The plan, the route, and some advice

Me and Max

Our plan was to ride horses in Mongolia. This we did, but for a shorter period than we had hoped for due to the approaching winter and shortness of grass.

Through a contact we bought horses in Moron, Khovsgol provence. This is located in northwestern Mongolia. Two Mongols rode with us for eight days. This meant that I had time to learn. We had one pack horse.

All in all, I rode 22 days in a 30 day period, covering a distance of about 400 km. This is not particularly far, and averages only about 5 km per hour, 4 hours per day. You could walk that fast on foot. But a horse is a lot more fun!

It was a fantastic time. In particular, the last 12 days, which I rode solo, left me with a deep sense of accomplishment. I had very limited horseriding experience before arriving in Mongolia, maybe less than ten hours in the saddle.

You can ride from ger to ger (yurt to yurt) and enjoy the hospitality of the countryside nomadic herders. So you don't necessarily need to bring a tent or a stove.

The route:


View horse trek in a larger map

Moron - Khatgal - Renchilkhumbe - Tsaatan Country - Renchilkhumbe - Tsaagannuur - Renchilkhumbe - Ulaan-uul - Toom - Bayanzurkh - Emt - Arbulag - Moron

Advice
At night, you find a plot of land that has the best, longest grass and stake your horse there. If you want, you can get up at 5 am and move your horse to another area. Horses are eating machines.

You don't want a pack horse. They are a big, big pain. It is very difficult to tie bags securely. Even locals have difficulty doing this. Inevitably you will have to stop to adjust them. Also, a packhorse is very difficult to control. It stops and goes when it wants. You cannot whip it, because you are in front, leading it. And, they get spooked by passing vehicles or anything, really. You may lose some of your baggage if this happens, as we did. So ride with one horse per person.

You must be in control of your horse. Do not let your horse do what it wants to do, like veer left or right, or stop incessantly to feed.

But sometimes you must yield to your horse. If the path looks dangerous to you (too steep or slippery, river bottom not visible) let your horse decide which path to take. In these situations, trust your horse.

Horses can be dangerous. They can kick, bite and fall. And you can fall, too! The cinches in Mongolia are very thin and easily loosen. Be aware of this. Tighten them regularly.

Watch out for scrap metal in towns. Your horse can cut itself on such objects easily.

If you are worried about horsethievery (and you should be in Khovsgol provence), the only solution is to have night watches. Of course, this is difficult or impossible with only one or two people. You can hire a local guide, but that is no guarantee your horse will be waiting for you at sunrise.

What to bring - when to go

What to bring

Navigation:
Buy topo maps in UB of the area you will ride in. They have a scale of 1 : 500,000.
Compass.

Clothing:
Wet weather gear.
Gloves.
Riding boots.
Alternative footwear (i.e. tennis shoes, sandals)
Helmet (You probably won't find one in Mongolia. I did, but I was lucky).
Change of clothes.
Warm jacket. (the weather can change suddenly).
Knit cap and muffler
Sunglasses.
Sleeping bag. (You don't need a mat, you can sleep on your saddle pads).
Large tarp, as tent substitute


Tack:
Russian saddle (Mongolian saddles look nice, but are wooden and uncomfortable). Russian saddles have a padded seat and metal frame. Be sure you have ties on your saddle, front and rear, to carry items such as sleeping bag and jacket.
Bridle, harness and lead rope.
Mongolian horses are not shod. No one brushes their horses.
Leather whip. (Lead rope does not work as a whip).
Stake (iron is preferable - it is easier than wood to hammer into the ground).
Stake tether (20 meters)
Extra rope to secure saddle bags
Tie two daypacks together to use as saddle bags. You cancarry a third on your back if necessary, but it is more comfortable without one).

Personal items:
Toiletries, medicines, bandages for sprains
Water purification tablets
Sewing kit
Camera and storage cards (Gers have car batteries for electricity, but no outlets. I don't know if you can hook up your camera battery directly to the car battery to recharge it. Any ideas?)
Journal and pen
Cell phone (but there is not always a signal)
Swiss army knife, hunting knife
Headlamp
Matches and lighter.
Mongolian phrasebook.

