Again, apologies for the late instalment of Brighty’s capers out east. Welcome to Mongolia.
Here’s the forcast: The weather was mainly Shiite with some Sunni intervals. This was allegedly the worst summer in terms of rain for many years. For us it was changeable. Everything from sun to cloud, rain storms, hail, sleet, snow, me and Moritz had it all.
I ended up riding with Moritz, whom I had already hung out with in Barnaul after it turned out that that Germans get on even less with les escargot –munchers than the Pommies. We got on well, I think.
I crossed the border from Tashanta to Tsagaannuur. Or rather, I tried to. I nearly never made it into Mongolia. I had a visa, but it wasn’t valid! Why? The Mongol matie in London forgot to sign it. So 6 hours at the border, with the head of the local immigration office uttering the words: “It is not the problem of the immigration service of Mongolia if the consular service of London is incompetent”. I was very lucky to be able to buy a new visa at the border.
Mongol “rally” cars at the border. They’d each be at the border for about 36 hours. The time it took to process their import papers.
In Olgi we saw this ridiculous shed. He made it to Ulan Bataar via the southern route. His mates had to do a lot of pushing.
Another pic of this monstrous beast. Not only did he buy the entire bling catalogue, but he could carry about a 1000 catalogues.
Mongolian bike stereo
A local biker with “attitude”
Myself and Moritz rode to Olgi then cut north to Ulangom.
Dried out river bed
There’s lots of horses in Mongolia. And horse men. They were friendly enough.
Personality goes a long way
Walter Colebatch woz ere.
Near Walter’s sign, while taking a picture of this eagle I totally missed the pretty, not begging, polite girl looking at me:
Changeable weather
Mongolian drunks on moped
A lot of the roads were like this. Some were worse, not many better
Here we still had some Russian food. It tasted great. Mongolian food varies between sh!te and non-existent. Just as sh!te as the Korean H!te beer.
Crossing a mountain pass in the snow
Moritz crossing stream
At a junction from the dirt road and the pavement, not that far from Ulangom we stop for comfort break. There I spot Ernie and he joins the trip.
We end up leaving Ulangom late because Moritz’s tent was stolen off the back of his parked bike. The hotel had CCTV. This is the moment they spotted the thief. Somebody recognised him. He was later brought to the hotel by the police with the missing tent. I can’t explain why, but the left side of his face looked rather mashed in. Police brutality? Of course not… I suppose he won’t be thieving stuff again in a hurry, nor meeting any women, with his now, Neanderthal looks.
We left at lunchtime, far too late, but…
There was this little river across the main road…
How not to cross a river… and when you’ve really messed up, how to sort it.
