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Day 29 - Loving/Hating the Desert

I was going to start this blog with "Waking up in the hotel…", but it sounds far too much like a nice vacation somewhere; a European city break perhaps. The word "hotel" usually conjures up feelings of luxuries and thoughts of extravagant living, ideas of relaxation and the concept of tranquility. True, we were technically in a hotel, but I wanted to dispel that myth straight away for any doubters reading this blog. To give it credit it was warm, dry and hospitable. Quite clean as well, with only a few stains on the bed sheets and curtains. But this wasn't the "hotel" break you might have subconsciously evoked in your mind - this was just a fleeting chance we had to sleep in a real building (with walls! and ceilings!) in a real bed (albeit a little firm and basic) with real facilities (running water). 

We had a bit of a lie in for once, the brick walls offering some what more of a barrier against the morning sun than our tents, and it was at least 8.30am before we all began to stir. I think I speak for the five of us when i say, that short lie in was inspiriting - a brief chance to recharge our batteries that had so worn out over the last week of sleeping and eating rough. Breakfast wasn't an option within the hotel, so we were in no real rush to get up, instead enjoying the chance to properly gauge the amount (or in reality, how alarmingly little) of clean clothes we had and for another shower before we rejoined the dusty Mongolian wilderness.

What with Ed & Emma's "en-suite" room being slightly faulty (a more accurate description would have just been "room"), we all made do with the communal showers. They weren't too bad - wet room styles, a hose pipe attached to some taps with a shower head screwed to the wall. I went first, and straight away made the rookie mistake of mixing up the taps - it seemed the hot water came out of the cold tap, and vice versa. A close, nippy call. But crisis averted, and once again the shower washed away the remnants of the Mongolian dust hiding in my hair, and replenished my energy like a withered plant.

Will though, didn't quite get over that first hurdle - having felt the cold water coming out of the red-topped tap, he gave up; instead just manning up and showering in the cold stream of liquid out of necessity rather than indulgence. Poor Will. With our bags packed up once more, we headed out of the hotel (considering the very limited selection in the restaurant, we correctly surmised that breakfast wasn't on offer) to sort out the cars. Despite not camping last night, and so the cars didn't need the enormous daily repack as usual, they still needed a good sort out every day. 

We had a few tasks to complete whilst in the relative civilisation of Altai - several punctured wheels needed repairing (especially if the last few days were anything to go by), we needed to restock with food and water, and the small issue of flights home was beckoning - we were theoretically only a couple of days away from the finish line, but had no idea how the three of us were going to get home! Ed & Emma, on the other hand, were their usual delightfully organised selves, already had their UB > Beijing > UK trip all booked.

Mackey and Ed took our two faithfully chariots off into the maze that was Altay, in the search for a mechanic. We all agreed that these mechanics would no doubt be making an absolute fortune; not only from fleecing weary rallyers such as ourselves (after all - who know how much a wheel repair really cost in the middle of Mongolia?) but from the locals unquestionably suffered from punctures several orders of magnitude more than us UK folk, spoiled with abundant tarmac. Will, Ems and myself were giving the restocking mission; enough food and water to keep us going to the finish line, and hopefully some internet (but we weren't holding our breaths for the latter - we were in the middle of the most inhospitable place we'd ever been!)

Off went the cars, and so the three of us strolled away from the hotel and into "town", which we identified as being a couple of well paved roads and shops flanking either side. Trying to work out the difference between the laundry and the grocery store was merely trial and error, but on the third attempt we found a shop that stocked an interesting variety of edible goods..

One thing I've noticed about shops the further away from home, is how little they have stocked. Of course, you could theorise that this is due to the lower footfall and customer numbers; but their shelves often just have a single product; if someone buys it, there isn't a big stack behind to choose from, and you're out of luck. Another observation; many of the products are shelved behind the main counter - if you want something, you ask the assistant to get it for you. Who knows why, the areas we were in didn't seem to be as crime ridden as this particular shop setup would suggest, but the complete language barrier we all faced when asking for things made our shopping experience very testing at times!

This particular shop however, managed by two local Mongolian women, were very good to us; they were extremely happy to see three beautiful European customers, and allowed us behind the counter to select our own goods! They were rather good saleswomen as well, persuading us to buy a whole range of things we really didn't need (including some interesting Mongolian fortified wine) and a range of biscuits and snacks that would see us through to the end. With snacks purchased, water stocked up, we departed the shop and continued down the "main" street, past the other 2 shops, and reached the main city square.

