The South West Odyssey: An Introduction

The Genesis of an Epic Walk

The South West Odyssey was a long distance walk.
Five like-minded people started in 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire and by walking three days a year reached Start Bay on the South Devon Coast in May 2019.

Go West! (1998 or 9)

First there was Go West! in which six like-minded people decided to walk due west from Stafford, or as due west as footpaths would allow, until halted by the sea. After nine days walking - spread over five months - we had all stood knee deep in the briny on Barmouth beach. That was in 1998 (or maybe 1999 – it was certainly in the days before digital cameras put a nice clear date and time on every picture).

Go North! reaches Settle - and Alison wears a fine pair of trousers

Go North! (2002-4)

After an intended year off, which foot and mouth extended to three, we embarked on Go North! and after fifteen days walking - over three years - we reached Hadrian’s Wall and a natural conclusion. This time we had allowed ourselves some deviation from due north – strolling through the suburbs of Manchester with rucksacks on our backs and walking boots on our feet would have looked weird. Instead we swung east to traverse the moors between Oldham and Sheffield – much more natural walking country.

Beside the South Tyne, (photograph: Alison)

By the end of Go North! we had established a pattern of walking for three days during the summer half term whilst non-walking spouses were kind enough to drop us off at the start and after a spent doing touristy things, picking us up at the end.

The South West Odyssey (Welsh Branch) (2005-7)

Up the Cardingmill Valley onto the Long Mynd

The South West Odyssey started in 2005. Setting off from a point near Shrewsbury on the Go West! route, we headed for the Long Mynd and then along the Welsh border before turning deeper into Wales towards Brecon.

The River Usk at Brecon

The western extremity of the Brecon Beacons National Park seemed an appropriate place to stop, so in 2008 we returned to the Long Mynd and set off on an English branch to the South West Odyssey.

Brecon Beacons

In Homer’s poem Odysseus, Greek hero of the Trojan War, spent ten years wandering around the eastern Mediterranean trying to find his way home to Ithaca. The gods chose to shower him with problems and diversions, but even so the eastern Mediterranean is small and ten years is a long time; the inevitable conclusion is that Odysseus was a pretty crap navigator.

Corn Du and Pen y Fan - Brecon Beacons

Like Odysseus, we will, doubtless wander. [update 2011:We have spent whole days walking southeast, and at least one half-day walking north]. Our wandering is not the result of navigational problems – ‘if in doubt follow Francis’ is (almost) foolproof – it is by choice. Our Odyssey is about the journey, not the destination. Our ‘Ithaca’ is, at best, hazily defined; we may take ten years to reach it, or more, or less, it matters not; no Penelope is waiting at the end fending off suitors with unpicked needlepoint.[Update 2019: It actually took 12 years, and ended, with a little gentle irony, at Start Bay on the south Devon Coast.]

The Black Mountain - Brecon Beacons

To find out about the walk or just look at the pictures simply click on the episodes below

The South West Odyssey (English Branch)
Introduction
Day 1 to 3 (2008) Cardingmill Valley to Great Whitley
Day 4 to 6 (2009) Great Whitely to Upton-on-Severn via the Malvern Ridge
Day 7 to 9 (2010) Upton-on-Severn to Andoversford
Day 10 (2011) Andoversford to Perrott's Brook
Day 11 (2011) Perrott's Brook to the Round Elm Crossroads
Day 12 (2011) Walking Round Stroud
Day 13 (2012) Stroud to North Nibley
Day 14 (2012) North Nibley to Old Sodbury
Day 15 (2012) Old Sodbury to Swineford
Day 16 (2013) Along the Chew Valley
Day 17 (2013) Over the Mendips to Wells
Day 18 (2013) Wells to Glastonbury 'The Mountain Route'
Day 19 (2014) Glastonbury to Langport
Day 20 (2014) Along the Parrett and over the Tone
Day 21 (2014) Into the Quantocks
Day 22 (2015) From the Quantocks to the Sea
Day 23 (2015) Watchet, Dunster and Dunkery Hill
Day 24 (2015) Dunkery Beacon to Withypool
Day 25 (2016) Entering Devon and Leaving Exmoor
Day 26 (2016) Knowstone to Black Dog on the Two Moors Way
Day 27 (2016) Morchard Bishop to Copplestone
Day 28 (2017) Down St Mary to Drewsteignton
Day 29 (2017) Drewsteignton to Bennett's Cross
Day 30 (2017) Bennett's Cross to Lustleigh
Day 31 (2018) Southwest Across the Moor from Lustleigh
Day 32 (2018) South to Ugborough
Day 33 (2018) Ugborough to Ringmore
Day 34 (2019) Around the Avon Estuary to Hope Cove
Day 35 (2019):  Hope Cove to Prawle Point
Day 36 (2019) Prawle Point to Start Bay: The End
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The Last Post

