We, Olivia, Pat and Peter, fly from Zurich to Ulaan Bator and are served by Aeroflott with punctuality and good service. In Ulaan Bator, UB for short, we meet Aynabek, the man with whom Peter organized the whole trip. He invites us for coffee, we discuss the remaining questions and he only says that we have a bit too much luggage. He leaves us quite quickly and forgets his Swiss cups, which we had brought especially for him. Now we realize that we are in a country where time ticks differently. The café quickly fills up with waiting tourists and miners whose flight has been postponed due to strong winds. We are in good spirits, but our flight doesn't take off either. The display board is usually illegible for us and when it is, it just says delayed. How was that? You have the clock, but we have the time We wait a few hours and after a 3-hour delay we board the local Mongolian Airways plane. We disembark directly on the tarmac and end up getting our luggage there too, which is placed on a trolley.
Our guide Berdibek is waiting for us in front of the entrance. He will guide us through the mountains of the Altai for the next 4 weeks. He takes us to the driver and his off-road vehicle. A somewhat older vehicle, a Russian off-road vehicle, probably around 30 years old, and we wonder whether we will be able to fit all our luggage into it. The driver plays chauffeur to the hotel, then we go to Aynabek's house to pick up our equipment for the horses and our parcels with the food supplies. We are invited by the family for tea, which is mixed with milk and salt. There is also a tourist there who has had his rucksack slashed open on the black market and has just run out of money. We take the first family photos and they won't be the last. Berdibek is very tired as he has just returned from a tour and his wife is waiting at home with a 1-month-old baby. No wonder he wants to go home and we have dinner alone in the restaurant. There are nice pictures of the food on the menu, but all but one of them is accompanied by the comment that it doesn't exist! Hmm; a translator comes from the next table and helps us. It's probably the power cut that means the kitchen can only make one dish. We sit in the dark and wait for our food. The power comes back on and then so does our food, to which Peter and I order a beer each, only here there is beer for men and another for women. We arrive at the hotel at 22:00 and fall into bed dead tired.
Thursday, 11.8.2011 Olgii - Zost Erek
We wake up fresh and alert at 6°. We had to save the toilet water as it only flushed once. There was no breakfast. Instead, Peter is busy with tools on the saddles to make them suitable for our luggage. Berdibek arrived at 8:30, 30 minutes earlier than promised. We buy a phone card and then go to the black market to find some blankets as saddle pads for the horses. We are much too early, most of them open much later. Olivia is not prepared to pay the prices quoted and Peter has to start bargaining.
We are surprised at how expensive everything is here? About 1:1 if you subtract a few zeros from the Tugrik. 1 dollar is about 1000 Tugrik, the local currency. The same level in the supermarket. It's almost 12 o'clock when we finally get a coffee and sandwich in the restaurant. In comparison, eating out is really cheap. We have everything we need and now the jeep is full to the brim and we set off into the countryside. The tarred road ends shortly after Olgii. We fill up the car with gas. The price of gas is a little more expensive than here. We drive along the Saksai River on the rather bumpy dirt road to Zost Erek, where the horses are supposed to be waiting for us. We arrive and there is the next surprise: we are with the driver's family and there is no sign of our horses for miles around..... Instead, we first have chai, the obligatory tea, with milk and salt, which is unusual for us at first, but we have little trouble with it except for Peter, who has to get used to drinking so much tea, as it is known to be his favorite drink. Normally you drink at least 6 bowls in the morning, at lunchtime and in the evening, but the quantities are a bit much for us and you have to be careful that you don't get a refill as soon as the bowl is empty. The hosts are very thoughtful. You have to put your hand on the bowl to make it clear that you don't want any more. The women are quick to prepare the tea and we watch with interest. Water is heated in one pot, milk in another and then the whole thing is mixed together with some black tea and salt. The housewife first tastes the tea in a bowl before serving it to the guests. The guests and the men get it first and then we two women. The tea tastes good and there are various bowls and plates of cheese, butter and whipped cream on the table. Peter becomes our taster, because some of the butter doesn't suit our palates. When Peter says it's OK, I try it, but Olivia is very reluctant. The bread made from flour and water is baked in butter. Depending on when it was made, it is either fresher or already hard. The cheese is a thing of its own. The 90-year-old grandpa is delighted to see us and is extremely interested in our equipment. We go outside and in the distance we can apparently see the horses coming with our binoculars.