With no idea how Ed & Mackey were faring with the tyre task in hand, we continued with our own mission - this time, internet. And as if Тенгери (the Mongolian God of the sky, but you knew that) was looking down at us, what was the only visible commercial building on the central square? Why, a fully stocked modern internet cafe of course! Certainly surprising, giving our current location a thousand miles away from modern civilisation! But, it had exactly what we needed; multiple computers that worked, relatively fast broadband, a chance for us to update the photos and blogs (which were written whilst on the road, hence you might have noticed a mass uploading of half a dozen or so at a time). Oh, and air conditioned as well! I must remember to pray to Тенгери sometime..

A short while later, Ed & Mackey walked in - not quite sure how they found us in this sprawling metropolis, but they returned triumphant - all tyres had been patched up at the official Mongol Rally garage (well, probably not overly official, but they were called the Mongol Rally Garage!). Whilst we had the luxury of internet, we decided it might be a good idea to buy our tickets home, what with us being so close to the finish line.

I hit up the usual flight comparison sites, worrying at some of the prices that were coming up - £1,500 for a single, one way ticket back to the UK? Probably cheaper to stay in Mongolia and start a new life! Eventually though, I hit the jackpot. £400, one way, straight back to sunny old England. 3 Adults… check…. Mongolia to London… check… Add to basket…. check.

Luckily though, eagle eyed Mackey noticed my subconscious desire for the adventure to last a bit longer, and spotted the flight date was the end of October. If I had gone through with the checkout process, we'd all find ourselves in Mongolia for another couple of months (and probably without jobs to return to!). The correct dates were put in, Aeroflot (as predicted) were the cheapest, and probably nothing to do with the fact they have the worst airline safety record IN THE WORLD. The price rose from £400 to £750 each, but still the most economical way of getting home. We'd be flying via Moscow as well, yet another chance to re-enter Russia, the third time this trip. Well, if you count the big problems we had at the Kazakh / Russian border with our paperwork, and having to go backwards and forwards through both sides, it was more like the 10th time we'd visited the Soviet mega-state.

With the blog updated, family contacted, photos uploaded and flights booked, it was once again time to set off into the great unknown..

With the "city" still so very clear in our rear view mirror, the desert wasted no time in replacing the nice tarmac roads with the carved paths once again. I'd like to say we missed it, the roughness of the journey, the adventure on a dirt track - but truth was, it was a punishing drive yet again - both for us, and the cars. Still, adventurers we were, and we ploughed on regardless.

The drive was once more filled with the expanse of nothingness - the hills we'd climbed the night before to find Altay soon evaporated until yet again we were surrounding by thousands of miles of expanse, void of anything other than sand and dust. Oh, and the road/trail/path, which we blindly followed towards the horizon. As I've mentioned many times already, this path would sweep left and right, following a general direction if you take a hundred mile stretch of it, but in the short run (which, as drivers, is all we could see), you'd never know if you were driving the right way. 

What made things even more difficult though, was when this path split - just, for no reason other than a whimsical fancy, bisect into a pair of paths, each not quite following the same direction and so are separated by an ever growing chunk of desert the further along we drive. After driving for a couple of hours away from Altay, this regular split happened, but both paths seemed to be strangely headed in roughly similar directions. Which one do we take?! Having realised that the decision would be nothing more than an educated guess and a glance at the compass, we picked one - one that seemed to be headed more Easterly than the other, which we noticed was bending off towards the North. Path 2 it was - our two teams agreeing over the CB Radio, and onwards we went.

It wasn't for 45 minutes of following path 2, that we realised that our direction on the £2 compass was slowly moving…. East…. South East East… South South East…. South. Damn. Although I'd have liked to have crossed the Gobi Desert and visited China, this wasn't the right time to do so. We'd picked the wrong path, and we'd travelled a good few miles down this windy, incorrect path. We were in the middle of the desert, no idea where the correct path was (it could have been 1, or 80 miles away. 