That's All Folks - The Odyssey is done.

Ulaanbaatar (formerly Ulan Bator): Trans-Siberian Railway Part 11

Two Visits, Four Days Apart, to Mongolia's Only Real City

27-July-2007

Arriving in Ulaanbaatar

Mongolia

Ulaanbaatar

Our first impressions were right, Ulaanbaatar is an ugly, unplanned sprawl of a city; indeed I cannot think of an uglier capital city. It is not particularly run down or dirty, though it is no shining city on or off a hill, but there is little that aspires to be more than ‘functional’ and disparate buildings – and tents - are plonked down without regard for their surroundings.

Formerly anglicised as 'Ulan Bator' the city's name is now written ‘Ulaanbaatar’, which is an accurate transliteration of the Mongolian Cyrillic (Улаанбаатар) though how close that is to the Mongolian original (see right) is a question for somebody else. The city claims to have been founded in 1639 as a Buddhist monastic centre, but as that centre was originally nomadic it did not really come into being until it settled on its present site in 1778. Originally called Khuree, the city was renamed Ulaanbaatar (literally: Red Hero) when it became the capital of the People’s Republic of Mongolia in 1924. 1.2 million people live there - roughly half all Mongolians - and it is the only city of any size in the whole of the sparsely populated country.

Sukhbaatar Square Ulaanbaatar

Between our arrival from Naushki and departure in the direction of Buurd Sum we had time for a quick look round. Ulan Batar’s central Sukhbaatar (Axe Hero) Square is impressive but it is the only part of the city that looks as if it was planned.

In the centre is an equestrian statue of Sukhbaatar himself. After the First World War, the Chinese attempted to regain control over Outer Mongolia (the present Republic of Mongolia) and in 1919 ‘persuaded’ the country's ruler, the Bogd Khan, to sign an edict incorporating Outer Mongolia into China (Inner Mongolia had long been – and remains - a Chinese Province). Damdin Sukhbaatar, a founder of the Mongolian People’s Party, led the resistance which re-established independence in 1921. He died in 1923, officially of stress and overwork. As he was aged 30 and in otherwise good health it is generally believed that he was murdered by the Russians. Normally I distrust conspiracy theories, but this one has much to recommend it. Sukhbaatar may have been a communist, but he was too powerful for the Soviet regime to control and they wanted a more malleable leader.

Sukhbaatar in his square, Ulan Bator

Dying young and at the peak of his popularity, he naturally became a national hero. With a north-western town, a south-eastern province and a district of the capital named after him as well as his own square, he is Mongolia’s second greatest hero. The greatest sits outside the parliament building which occupies one side of the square. Mongolia today is a parliamentary democracy; I am not sure that Genghis Khan (or Chinggis Khaan as the locals would say) would have had much time for democracy, but there he sits, several times larger than life, guarding the entrance to parliament.

the Biggest Local hero - in every way - Chinggis Khan oustde Ulaanbaatar's Parliament building

We visited a money changer to turn some US dollars into togrogs. It was largely a waste of time as only once were we quoted a price in Togrogs. Generally we were asked for dollars and suggesting we might pay in togrogs produced a sigh and a calculator. This was not just because we were foreigners, I saw locals paying taxi drivers with dollar bills as well. Chinggis is, of course, on all the large notes, while Sukhbaatar is on notes from 5 to 100 togrogs. As there are some 2000 to the pound, 10 togrogs are quite difficult to spend.

