Joomla Login LightBox powered by WowJoomla.com

Day 25 - Impounded!

We woke up literally a few meters away from Mongolia - our target country for the aptly named Mongol Rally. Sleeping in Pete the Saxo, despite it's greatness, is never a comfortable thing what with it being about 4 foot wide. Mackey, the night before, had decided to desert his team mates and rock up to a hotel for the evening (or a small house where the locals would give up their beds for £2) and so Will and I awoke in the cramped conditions at 7am.

I had the back seats, Will had the front seats. Both were as bad as each other; Will had the awkwardness of the gear stick and hand break to contend with, whereas I slept nestled into fuel cans and seatbelt clips. Neither gave us a chance to stretch our legs throughout the entire night, which was a killer. Not overly cold, what with our super 4 season sleeping bags, but having your knees constantly at a 90 degree angle gives you a broken nights sleep, stirring every 30 minutes to change position. 

The look in both of our eyes showed we shared the same tiredness and pain, and unzipping our sleeping bags and opening the car doors, we were shocked to see white everywhere. A lot of white. Not only had the night brought minus four degree temperatures, it seems it had also deposited a lovely thick layer of snow on everything - cars, the metal fence we were beginning to call our home, and coating the hills and mountains around us.

As soon as the doors were open, the frigid air quickly replaced the warmth in the car, and the light came flooding in. Luckily we were already dressed, what with the previous night's temperature and the rather limited interior space of the car suggesting it would be a good idea just to sleep in our clothes! Ed & Emma were already up, having politely waited to 7.30am before starting their car to generate some much needed heat. Paul from the Two Mongoleers also began to sit, as the makeshift curtains in his car (i.e.. t-shirts in the windows) began to fall and the sight of the snow also flooding the Polo.

The morale of the Mongol Rally campsite (aka. impound lot) was surprisingly good; the snow and ice, ultimate contrasts from the 45 degree heat we'd all experienced a week or two previous, kept us amused and bewildered rather than depressing us all in our cold state like it maybe should have. Hats and gloves were unveiled from people's rucksacks for the first time (well, those people who had the foresight to pack them. Me almost included - plenty of hats, but only fingerless gloves that made me look somewhat homeless). Layers of clothes turned out to be the key - that morning, within a few minutes of waking up, I had 2 t-shirts on, a polo shirt, a fleece, a hoodie and a coat.

Most of the other teams, probably numbering in the teens by this time, also began to wake up. Common courtesy meant nearly all teams were anxious to fire their fine vehicles into life and get the heaters on, no doubt from the very early hours of the morning, although everyone waited until another had taken the liberty to be the first. Which was nice, really. Some people would have been sleeping and perhaps woken by the roars of 1 litre engines starting around them. By 7.30am, an ambulance team decided that this was a great time to kick off the day's proceedings, and they started their engine. Within minutes, a chorus of other engines took heed that they weren't the first to create some noise and kicked into action!

Breakfast consisted of cereal bars, a poor excuse for a breakfast we know, but far too cold to cook anything outside. We'd stocked up on Russian cereal bars on the way through, presuming the Mongolian equivalents to be yak testicle or fermented mares milk flavour. With hindsight, we'd probably give the latter ones a try, as the Russian ones sucked. Grape flavour was just wrong, and all the others were coated with a hard yoghurt that tasted terrible. But ah well, they filled you up despite tasting like much. As we like to say - it's all part of the rally!

By the time we'd repacked our sleeping backs, shared our amused frustration with our friends, it was nearly 9am and time to hit up the border control building for some paperwork. We'd arrived too late in the day to do anything before we were impounded, so fingers crossed we'd be processed nice and quickly (only a few teams had arrived before us the day earlier, so we were quietly confident that we'd be out by lunch time).

The border building was larger than the Russian, and much emptier - staffed by a couple of lone Mongolians, one to process the passports and another to process import paperwork. Obviously completely unprepared when then presented with a small army of passport wielding rallyers! We all filled the building, queuing up nicely stretching back to the main doors. With hindsight, this was a very small number of rallyers - perhaps 15 cars or so. I'd hate to have seen the Mongolian's when confronted with fifty-something cars the next day. 

We did eventually get through, getting a quick glance to ensure we looked remotely like our passport photos, and then progressed to the import area of the building. Due to us donating our car in Ulaan Baatar and not removing it from the country, a whole load of paperwork has to be filled in. The Adventurists, organisers of the rally, also have to pay a considerable sum in import tax. Still, we had a lot of forms and paperwork to do. I say 'we", I mean Will. As he was the registered owner of the car, myself and Mackey have gotten away with a considerable amount of work throughout the entire trip!

Paperwork done, it was then just a case of waiting to see when they'd get around to do us and give us our precious pink slip, which basically meant we were allowed to drive through the wide open border gates and progress onwards. We left the building at 10am, returned to our waiting convoy and began the lingering game….

