if you want to read the beginning of the story, click here for Part 1 or here for Part 2 ...
At the beginning of my 6th trekking day, my pace gets slower and my blisters hurt me. At the end of the morning, a young Mongolian who brags astride his horse tackles me while I drag my painful feet. He will be the only real trouble throughout this expedition. He puts his horse in front of me and prevents me from going forward, he tries to open my bag and seizes the rope I hold my horse with. The situation starts to aggravate until we reach a herd of goats watched by one of his brother. I make him laugh and he enjoys looking at me, embarrassed. I finally offer him to walk back and to have a drink in his ger. When we arrive, his behaviour changes completely. His family and above all his father are kind and happy to share a bit of their time with a foreigner.
The situation has calmed down when I start again. Despite everything, I'm in a hurry to move away to forget this episode. But before climbing the hill which faces me, I hear the young braggart arriving at a gallop followed by another one of his brothers. This time, he wants to buy my horse. His calmer, elder brother understands I won't sell my horse and calm down his younger brother. At last, I leave the place and walk for a long time to camp as far as possible.
The next day, in the morning as I go on the side of the mountain, the spectre of the day before comes back when I see two young horsemen approaching. But, both of them have the kindness that characterizes the famous Mongolian hospitality.
I suffer and it's a pleasure to stop at the neighbouring house. In exchange for the usual photos, the family invites me for the lunch and for a rest.
I'll finally stay up to the next day in the morning. We watch together the wrestling final of the Naadam festival broadcasted on television. It's perhaps the main sport event of the year in Mongolia. In spite of the distance, every ger or house possesses an enormous satellite dish which lays down on the ground. The electricity is supplied by batteries which ones are loaded by a solar panel, a windmill or a generator. The anachronism of the solar panel laid down on the white cloth of the ger is fabulous. I give my fishing pole I haven't used yet. We improvise a fishing course in the middle of the steppes. Every member of the family I hardly know for a few hours adopted me and takes care of me as if I belong to the family.
Early in the morning, after warmly thanking them for their hospitality, I pack up my stuffs and start walking along the river.
The path is harder and harder and the rain complicates my progress, I've sometimes no other choice than walking into the river. The horse slips on the stones of the river bank. That's here, close to a green, hard-to-reach field, I take off its tie and drop the rope. I free my companion. I wish it delights a few days of freedom before he's probably captured. I disappear in the land of stones that erects in front of the river. The walk is rough in this unexplored, footprintless area.
After several hours, I begin to go down on the other slope of the hill. I reach a Ider Gol tributary where I sit down, exhausted. A few Mongolians tackle me and looking at my state of tiredom, invite me at their house. The atmosphear is warm and relaxed. It's here I decide to finish my trek.
I show all the different gears I carry in my backpack in front of the admiring eyes of about ten Mongolians. I feel well here, they cook an excellent dish for me and I prepare one of my freeze-dried meal with the boiled water coming from the camping stove. 2 of them share a "rice and fish in a provencal sauce" and they find it savoury.
The next day in the morning, I go to Tomorbulag by motorbike. Then, I take a jeep that drops me off in Möron. Did you know we could be 15 in a jeep?
In spite of the physical difficulty, the undernourishment and the loneliness, this adventure will have shown me virtues such as the mutual support, the hospitality and the pleasure of sharing are essential not to say vital. Communication problems ang cultural differences didn't scratch the happiness I lived with these families of the steppes. My heart will keep these smiles and this joie de vivre for a long long time.
Keyword - horse -
Saturday 14 July 2007
adventures in the Mongolian nature (part 3)
By dorian on Saturday 14 July 2007, 11:23 - RTW-Mongolia
Tuesday 10 July 2007
adventures in the Mongolian nature (part 2)
By dorian on Tuesday 10 July 2007, 11:20 - RTW-Mongolia
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 ...
Friday 6 July 2007
adventures in the Mongolian nature (part 1)
By dorian on Friday 6 July 2007, 11:18 - RTW-Mongolia
In the morning, I leave the Fairfield Guesthouse to head to the market square which is also the departure point towards the white lake (Terhyin tsaagan nuur), about 150km westwards. The main activity is the sale of sheep skin and wool. In the middle of this lucrative activity, I tackle a mongolian saying "Tariat" (name of the village close to the lake I want to go), this one takes me to a driver but he only leaves at 18 o'clock. Finally, I arrange the journey with the next one that leaves at 13. He's not really specialized in public transport, his business is rather the furniture removal but for 10€ the journey, he keeps the best seat for me. We try to start talking and I tell him my wish of buying a horse. The piece of information seems to spread quickly when a mongolian tackles me and gives me a phone. It's Tunga, the only English teacher in the province. She has a gers camp near the lake and can help me to find a horse. Here it is what we can call "to be lucky". Rendez-vous tonight at Tariat.