Carry enough food with you for a day or two. Aaryyl, the local cheese, is good for this purpose; it lasts a long time. Peanuts and raisins you can sometimes buy in countryside towns.

When to go:
Mongolia has three fine-weather months: June, July and August.
September is fickle. The first snow hits UB at the end of September.

Arbulag to Moron - the final day

Back in Moron I arrange with O's brother to come pick up the saddle. I will give it to him as a present for his family's hospitality. He arrives with his toddler son on his motorcycle, ties the saddle on the rear. I tell him to keep the saddle waiting for me; I will return next year.

My trip has ended rather abruptly. As fantastic as these days have been, I am left with a hollowness inside. I really wanted to continue another couple weeks, but I feared the impending winter and the lack of grass for Max. Originally, I had intended to ride a month through Arkhangai provence to the south of Khovsgol. But that will have to wait for another time.

Arbulag - Day 4

Awaa outside of Arbulag

Breakfast is finished. I ate all the bread. B. gets up and informs me that the uncle spoke with his wife about Max, and that they have decided against buying him. But B knows other people in town who may be interested, so wait and see.

The mother sits on the sofa watching a Korean soap opera. She is 55 and retired from her work of 38 years as a government secretary. Her office was in the big building, the hotel where B first took me looking for a room. The uncle told me yesterday that B's father helped build it, from 1968 to 1972.

The nephew of the family is angry with me: my transgression? rolling out the dough for shöl wrong. The bigger news is that I have sold Max, to an acquaintance of B. He did not dicker at all! He pulled a wad of cash from his deel and counted out the bills. B signed the bill of sale. I still have the saddle.
As we walked with Max to the buyer B tells me that probably the horse will be dinner in Russia in a short time. We walk on silently. What are you thinking? she asks. Yes, I am a bit sad to say good-bye to Max. He has been good to me. I can't blame him for being hungry these last days, stopping at the slightest release of the reins to sink his head to the earth.

No transport to Moron today, so I will depart tomorrow.

Today I walked to the awaa with a relative of the family. Three hours round trip. The awaa has a significant place in Arbulag lore. B's mother typed it up as part of her job for the school children. She shows it to me. Three hundred years ago a Mongolian hero warrior was fighting against the Chinese. He knew he would be captured, so he cut off his thumb and put it on the mountain. He was brought to Beijing and killed in a peculiar manner: 81 coins with holes in their centers were placed on his body and through each hole a vein was pulled and pierced.

Back home B wants now to go up the nearby mountain. Sure, why not? But my feet hurt from my boots. So we search for footwear and find a pair of sandals. Up the mountain we go, looking for ganga, an herbal plant that is used for washing hair. We gather the ganga in a bag. On the top of the mountain is a small pile of rocks of B's making. From here we can see the layout of the town. It stretches long, bordering on the lake. B says she sees her mother at her relatives' home.

B's family built their home only a few years ago. Beforehand, they pitched their ger on their plot of land. If you want to move to the town, the government will give you a plot of land, about an eighth of an acre. Such plots are the only private property in the country.

Arbulag - Day 3

Today's activities: study map, talk with the family about the awaa (the shrine on the hilltop), look at old coins, water Max at the lake with the uncle, go fotoing, play guitar, look at Mongolian herder's almanac (containing traditional songs, recipes for öröm, tarak, etc.), origami flapping bird.

The almanac is a treasure, but it is all in Mongolian, of course. As a sign of the changing times, the mother knows the songs, but not the daughters. She sings a couple for me.

I made an offer to sell Max to the uncle, but he has to talk with his wife who is in the hospital. The weather forecast says the next three days will be sunny, up to 22 to 25 C.

Arbulag - Day 2

Photo albums

The weather forecast turns out so far to be true. Rain and more. We are now waiting for transport to Moron. I will go with B. to return the computer. It had viruses on it, too. What will the day bring?

We go to a house, not a store front, to exchange the computer. We look at a different one. "Someone must have switched the other one," the saleslady says. After checking the new one, I was about to recommend to B. that she buy it, but she telephoned with her mother and they decided against it. There is no Internet in Arbulag. The family wanted a computer basically for the elder daughter who is a teacher.

