The Blog

The anticipation build-up for a two-day experience in the Smoky Mountains was extreme to say the absolute least.  The iconic mountain range located in the beautiful states of Tennessee and North Carolina are one of Nature’s gentle reminders that we exist on the molecular level in comparison to her poetic creativity.  That Nature does not name her mountain ranges or have specific references to certain locations factualizes this reminder.  For us ‘mere mortals’, the “Smokies” are a [difficult-for-humans-to-habitate-and-thus-perfect-to-commercialize] natural wonderland that provides well to do United States of American residents an opportunity to fantasize about being connected to an ecosystem that is one of the final frontiers of urban development.  They are also a part of the larger Appalachian Mountain Range, which stretches two thousand miles up and down the Eastern side of the United States.  As far as things worth to see in the world go, the Smokies is a must, but just make sure you bring a few bucks.

It was still dark when we fired up the Ford Escape, which was jam packed full of food, the monopoly board and the hiking gear.  With the anticipation level still off the chart, we rolled out of our community and headed towards Hurstbourne, where our travelling companions were waiting for us to rendezvous.  Once we got there and exchanged a quick greeting, the noses of our two cars were pointed in the direction of the Smoky Mountains, and we were off.

The freeway down through Kentucky was jam packed with pickups, SUVs and semi-trailers as you’d expect from any arterial road in the US.  But the scenery was different.  We were heading up and then down frequently, the landscape beautiful in its auburn glow.  Winter was just around the corner, but Nature still had some colour left in her.  Cruising along, we passed the Kentucky River, Kentucky Lake, Cumberland and the Daniel Boone Forest Area.  All places that we need to return to individually to explore.  Once we got to the Tennessee border, the speed limit immediately reduced and so did the quality of the road, which perhaps was the reason for the first observation?  Undoubtedly there must be more investment in the road network and infrastructure in Kentucky with the higher rate of tax and potentially higher population, but I’m only speculating.  [I literally just googled the population of both states and I was wrong with a small difference of only 2 million people – HA!].  It wasn’t long before the freeway teetered out into a dual lane road littered with traffic lights.  Eventually we drove through Knoxville, a quaint city that had yesteryear bubbling at its seams.  The historical aspects of this area were not lost with the majority of the infrastructure standing the test of time and standing it quite well.  Tennessee really is a pretty state, full of life, color and character.  After a short period of time and traversing some rally race car type roads (so cool to drive on these windy, hilly tracks), we steered the vehicles into Gatlinburg, the metaphorical gateway to the Smoky Mountains.

The surrounding foliage of Gatlinburg in early November conjures a spectrum of chilli flakes and Mediterranean salad.  The reds, yellows and lingering splashes of green are a sensory feast for the eyeballs.  The town itself is a tourist experience, setup to entice the uninitiated to sample and of course to spend money.  Our first stop (after the $20 parking fee) was the chair lift ride up the side of the nearest steep incline.  After paying the nominal $75 fee to ascend the mountain by sitting on some steelwork suspended from a moving cable, we were on our way up.  When we were almost at the end of the ride, a mandatory photo pose was assumed, before being ushered off the seat by a few bear-like locals in order to free it up for the next paying customer.  We were greeted by a picturesque view of Gatlinburg itself with the surrounding vista – just amazing.  Then we were gently reminded that we could purchase our photo from the kiosk inside the adjacent building.  What the heck, you only live once.  The photo more than likely was printed on a deskjet printer, but at least it was a memory jerker.  Another $20 😊.  From the building, we moved across a suspension bridge that spanned between two small summits.  The novelty was great, especially where the floor of the bridge became Perspex, giving wary crossers an unruly levitation sensation.  We suspected that Mark, one of our travelling companions, was the least in love with heights out of our party, which we exploited at every available opportunity by making the bridge move while he was on it.  We crossed the bridge, gawked at the amazing scenery and took in everything that the atmosphere provided.  After a couple of mandatory selfies with bear statues and a brisk walk (without touching anything) through the souvenir kiosk, we jumped back on the suspension seats and made our way back down to the bottom.

The town itself was full of people from all areas, but it could not be argued that the flavor of the spirit was all ‘Southern’.  There were accommodation houses everywhere, which indicates that during the peak season, the place would be absolutely pumping.  When we walked along and found the Ol’ Smoky Whiskey Distillery, there was only one irresistible option and that was to check that place out.  Entering the main area, you were greeted straight away by viewing rooms of the vats themselves in each stage of cooking the moonshine.  After walking through some open doors, a large central bar was a beacon of which we used as our main navigational tool.  An introduction to the varied flavors and proofs of the local moonshine was about to commence, and a curly haired overall wearing barman named ‘Scott’ was our inductor.  With $5 down and careful scrutiny of identification credentials, we had a sacrificial miniature shot glass with our name on it placed before us.  First shot was ‘Blue Fire’ – 120 proof.  We all downed that without the correct expectation.  I know that I was thinking that we had 9 shots of moonshine to get down, which should be a walk in the park, but that first taste ‘explained to me in detail’ how inept I was at drinking.  I mean, not that drinking is a skill you should be proud of, but not holding down one shot of liquor should not be your defining moment.  All I know is that I was not looking forward to the next one.  Everything burned…it was not cool.  But it got better.  Scott had deliberately dished out the rocket fuel on the first hit because it would not be commercially viable to finish with.  The next few shots were actually blissful – there was a variety of flavors from apple pie to raspberry and all the way through to a caramel cream which we ended up buying as a Christmas libation solution.  Suffice to say, we walked out of there significantly poorer and less sober.  On the way out, we had to stop to listen to the sounds of the Smokies captured in a trio band of banjo players that appeared as in-bred as the legends claim:

“I’m feelin’ a little bit tired, but I’m be okay tomorrow, be okay tomorrow, be okay tomorrow.

I’m feelin’ a little bit tired, but I’m be okay tomorrow, coz my baby’s comin’ home!”  Twang – twang!!  Pure gold.

Well, after a stroll around the town to soak up more of the atmosphere and to exhaust the moonshine from our pores, we made the executive decision to get back into the vehicles and navigate our way to the cabin that we had booked for the two-night stay.  The Smokies and their surrounding areas are home to the American Black Bear, a diverse range of reptiles and a plethora of birds.  The Bears are not something you are likely going to see just walking down the street, and this time we did not see any at all, but the thought of being close to them gave us all an extra few degrees of peripheral vision.  The name of the road that the log cabin was located was called “Cougar Crossing”.  Driving into this area, I wasn’t sure of whether we should be taking that appellation in the literal sense.  Pretty cool name nonetheless.

The cabin itself was nestled amongst many other cabins of the same construction, but in a beautiful hilly area within the foliage that was the Smokies themselves.  The split-level cabin was open plan with two massive bedrooms connected to their own bathroom.  Mark and I were delighted to see the grill out on the deck, which after a gentle debate we decided we’d use the next night to cook up some steaks.  But the first night was a feast of Ash’s Buuz, which she labored over the previous day.  The upper level of the cabin had a pool table, a lounge area and a cool little arcade game with a dicky joystick (which was a let-down).  The cabin itself was in Pigeon Forge, which is the next jurisdiction from Gatlinburg.  I can never work out why they decided to put together two words that should never really be combined like that.  It happens a lot in the US I’ve noticed.  Perhaps the early settlers had an insatiable thirst for ‘Blue Fire’ whilst they were baptizing geographical locations.  The first of the bud lights were quickly consumed over a game of pool before the wine was poured for dinner followed by a couple of games of Muushig.  The card game was infectious, both Mark and Marta (his wife) enjoying the game immensely.  The game itself, with Mongolian origins never fails to bring participants together to create a thoroughly enjoyable atmosphere.  The fact that we were in the Smoky Mountains just added to the revere.  After a couple of rounds and a little bit of Greta Van Fleet playing in the background, we all headed to our respective rooms to catch some sleep.

The next morning greeted us with clear skies, a temperature teetering between 15 and 20 on the degree Celsius scale and just a hint of anticipation for what was on the sensory menu that day.  A breakfast of fruit salad and cheesy hogs (ham & cheese croissants) was thoroughly washed down with coffee before we made a plan to drive across to Clingman’s Dome, which is where you can climb to the highest point of the Smoky Mountains atop a viewing platform.  This is one item that should be ticked off as completed whenever travelling to the area.  We were all keen to do some hiking as well, which the Smokies provide for in abundance.  We decided that we would hike from the Dome to Andrew’s Bald, and then decide what else we would do at the time.  Marta was keen to get in as much hiking as humanly possible, especially after her proclamation that she will be entering an insanely long endurance run that finishes somewhere in Georgia as a bucket list item and wanted to start conditioning training.  There was still a little residual fogginess of the brain after the variety of alcohol consumed during the previous 24 hours, so the rest of us were happy to hike without any conditioning whatsoever.

We all piled into Mark and Marta’s car for the drive over, which took about 30 minutes.  The sensory menu was chock-full of vistas, landscapes and colors for our eyes to feast on.  We stopped a couple of times to take some beautiful photos of a cascading valley and a mountain stream with pools in it.  The water was icy, but undoubtedly pure.  A constantly gentle winding incline eventually took us to a carpark area that resembled a box of unmade lego with the number of cars jammed into every available nook and cranny inside and outside of the carpark.  It appeared that there were a few other like-minded people in the area.  With the conditioning still in her mind, Marta suggested we turn around and find a space back down the descent further allowing us to hike back up to where we wanted to be.  We all agreed and not long after, Mark parked the car.  With the fresh air in our lungs and a skip in our step, we started walking up to Clingman’s Dome.  The ascent wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t traumatic either.  After about 20 minutes of climbing the paved track, we arrived at the viewing platform which was built sometime in the early 1900s.