Sukhbaatar on the 10 togrog note

Gandan Monastery, Ulaanbaatar

Gandan Monastery was built in 1809 and is the centre of Tibetan Buddhism in Mongolia. It was closed by the government in 1938 but later Stalin – who pulled the strings – decided to look more kindly on religion and it was reopened in 1949 (two years after the Ivolginsk Datsun we vsisited in Ulan Ude) as a token gesture to the country’s traditional culture and religion. It was extensively refurbished is 1990 and is now home to some 150 monks.

Entrance, Gandan Monastery, Ulaanbaatar

We wandered round Gandan marvelling at its many pigeons, at the monks’ exotic hats and at the way it looked so Tibetan despite Tibet being 2000km away. Then we set off south to stay with the nomads (a highlight of the whole journey), before passing back through Ulaanbaatar on our way to the Elstei Ger camp (a Mongolian dude ranch and a cold and damp anti-climax after the real thing). See Part 9: Across the Mongolian Steppe from Ulan Bator to Burd Sum and Part 10: With the Mongolian Nomads.

Gandan Monastery, Ulan Bator

01-Aug-2007

Return from Elstei

From Elstei we returned to Ulan Bator and checked into the Bayangol Hotel, a genuine four star international class hotel with soft beds and a shower which pumped out an unlimited supply of hot water.

Cleaner than we had been for some time we set out in search of lunch. Walking north towards the city centre we soon encountered The Brauhaus. Why two Germans chose to travel to Mongolia and set up a brewery in 1996 is a mystery, but I am glad they did. Khan Brau is a well-made pilsner style beer and the Brauhaus restaurant menu includes chicken. I was surprised how important this was, but after a week of eating mutton twice a day every day, chicken seemed exotic and luxurious.

The Bogd Khan's Palace, Ulaanbaator

Well fed, we walked south past our hotel and into the hinterland of the ugly city towards a huge portrait of Chinggis Khan on the hill opposite. We were in search of the Bogd Khan’s palace.

Chinggis on the opposite hillside, Ulan Bator

The Jebtsundamba (Holy Venerable Lord) is Mongolia’s spiritual leader and is the third most important Lama in Tibetan Buddhism. In 1911 Mongolia declared independence from China and the 8th Jebtsundamba became Mongolia’s theocratic ruler, the Bogd Khan. He remained the titular head of state after the 1921 revolution, but died in 1924. The 9th Jebtsundamba was born in 1932 and despite spending most of his life in exile in India, he was enthroned at the Gandan monastery in 1999. [update: he became a Mongolian citizen in 2010 and died in Ulan Bator in 2012. The search is now on for the 10th incarnation]

There was a major refurbishment going on at the palace. Parts of it still looked rather sad…..

Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

…. while other parts were newly restored,….

Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

….the paintings on the lintels had been touched up….

Lintel, Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

….as had the decorations on the gables. There are always an even number of ornaments which remained popular throught China's Ming and Qing dynasty - 1368 to 1912, Chinese tastes evolve slowly!.

gable ornaments, Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

But the Bogd Khan, like all Mongolians, was a nomad at heart and when he went travelling he used a ger made from the skins of 150 snow leopards, which may account for why there as so few left. The ger is now in the palace museum.

Ger made of snow leopard skins, Bogd Khan Palace Museum, Ulan Bator

Back at the hotel we wrote an email home. The ‘business centre’ was part of reception and the dial-up connection was slow and unreliable. I tutted – nothing more – when I lost the connection in the middle of an email. An American serviceman – one of several we had seen around the hotel - using the other computer said, ‘Don’t complain, you’re in Mongolia and you’re on the internet.’ It was said loudly, within hearing of the the receptionists who spoke good English, and it sounded very patronising. ‘Hearts and minds,’ I thought, but I just smiled and grunted.

Cultural Show, Ulaanbaatar

That evening we walked into the centre to see a show that had been recommended to us by James and Naomi whom we had met in Listvyanka.