As I make plans, my main concern now is the weather. O's father was spot on: in two days time the weather changed. Did he see the weather forecast or did he speak from his 50 plus years as a herder in the countryside? Today is blustery cold! No rain yet, but I am not ging to ride in this weather, especially if it should continue. And I guess that is the question: will it remain cold?

If so, that means I sell Max and move on. To Moron for a day or two and then back to UB.

Photo of forefathers

B. is a university graduate. She has only recently returned home from Erdenet. But no prospects here in banking, her field of study. She plans on spending a year here with her family and returning to Erdenet next year to find work. She dresses in western clothes, but her sister, just a few years her senior, prefers the traditional Mongolian deel.
The father has died. His portrait foto occupies a central spot above the triptych mirror to the left of the shrine. You must not lie with your feet stretching towards the shrine. I have been reprimanded twice already for doing so. But the TV is against that wall. So some sit while others lie on their bellies with their heads propped up on their hands

Arbulag - Day 12 Solo

Departure: 10:45
Arrival: 4 pm.
Tea break: 12:45 to 2:15
Riding time: 3:45

B. and her mother

The second person I talk to in Arbulag invites me to her family home. She is B., 21 years old. She tells me that I am the first foreigner they have had as a guest. What is more, they have grass for Max. Incredible. I asked her for a hotel. She brought me to it, but then invited me to her home.

Her mother has just returned from Moron with a new computer. I helped them set it up but a fuse blew. The uncle in the house was able to get it repaired (I knew my electrical tape would come in handy).

But guess what? The computer isn't new! There are games and documents stored on it from last year! So they called the store and the sales clerk turned off his phone. They called a second time and arranged to go see them tomorrow. I will go with them.

Boy comes to invite me to his ger

Today's ride included a boy riding across my path. He rode south towards a few distant gers, and I continued on the trail to Arbulag. O's father pointed over a hill. That is the direction of Arbulag. I followed his finger and rode up a low pass which gave me a grand view of the valley. An hour into the valley I met the boy.

A half hour later the boy, maybe 10 years old, returns. He beckons me to come with him to his ger. I hesitate. A storm is brewing behind me and I want to get to Arbulag before the downpour. But he persists, and after thirty minutes riding I find myself in his family ger.

Mother with phone

His mom had summoned me. Why? She can't figure out how to send a text message on her cell phone in Mongolian. She wants me to show her how! She has a written code that deciphers the Roman alphabet on the keys into Cyrillic. I look at it for a moment. Though I know the Cyrillic alphabet, it looks a bit confusing, . But then a stroke of luck - her battery runs out! So I am relieved of my duty. And after filling up on biscuits and tea, I am back on my horse.
As I find myself back where the boy met me, another man approaches on horseback. He rides up to me and I say hello. But he is silent. We ride together for only a few moments before he turns and heads back towards the pass. What was that all about? Safety is a big concern here, especially with all the talk of horse thievery. So far I have been lucky, but I wonder how close I have come to danger.

Day of rest at O's family ger

Fetching water

Lunch at the ger. Mom wakes up and serves me bread and berry jam, but what kind of berry it is, I don't know. The name is not in my phrasebook. O's sis, A., chops mutton for khorshoor, along with her auntie. Not much happening here. We watered the horses from the spring abut 50 m west of the ger. A. staked the horses back on the meadow, a couple hundred meters distant, but grass is short. Her white horse has more fat, less rib showing.

This family has the requisite family foto display. O is present. Tv is often on, showing a Mongolian soap opera. A. still slices the mutton of the sheep her dad slaughtered.

I am trying to plan the rest of my trip. They say in two or three days it will be getting cold: 10 to 15 C during the day. That is not so bad. But I am tired. I did not realize until these last days how tired I have gotten. Back in Ulaan-uul I started to notice it. They say my horse can go another two weeks.

In big part it is the sense of accomplishment that makes this trip fantastic. Setting a goal and meeting it on my own is a good feeling. That is not to diminish the beauty of the landscape, the hospitalitiy of the people, the learning curve with Max. It is easy until you have a problem. I could have had a mishap a couple days ago down the river valley (after the guys got out of their truck), when I stayed on the west bank instead of crossing the river. My horse wanted to take the trail, steep up the bank, on loose soil. He slid a bit but then I managed to get him to take the lower branch of the trail. If he had slid and fallen, that could have been the end.