 

 

The view of course was stunning, albeit a touch hazy.  I guess the name Smoky Mountains would have stemmed from this haziness.  On a clear day, I believe the view would have been nothing short of breathtaking.  Spending a short time on the platform led us back down and into the path of a volunteer Ranger who had been coming back to the Smokies every year for 9 years.  Some people would describe him as an ‘Old Timer’ that had an understanding of all things Nature-Wise in the area.  We quizzed him on the whereabouts of the Bears, which he stated that we probably would only see below a certain elevation this time of the year.  Probably the same elevation of the cabin that we were staying at.  Ha!  He also mentioned that the Appalachian Trail, the famous pathway that traverses the Appalachian Mountain Range can be walked from this very location.  We couldn’t resist getting a photo of us next to that particular track.  One day, we will walk a portion of it for real.  After a little more conversation, the Ranger (I actually forget his name) gave us some directions to the track that would take us to Andrew’s Bald.  So, without further ado, we headed off the paved pathway and into the scrub properly.  One thing about the trails is that they are well walked, and well maintained.  The trail was very easy to follow and headed down all the way for a couple of hours until we came out into an open expanse with a 360-degree view of the surrounding vista.  We lay down in a comfy area, shared a little Mongolian milk curd and some apple.  (Mark didn’t have the refined palette for the curd, so half a cheesy hog was on the menu for him).  By this time, it was actually getting later in the day, and we did want to get back to the car before they locked the gates (6pm curfew).  After re-hydrating a little, we mentally prepared ourselves for the climb back up.  It’s funny how sometimes the trip back seems to take less time than first leg, I wasn’t sure if this was the case, but I know it wasn’t for Mark.  Marta was in ‘conditioning mode’ much to his trepidation.  Needless to say, there were quite a few called-for opportunities to stop and re-hydrate or take photos.  I will admit though, the climb up did give us all the detox that we needed, as the sweat poured out diluting the absolute last of the previous nights’ libation.  By the time that familiar landmarks indicated we were coming to the crest of the return trip, almost all was forgotten as again we came out onto the beautiful scenery and sounds that attracted us to this place in the first instance.  After a little drying out and Mark wringing out his underpants (a little shared joke between the party), we climbed back into the vehicle and made our way back down towards the cabin.  Ash and Marta succumbed to the call of meditation where one must watch the back of their eyelids for an extended period of time.

 

 

Back at the cabin, we fired up the grill and cracked open the warm-up Buds.  Dinner was going to be grilled steak, a creamy potato bake and a mixed green salad.  Just what the Doctor ordered.  The festivities were a direct replication of the previous night, with just a little less booze.  This allowed us to have a better night’s sleep.

The next day, we made some quick plans to do a hike before we headed back to Louisville.  Both Mark and Marta had work commitments that day, but Marta’s conditioning program influenced her to stay with Ash and myself for the hike rather than join Mark in returning early.  We all packed up and were ready to say goodbye to Cougar’s Crossing before 11am.  Mark headed out and we followed close behind, but taking a left turn back towards a hiking trail while he turned right to hit the freeway back to Kentucky.  The trail we decided on was going to be about 4 miles, but the one we found ourselves on was going to be about 8.  We were not in a hurry to get back, so we decided to head out on that one.  The leaves on the ground were about 5 inches thick along the trail which was another reminder that we were there just a couple of weeks too tardy.  The trail was amazing, and it winded around the surrounding hills providing us with the all-natural experience.  After about 3.5 miles of quick paced hiking, we decided to turn around in order for us to get Marta back home in time for her work shift.  It was a little disappointing that we didn’t see the Falls that rewarded hikers who completed the track, but that was okay, because we would be back.

We got back to the car after Ash lost her glasses whilst doing leaf angels, grabbed some coffee from a local barista and whispered a ‘see-you-later’ to the Smoky Mountains as its beauty dwindled from our rear-view mirrors, but remained undeterred in our hearts and minds.

From the frustration and anxiety of travelling Continental United States Airlines to the reassuring reminder of the insignificance of first world problems, a short trip to Costa Rica in order to reset your ESTA is not only a viable solution, it’s imperative.

The trip started much as it always does, inside my head as a thought.  I knew that I needed to leave the US as any Australian non-resident needs to once the 90-day curfew approaches.  I even got a lovely e-mail from Customs and Immigration reminding me of our ‘required’ date of separation.  So, from reading a blog or two, it was evident that simply crossing over to Canada or to Continue reading “Pura Vida”

“What a cliché!”  The movie is about an African prince who visits the US and provides an ‘outsider’s’ perspective on the cultural aspects of the free land.  Whatever you may think of the storyline and how it was delivered is entirely in your lunchbox, but I can tell you from first-hand experience that coming to America certainly does not reserve a sense of opportunity for disadvantaged foreigners only, but provides a blatant picture of overwhelmingly abundant resources, even to a “well-to-do white dude”, like me.