Ah well - this was what the adventure was all about! Well, not all about getting lost, but you know what I mean - getting into trouble, and finding our way out of it. The land around the road/path was surprisingly good - in fact, it was a better driving surface that the path! Very flat desert land, a few withered shrubs regularly dotting the expanse, but minimal obstacles - no big rocks as far as we could see. The trouble was however, to leave the relative safety of the worn path and to venture into the literal great unknown, was just setting ourself up for disaster. At least the paths we were on were occasionally used by vehicles (even if they were annual Mongol Rally teams). Should we really gamble on attempting to re-join the correct path using a blind guess of direction? Or should we double back, waste hours, and play it safe?

We were quite lost really. Not just on the wrong path, but on the map. We knew we'd passed Altay, and spent a day driving. In which direction? Not overly sure. Just somewhere to the right of Altay. After a little team meeting, the five of us deciding what to do, our prayers were answered. In the distance, in a general North direction, we saw the tale tale cloud of dust being thrown up in the air by a large vehicle - a truck perhaps. Mackey, who continues to fancy himself as Colin McRae reincarnated, decided we should try and catch it up - and so we did.

The three Scilly boys jumped into Pete the Saxo, and began to tear across the barren land. Leaving the path behind, and the Peugeot to catch up at a less suicidal pace. Mackey was loving the challenge - catching the bus hurtling in the wrong direction, separated by a mile or two, across completely unknown ground. I'd have to agree, it was probably the most excitement we'd had in a long time. No doubt the bus/truck saw us, a tiny blue European car hurtling towards them at breakneck speeds (well, about 40mph), but onwards they went regardless. Only one thing to do Mackey - floor it. And so he did…

5 mins of crazy driving, avoiding a couple of rocks and mounds, we'd got close enough to the bus (as it turns out) to wave it down, and stop it did. I jumped out the car, smiling to show the perplexed Mongolian driver we weren't crazy, although I'm sure it did no good. Map in hand, we walked up to the bus door as it swung open and was greeted by a forty-something year old, vest wearing, cigarette smoking driver. Oh, and his random collection of passengers, which we're guessing were his family.

Now, we had a map - probably the best quality map these guys had ever seen - but trying to ask the question "Where are we? At the moment, where are we?" in mutually understandable sign language was near on impossible. A group of 5 Mongolian men looked at me with confusion and disbelief as I tried to ask that simple question -  "Where are we?". I was pointing at the ground, I was drawing crosses on the ground, jumping around like a mad man.. but no use. Still, they were nice Mongolians - they laughed at us, the smiled, and the Mongolian driver was so nice as to offer me some of his drink…

Yes, it was that drink we'd all heard about, but managed to avoid up to now. "Kumis" - basically alcoholic milk from a horse. Not just that, but warm. Very warm. And this particular driver was kind enough to offer it to me from his own drinking bottle - something that resembled an old Robinson's squash bottle, but was looking to be older than me. Just looking at the bottle gave my stomach a little turn - we'd heard rumours that the taste was similar to Gorgonzola, with a texture not too far away from month old milk. 

Ems, of course, found this delightfully hilarious - so much so, she quite loudly stated "It would be very rude not to, Drucey!". Damn that girl. Still, if it doesn't kill me, it would make me stronger. (But would probably kill me). With a grateful smile, I took the bottle and took a swig; not too small as to insult the driver, but not too big either. Result? Yeah, tasted as bad as we'd been told. Quite sweet, but with a definite hint of cottage cheese. Lovely. Ems though was not too get off so easy! Having laughed through the entire thing, the driver was kind enough to offer Ems some. Of course, I did the only thing I could, and told her how rude it would be not to. 

If looks could kill, the Saxo would have finished with only 2 Scilly boys…

After 10 minutes of chatting/mumbling with the bus-load of Mongolians, and the taste of that nasty drink still very much weighing heavily on our stomachs, they decided to continue their cross-desert journey and we bid farewell. With a better understanding on our current location in the world, we felt confident we were heading in the right direction to the next town and began to restart our faithful chariots. As we did though, we noticed a cloud of dust approaching us - too small to be a bus or car, but completely alone amongst the hundreds of square kilometres that surrounded us.