The auditorium, in Ulan Bator’s only shopping mall, was far from packed and we found ourselves sitting next to the W’s whom we had first met at the nomad encampment. They were there with their guide who expressed surprise, indeed amazement, that we had found our way there unaided. We had spoken to her before, and she was good at her job, but had suddenly become confused by the distinction between ‘foreign’, which we were, and ‘stupid’ which were (and are) not. This confusion often affects professional guides – and not just guides.

The band was good, the man with the one string fiddle really could make it sound like a herd of galloping horses, and Mongolian throat singing should be heard by everybody - once.

There is (literally) nothing like a bit of Mongolian throat singing, Nomin auditorium, Ulan Bator

Three skinny girls were impressive contortionists, but I would rather they had kept their act to themselves. The human body is not supposed to bend like that and watching it made me feel queasy. Several dances were supposed to portray the country’s shamanist tradition, but they seemed a bit twee – not that I have ever understood dance.

Shamanic spirits, I think, Nomin auditorium, Ulan Bator

We walked back to our hotel as darkness fell. I would not have liked to be out much later, with unreliable lighting and some unsavoury people abroad. We were only accosted by one drunk who was easily dealt with, but it can be a problem. Beer is being promoted to wean drinkers off harder liquor, but success has been partial – and are lager louts preferable to vodka vandals, anyway?

Breakfast Excitement and Departure from Ulaanbaatar

At breakfast we discovered just how many of our fellow guests were American military advisers. Lynne had gone to do some packing and I was finishing my breakfast alone when there was a noisy explosion. Shaven heads jerked upwards from their toast, and gimlet eyes darted round the room seeking out the terrorists. It was actually just a gas bottle loudly but harmlessly announcing that it was empty. Under the circumstances I was surprised and relieved that the omelette chef was not shredded by a hail of bullets.

Without further excitement we set off for the station and the last stage of our journey from Moscow to Beijing.

The Trans-Siberian Railway

Part 1: Moscow
Part 2: Yekaterinburg
Part 3: Across Siberia to Irkutsk
Part 4: Listvyanka and Lake Baikal
Part 5: Irkutsk
Part 6: Ulan Ude (1)
Part 7: Ulan Ude (2)
Part 8: To Naushki and into Mongolia
Part 9: Across the Mongolian Steppe from Ulan Bator to Burd Sum
Part 10: With the Mongolian Nomads
Part 11 Ulan Bator

With the Mongolian Nomads: Trans-Siberian Railway Part 10

Mongolia

Morning at Bürd Sum

Our morning started with a quick wash, which was the only sort of wash available. We had brought drinking water from Ulan Bator but otherwise relied on our hosts’ supply. As this was dragged laboriously from the stream in large, blue plastic butts we were reluctant to create work by using too much.



Morning in Buurd Sum
Lynne outside the ger

Bayara had brought eggs from Ulan Bator for breakfast. Although our hosts kept horses, cattle, sheep and goats they, perhaps surprisingly, had no chickens.

Erdene Zuu Monastery

Cleaned and fed, though with stomachs still not entirely settled, we set out to visit Erdene Zuu monastery.

Oggy drove us out of the valley and then further south to a tarmac road where we paused by a Buddhist shrine.  It was nothing more than a pile of stones with a tangle of flags, but every passer-by either stopped or hooted their horn. We walked round it three times in a clockwise direction, which is the appropriate thing to do, and placed another stone on the top. Mongolian Buddhism is of the same Yelugpa sect as Tibetan Buddhism and they recognise the Dalai Lama as their spiritual leader, but Mongolia also has a long tradition of Shamanism, and sometimes Buddhism and Shamanism become intertwined.


A pile of stones with a tangle of flags
Buddhist (or perhaps Shaman) shrine, Mongolia

Twenty or thirty miles take no time on a proper road, particularly when there is very little traffic.


We stopped on a low rise overlooking Erdene Zuu. Beyond the monastery, the small town of Kharkhorin was marked by an ugly smudge of smoke from a rare example of Mongolian industry.