We don't quite understand which are our horses. Berdibek's English is not the best and so there are some misunderstandings. We wait and 3 of our horses arrive first. We start to test-pack our saddles and look in vain for the 2 horses that are supposed to be 1.5m tall... Surprise, 1.5m is at most 1.4m in Mongolia, Peter will have to make do with a smaller horse or the horse will have to make do with him. After 2 hours of laughter and with the help of the people, we are ready to start a short test ride. Bidan, the horse owner, comes with us and first takes the packhorse that Berdibek is supposed to take. The horses are quite sensitive to steer and we set off in the beautiful evening light.
We are invited to dinner and leave the food we bought at the supermarket. We have soup - kush - a simple stew with homemade noodles, sheep or goat meat and maybe a few potatoes and carrots. We learn our first Kazakh words such as Heidltetun - good night, Heidltetan - good morning. Rachmet - thank you, ayran, chai, kumys are words I already know. In the semi-darkness, we set up our tents for the first time under the critical gaze of the nomads and then go to sleep at 22°°. I have trouble falling asleep after all the black tea and a dog barks for most of the night.
Friday,12.8.2011 Zost Erek - Hopte sin, Saran Khol
It's 5:30 when we get up and we're fresh. We don't get breakfast in the ger until 7:00. We look for our horses, or rather just one, the packhorse, which was not tied up. It was supposed to stay nearby.... Our driver looks for the animal and brings it back. We'll tie it up on the way. The horses are tied to the halter with a long rope and fitted with hobbles to make sure they stay put.
We pack our stuff onto the horses and I take the packhorse first, as Berdibek can't really understand our objections to tugging on the bit. The animal quickly passes into Peter's hands, as it just lets itself be pulled as soon as no one stays behind and pushes. Peter has more power and it also has the unpleasant characteristic of stopping suddenly, almost pulling you out of the saddle.
We're riding at a comfortable walking pace, but soon we try to start trotting and see how the luggage holds up. We make it a few meters and the packhorse starts to slip. I let out another scream, but it was too late. The saddle is hanging under its belly and the horse doesn't like it at all, it bucks away at a gallop up a hill until it's all loose. I scramble after it with my horse, Berdibek follows and we collect the horse and the saddle. Meanwhile, Peter inspects the damage and mends what is broken. We lose just under an hour repacking and then set off along the Kohvd River through a colorful landscape. There are a few trees here by the river and the sun shines out of the cloudless sky. We have to keep repacking the packhorse until lunchtime until everything finally holds. Peter becomes a master at tying knots so that the luggage holds. My horse sets a pretty brisk pace and runs ahead of the group. We can see the village of Sakasai from afar, at least for us it's a village, there it's more like a town. We come to another river and in this valley it is simply swampy near the river. We try to get to the water, but are told by the nomads who make hay here that we can't go any further.
So we pass herds of yaks, sheep and goats. Every now and then we also see a camel. It is very dusty on the gravel road and hot, the sun is burning down from the sky and our horses are not used to walking for long stretches and are slowing down. It is difficult to motivate them to keep going.
We get away from the river into another valley, make our way through the swamps until we reach a ger where we ask for grass and water, because our horses need something more than just grass that has been gnawed down several times by other animals.
We have to get used to it, there just isn't that much here. It doesn't get any better in the valleys where there are a lot of Gers, because they all have herds of cattle and it's late in the year. Most of it has been eaten away.
It's warm, so we all take a dip in the refreshing river. Berdibek has been riding all day in a fleece sweater and down jacket and now almost has sunstroke. No wonder with the temperatures. We can enjoy our trekking dinner in the glorious evening sunshine. We covered around 34 km on day 1.