Braiding leather whip

But that did not happen. What is happening now is my exhaustion and Max's hunger.
From the forgot to mention file: Back in the ger with Ulana, we sat together thumbing through the phrasebook. She found the word "nomad" and then points at me. You! she said. That made me laugh. This happened after I told her of my distant travels. Is that partly why I like it here so much? Am I a nomad as much as them?

O's family - Day 11 Solo

Departure: 11:15
Arrival: 6 pm
Two x 30 minute tea breaks.
Riding time: 5:45
It works! The message Baigalmaa wrote me I show only twice. Good thing I stopped to ask before riding further on. The first time I ask, a woman points south of the trail, towards distant hills. Behind that one, she says, you will find them. How far is it? About an hour. Ok. It is only 3 pm. Plenty of time yet before dark. I ride towards the horizon.

No gers are in sight. I am a bit anxious but I trust my luck. I focus on the mountain profile as it cuts the sky and steer Max towards it. After an hour I begin to ease around the mountain. To my left are a few gers. Time to ask directions again. I ride up to a woman doing the laundry. I show her my note. She points over the next hill, about 30 minutes away. Which hill? I dismount Max and foto the horizon. Then I zoom on to the foto. She tells me which hill she means.

As I ride up the hillside a motorcycle appears. He stops and waits for me to ride up to him. I circle around so I don't have to look into the sun. I hand him the note. He says laconically, That's my father.

It is amazing to me that people in the countryside have addresses. This one reads something like: behind Mt. So and So. Arbulag. Although nomads, these Mongols return to the same spot year after year. While the ger is movable, they often build permanent structures, such as a barn, corral, or outhouse, which mark their place in the landscape.

I am welcomed at O's ger by a couple of aggressive dogs. I do a dance with them and Max, but before long I am feasting on bread and cheese. I am beat! It is a tremendous relief to arrive! I feel as if I am approaching the end of my journey.

Road to Emt, Darch - Day 10

Departure: 1 pm
Arrival 6 pm

It is evening in Emt. Jaya shows me a foto album of her family. Foto albums are a big thing in the countryside.

Tomor, with Max in background

One hour out of Bayanzurkh a man on a motorcycle stopped to say hi. So I ask him which is the road to Emt, the left or right bank of the river.Tomor invites me to tea. He is my age. He gives me a deerskin pouch as a gift. And a box of matches.

Max was shy this morning about being saddled; that was the first time that has happened.

I stop today for tea. Inside the ger a child is making cookies from aaryyl.

Aaryyl cookies

At 6 pm I was ready to stop. I saw a ger to my right and headed for it. But it did not work out. Instead, we sat outside in the cold wind while no one had much to say and the two younger women were too shy to speak. So I left.

On I rode in view of other gers and soon I stopped and was warmly welcomed by Darch and Jaya (brother and sister). It took a couple askings from Jaya of "Where you going to sleep?" before things turnee in my favor. I told her Max needs to eat, so we went out to stake it. Darch took over and rode off with Max to the valley, where the grass was longer.


Darch and his medals

 Though it is dinner time they offer me only barsocks - those chunky unsweetened cookie like edibles. But that is OK with me. I am happy to have a place to sleep.

Darch is the local wrestling champion. His medals hang proudly in his ger, 10 or so. Wrestling is one of the most popular sports in Mongolia, and occupies a key spot in the Naadam festival. Some Mongols immigrate to Japan to compete in sumo - and do very well.
Back in Bayanzurkh, Baigalmaa called my friend in UB. I will visit my friend's family 17 km outside of Arbulag. Baigalmaa writes down in Mongolian a message: I am looking for this family. Here is the address. Which way should I go?

Bayanzurkh Down Time

Maybe I like this place. Maybe I wake up with a different attitude tomorrow. Maybe I stay another night to rest my horse if I can find grass. The lady who runs this place has a yardfull of grass and a haystack!
Baigalma makes breakfast. I ask if I can do the eggs and she lets me. Oh, boy! Red and black pepper.

Hotel and Max in foreground

I am trying to negotiate grass for Max. i should have let him chow down yesterday while I had the chance. Grass is too short here.