When the 4x4 minivan is full, we leave Tsetserleg. The pace is sustained and the only stops are for adding water in the radiator or for spending some moments in silence close to a strangely decorated tree. Out of respect for chamanist beliefs, we go three times around the tree. Then, it's time for sharing a bottle of airag (fermented mare's milk). Without forgetting the last drops offering for the sacred tree.
In the end of the afternoon, after delivering the furniture, we arrive in Tariat. Tunga warmly welcomes me and houses me for the night. Her gers camp is located at 12km from the village and we'll only go there tomorrow morning.
The next day, in the morning, with her husband and their daughter we leave to the lake. Her husband is not a typical mongolian since his antipathy and the absence of positive features on his face have no equal. Tunga interprets and on the way we talk about the horse sale. Her husband stays inflexible on the price : 400000 Tögrögs (260€), when the average price is between 2000000 and 250000 T. He talks up the merits of his horses ; listening to him, he breeds the best horses in Mongolia, and each one could win the grand prix d'Amérique (famous horse race) ! When we arrive, I immerse myself in the Emile Brager's book "manual to travel with a horse" which gives some important advice. But, I have to accept the obvious, it's not after reading a few pages I can proclaim myself "horse specialist". I do some tests and reply that the price is still too high. He brings me a horse coming from the neighbouring ger. This one is cheaper but it seems less docile. At the same time, I test all my camping gears, from the stove to the water filter pump. I think a lot about the horse buying and despite its price, I make up my mind to take it and tomorrow, I'll start my trip.
But the next day, the horses of this guy are not on sale any more. He changed his mind and says he's attached to his horses. Let's just hope he has more friendship for the animals than for his kind. Irritated by this reversal, I finally buy the horse of the neighbouring ger which one didn't really convince me the day before. The owner firmly stows my rucksack on the back of the horse and I clear off as fast as possible to dispel the irritation which abides in me.
My plan is to walk along the south shore of the lake and to head to the north up to a tiny village, Jagarlant, then to follow the Ider Gol, a horseshoe-shaped river up to Möron, capital of the Khövsgöl province. I warm up my legs and little by little, my morning gloomy thoughts scatter. As I walk, I learn to know my new travelling companion I hold at rope's length. I often look back, I get the different signs of its behaviour and try to analyse them. Wandering about next to this massive animal brings a special feeling.
I step on these broad green lands that form the lake outline when I hear a creaking. I suddenly look back, the horse fidgets and I see my bag falling from its back, the strap broke. I can't contain the animal strength and drop the rope. I'm powerless in the face of this scene. The horse accelerates, afraid of this load it's pulling. But after a few meters, the strap breaks again and the horse runs away. A deep gash on my dusty backpack testifies this incident. I load this one onto my shouders and leave to pick up my horse in the other way of my trip. But it's impossible to approach the animal. Two young Mongolian girls grab the horse and bring it back to me. At that moment, my mind is confused, it's out of the question to load the horse again with the bag and I didn't plan to carry the rucksack. I sort nothing, what is 25kg on the shoulder. However, I haven't other choice than carrying it and getting over this event.
A little bit farther, I tie the horse to an eletricity pole and as soon as I take the backpack off the shoulders, in a violent back movement, the horse frees itself again. A mongolian grandfather captures it and holds out the rope a hundred meters from here. That's enough for today, I think about walking back to the gers camp and giving the horse back to its owner. I finally decide to settle in the heights of the lake, near a wood.
I tie the horse to a tree with a stronger rope this time and set up the tent a few meters away. I have the blues, I feel like freeing the horse, taking a public transport and moving away from this cursed place.
The next day, the night brought me some advice, I decide to stay here the whole day, to cheer me up on an emotionnal level and to try to tame the animal. I dispel the negative thoughts and the blues of the day before. The rules changed and from now on, I must carry the backpack but, tomorrow, I'll leave northwards with my capricious companion.
click here to read Part 2 ...