Saturday, 13.8. Saran gol - Torag Valley
We have breakfast with morning dew. I try out the petrol burner, but Peter has already heated the water on his little burner by the time it starts. But now we know how it should work.
We load up the horses, walk the first few meters and arrive at the next ger. There we are invited for chai. We accept. A boy holds all our horses, Peter unpacks a few chocolate bars and we have our second breakfast. This time we can drink plenty of liquid. We are asked to take a few family photos and send them to them. It's not easy for people to get photos out here. I promise, only they have to wait at least 2 months, as we are only at the beginning of our journey. Freshly fortified, we ride towards the big bridge to cross the Saran gol. The horses don't do well on the gravel paths and keep trying to run off the track, but it's not really any better there either. So it drags on for 2 hours and we hope that it will get better after the bridge. It is hot and after the bridge the ground becomes even more barren, we only find some greenery directly along the river. We feel like we're in the middle of the desert and the song "I ride throug the dessert, on horse with no name" spits around in our heads. Finally we reach the river crossing where Peter wanted to cross into the other valley. There is a ger here and the grandpa tells us that we won't be able to get through because of the high water level. What now? We discuss the new route over a cup of tea. The tea provides the water, but it gets really hot in these temperatures, especially as the stove is roaring. It looks dry and we hope that we can get water again. We can see a hilltop in the distance, which we still have to cross to get a good spot for the horses. It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon and we still have 20km to go. Almost impossible here. Finally we come to a small oasis with green grass, but they are making hay here and we are sent 2 km further on, where there is a stream and grass. In the evening, camels move to the stream and we also have to walk a few meters to get water for cooking. We are sitting in the middle of a magnificent landscape. The full moon rises and we have a great evening atmosphere.
Sunday, 14.8. Torag Valley - Tongent oisn - Orzon Tan
We get up at half past six and the burner is used again straight away after I managed to light it the night before. The water gets hot faster than with Peter's ignition. We manage well with both burners. The bread is running low and we should have milk or yoghurt for the muesli, neither of which is available. We trot through the valley at a shaggy trot and pass a ger where a goat is being slaughtered. The people have no time and so we are not invited for chai. Our horses eat prickly undergrowth as there is no grass. The animals are undemanding.
At 12°° we reach the Tongen Pass at 2300m. We should have gotten there the day before. There is no grass here either. We are on the border with China and vehicles keep coming towards us on the dusty road, which is visible from afar from the cloud of dust.
We reach the town of Tongen and finally find enough grass for our horses by the Tongen River. They pounce on the grass, but eat for about 30 minutes and then start to doze. They don't eat much at all.
A few villagers come by and one of them says we just have to go over the hill and we'll find grass and a Kazakh family. The suggestion was well meant, but as it was already early afternoon, we decided to stay right by the river. We are sure to have water there and are more likely to find grass. We keep seeing men making hay, which is done in such a way that the highest tufts of grass are mowed down and the rest is left to be eaten by the herds. We reach a ger and are invited for tea, but first we want to look after our horses and set up our tents. We have to cross water several times. The question arises, how do we get back to the ger? We apparently take too long and 2 women come over to us armed with a thermos flask and bread. They are wearing rubber sandals and walk through the river. In return, they get Swiss chocolate.
It's warm and we can go and wash up. A girl comes by on a horse and chases away the goats that want to visit us. Later, the father arrives on his horse with his two sons, all three on a pony. We are given milk and yoghurt for breakfast.
The full moon shines brightly over our tents and we can't find the off button.
Monday, 15.8. Orzon Tan - Oigr Oisn
6°° wake up, it's chilly in the morning but as soon as the sun appears behind the mountains, it quickly becomes pleasant. We look forward to muesli with ayran (yoghurt) and fresh milk. Peter has tasted it but didn't realize that it was Kumys, fermented mare's milk. The muesli tastes strong, Olivia refuses and I stick to the ayran. Berdibek drinks the Kumys for dessert. Peter takes it in his stride. My saddlebags, now broken, are left behind. The plastic tie-down hooks don't do what they promise in this terrain and we have to see if we can get some iron ones. Aynabek had warned us.
