time this happened, just a sense of mild annoyance but still tolerable. Bless them and their deciding to move an entire nation's worth of junk to Russia, just as we're trying to cross back over.

Third time this happened, it became a mild irritant. After all, the small corridors were filling with sacks and boxes, leaving little room to walk past. Families feeding their goods forward through the narrow hall didn't understand the concept of excusing ones self, in case of an accidental nudge or box dropped on foot. Which began to happen with increasing frequency.

Forth time this happened, we took action. It wasn't the case of us being annoying foreigners, or taking liberties - these Mongolians/Russians/Kazakhs were constantly pushing into our polite queue, destroying any patience we had. Even asking them nicely what they were doing did nothing (rather predictably). Instead, we engaged in a tactic that proved us well on a previous border - road block. This time however, being on foot rather than the cars, the three of us and 5 other rallyers formed a human wall, blocking all future movements around the building (the majority of which were to nip in in front of us). LOTS of angry locals, furious their dastardly plan to barge through our orderly line had been dashed. Lots of fun, and it worked - we had our brief passport check, and moved to the 3rd checkpoint - Russian Customs.

Customs check points have never been overly fair to us - we've had more searches than any other team we've spoken to. Russia was no different, despite leaving the country and therefore the customs search to be a lot more lax than entering a country. We had our car thoroughly sifted, although once again they took much more notice in the first aid kits and the front door compartments than anything else. We were talking soon after this little search (where yet again, of course, they found nothing) - if we ever did want to become drug barons and smuggle narcotics across Europe, we'd simply fill our roof box to the brim. Well, as that was opened ONCE by a border guard, perhaps we'll limit our opiate trafficking to just our rucksacks - they have not been touched at all!

Russian was done. The second time we'd been in the country (well, Mackey's 2nd, my 3rd and Will's 4th after the customs declaration fiasco), and the last of our trip. We waved goodbye to the border guards, and made our way into No Man's Land - that stretch of dirt that separates two mighty countries. As we left Russia, we headed down the tarmac road, flanked on both sides by rolling green hills offering us incredible  scenery as we approached our final, target country.

Half way along No Man's Land, we reached a very small Mongolian check point. A lone guard, a shed and a bit of wood claiming to be a barrier. Standing next to a very still Mongolian flag, no wind to unfurl it's colourful ensign, the lone guard had a quick look through our passports and raised the bit of wood. I mean barrier.

That's when we first experienced the Mongolian roads. Or to be more precise, the distinct lack of Mongolian roads. Literally, as the Russian half of No Man's Land ended and the Mongolian half began, the tarmac'ers obviously finished their job and returned to their Soviet homes. For the tarmac simply gave way to dirt - a pot hole ridden, large rock strewn path cut into the land. Mackey took Pete the Saxo through towards the Mongolian border, reaching a maximum of 20mph as he swerved to avoid every obstacle that could potentially end our little adventure.

We crossed the top of a hill, and below us lay the Mongolian border - looking distinctly quiet, but relatively impressive - structures, offices, not the sort of uncivilised check point I might have envisaged from reading the Lonely Planet. At the border, we saw Ed & Emma along with the Two Mongoleers queued up amongst a handful of other cars. The border though looked very quiet - hardly anyone around, apart from the unofficial Bureau de Change - a rather unscrupulous looking chap flagging down every car that approached the Mongolia, insisting he was the only and best way to convert our Roubles and Tenge (Russia & Kazakhstan) to Togrids (Mongolia). Without knowing the exchange rate, we were forced to take him up on the offer, which didn't sound too bad. 1,700 per GPB - the figures alone sound impressive, as that would mean i'd have THOUSANDS in my wallet. Maybe even ten thousand.

Exchange we did, and headed down to the stopping area we're so used to (passport control followed by customs control). We had only parked up for a minute, behind Ed & Emma who were extremely happy to see us (I think they worry about us, fearing the worst if we leave their sight), before we were told to progress directly into a car park. No, car park is the wrong word; holding pen. Impound lot. The Mongolian equivalent of Penzance Heliport car park. A rectangular piece of concrete surrounded by metal fences - this was to be our home for the night, as we'd arrived at closing time.

Not to worry though - it's all part of the rally. That has become the official mantra of our teams, the phrase used to put everything into perspective when you're getting financially raped by a corrupt guard, you burst a tyre in the middle of the desert, or your exhaust falls off for the 7th time - It's all part of the rally.