Erdene Zuu with Kharkhorin in the background

We had halted by an interesting stone which had been arranged so that it pointed into a folded cleft in the hills.  I have been unable to find out when this little monument was erected, but, in theory, it channels away the monk’s sexual energy, allowing them to live pure and blameless lives. That sounds to me like a post hoc justification for the chief lamas’ childish glee at having found a stone shaped just like a willy. It also provided an opportunity for a few locals to set up trestle tables and sell trinkets to passing willy watchers.


Phallic stone, Kharkhorin

Ghengis Khan built his capital of Karakorum here around 1220. Not being a settling down sort of guy, Ghengis soon moved on, though the city thrived for a while before being destroyed by a Ming army in 1388. Erdene Zuu was built in 1585, using such remnants of Karakorum as were available. The site is surrounded by a wall containing 100 stupas. 108 is a mystical number in Buddhism, so perhaps some builder miscounted and nobody noticed until it was too late.


Erdene Zuu

By the end of the 19th century there were over 60 temples here, but in 1939 the communists destroyed many of them. What remained became a museum until 1990 when the site was handed back to the lamas and again became an active monastery.


Erdene Zuu

The ‘thinning’ of the buildings in 1939 had the unintended consequence of providing a pleasant and uncluttered site to walk around. The temple buildings are similar in style and architecture to those of Tibet, and the interiors are richly coloured.  Unlike Ivolginsk, there were plenty of visitors, though I think we were the only westerners there at the time. The site was also equipped with clean, modern flush toilets, and as the airacke had not yet fully passed through our systems we were duly grateful.


Temple interior, Erdene Zuu

The exit was through the gift shop – the Mongolians seem to be adapting to capitalism more naturally than the Russians. We had bought some Tögrögs before leaving Ulan Bator, but discovered the gifts were all priced in US dollars. Suggesting we might pay in Tögrögs produced a sigh and a pocket calculator. ‘This must be for the foreign tourists’ we thought, but there were none except us.


Monk with a prayer wheel, Erdene Zuu

Camel Riding

We returned to our ger in time for our midday mutton. After eating, we were informed that Shitter’s father-in-law had acquired a couple of camels - I have no idea where from - and thought we might like a ride. Payment was again requested in US dollars.

My previous experience had only been with Arabian camels which are smelly, bad-tempered, supercilious and uncomfortable, so I approached this new opportunity warily. The two humped Bactrian camels, I soon discovered, are docile and sweet-natured, and also have an obvious place to sit. I know there are people in the Middle East who love their one-humped camels the way cowboys loved their horses, but I will take the two-humper any day of the week.


A lesson in camel management
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Shitter’s second son and a friend were in charge of the beasts and showed us how to control them, though they had little faith in our abilities and walked with us all the way. Four year old Ugana ‘assisted', showing no fear of the large beasts, walking right underneath a camel at one point.

Ugana helps
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Once mounted, we set off on a longer version of our walk of the day before, first visiting the desert and then circling through the whole of the encampment. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, though I had no idea how much my knees would ache when I dismounted and straightened them up.


Totally confident and in control
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Later, as we were chewing our evening mutton we heard voices outside. They were speaking English, and speaking it with the familiar lilt of the south Wales valleys. The W family, father G, mother D and daughter K had arrived to stay with Shitter’s in-laws. They had already had their first brush with airacke and were in urgent need of the noisome hole in the ground.


Camel's eye view of the desert
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

We let them sort out their problem before introducing ourselves, swapping some stories and then letting them sort out their problem again.


That night was peaceful – for us - interrupted only by the occasional howling of the dogs.

Dawn brought another beautiful morning, with nothing to do except spend a day in camp with our hosts. We watched what they did, helped where we could, which was very little, and tried not to get in the way.

Making Leather, Bürd Sum

One job that was carried out morning and evening was the working of what would become leather. Shitter and his father-in-law hung a hide cut into twisted strips on a wooden gallows and attached a weight. Then, with considerable effort, they ran a pole up and down through the twists, twirling the weight and stretching and strengthening the leather.


Shitter and his father-in-law work the leather
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Milking the Mares, Bürd Sum

After this it was time to milk the horses. The foals were tethered to a line set in the grass. Shitter brought up the mares one by one, allowed the foals to drink their fill, before pushing them away so that Oyedoo could collect the excess. Finally the milk was poured into a butt half buried in the ground where it could be stirred and fermented.