My horse "Hirre", which means yellow horse, runs off at a brisk pace. Olivia has swapped the packhorse for hers and is now happy as the animal runs much better. But now the pack saddle no longer fits properly and it has to be sorted again. The new packhorse also has trouble walking over the boulders because of its long feet and it is easier with the pack. Only Peter's horse and the new packhorse don't harmonize with each other. We enter a colorful valley that slowly narrows. A large herd of horses comes towards us and we examine the interesting colors that exist here. There are 64 different color names for Mongolian horses. Eagles circle above us and at lunchtime we emerge from the stony desert into a grassy riverbed where we take a break. We turn left into the next valley, see camels in the distance and a shepherd tells us which way to go. We are back in the middle of the stony desert and it doesn't look like green fodder. We keep seeing families' winter quarters, but what do they want to live on here? We see the dung of the yaks and goats piled up around the quarters, which is stored for cooking and heating in winter. It now seems absurd to us to have given the horses worming treatments at the beginning, because the dung is collected and used as fuel. This means there is no fertilizer left for the soil, but the worm infestation is also kept to a minimum. Finally we come to a small stream with about 100 square meters of green space. Not exactly a lot for 5 hungry horses. We make sure that we don't put our tents on the last of the grass so that the horses can have every stalk. To begin with, we only hobble the horses so that they can choose where they want to eat and they are tied up for the night. However, they only eat briefly and then lie down to sleep. The horses have little trouble lying down anywhere, even with a full pack. That was a change of routine for us, because lying down with a full pack doesn't usually do them much good. I climb barefoot through the stream to see if the grass is any better. Peter lies down to recover from the tugging with the packhorse, which is not exactly the purest of pleasures. The tents are quickly erected in the wind and we retire to the tent for a meal of trekking meals and snacks. Waste is disposed of by burning it. How the families deal with the garbage varies greatly. Some keep it neat and tidy, others leave it all lying around. Vodka bottles are often simply thrown away in the countryside and sometimes it's just broken glass.
Tuesday, 16.8. Oigr Oisn - Hoigr Valley
We get up a little late. Peter's 6°° is not the usual temperature in this country. It is too cold in the morning and only when the sun comes out from behind the mountains does it become more pleasant. Depending on which mountain it comes from behind, it can take a long time and then we still have to get out. The horses are freed from the ropes so that they can eat better again, but the animals are only hobbled and try to disappear over the stream. The attempt is a real washout because Peter has to wade through the river in his boots and the horse doesn't want to go. As the animals, and especially his, are very good at tug-of-war, it's not much fun leading them. Berdibek is on the other bank with 2 others and they are blocking. I sit on my bareback horse and go to help him. But my horse doesn't really want to either, so I have to push hard. Together we get the horses across without Berdibek getting his feet wet. In the meantime, the tea water has cooled down again. We now make our muesli with the Indian chai latte tea and it works very well. You have to be flexible, especially when the bread has run out.
We saddle the horses and take a group photo in our blue frocks so that Peter's mother can see her work worn. He had one made for each of us in red, blue and white. They really stand out in the landscape. Peter's horse refuses at the stream and almost rips the shoe off its hoof. Half of it is sticking out inwards and so we can't go any further. As the horses are not used to being hoofed and Peter's horses are not at all cooperative, we have to use the local method and turn the horse over to look for the shoe. The horse knew exactly what was going on and didn't make it easy for us. After some back and forth, the horse is actually lying on the ground and half of the shoe is now gone anyway due to the scramble. But now we know how to do it and Berdibek proudly tells us that it's the first time he's done it and otherwise he's just watched. Super. But giving hooves would be easier!