It started well in advance.  Both Ash and I started the snail moving (that was the spark that entered our minds of relocating to the US) at least in 2019.  The snail trail was very thin and built on the criteria of a financial goal (as well as the alignment of various interstellar constellations).  These stars included work, school for Lukas and the family blessing.  It wasn’t until the end of 2021 when things started to line up and the relocation looked less like a snail trail, and more like an international highway.  Roadblocks included the Covid-19 pandemic, which became the catalyst for us getting ‘vaccinated’, due to the US Administration’s requirement for foreign travelers entering the country.  Covid-19 should ultimately take up a separate ‘novel’, which I may make some annotations on sometime in the near future (hopefully before my sieve-ish mind totally blanks on the details).  This adventure is still in progress as I write this, but I will do my best to recapture the more significant aspects…..

So, in order to leave Mongolia, and to enter the United States of America, we needed to satisfy the requirements of the international community’s pandemic related ‘statutes’, which included vaccination and a negative PCR test conducted within one day prior to the commencement of travel.  Ash, Lukas and myself presented to the international medical clinic, of which we had our brains touched with a rotating cotton tip.  I returned to the clinic that evening to retrieve the documented evidence of our negative result.  This ultimately was more important than our boarding pass.  The next morning, after a few hours of excitement affected sleep, we were on our way to the new international airport of Mongolia (yep you guessed it – the “Chinggis Khaan International Airport”- like they’ve got nothing else to be proud of).  Leading up to this point, we had only talked about the relocation of our whole lives to the US, as though it was a fabrication; a figment; a projection of insanity – something that a fiction writer would enjoy as a plot thickener.  But there we were, standing in the check-in line, staring at reality.  I know that this move was huge for Ash.  She hides the discomfort, but she finds it very hard being apart from her Mum.  Lukas as always, was indifferent, whispering candidly in response to all questions his mantra “it is, what it is”.  Like always, I feel new beginnings are an opportunity to enrich life.  The way I was looking at it, this was going to be (and already was) a new adventure.

As the plane lifted off, a sense of it being just “us” overcame me, which resonated within and provided an odd calm.  Lukas’ mantra might just be the attitude that more people need to adopt.  The first in-flight meal that we’d eaten in over two years was tasteless, yet still delicious.  In-flight entertainment on the MIAT flight was non-existent, however the flight remained, through its very nature and ultimate destination, thoroughly enjoyable.  It wasn’t long before we were descending in order to land at Incheon.  Here I was expecting that we would need to provide some good answers to questions in order to be granted access to the international airway to the United States.  My research had proven rewarding as I’d already completed a number of documents required by the US Government and of course the PCR results certificate and vaccination record also paid dividends.  Five hours later, we were on another aircraft and ready to fly east over the Pacific.  This next flight was everything I remember about a long-haul flight, any sleep obtained was at the cost of neck and back pain.  The resultant jetlag would be long lasting for sure.  The flight was long, but all weariness evaporated when we commenced our descent into San Francisco and United States’ airspace.  A feeling of surrealness couldn’t be ignored as we disembarked and made our way to the area that would ultimately make or break this pilgrimage, US Border Customs.

The interaction with US Border Customs was enlightening, providing us with a very poignant education on ‘not what to do’ as a permanent resident of the US.  Even though Ash was able to keep her status, it is not something to take lightly (maintaining the status of a permanent resident – especially where there are thousands of people currently waiting in line to enjoy the benefits that this provides).  But to cut a long story short, we were officially through the gates and into the grassy green fields that is, the United States of America.  So, after a short wait for an agricultural scan that was a process that identified and then removed two bottles of airag from our possession, and then another short wait for the taxi that I had pre-booked but had relocated due to our lengthy rendezvous with Customs and the lovely people in the Agricultural team, we were on our way to the RIU Plaza at Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco.

First impressions included freeways, driving fast, pickup trucks and more freeways.  These impressions lasted pretty much all the way to the hotel.  The hotel itself seemed to be run entirely by non-native English-speaking people, which in itself is not an issue, but it makes me wonder if the level of service was affected as a result.  One case in point would be the breakfast staff who exhibited absolutely no reservations in berating each other in front of guests, in addition to speaking rudely about specific guests in front of other guests.  Breakfast in itself was abundant and I must say great value, but it’s not just the food that you pay for.  Ash at this point in our stay had mentioned a couple of times that ‘things had changed’ since she had lived in San Francisco, some ten years before.