Baigalma speaks Japanese better than English. This facilitates communication. But she gives me only one slice of bread, so I go fetch the bread Otgon had given me a week ago. It has only a couple flecks of mould. Yesterday, before leaving Alana I noticed my butter had gone bad due to the rain. Wrapped in paper it moulded quickly once wet).

I have decided to spend an extra day here. At noon I was able to collect grass by hand from the yard of the hotel lady. She would not let me bring Max to her yard, though. So a couple boys, including the lad from yesterday, helped out - but not much. At least they grabbed a bunch from the hay stack before the older boy told them not to. I carry the sack of hay - 20 kg? - to the hotel and feed Max. In twelve hours he will have finished it and be looking for more.
This horseriding adventure is really cool! Outside of the cities and towns, there is no private land in Mongolia. Get on your horse and go! Unbelievable!

Three women prepare tons of food in the kitchen. Tokobetsu no hi desu ka? A special day? I ask. Tomorrow is the first day of school, a time to celebrate.

Road to Bayanzurkh - Day 9 Solo

Departure: 10:45 am.
Arrival: 4:20 pm
Stopped often to feed.

It was cold last night. I awoke at 4:30 and put on my thick jacket. I was up at 6 with Davaa to foto, but it was disappointing. It took a while for the sun to peek over the nearby hills. Davaa says my horse won't last until Moron. It will fall over, she mimes. We joke about it. I would be happy with two more weeks. I think that would be enough. This is really fun! Of course, I don't want my horse to die underway!
Dinner in Bayanzurkh - five greasy Khorshor.  I am getting frustrated. I got my first turn down at a home. Then I searched and searched for e Namjiljong Hotel. A small boy Bat Tulka helped me out. He fetched water from the river down a steep incline. He came with ame to a shop. I intended to buy him a treat, but they would not sell me dried kiwisfor 100 tg. Then he said he knew where the tall grass grows. Max is starving. So we walked up the abutting hillside to a rocky mesa. I was getting perturbed. No grass.
Today the road forked early. But some kids were nearby and I asked for the road to Bayanzurkh. They pointed me in the right direction and the older brother came. They rode with me half an hour down the hill and then said good-bye. Have you ever wondered how a little kid mounts a horse? She brings its head down to feed, lays herself across its neck and when the horse lifts its head, she straddles the neck!
The trail crossed a river numerous times. At one point a truck came from the opposite direction. Three men got out while a woman waited inside the cab. i had led my horse to the side to feed. But one, then two men approached me, and as the conversation wore on, I got anxious. I should not have let the situation develop. No use hanging around when the men got out of the truck. That was a mistake. But luckily nothing untoward happened.
On top of that incident, I made another mistake. After crossing the river at one point, I led Max a meter or so up the hillside to the trail, but he continued on, although the hillside was very steep and covered with scree. He pushed on and nearly fell backwards, but luckily I was able to bring him back to the trail. That fall would have cost me!
There were few, few gers along the way. After the above incidents I saw none until I spied Bayanzurkh from the hilltop. I chose the ger - actualy a cluster of gers - at which I would stop, to which I had seen a boy dragging firewood behind his horse. A log cabin was situated behind these gers.
Children welcomed me as I rode up. It was a promising scene. I entereed the log cabin and the huge family was intrigued by the fotos of people I showed them, some of whom they knew. But then the room cleared out, after I had only some aaryyl, one cup of milk and one cup of tarak (yoghurt). The mother gave me a bag of aaryyl - a sure sign for me to move on. So i asked for a hotel name in town and they told me.

Ulana and Davaa - Day 8 Solo

Davaa with her horse. Russian saddle has padding.

I chose a good ger today. Two women, one single, no men, two kids. We chat and chat. They show a lot of interest in me and ask questions: Where have you been? Is LA dangerous? Did I fly here? Is it quick?

Today I saw almost no one. A lone rider, but I was not lonesome. It took one hour to traverse one valley, then another hour for the next. Then the road forked. I loooked at th emap and took the road more travelled, and that made all the difference - because I landed here! And, it was the right road to Bayanzurkh. I chose the longer road to Moron.
Ulana says I can ride Max maybe three or four more weeks. The year is growing late. Winter will be here soon. The grass is fading and Max is hungry.

