words from the world

if you want to read the beginning of the story, click here for Part 1 ...

I dismantle the tent, I pack up my bag, I untie Minimor (That's the name I gave to my horse) and I start walking towards an unknown land formed by huge spaces and where the man doesn't have a hold over it. I climb the mound on my left and compare the relief with the drawn one on my map. My only need will be to find water for the next days. I walk down the hill and head for the north. The green moor invites to walk and gives my horse an appetite. The ground is flat, immense, sometimes shapes by a stream whose waters run to the lake. A stream forces me to take my shoes off and a nice Mongolian helps me to cross it.


Behind the hill that thwarts the flat nature of the place, the steppe plunges into the horizon for about ten kilometers. A lot of animals graze. Every family possesses herds of sheep, goats, yaks and horses which wander freely on these pastures. The green carpet which unrolls under my feet seems endless and each of my step breaks the serenity of innumerable grasshoppers.




On my left, a stream splits the meadow and will be my water supplier for the next two days. It's only at the end of the day the steppe dies on the foothill. This wood-topped hill will shelter me for the night.


Then, the course goes uphill following a gentle slope, before going down to the valley. I walk along the bush-flanked stream in this rougher scenario thant the day before. At the bottom of the valley, the ground is half-marshy, bikers and 4x4 cars encourage me and stay puzzled about the roles of each one in our duet. The horse seems relaxed when I'm weighed down with the bag. I see children who ride their horses with a stunning ease. As their motorized kind, they are intrigued by our strange duet.


The river shapes gorgeous landscapes which would make the happiness of several campsites.



I opt for a small clearing on the right bank. The slide of the water invigorates me. Before the nightfall, a bunch of friends stop on the other bank and invite me to share a bottle of vodka. One of them is a wrestler and will compete in the Naadam festival, the next 11th and 12th of july. These two days will be the national holiday.



He kindly threatens me to throw me into the river if I don't down the vodka in one gulp. I soak the lips and grimace. In front of my face, his girlfriend grabs the bottle and knocks back a glassful of vodka. When the bottle is empty, the cheerful team mounts the motos and disappears in the darkness.



The third day, I cross the village of Jagarlant which is the beginning of my walk alongside the main Ider Gol river. I make the mistake to cross the river without taking off my shoes and walk on for several hours with the wet feet. Nothing worst to have blisters. As soon as I stop, I delight in looking at the horse greedily grazing the thick grass we walk on. In the evening, each one has his meal, green grass for the quadruped and freeze-dried food for me.


From the fourth day, the hills which mark out the river become more and more lifeless and monotonous, two only green strips frame the river twists.



A little bit tired and thinking I better know my horse, I try to sit astride it with my bag on the shoulders. It just doesn't want and escapes. A Mongolian horseman brings it back to me and I reach the conclusion that this horse won't be another thing than a companion for the rest of the trek, what is still a marvellous experience. In the evening, I stop in a Mongolian ger for the first time. In exchange for their hospitality composed of salted tea and very hard goat cheese, I take photos. Some people don their most beautiful clothes for the ceremony.


Just before the nightfall, I start walking again, declining their offer to stay here for the night, I say the way is still long as an excuse. Before setting up the tent, a moto stops and despite the difficulty to communicate, one of the biker explains to me he remembers me. He saw me a few days before wandering about the lake with my horse and my heavy backpack. Hard to pass unnoticed!


My trek carries on alongside the river. I make my mind to leave the saddle behind a rock and start again my slow pace eastwards. Where I put up the tent, takhis (Przewalski horses) drink. I broke the calmness and they disappear behind the mound looking for a more peaceful place.



click here to read Part 3 ...