Oyedoo waits for the foal to finish
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Camp Life, Bürd Sum

We did little for the rest of the morning but it was interesting to watch the life of the encampment go on around us. Shitter’s solar panel powering a single light bulb, but we had heard of gers with much larger panels, satellite dishes and bored teenagers inside watching MTV. Nothing like that happened where we were. The two older boys spent all day with their father, helping out in all he did. Each had his own horse and they looked completely at home in the saddle as they galloped across the valley, standing in the stirrups holding their lassos like lances. Their younger sister spent the day helping their mother.

Number 2 son, Bürd Sum


We may no longer like the idea of ‘men’s work’ and ‘women’s work’ but survival in the camp depends on everybody knowing their job and getting on with it, and if their traditional way of life is to continue this is the way it must be. The older children also spend a large part of the year away at school so they are properly equipped should they choose to follow another path.

Little Ugana was, undoubtedly the star of the show. He spent much of his day ‘galloping’ astride a stick to which a white ribbon had been attached for a mane. At other times he could be found walking around the camp with a stool over his head. This was clearly an important job, but only a four-year-old’s logic could explain why.

Ugana
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Milking the Goats, Bürd Sum

Goat milking was an afternoon job. On horseback Shitter and his sons gathered the herd and drove them to the appropriate area. Shitter picked out the family goats – identified by their blue painted horns – and tethered them in two rows facing each other. His mother-in-law started milking one side, his sister-in-law the other.


Ugana among the goats, Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Ugana galloped over and muscled his way in among the goats, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. He clambered onto the back of one, grabbed its horns, and started making motorbike noises, twisting his hand round the horn like his uncle opening the throttle on his bike. The goats seemed to accept this as normal behaviour.


Ugana rides his goaterbike....
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

A lot of work was involved and the quantity of milk produced was not great, but the cheese produced is an important part of their diet. The traditional Mongolian diet consists largely of dairy products, with added mutton. The concept of ‘five a day’ was alien to them, indeed the Mongolians do not traditionally grow vegetables, considering it an insult to the earth to go digging in it.  Today almost half of Mongolia’s 2.75 million people live in Ulan Bator and few of them could be considered to live a ‘traditional way of life’.


...while Granny does the milking
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

Later, Oyedoo asked about our lives and we showed her a picture of our house. She stared at it for a while with a furrowed brow. ‘How many rooms?’ she asked at last. ‘Seven’ we told her. ‘How many people live there?’ ‘Just us two.’ She thought about that, decided it made no sense and returned our photograph with a shake of her head and a smile that said that we could hardly have been stranger had we come from Mars. She could not imagine our lives any more than we would have been able to imagine hers just a few days earlier.

We felt privileged to have spent a few days with Shitter and Oyedoo. Their culture is still strong, but it is a hard life, and much harder in the extremely cold winters. They are sophisticated people and not unaware of the outside world. Given the opportunities and alternatives their children have I wonder how many more generations will chose to live like this. They are also a friendly and welcoming people. It may be hypocritical, but I hope tourism of the sort we indulged in does not end up damaging their culture.

Mongolian herdsmen learn to ride young
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

A Bit of a Sing-song, Bürd Sum

After our evening mutton we were joined by the W’s, their guide, driver, Bayara, Oggy and Shitter. Oggy produced a bottle of vodka and Shitter found a glass. We drank in a circle, as is common where glasses are rare. The host pours for the person on his left who downs the vodka and refills the glass for the person on their left and so on. With so many people the bottle did not last long, even though Shitter seemed happy to stick to his airacke. When it was gone I rummaged round in our luggage and miraculously came up with another one.