With hindsight, the waiting game was easier than we thought. To be stuck somewhere for a day or two, with no facilities, penned in like animals, it does sound rubbish. But in reality, we tried to make the most of it - lots of reading, listening to music, and a hell of a lot of chatting. Mainly to our convoy buddies, but turned out to be a nice day! That's certainly one thing we've learnt whilst on the rally, a skill that we can take away from it and keep forever; the art of waiting. Being stuck at numerous border points for hours at a time, completely restricted to the general vicinity of Pete the Saxo and very little to keep you entertained; or relegated to the back seat of the car (aka the "lounge") and for hours upon hours having nothing to do other than admire the scenery. Without noticing it, we started the Mongolian border waiting game without complaint, and happily played it the entire day, all without declaring ourselves bored.

We had a kick around inside the pen, and a Mongolian guard even came over for a kick about with us - although he was quite rubbish. At one point, Mackey kicked the ball over the border fence - something which would have most definitely rendered the ball a lost cause, if we were at any other border crossing in the world. As it's Mongolia, and the front doors are always open (literally), all Mackey had to do was wander out the front to retrieve it.

Some local kids also noticed the brightly coloured collection of strange vehicles, and managed to break into the impound lot. Most of these kids were nice and polite, wanting nothing more than a kick around (or some sweets they'd seen in the car - you see, Mongolian's have no concept of privacy whatsoever. They, of any age, are more than happy to peer inside your car and have a look around. The same with their gers, as they are more than happy for you to poke your head inside.). A couple of the kids, one in particular, were little buggars. They'd rifle through the car's rubbish for things they could steal, continually bug and ask for things, and generally lower the tone of the entire place. Annoying one in particular, the ring leader of the group and a little shit, became the sole aim of our car. Mackey I think won the battle by throwing peanuts at him. I annoyed him by trying to film him, which got him very worked up. We might sound a little mean, but we're really not - this kid was the bane of Mongolia!

Lunch time soon came around, although the concept of time does seem to disappear when you're waiting for such a long time. Every now and then you'd check the time on a phone, completely unsurprised if it's 3 or 4 hours before or after your estimated time; waiting is a strange game. The wind was still blowing hard, bringing down frigid air from the snow topped mountains, and meant cooking on our little stove was quite a difficult task. To partially solve that, we moved Pete the Saxo horizontally in front of the Mongol Mongrels and the Two Mongoleers, to form a crude "U" shape with the cars and a basic windbreak. It did it's job though! Lighting the stove was easy enough, and we made Russian Super Noodles for everyone (they had nothing on our UK versions, although they did make up with lack of flavour with the fact they included an eating tray and a fork!)

Mackey the mechanic was called into action shortly after we'd finished, to have a look at another Citroen Saxo; this one however was refusing to start, the diagnosis by the owner being somewhat lacking in anything definitive. All he knew was, it wouldn't start, and he only reached the Russian border by luck (the car had stopped completely as he reached the top of the last hill, allowing him to coast downhill the last mile to the checkpoint!). He'd been towed through No Man's Land, and now was stranded at the Mongolian border. Still, he was happy - he'd made Mongolia! Unfortunately though, Mackey with the assistance of the very handy Haynes manual, couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with it…

The afternoon soon came, watching as we all sat around in our cars and read/listened to music, chatting to our convoy mates about everything and anything. I think I went on about Tresco too much, sounding more like a timeshare salesman than just a content resident. Hopefully i've managed to sell a few holidays though! By 4pm, we had some great news; Ed & Emma had been given the "pink slip", the hallowed piece of paper we've all been waiting for whilst impounded. The slip meant that the car had officially been imported into Mongolia; the taxes have been paid, the paperwork completed - they were free to leave! (Ironically, the pink slip that had been drummed into us since the beginning about not losing as soon as we received it, never to lose the pink slip, cherish and protect the pink slip etc, whereas in fact it was a white slip. No trace of pink. Small things like this entertained us, hence the mention).

Percy the 206 was the first of our convoy to leave the impound, a lovely sight accompanied by cheers around the compound as it creeped towards the open gates, and traversed that country line we'd all been aiming for. 1 car done, 4 to go. This was good progress - Ed had only been waiting 31 hours since first arriving at the Russian border before being unleashed into Mongolia. Next up was Laura and Paul from the Two Mongoleers, who too began the simple task of picking up their now completed pink slip and getting a once over on the car. Not exactly searching for contraband, more just checking the vehicles out, as the lone guard strolled around them inspecting funny little things like the light in the boot, and electronic wing mirrors.

Somehow though, the combination of the two cars and two pink slips, meant it was now 5pm; the Mongolian border shut at 5pm. Not good when two of our convoy were allowed out (one of which was actually out), and 3 of us remained. My complete hats off to Laura though, for she pulled the best bit of bribery we have ever seen. Basically offering to pay their overtime, plus "a bit extra", Laura actually managed to convince the border guards to stay late and process the last three cars! Laura, we salute you. The border guards did as bribed, and typed like mad on their ancient computers to get Pete the Saxo and his two friends entered and finished.