America – the land of the free.  It is reverberated patriotically and now more often, politically.  On face value, you can easily see where this mantra originates, however if you dig down you may discover that freedom is a ‘camouflaged catch-cry’ that can be misrepresented.  It is easy to understand why people here seem to be ignorant within their privileges, unable to see wood due to it being obscured by so many trees.  Television, social media, YouTube and Spotify cannot be viewed without a financial cost in order to avoid the homeland weapon of mass destruction – advertising.  It is my guess that this society grows fat, both metaphorically and literally on the economic cost of individuals dedicating their focus on respective entertainment devices at home, and at work.  You just have to watch 30 minutes of television (a service that consumers need to pay for in order to receive approximately 10 minutes of targeted marketing), to understand the trends and specific niches of the audience, depending on the time of day.  You’ll watch 3 commercials that relate to the enjoyment of delicious fast food, then a commercial on the treatment of heartburn and reflux, followed by a commercial on cancer treatment medication.  I’m sure that there are those people who are innately aware of how the masses behave, but I am reminded that there are over 300 million people in this country.  Sheeple indeed.  Coming from Mongolia, it is almost cringe-worthy to see such an abhorrent abundance of resources.  Again, I believe ‘freedom’ to be a concept that could often escape the lips of the ignorant, more often than not.  During a brief shopping interlude at Folsom, I spent a little time (and a little money) in an Eddie Bauer store.  Right next to this store was another called “Casual Male XL”.  It was on second glance that I realized that this store tailored only to larger than normal sized men.  It’s evidence like this that makes me believe in the false freedom that is easily manipulated by corporations and allowed by the lawmakers in this land.  Where people are enticed into a life of addiction, which then becomes politicized by the sentiment of discrimination and victimization.

American standards would have to rival the most stringent in the world.  Even the options available in motor vehicles for entry level models are more than what I’ve seen before.  Again, I can’t help but feel that there is a bubble here, albeit a very large one.  We drove a 2021 Nissan Rogue SE around for a week.  Wow.  What a pleasure to drive.  This model is about mid-range, but came with traffic control, CVT and with a 2.0 liter engine pushing out some phenomenal torque, you’d think you were driving a sports car.  This car would automatically slow you down if you were approaching another car in front of you on the freeway, and then speed you back up to your pre-set speed once the lane was clear.  Perhaps I’ve been sheltered from such things, but for me, this was mind-blowing!  After reluctantly returning the Nissan to the rental agency, we camped out at Ash’s friend’s place east of Sacramento for a few days.  Lukas had gone to Louisville, Kentucky for Christmas, which was very much the catalyst for what we did next.

Our next move was to hire another car and make the great pilgrimage from North California across to Louisville, Kentucky.  Ultimately, our goal was to see Khaliunaa, pick up Lukas and return to California, but the journey itself was going to be the experience we were looking forward to.  So, from Christmas Eve, we collected a Volkswagen Tiguan and commenced our Trans-American tour.  Driving on interstate or even intrastate highways was done in only one fashion: FAST.  It was with ‘in-your-face’ type obviousness that the roads were not really designed for little cars, but more with prime movers towing monster trailers in mind.  Suffice to say, if all trucks stopped travelling, the US would probably cease to exist within a very short time frame.  Another point of interest that I made while scanning the landscape, was the number of gigantic US flags that lined the highways.  They were enormous.  Huge symbols of patriotism – a constant reminder to the citizens of the US to always fight for the ideals and the perceived freedoms that are sold to them by the national authoritarians.  We made our way down the middle of California to Bakersville, a small place apparently well known for its car racing history.  I’m not too sure what other claim to fame the town might have had, but we knew for certain that spending as little time as possible in this place was high on the priority list.  The motel we stayed in possibly may have been a meth lab in recent times.  We weren’t sure whether we would wake up in the morning without an angry dermatitis crust on our skin, but after some trepidation and the resignation of faith unto the God of shitholes, we slept soundly and were up before the sun to continue our journey, leaving Bakersville far, far behind.

Day 2 was destination Vegas.  The Tiguan climbed a seemingly endless ascent until it plateaued thousands of feet higher than the California mid-state.  Interstate arterial highways did not get any smaller and with it the truck tally did not dwindle either.  Primm was the town that heralded the state border crossing into Nevada.  This place was trapped in stasis as any form of habitation seemed absent.  A roller coaster stood erect in the background as a form of monument to a bygone era, or perhaps more to the expectation of travelers continuing towards the playground that is Las Vegas.  Prior to arriving in Las Vegas, we had booked a hotel room which turned out to be off the strip.  Once we established this fact, we thought we would cancel this and book a room closer to the ‘action’ per sè, but also somewhere closer to a show.  As it was our Christmas Day, we wanted to see something memorable.  Now, in a nutshell, the Las Vegas strip that the world has heard of, could simply described as a constantly facelifted, botox injected establishment designed specifically to render your wallet cashless.  The porter/concierge who delivered our bags to the room said it eloquently (after I gave him a $10 tip) – “Welcome to Planet Vegas”.  Now, that was actually one of the things that I forgot to mention previously – tips.  In any hospitality-based role, Americans EXPECT a tip, regardless of the level of service applied to the customer and I’ll add that the level of customer satisfaction is irrelevant.  For me, this is a travesty as it can negate the motivation for hospitality employees to strive for excellent customer service.  But overall, the level of service you would ‘expect’ to receive in the US is good.  It just gets to me when a tip becomes a mandatory thing you need to either choose to pay or not to when you fork over $100 to go ten-pin bowling.  Cray-cray.  Getting back to Vegas, we headed out of our hotel room at the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino and commenced our Las Vegas strip study.  Everything we saw was excessive and artificial.  There are replications of the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower amongst so many other re-creations.  The Bellagio Hotel and Casino, although impressive with its fountain show, flagrantly exhibits an overbalancing in the scales of wealth, particularly with its street side lake (and I mean an actual lake) in the middle of a community that actively conserves water due to its geographical proximity in the Mojave desert.  Upon our return to the hotel, we decided to wallow in the Vegas atmosphere and try our hand at some gambling.  First through the loss of money in the slot machines, then by gaining some money at the roulette wheel.  When we were about $120 ahead, we quit and had a quiet drink to soak up the atmosphere.  Later that night, we attended the Cirque de Soleil production of the Michael Jackson “One” show.   Overall, it was enjoyable, but it didn’t leave me with the rapture that I had experienced after attending Cirque productions previously.  Actually, it was a little anti-climactic after the hype-build up that had developed within myself in the knowledge that we were ‘going to Vegas man!’.  The hotel room really didn’t have anything to differentiate it from other hotels we had stayed in.  So after one night in Vegas, we checked out and started heading South.