The Mongolians started the singing, Oggy and Shitter giving us some folk songs and proving they had very good voices. Lynne replied with a lullaby in Welsh and so the evening progressed. By the time the second bottle was empty everybody had contributed to the singing except GW and me. I am uncomfortable in such situations; I cannot sing, I do not know what to do to make a tune. Embarrassing as it was, I really had no choice but to opt out; GW was different. He had enjoyed an interesting and varied career but he had spent recent years singing with the Welsh National Opera. He had been waiting patiently all evening and this was his opportunity. I had never before sat right next to a fully trained operatic tenor when he opens up his lungs. It was unbelievably loud and, to me at least, incomprehensibly musical. GW sang Verdi, the Mongolians stared open mouthed and I felt the little hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Sitting in a tent in the middle of the steppe listening to a Welshman singing in Italian to a bunch of Mongolians is one of those events destined to be remembered.

Oggy and Shitter drink airacke
Bürd Sum, Mongolia

We slept well that night, even sleeping through the wolf attack which lead to the death of a sheep.

To the Elstei Tourist Ger Camp via Ulaanbaatar

In the morning we made the long journey back to Ulaanbaatar, arriving in the middle of a power cut. On the odd occasions when traffic lights have been out at home, I have found that people slow down, negotiate their way through junctions, and often do so quicker than when the lights are working. Not so in Ulan Bator. Every driver pushed his way forward into any space available while simultaneously leaning on his horn. The result was a cacophonous gridlock.

We eventually made it to the offices of the travel company where we walked up five flights of stairs in the dark to use their toilet.

Elstei Ger Camp, Mongolian Dude Ranch

After a short break Oggy drove us north for a couple of hours, largely on proper roads, to a ‘the Elstei Tourist Ger Camp’ a sort of Mongolian ‘dude ranch.’ Straight after the real thing – probably the highlight of the whole trip – this was a serious anti-climax.

On a desolate grassy plateau were two dozen gers, pitched much closer together than on any real encampment. Their occupants were us, the W family, several other Europeans (mainly British) and a Japanese tour party. There was a toilet block with hot showers, which were welcome, and a brick built clubhouse where we gathered to eat our mutton. There was also a full bar (priced in US dollars) so the evenings were quite convivial.



The W family play the bones game  at the Elstei Ger Camp

I spent the late afternoon attempting to photograph hamsters. Their burrows surrounded the clubhouse and they kept on popping out having a potter around and then retreating. Whichever burrow I stationed myself beside, a hamster would appear elsewhere, wait as I gently repositioned myself and then, as soon as I raised my camera, disappear. My failure was total.

Later some of the waiters gave an exhibition of Mongolian wrestling. Wrestling is very popular and is considered the most important of the Three Manly Skills - horsemanship and archery being the others. There are no weight divisions or any limit to the ‘ring’. After saluting the crowd and their opponent the wrestlers grapple and the bout ends when any part of one the combatants, other than his foot, touches the ground. Though somewhat lightweight the waiters put on a good performance and there was clearly some rivalry between them.

Mongolian wrestling

The next day dawned cool and overcast. The main attraction was horse-riding, but as I am allergic to horses (and cats and dogs but not camels) I was not keen. Eventually I decided to have a go and dosed myself up with anti-histamine. Unfortunately I had spent too long dithering and the Japanese group had bagged all the horses. ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘we’ll go this afternoon.’ At that point it started raining and continued solidly for the rest of the day and all night.



Elstei in the rain, the horses huddled in the middle distance

We never did go horse-riding, but I used the opportunity to finish Crime and Punishment which I had been struggling with all the way across Russia. I am not sure I enjoyed it, but I was glad I had managed to finish it. I have not felt the need to read any more Dostoyevsky.

Reading Dostoyevsky as the rain batters down
Elstei ger Camp, Mongolia

Next morning we returned to Ulaanbaatar, checked into an international class hotel and had most of the day to look at the city.

The Trans-Siberian Railway

Part 1: Moscow

Part 2: Yekaterinburg

Part 3: Across Siberia to Irkutsk

Part 4: Listvyanka and Lake Baikal
Part 5: Irkutsk

Part 6: Ulan Ude (1)

Part 7: Ulan Ude (2)

Part 8 : To Naushki and into Mongolia

Part 9: Across the Mongolian Steppe from Ulan Bator to Burd Sum 

Part 10:With the Mongolian Nomads

Part 11 Ulan Bator