But, as you know, it's rarely as easy as that on the rally; the computers started crashing. A lot. Rather than just a simple problem, perhaps one that even I could have offered to fix, it turned out to be an internet problem. As i'm sure you can imagine, Mongolia (in particular, it's sparsely populated mountain region) doesn't offer the fastest of broadband. Well, it doesn't actually offer broadband at all, instead relying on good old fashioned dial up. This is where the problem lay - the border control building, a rather impressive newish establishment of ample size, apparently only had 1 phone line going into the building. A single line supplying every phone and the internet. So old school in fact, that they'd have to disconnect the internet to make a call. 

To give them their due, the border guards tried for two hours before giving up for the night, even offering us back the "overtime" we paid them. Laura refused to take it, and made them promise we'd be first out the following day (which would be Wednesday, day 3 of our imprisonment).  They agreed and we retired to our prison, defeated and frustrated. Laura hadn't yet moved her car out of the impound lot, which left Ed as the only one who had - in the freedom of Mongolia, but separated from the convoy. 

What followed might have been the first time anyone has done this; he drove back up to the gate, this time shut due to the late hour, and asked the soon to leave guard if he could be let back IN to the prison area. Despite earning his freedom, making a very worthy run for it and tasting the liberating air - he wanted to come back in. The bemused guard agreed, more out of amusement than anything else, and Ed willingly rejoined his team mates.

The convoy was back in one piece, unfortunately though in exactly the same as it was 24 hours prior. I'll admit, it began to get a little frustrating - another night in the concrete yard, the temperature plummeting as once again the day began to transform into night, and the lack of hot food winding us all up a little. The five of us decided to go for some more buuz, that tasty meal involving mutton dumplings (and nothing else). We locked up the cars, wrapped up very warm (our hats and gloves not really leaving our persons since the previous day) and headed back through the border gates towards the border village.

We felt like border veterans - we knew how to get through the gates, we knew how to get to the village, we knew where to buy food. Rally teams, having only entered the yard that day, were coming up to us for advice. We were the ones in for the long sentence, been in the longest, had the most knowledge. We became blase about the wait; teams complaining that they'd waited for 6 whole hours without being processed simply attracted unsympathetic looks from us; we'd be a 50 hour team by the time we'd leave!

Our usual cafe place was shut, something which panicked us a little. We relied on their fantastic dumplings of mutton for warmth and sustenance, without which we'd be forced to try and cook outdoors in the bitter wind and temperatures already touching zero. Luckily though, our noses provided the answer as we caught the waft of buzz as we began to stroll back towards our waiting cars, straight into another small cafe. This one was open, although only just. Most definitely open for food, as the lady enquired how many we wanted (and we'd answer with finger counting), but only just; it was dark. Very dark, both inside and out. I spotted a lightbulb a short distance above our heads, but no sign of electricity. The entire place, holding 3 tables and enough seating space for 18, was illuminated by a single candle struggling to emit enough light to fill a single place let alone the room.

All was fixed with the presenting of the dumplings though - steaming hot, incredibly tasty, and an instant morale booster. Yeah, we're still stuck at the border. Yeah, we'll have been there fifty something hours. Yeah, it's probably going to mean we'll miss the 4 week party. Yeah, we're cold and tonight will be rubbish. Yeah we haven't had a shower for a 3 days. Yeah, toilet facilities involve a single hole shared by many…

But we were filling ourselves with a hot meal, we were in the company of each other, and we were still chatting and laughing despite all those things thrown against us. We were all in the same boat, exhausted and cold, and all laughed at the trials we'd gone through to get this far. Strange I know, but that meal felt like one of the high points of the rally, a huge sense of accomplishment and a weird understanding of the rally began to emerge.

As we finished our meals, the lady serving us did the universal hand signal for sleep - she was asking if we needed somewhere to sleep. Usually, this meant them giving up their own beds to make a few quick Togrogs - about £2's worth per person, a very small price to pay for the luxury of stretching out your legs through the night. A quick team chat, and a few were very much wanting that luxury. We also agreed it was necessary for the cars to be watched, especially with the little Mongolian chavs lingering around. Ed & I volunteered for car watch duty, happily reminding ourselves that a terrible night sleep in minus six degrees temperature whilst in a small family car in a concrete impound yard was, like many other things - all part of the rally.

Mackey, Will & Emma (along with Laura) took them up on the offer of beds, and Ed & I retired to our individual cars to begin the hurried task of constructing a bed setup. I had the back seats once more, providing space to lie down with the exception of completely bent knees throughout the night. Ed went for a more vertical position (as their back seats were full of equipment), sleeping in the drivers seat for the whole night.

Darkness had fallen by this time - we'd temporarily split the convoy, the cold Mongolian air that had filled the cars slowly being warmed by body heat, and I drifted off for the second night in the yard....