Late and slightly sweaty, we can finally set off at 10°. A few kilometers further on would have been the lushest grass, but there are flags in the grass which means that you are not allowed to stay here. The grass is for haymaking and for the winter. The landscape is breathtaking and for the first time we see the distant glacier peak of Tavan Bogd, the trademark of Mongolia. Meerkats keep scurrying past us into the holes. Unfortunately, they are much too fast to take photos. The marmots are extremely quiet and you usually only notice them when the horses almost step on them. We also keep coming across skeletons of animals that were unable to cope with the harsh winter conditions or that have fallen victim to a wolf. You could study anatomy here.
We reach the lushest grass in a swamp and let the horses graze for a while - they deserve it after the narrow-gauge diet of the last few nights. The horses are very adept at avoiding the holes left by the marmots and meerkats. They find every goat path with certainty and sometimes you wonder why the mount suddenly takes a completely different path.
We reach the Jolpak valley and in the distance we can count 9 gers. We ride past herds of cattle again and again, take our photos and urgently want a chai. We get one at the 1st ger. We bring the obligatory chocolate bars in return. It is hot and we are quite thirsty, Berdibek in particular suffers most from the general lack of tea from his point of view. Peter wants to buy a sheepskin, but the price seems very high to us. Later we realize that we are in the tourist catchment area of Tavan Bogd. Now everything becomes clear to us. We arrive at the border of the Tavan Bogd National Park and only have to go a few kilometers further to a lake where there is supposed to be better grass. But it's not that quick. We only have a permit for the other route we had originally planned. We would now all have to take the bus 25 km to the military border and get our new permit there. Out of the question, who will look after our luggage and horses? Handing over our passports is not an option either. Only with a little patience do we reach our destination. We pay an extra 10 dollars so that we don't have to drive there and the national park ranger does it for us. Good things take time. It's already half past 5 and we are invited for chai. We accept and save ourselves the trouble of boiling water for dinner. As we were also offered bread and cheese, a mushroom soup from the bag was enough for dinner.
A few kilometers before the pass we find grass by a stream, what more could you want? I take photos of a herd of yaks in the evening light, with the glacier sparkling in the background. We are now in the Hoigr valley just before Tavan Bogd at 2700m and spend the night here in our tents. The cold wind makes us eat in our tents. We keep seeing jeeps driving past us. Further down is the tourist camp. Every now and then some stop and they come from all sorts of different countries.
A week has now passed since our departure from Zurich. Time flies by.
Wednesday, 17.8. Hoigr Valley - Chuwet Kol - Chaichon
We two women refuse to ring the 6 o'clock bell, because when Peter snorts because it's cold, we don't even need to get out. The ground is freezing and we wanted to wait for the warming sun. 30 minutes later, the sun is already shining on our tent and we wriggle out of the various layers we had covered ourselves with. After breakfast, I start burning garbage, which is slowly working better, but the aluminum trekking bags are not really suitable for this and they are not biodegradable either. The manufacturer should think of something else. When we are finally ready to go, a jeep comes crawling up. I have a bad feeling: I hope it's not a deja vu! The military arrive, but they only want to check our passports and take a few photos. Probably photos to prove that work is being done from time to time. We can ride on undisturbed. We creep up the mountain with our highly motivated 4-legged friends and break every record for riding at a snail's pace. We reach the lake that we wanted to head for the evening before. It's a good thing it wasn't enough, because it's surrounded by swamp and would have been soggy. It lies against the picturesque backdrop of the glaciers and invites us to linger. We get closer and closer to the glaciers of Tavan Bogd and finally we have all 5 in full splendor in front of us. Berdibek explains the names to us from right to left. Marchen, Quiten , the highest at 4347m, with the glacier 200m wide in between. In the foreground is Burglud, which means eagle, and in the background, invisible to us, is Friendship, which borders on Russia, China and Mongolia. To the left is the Archant . Berdibek can't tell us the others. 20 minutes further on, we enjoy the glacier panorama over lunch. We eat nuts, apricots, pumpernickel and cheese bought at the supermarket.