The cloud of dust was soon seen to surround a motorbike rider, and as it got closer, we realised it wasn't a local - instead, it was a rather nice BMW. The rider pulled up next to the car (probably as curious to see us as we were him), and took off his helmet. A Belgian man who was touring Asia with some friends, a Belgian man who was really hoping we'd seen his friends. You see, he'd lost them (somehow) in the desert - with little idea of where he was, and absolutely no idea of his fellow rider's locations, he'd stopped to ask us if we'd seen them. Unfortunately we hadn't, and I felt terrible telling him that - mobile phone signal was unheard of in these parts (actually, mobile phones were probably unheard of), and he was desperately trying to find his friends.

We shared what little information we did have - we knew a rough location of where we stood and talked, and a general direction of our next stop, the town of Bayankhongor. The Belgian rider decided that he'd probably find hope in that town, common sense hopefully bringing his party back together, and with thanks, he once again set off.

So, back to the two cars we were, and us too set off for the distant town. It was late afternoon by now - any hopes of a hotel or shower were fading fast, as we continued along the desert paths. We did pass through a couple of small settlements, lone beacons of humanity amongst the wilderness, which we hoped was proving we were going in the right direction. As the sun began to set on the horizon, the sky becoming an intense battle between the blue of day and purple of dusk, we came across a little obstacle that needed to be overcome…

Our path we'd been driving on, and all nearby paths, ended abruptly at the side of a very wide river. No doubt a very young tributary, for no bridges or other assistance existed - but 150ft foot of water intersected our way. Buggar. 

A few gers found their home on one side, with a pack of Mongolian children excitedly running out to meet us. We pulled up next to the water, all got out and looked with astonishment and worry at the size of the river in front of us. Much, much larger than anything we'd attempted to cross before. This didn't look good. The kids though, obviously well versed with the techniques needed to cross it, were very happy to offer their assistance. They swarmed around our cars, trying to point us in the right direction to cross - the sort of knowledge that only the locals would know, a sweeping curve across one particular part that seemed to be the shallowest.

One of the kids began to wade into the relatively fast flowing water, showing the level to rise to thigh level. Not too scary when the legs belonged to a 5 year old, but if anything went wrong with this crossing, we were doomed - hundreds of kilometres away from a mechanic, supplies or help. The kids though, they were confident enough for us all, that we'd make it through. (Which was nice, so nice in fact, that Ed punched one. He claimed it was an accident, punching a defenceless 4 year old Mongolian boy, but tears did flow. I think we managed to stop them with bribes of Russian sweets..)
The sun was setting very fast now - darkness had won the battle, and we had to turn our headlights on to survey and plan. As I got out of the car, having locked the doors just in case the inquisitive Mongolian children decided they liked the shiny Macbook, I heard Will & Mackey in hysterical laughter. I grabbed the video camera, walked over and realised what they were laughing at - a Mongolian bloke on his ancient Soviet motorbike was attempting to cross the torrent of water, aided by some idiot pushing him.

Only after zooming in, however, did I realise that idiot was none other than our very own Ed! Somehow, he'd been roped in to help - and not only the guy on the motorbike, but also the goat tied to the back seat. You read that correctly - there was a live goat, feet bound by rope, tied to the back seat - no doubt wondering what the hell was going on, being pushed through a river, by a very well spoken English man up to his knees in water. Despite the motorbike stalling half way across, and the rest of our two teams crying with laughter on the shore, Ed managed to get them safely to the other side. What a hero.
Mackey prepared as much as he could - sacrificing his socks to cover the air intake on our two cars, to try and limit any water creeping in and wrecking the remaining journey. To be fair though, I doubt those socks had been washed since the UK. A bit of water would probably be a good thing..
With the help of the kids, and Ed's motorbike buddy, we worked out the best way to cross. Still 2ft deep in places, enough to cover the headlights of the car with the bow wave, it was time to go. What little light remained in the vast Mongolian sky was fleeting - it was now or never.

Will & I removed our shoes and socks, and began to wade through. Ems jumped in with Mackey, as he took the lead and inched closer to the river. In typical Mackey greatness, the car revved and jumped into the water. The Mongolian kids had made a human barrier in the river, marking out where we shouldn't be driving (as the river seemed to get much deeper off this sweeping curve - Saxos and 6ft of water don't play nice. 