After picking up a few items from Trader Joe’s heading out of Vegas, we cruised down towards and then adjacent to the Hoover Dam, but not over it.  Seeing the majestic aqueous serpent that is the Colorado River from a distant elevated vantage point really gave credence to the subliminal poetry that is ever present on this magical plane of existence.  Moving further along, we crossed over the border into Arizona.  Our intended destination by the end of the day was the Grand Canyon, however we fell short of this goal as we wanted to play it safe, not knowing how available accommodation was nearby the canyon itself.  As a result, we spent the night in Williams (about an hour south of the canyon).  A good night’s sleep saw us up well before the sun and on our way to the Canyon in order to enchant our eyeballs.  And enchanted they became.  Nothing prepares you for the sight that the Grand Canyon provides.  There is no church on this planet that moves you more spiritually than places that nature itself manifests, like this one.  The complete vastness of the landscape just simply smashes you in the face and reduces your significance to all time lows.  If it wasn’t for the fact that we really wanted to get further across the state, we could have stayed and soaked this atmosphere in for eternity, yet the road beckoned.  We vowed at that moment, that we would return to experience the Canyon on a more complete level.

Cruising south, we traversed the mysterious and enchanting state of Arizona, arriving in Tucson at around 3pm.  It was our intention to find the famed ‘Boneyard’, the resting place of retired military aircraft.  What we found was hectare after hectare of fenced in, secured airfields just brimming with aircraft.  The majority of which could easily be assumed as just dormant.  There were all types of aircraft, but the plane I was looking for was the F-14 Tomcat.  Unfortunately, tours had been suspended, and it seemed that any type of entry into the area was restricted.  The best we could do was approach a fence from the southern side somewhere to speculate and ogle at the vastness of military power.  Just as we did this, an A-10 Warthog chose to make its presence known overhead, lazily performing maneuvers through the blue Arizona sky.  Unsatisfied, but resignedly I trudged back to the car.  Ash was taking some photos of nearby cacti whilst extracting needles from her legs.  We got back into the vehicle to discuss our next move.  We could have stayed put in Tucson, but we were thinking more about speeding up our trip and getting to Louisville, in order to prepare for the return journey to California.  So, we decided that we would get as far east as we could before the sun disappeared.  After a quick supply stop at Safeway, we were back on the Interstate, heading toward our end of day destination, Willcox.

Willcox was a very quiet town about an hour from the New Mexico border.  After resting in a basic motel, we again hit the road with nothing more in our to-see-or-do list other than getting to Kentucky.  So, basically the next 1,500 miles were covered in 2 days of driving.  That being said, being as descriptive as I can, still won’t give the landscape or the experience opportunity justice.  What I can say is that we will endeavor to retrace our steps at some time in order to expand on our experience.  From Willcox, we drove straight across New Mexico and into Texas.  We stopped at El Paso and had a burrito in order to authenticate our location.  Texas is a big, flat, yet beautiful piece of country.  We decided we would push on and make it to Fort Worth.  It is poignant to note that whilst driving through the night, the ‘city lights’ or what seemed like them as we moved along the highway did not seem to dim or disappear.  We arrived in Fort Worth after midnight and had a room booked at the Wyndham hotel.  There was absolutely no recollection of that night as we both slept soundly after a big day behind the wheel.