We quickly resigned ourselves to the point it might be an uncomfortable, if not interesting, evening. Camping was out of the question, due to an ever growing wind blowing through the new Mongol Rally camp and our tent pegs refusing to get a hold in the concrete flooring. Sleeping in the cars would be the only option…..

Scilly Mission, Mongol Mongrels, Two Mongoleers, This Is Our Everest, The Desert Beagles and a few other teams huddled around a small corner of the pen, the temperature already dropping to the lowest we'd experienced on the entire trip. T shirts, polos, hoodies and jackets were donned, along with hats and gloves; most definitely the first time they'd seen the light of day since Tresco. Rumour had it was we were free to leave the prison compound, and wander into town. And by town, I mean a small collection of homes just 100 meters past the border.

Ed, Emma, Will and myself decided to go for supplies - we hadn't banked on getting stuck for a night where we'd struggle to cook. We still had ample supplies in the roof box (Thanks once gain C&D!) but the temperature and wind meant cooking would be a struggle, almost promising not to be worth the final effort. The four of us left Mackey and co with the cars, and walked straight through the front door of the compound. No passport check or anything - just strolled straight into Mongolia.

Which was epic, on it's own. We had officially reached our final country destination! Well, 4 of us had anyway. Onwards we wandered through a very raggedy collection of huts, some baring Cyrillic signs crudely painted on the walls outside. Determining what they meant wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but clues did help - for example, in the lone window of one hut, was 12 or so bottles of different drink (about 10 of which alcoholic). That would be the shop! As we walked further, we smelt food - perhaps a cafe? Easiest way to find out was to enter the shelter…

The temperatures by this point were in very low single figures, and the sky had but an hour of light remaining - but as soon as we walked in, the place was incredibly warm and welcoming. Nothing more than a room claiming to be a cafe, 2 small tables with a random collection of seats. But the warmth, the warmth! We crowded in, grabbed a small square table and had a seat, slowly regaining the feelings in our extremities as the shack pushed heat into us. The menu was a simple one - Buuz. The only thing available, mutton dumplings, hand made and boiled. It didn't take long for us a to place an order, and the four almost felt guilty as we relaxed and sat there whilst the rest of our convoy no doubt froze back in the compound.

The food came out from the kitchen a short while later, the kitchen being the other half of the hut separated from the patrons by a brick wall. This brick wall, splitting the room into the two sections, also happened to be part of the oven. As a result, this wall was hot. The "hot wall". After being in bitter wind and very cold temperatures, this wall was an amazing thing. It was just a wall, a brick indoor wall, but so very hot. I'm going on about this wall, but the hot wall really did deserve some sort of fleeting dedication in this blog.

Buuz is a firm favourite amongst the team now - such a simple meal, merely meat dumplings, but oh so tasty and filling. The four of us ate a plate of them, finished a huge flask of chai, and happily sat with our spirits higher now our core temperature resembled normality. We didn't forget out comrades though - ever organised Emma had brought along tupperware containers with her, and we reordered more buzz to take away.

Leaving the warmth of the cafe/shack, and walking outside, was a bit of a shock. The 30 minute warm up and pushed the horrible bitterness of the Mongolian summer(?!) from our minds, and getting back into it wasn't overly nice. We headed back into the border compound, once again just strolling through the gates, and rejoined our teams. They were all happy to see us after we waved the still hot dumplings at them, a thousand times more appealing than the thought of attempting to set up a camping stove in the windy conditions.

Mackey and Laura, quite randomly, had heard of a hotel in town. I say hotel, but it was actually someone's bed room. The small huts are generally split into two - a large bedroom area, and a sitting room/kitchen. The locals were obviously trying to capitalize on the rallyer situation, by offering their sleeping quarters for a small price. Mackey and Laura and heard this, and went to share someone's bedroom with a collection of other motley competitors. For the equivalent of £2 a night, they'd have walls and a roof over their head, and even a fire in the room to keep them warm.

The hardcore rest of us however, decided to man up and sleep with the cars. We couldn't leave Pete the Saxo or Percy the 206 alone, who could?! The sun was setting over the mountains, the temperature plummeting as the last rays were blocked by the towering snow tipped peaks. Rather than just retire to our own beds/cars, we decided to utilise our body heats for a little longer, and all piled into Pete the Saxo. 4 of us (Will, Ed, Emma & I) managed to just about squeeze into the car, by far the fullest it's ever been but quickly warmed it up. It was getting late, so instead we put on some quiet music and all had a little sing song - all sat there, looking out into the blackness of the Mongolian sky, avidly aware of the coldness behind the windscreen and quietly muttering away to the lyrics of everything from AC/DC to Glee until we all started to drift off….