With Pete the Saxo charging through the water, the headlights illuminating more underwater than over, our hearts stopped - half way across, we heard a silence as the engine stalled. Pete the Saxo had stalled, half way across an enormous river, the bow wave beginning to fade away and water approaching the engine. Whether we had a Mongolian god looking over us (and probably laughing his ass off) or not, Mackey quickly restarted the car, and it roared back into life. Foot on the accelerator, the car once again pushed the water forward, and actually landed on the other side.

An epic feeling spread around the river banks, as a couple of other teams had somehow made their way to the river, despite it being pretty much night now. With Ed, Will and myself still on the first bank, we shared what information we had - listen to the kids, don't punch the kids, drive fast. With Percy the Peugeot also prepared (socks on air filter), Ed stood up to the challenge, jumped in the car and inched closer to the bank…

Mackey and Ems were safely on the other side. Will and I were knee deep in the river, just on the edge before it got much deeper. The bank was full of Mongolian kids and other Mongol Rally teams, each sharing in the collecting holding of breath, and we all watched as Ed plunged into the water. The Peugeot displaced the ton of water as it created a bow wave, revs screaming, and followed in the wake caused by Pete the Saxo.

Much to my relief, and the relief of the few dozen multinational spectators, Ed was triumphant. The 206 didn't do the party trick of stalling half way through, and powered through to the other side. Will and I jumped up a bit in excitement, but not too much - it was dark, the water was cold and the riverbed was sloppy!

After we regrouped on the far bank, all but the last slither of dusk light bidding us farewell, we all decided we needed somewhere to sleep. We weren't too keen on just pitching our tents at the river side - who knows what could have happened in the night; the river deciding on a new course and wiping our 2-man palaces away? Or the local Mongolian families desperately in need of a good meal? Either way, we wanted to find our own corner of the desert to call home.
The two cars, both happy to be back on dry land and headlights blazing, waved goodbye to the river and local kids (who'd been surprisingly helpful, even if Ed did punch one of them), and drove off into the darkness. We could just make out the path, illuminated by 4 headlights, but realised the dangers of going too far. All we needed was one stray rock to jump out in front of us, and we'd probably be worse off than stuck in the river. 

15 minutes of slow, careful driving away from the water, we took a custom made path off the track. Well, we just turned right and drove into the desert. Only for 5 mins or so, but to put enough distance between our cars and any passing bandits. With night now truly in charge of the deep blue sky, and far enough from the bustle of the Gobi Desert highway, we found a particularly lovely patch of dirt we were to call our own for the night.

It's been a month now - a month of living out of Pete the Saxo, and many (many) nights of sleeping in tents. By now, we were pros at erecting. With just the light from one set of headlights, the 5 of us had camp set up in no time. The usual sleeping arrangements - 5 rallyers, 2 tents. Less than 10 minutes after stopping and turning off the cars, we had our homes all ready to go, and we too began to feel the effects of a long day driving.

Before sleep though, we decided to eat, bringing out the petrol stove for one of the last times. We were so close to the finish line - we could feel it. And being so close, meant we could afford not to nit pick on the luxuries we had. You see, we started the rally with 50kg of army rations, donated by a very kind someone (who will remain anonymous, but I hope she realises they probably saved our lives on a number of occasions!!). We ate when we could, but always seemed to save the best things - namely the deserts. Tonight though, we'd eat like kings (and queen).

Ems though, of course, did one better. A huge thanks to Em's mummy for having the beautiful foresight to stock their car with a few treats - namely, the most amazingly posh boil in the bag meals from Waitrose. Venison something, steak something, it was all there. These might have been foiled wrapped for 9,000 miles - but they were AWESOME. Oh, and smash. Actually mashed potato (almost). We each filled our mess tins (our plates and bowls for the last month) with superb food, washed down with thai green cuppa-soups, and polished off the last deserts.

It was a good feeling, sat there and happy, caused by some things so trivial that is completely overwhelmed by every day life. We sat on the desert floor, deliciously full with hot food, laughed and chatted about the day, the rally, the life. We were hundreds of miles from a town, dozens of miles from the nearest mound of dirt, expanse lay all around us. We were so far away from the start line, from our friends and family… but as the five of us sat in that wide open desert, on a perfect clear night, a reassuring sense of calm and tranquility fell over us all, followed by a cold dose of realism - we were getting closer to the finish line, so close, that in a day or two or three, this would all be over….

…. but in the meantime, we all just sat there, gazing up at the stars, almost wishing the night would never end.