Breakfast the next day included the ‘Texas shaped waffle’.  Thanks to Joe for educating us on the finer points of operating a waffle machine.  We left Fort Worth, moved through Dallas and pointed the Volkswagen North-East.  Before long, we crossed into Arkansas, where I immediately noticed that motorists seemed less polite on the road.  We turned left before getting to Memphis and drove northwards adjacent to the Mississippi River.  Crossing the border into Missouri, we then took a right turn and spanned the river, entering Tennessee.  From there we moved northward again, finally crossing into bourbon country – we had been in four other states this day before making it to Kentucky.  Again, we had a very long day driving, which we concluded when we made it to Hopkinsville.  We stayed at the Wyndham hotel due to the good experience we had the previous night staying at the Fort Worth Wyndham.  The next day would see us reuniting with Khaliunaa.

Hopkinsville is a quaint little town that apparently would be a good representation of the rest of Kentucky State.  Lush greenery and trees (both deciduous and non) throughout the area.  The weather wasn’t particularly bright, and the climate had been warm leading up to our arrival.  We heard that as a result of this, there were tornadoes that had been through the surrounding area, creating quite an array of devastation to a lot of buildings, residences included.  Meeting up with Khaliunaa and Jacob (her boyfriend) was fantastic.  She has certainly grown as a human, and as a person that would love to take a parental role in her life, I could not have been prouder of the achievements that she has made.  Her college studies were paying dividends as her results were amongst the highest in her program.  As I write this, she has just commenced a dual program, where she will eventually graduate with her master’s degree.

By Dugald H. Best

5^th August 2019.

I begin writing this from our room at the Khas (Xac) Hotel in Tsertserleg.  Our journey began almost five days ago, after we ummmmed and arrrrrghed about whether we had Ash’s brother’s Pajero fully packed with everything that we were going to need for a semi cross-country / sort of overlanding type adventure with creature comforts where possible.  The journey was to take us west of Ulaanbaatar.  The Pajero will soon enter the story as the catalyst for our ‘extended stay’ in Tsetserleg. 

Day 1

It was Friday morning when we arose quite late (I had just finished work the previous day and travelled home arriving after midnight).  The excitement I was feeling was indescribable – I was really looking forward to seeing some of this beautiful country with Ash and Lukas.  Finally feeling good about what we had packed, we set out and started heading west from our inner city apartment.  Now, I realise that due to my careful and considerate driving style, I was generally waving a flag as I drove that stated to all other drivers (or ‘motorists’ I should say) to ‘please take immediate advantage of me!’.  So needless to say, after about two or three hours, and after we had stopped at maybe four or five supermarkets on a fruitless quest to locate Lukas’s favourite nacho cheese Doritos (I see a commercial opportunity to sell these now), the Pajero finally steered onto some open road and we began to cruise, bound for the Mongolian countryside.

The first couple of hours gave us a long look at the same landscape, where the road seemed to divide a huge expanse of land with rolling hills both on the left and right horizons.  Taking it all in was easy for Ash and I.  Lukas’s priority lay with burning out his headphone batteries whilst maintaining a brain surgeon’s focus on his iPod.  At least his head came up every now and then to quench his insatiable thirst for sugary beverages – in this case the Arizona can was his poison. 

About twenty kilometres before the turn off to Khar Khourin (which was the capital city of Mongolia prior to Ulaanbaatar), a random expanse of sand dunes appeared to delight the eyesight.  These huge mounds of sand seemed to follow a line as far as the eye could see.  An absolute amazing scene, in the middle of what you’d expect to see as green pasture and rolling rocky hills.  Crawling past the dunes in the Pajero, we could see many local ‘pilgrims’ spending time on the dunes with their families – almost as though they were using the dunes as a conduit to an ethereal being, or maybe just simply spending time at an oceanless beach.  By the time we reached the Khar Khourin turn-off, it was well and truly time to start thinking about our first night’s lodgings.  Now at this time, I was imagining us diverting off the road and simply making camp at a random spot for the night.  This concept was still very young in my mind, its actual comprehension still not quite making it to my believable consciousness.  But, that’s exactly what we did.  Awesome.  I saw a distant ridge below a mountain, and thought to myself how cool it would be to camp there, having the mountain as shelter and also having the amazing view of the surrounding country, not to mention the sand dunes in the near distance.  With a quick confirmation of agreeance from the team, the Pajero easily traversed the hill and got us to the ridge.  Ash and Lukas were eager to get to work to setup camp.  Well, Ash was.  Lukas had begun to feel slightly nauseous from the sugar overdose he had received.  Not too long after he descended into the throes of a processed sweets induced work reduction scheme.  The threat of rain caused Ash and I to quickly get the gazebo into place, followed shortly after by the tent.  Lukas was on air mattress duty.  The vital responsibility of getting air into the mattresses.  In what seemed no time at all, we had camp, and dinner was being heated up.  The menu included quiche, packet soup and some dodgy sausages (some form of processed meat rolled into the shape of a sausage).  Ash had packed a spoon that we began looking for – it was the only cutlery implement that we packed made of metal.  For this meal, the spoon remained elusive.