Watering Max

This is Ulana's ger. Davaa is the 21 year old friend who helps out. As I rode up to the ger she stepped outnd waited for me to dismount and tie up Max. Sometimes when people see me approaching their ger, they pay me no heed, as if it were nothing special.

Mongolian etiquette: it is OK to burp but don't blow your nose during a meal. Don't eat lying down. Don't step over food or pots. Don't hold your tea bowl with your index finger inside the rim.

Ulana ys she lives here only one month a year and moves four or five times over the course of a year. She goes by motorbike once a month to Moron to buy provisions. One kg of tea, bought as a cake, lasts one month, from what I gather. Mongol nomads move according to the seasons, always with the top priority being the welfare of the herd.

Ulana tells me that Davaa is now arriving with the yaks. I go out to video, but it is twilight and at ISO 6400, the image will be grainy.

Pass south of Ulaan-uul Day 7 Solo

Mom and Huya have gone to fetch water on the motorcycle. Yesterday I wheeled it inside the ger for them. This morning Huya drove me to their shop, which she runs. I bought water and OJ.

I left Ulaan-uul at 1pm. and arrived at the pass at 4 pm. It rained all the way, but it was not slippery. The pass was rocky. Max did fine, but he is hungry. Yesterday and today he stops suddenly for no reason. He does not pee. He just stops. I whip him and eventually he goes. At first, like our guides, I used the lead rope as a whip, but that is useless. There is no force behind it. But now I use the old leather cinch, and Max responds to that.



Inside the ger



South of the pass the weather was dry and the sun tried to come out. I went for the north cluster of gers, which meant doubling back a bit. I chose this one because I saw a man outside. But I may have chosen the wrong one. It took about an hour until I got the OK to bring my saddle in. And it was raining! The man of the ger napped after looking forever in my phrasebook, without saying anything! Finally, after a couple guests arrived, and they got the conversational ball rolling. It seemed the guest actually brought up the subject of me sleeping here.

Since Renchelkhumbe I have three backpacks. I bought a used one in that town at the guesthouse. Just now I tried to repair the zipper on it, but I only succeeded in making it worse. I will have to close it with safety pins and carry my food in there instead of my camera lenses.

I sure hope the weather is fine tomorrow. What to do if it rains? Do I leave this ger? That would be awful. Riding in the rain sucks. It was a challenge coming over the pass. Not so much because of the height as the lousy wet weather. Got some thumbs-up and nods of approval from passers-by in vehicles. I did not foto at all due to the fact that I had buried my camera deep in my bag.

I saw almost no gers the whole day. After an hour or two I saw a couple, but it was too early to stop, the weather notwithstanding. So on I went. No gers leading up to the pass. The turn off to the western Toom town is but three or four km south of the river. I have to decide which road to take to Moron, the shorter way vehicles drive, or via Toom. But maybe I won't even see the turn off.

The 14 year old girl makes dinner and takes time off to comfort the four month old. Mom and Dad ave disappeared. Beside her sits a one and a half year old.

My clothes, deel, jacket, sweatshirt - all hang from the rafters
in order to dry. Inside a ger it is always warm, the stove always going. The 80 or so wooden poles holding up the roof of the ger provide great clothes-hanging opportunities.

The difference between the way I enter a ger and how locals do it? I knock. I should be in Moron in ten days.

Ulaan-uul Day 7 Solo

Just finished sorting cranberries with two women. I will stay in this ger with one of them. Her husband took off shortly after I arrived at 4:30. I intended to stay next door, at fixed wooden houses, the place the woman back in Renchelkhumbe recommended, but that is all locked up.
still can't figure out the map, which way I came. I stopped at a ger from 12:30 to 2 pm., then walked to the river Baxmax with the woman and kids. We took fotos, before I mounted. She said it would take about two hours to reach Ulaan-uul. I made it in two and a half. I turned up a small incline and then headed south, but I can't find the hill on the map. The wind picked up after crossing the river. It was, however, a beautiful ride. No problems with Max, my horse. He responds better and better. But sometimes in the morning he does not want to walk. I walk Max before mounting to tighten up the cinch.