First the path leads us back in the direction we came from and then the descent is quite easy for us down to the Sarakol, which springs from the glacier water here. The packhorse suddenly has the saddle between its ears due to the descent and has to be re-saddled. All the luggage has to come down for this. Meanwhile, the horses have a somewhat meagre feed break. Down in the valley we see some gers and a lot of eaten pastures. Looks bad for us. We have to get to the bridge that crosses the Sarakol. Peter was a bit surprised when reading the map that a bridge is needed over a glacial stream, but this is a traveling stream. The horses don't like the bridge and it takes a bit of persuasion to get them across. On the other side, we buy some bread for 5 dollars at a ger, but we are not invited for tea. Apparently there are too many tourists here. So we walk along the mountainside, 100m further up a herd of camels follows us, but we leave them behind. Olivia is walking to spare the horse. The Chuwat Chaichon lake we head for has more grass, but the water is not very good as it has no inflow. It tastes brackish. Olivia still has glacier water with her, but it's very high in minerals! We don't notice too much of it at dinner. We walk bareback with the horses to the lake to water them and then ride up again. At dinner there are differences of opinion about what is comfortable and what is not? We won't make the route to Bulgan planned by Peter at the pace we've been going. The horses are simply too slow and we are used to a different pace. This time we'll spend the night warmer. We are also only at 2584 m altitude. The peaks of Tavan Bogd can still be seen in the background. They glow in the sunset - the old glow.
We are visited by 3 drunken Mongolians who have just come back from the hay harvest and are galloping up the mountain. What are we doing wrong with our horses?
Thursday, 18.8. Chuwat Chaichon - Teglt Tinowa Pass 3149 m - Tahilt Valley
Waiting in the tent for the sun was not possible this time, as it would have to appear behind a mountain and that would have been 9°°. But it's not that cold and after a short time we were ready to go. The morning ritual: Peter packs the packhorse, Berdibek holds one or more horses, Olivia and I saddle our horses and then do the holding post and the other saddles Peter's horse. Berdibek then saddles his black horse. All in all, we manage quite well. The path into the next valley changes from boulders to hummocky grass tracks to marshy meadows. Everything is possible. The descent into the Chara airk valley is easy. In the distance, we can see gers standing against the backdrop of snow-capped mountain peaks. In a ger, we are served tea by a 10-year-old girl. Her mother is with the sheep and goats and her father is at the pass with the camels. We buy a felt doily and as we don't have any change, we get some bread to go with it. I am surprised when it meows. The little brother had a kitten in his arms. I've never seen cats in these countries before.
The girl's father comes riding up on his horse as we set off and tells us that they are also going over the pass with the sheep, goats, yaks and camels. Dark clouds gather and it starts to rain. But the drops evaporate on our shirts within seconds. We watch as the herd climbs over the pass. It doesn't look easy from below. But as we head towards it, we can see the path and it's not dangerous, just strenuous to walk up there to spare the horses. The Tuwa ride over it with their horses, the camels loaded with the dismantled gers. On the Teglt Tinowa pass we puff up to 3148m. The descent is easy but very dusty. As it never rains much, the dust swirls up with every step and the wind does the rest. We catch up with the Tuwa and are offered cheese that doesn't taste very good, which makes us shiver and this time has to be covered up with chocolate flavor. I get some small crumbs, I'm careful, but they taste good. Sugared yak cheese!
We take a break about 100 meters from the Tuwa. It's still so warm that we can finally wash our hair again; dried in the wind you look like you've been blown away! We have to put up our tents in a hurry because dark clouds and rolling thunder are approaching, but it's all about nothing! It rains briefly and then the spook is over.
Berdibek doesn't want to go with us to the Tuwa, for whatever reason? Peter insists that we go, armed with flasks and nut sticks, and we have a fun evening. We are given tea, this time quite milky and the tea consists of mountain herbs. The people are fascinated by our photos and Peter has a movie night for them with the pictures he has brought with him on his cell phone. The alpine yodel hangs in our ears for the rest of the vacation. A cashmere goat also loves our nut sticks. A boy makes fun of it and sits on it, and it runs away laughing.
Our horses are finally really fat in the grass. We have now been out and about with the horses for a week.
