City of the Red Hero

Sunday 6 June 1999 – Tuesday 8 June 1999

Although Mongolia was the part of our journey we had most been looking forward to, neither one of us could ever have imagined what an incredible experience it would be.  We had factored in around a month to explore the country, bringing with us a tent and camping gear knowing that most of that time would be spent out on the road.

UB (as it is referred to by the resident ex-pat community) houses over a quarter of the country’s population of 2.5 million and it is by no means a small, quaint village.  The view from the train as we pulled in encompassed power stations and a sprawling urban development, not least the now familiar sight of Soviet-style high-rise apartment blocks.  The city itself is surrounded by beautiful mountains on all sides and, despite having more than a hint of that Soviet run-down feel, has obviously changed considerably in the two years since our guidebook was published.  It is still a long way from housing a McDonalds or Pizza Hut, but there are now a couple of very decent western style places to get a meal as well as some relatively modern hotels complete with cable TV!

Both of us were tired by the time we arrived in UB, despite the endless hours of doing nothing on the train.  We checked into a hotel just off the main square and spent almost the entire day recharging our batteries and reading through the guidebooks, but not before Eric had once again located the local watering hole.  That evening, we had our first taste of Mongolian cuisine:  mutton.  We had been warned that outside the capital, it is the only meat you will find on offer so we figured we should get used to it sooner rather than later. 

The following morning we headed out in search of some of the local travel agencies to fix up a jeep, driver and guide in order to head out into the countryside.  Jeeps were hired for a flat rate per kilometre and come complete with driver.  Guides were optional but, as we found out, indispensable as English-speaking Mongolians were few and far between, even in the capital.  We were keen to check out our guide before we committed any money so arranged to meet up again with one of the tour operators the following day.  In the meantime, we set out to explore UB on foot and visited some of the numerous museums and galleries it has to offer.  We were surprised at the quality of the exhibits and gleaned a lot of information on the history of Mongolia, which was to come in useful as we toured around the country.

The next day we met Miga.  He was a monk at one of UB’s several Buddhist monasteries and was to become not only our guide but also a much-valued and trusted friend during the course of our travels.  He had requested permission from his Lama to take a three-week vacation in order to accompany us on our trip and agreed to leave with us the following day.  We drew up a rough itinerary that would first take us north to the lakes and mountains, then through the central regions where some of Mongolia’s most historic sights could be found, and finally south into the Gobi desert.  We would be camping all the way and as UB was the only place in the country where tinned meat, fruit and vegetables could be found, we headed out in search of a well-stocked supermarket to buy up provisions for the trip.

Until we saw the state of the roads and how people out in the countryside live, we were intrigued as to why on earth you would need such an entourage of people for such a trip, especially given that you could even buy maps of Mongolia at the State Department Store.  But, after a mile or so out of town when the so-called tarmac ran out, we realised that there were no roads let alone signposts or kilometre postings.  On a good day, we followed one of the many dirt tracks converging and diverging across the plains; on a bad day, we could be stuck in mud, travelling over terrain that even a four wheel drive had trouble tackling and feeling as if we were literally in the middle of nowhere.  On any day, every bone and muscle in our body felt the rigours of travel by Russian jeep as every bump, pothole and bend had us clinging onto the front seats for dear life.  But we wouldn’t have missed it for the world.