Pooh-J coming to see me off

You won't believe this! This morning I departed the ger and about 30 minutes later what do I see? A motorcycle is approaching from my left. The two are riding towards me. For a moment this is worrisome. But soon my concern fades. When they arrive I notice that it is Pooh-J coming to see me off. He gets off the motorcycle and gives me a bag of aaryyl and - are you ready for this? - 5,000 tg! (about $5). I decline the offer several times, but finally relented so we both could be on our way. This morning I was losing patience with him and the others as they helped me saddle Max. As I tightened the cinch, they were bridling him, but that frightens him and could be dangerous.

Locals often want to offer a hand in dealing with the tack. I don't know how to interpret this. Are they just being helpful, or do they think I don't know what to do? In any case, it can be a learning experience to let them saddle Max, for example; I may learn a new way of packing the bags or tying knots. On the other hand, if I let them do it, I have to check it to make sure it is safe and sound.

Shöl for dinner. I didn't know it was coming, so beforehand I filled up on bread and jam. When I arrived here I had bread and öröm. That is the local fare. I walked to the forested area looking for water for Max, where the women pointed me. But I found none. Upon returning to the ger, I found it was empty, so I went to the wooden house in the back and found the mother and her sister eating bread and jam. Soon Huya, the daughter, joined us. She must be 17. I sad to her, LA has more people than Mongolia. She gave me her cell phone to type the sentence so she could understand me.

Today is day seven of solo equitrekking. It is fantastic! The people! The landscape! The learning curve with Max! All is wonderful. A few anxious moments of not finding the trail. But there is no reason for that to be, because it is a vehicle road. You can't really miss it!

Pooh-J - Day 6 Solo




Pooh-J, however you might spell his name, has continued his drinking this morning. We had one bottle yesterday evening, with peanuts and raisins. He drank the lion's share - I hardly felt a buzz. Now, after breakfast, he insists on calling me Michael Jackson. I ignore him, while the others laugh it up. It is time to leave. I may be in th evalley to the west on the map. That would explain the mountains on either side of the ger. Yesterday, the old man with the belly scar (with the jolly fat woman) at the branch in the road pointed me along the river. I followed his advice, and then veered to the west. Best to keep the map handy, so as to check the route.

The drunk has said good-bye, but he is finishing his bottle of vodka. Now the tall neighbor has arrived. He is probably 6 foot 2, nearly as tall as the ger.

Army man, where am I? - Day 5 Solo

Mongolian saddle

I stop at one ger in a cluster of three. The man of the family took off for Ulaan-uul. Three hours ride, they say. He works for the army. Before departing, he said something like, You can sleep here tonight, and we will see each other tomorrow in Ulaan-uul. Or maybe that was mostly my imagination. The sleep invitation came late, but the food came quickly. A storm was brewing, which caused me worry about my saddle and bags, but it soon dissipated.
No mother present. After the father departed, the daughter searched and searched in my phrasebook for something. I spoke to her many times, but never did she speak to me. After a long while she found what she was looking for: luggage. Her brother came with me to help with my saddle.

She fed me shöl - the best I have had, with thicker noodles. Then came goat entrails served up, of which I ate only a bit of liver. Plenty of tea and aaryyl. I am beat. Today has been a long day. After the short break at the unfriendly woman's place, I asked directions a bit further on. A fat woman, jolly to perfection, pointed to the horizon. It is hit or miss with each ger you seek out. Roll the dice and see what you get.

I just washed up at the drying up river. One neighbor came to watch, then rode off to the other ger. The cold water felt good on my face.

I try to pinpoint or even guestimate our position on the map. But I can't do it. The topo of the map does not match what I see: mountains to the east and west. But where they tell me we are has only one or two mountains shown on the map. I must have come a different road than I thought.

I cross a small river flowing east to west at 11:30 and then a large river flowing north-south at about noon. That was an anxious moment! I asked a man transporting his ger in a truck if I had to cross to go on to Ulaan-uul. Yes, crossing the river would put me on the trail to that town. I didn't dare video the crossing. Too treacherous. I made it safely, but regret not filming.
On the other side of the river a truck passes me from the other direction transporting many head of reindeer. Maybe to take to the nearby tourist ger camp. Here the road branches. I ask a man with a long belly scar the way. A woman points back across the river! But another go-round of questioning yields a consensus: follow the river. So I do.