A distant mechanical noise, resembling a sick chainsaw made us stop what we were doing.  The noise was definitely coming closer to the camp.  The next instant saw a Chinese motorcycle ascending the ridge with a middle aged herder on the back of it.  He stopped the bike, turned it off and cast his gaze across our camp with what looked like to be the look of a disapproving father passing silent sentence at a naughty child.  “Sain bain uu?” was the first thing we said, hoping to offer a friendly ice-breaking greeting.  Ash immediately began a rhetoric, explaining what we were doing here.  I was secretly hoping that he wasn’t going to immediately demand that we pack up our gear and get the hell outta Dodge.  But it wasn’t long before the ice was well and truly broken as he offered us his life story in a brief outline.  I, of course didn’t understand about ninety-nine percent of what was said, but could tell from his body language that he was actually happy for us to be there.  He thought that somebody had constructed a Ger on the ridge somehow off his radar and came to investigate.  The Ger that he thought he saw was actually our Gazebo.  Ash offered him some candy for his children which he happily took in the Mongolian custom, but we soon discovered that he actually had no wife or children, but was herding in the area whilst caring for his elderly mother.  He also offered to take us to see some of the beautiful country on horseback and to understand the Mongolian country way of life.  Just a nice guy, happy to chat and meet new people.  His name is Hairhan.  After exchanging phone numbers with the promise that we would come back next year, he bid us farewell.  Which was nice, because by this time we were famished.  While consuming some dodgy sausages and some home cooked quiche, it was amazing to see the road we were travelling in the distance full of fireflies.  Car lights that stretched away as far as the eye could see.  Certainly something that is now very apparent to me is that Mongolians are not really focused on reducing everyday risk.  Driving through the night with the family is more than acceptable practice.  We lowered the gazebo and climbed into our tent.  The thought of being so close to nature and the elements, on a ridge in the centre of Mongolia gave us surprising comfort.  Sleep came easily.

Day 2

Morning arrived and with it came the amazing sound of horses near the tent.  That deep place of sleep became shallow when the soft neighing of a horse caused me to open my eyes and readjust my brain in order to comprehend where we were.  Opening the flap of the tent revealed to Ash and myself a scene from a movie where a team of beautiful horses were grazing at the top of the ridge, right in the perfect position to gorge our eyesight on a feast of morning calm.  It was still fairly early (well around 7.30am) when we got up.  I slept well, but Ash had a hard time staying asleep.  I knew she would likely make it up in the car travelling.  Breakfast was a combination of eggs, bacon and tomatoes washed down with some Earl Grey Tea.  Still no sign of the metal spoon.  After making a coffee for the road, Ash and I wanted to climb the mountain that was directly behind the camp.  The summit wasn’t very far from where we were, and it proved to be a bit of exercise whilst entertaining the senses.  The view from the top was simply breathtaking.

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After descending the mountain-top, we packed up the Pajero with a little more engineered precision than the previous packing exercise.  It was during this time that I decided I enjoy setting up camp more than breaking it down.  Ash agrees.  It wasn’t long before we were back on the road, heading towards our ultimate destination (ultimately unknown).  A few hours longer, saw us arrive at the old capital of Mongolia – Khar Khourin.  Of course, mandatory tourism duty demanded that we turn into the monastery, seeming to be the main attraction.  It is a huge expanse of area fortified by a very tall brick wall elaborately adorned with statues and Mongolian emblems of ancient years past.  I was fairly excited to see anything remotely closely associated with the ancient historical past of Mongolian culture, but was equally fairly bummed to learn that it was just another monastery and that I’d be better off reading a book of historical nature to ignite more interest.  (Which I am now reading, by the way).  Yes, 10,000 tugrug for a 5 minute walk through the monastery, 300 tugrug for a piss, and 5,000 tugrug for an eagle to sit on Lukas’s hand.  Actually, that eagle was worth it – such a majestic animal.  We were back in the Pajero with more economy than the monastery latrine, and on the open road once more.  Soon the old capital was a distant memory as I started to think about the fuel efficiency of the Pajero.  We had filled the tank on the outskirts of UB, and filled it again about 125 kilometres into our adventure just to check the economy – turned out to be about 13 kilometres to the litre – not actually too bad!  I was expecting a lot less than that.  We filled up again just outside of Khar Khourin and the ratio dropped significantly to about 8 kilometres to the litre.  Hmmmmm…..

The landscape had changed again from the vastness of the first day, to mountainous and rugged spectacles both left and right of us.  I am definitely in love with the natural aspects of this country.  Driving through Tsenkhur, we moved past a number of beefed-up Yamaha Rhinos cruising down the road, obviously ready to tackle all manners of off-road wonderlands.  Pretty cool to know that you could drive a Yamaha Rhino down a national Mongolian road.  Peering at them in the rear-view, I noticed Lukas’s sugar intake had also reduced significantly throughout the day.  Thoughts of a relapse must have given him pause for thought.  I wonder how long that would last….?

After cresting a rise and moving underneath a welcoming sign expansed across the road, we were now in Tsetserleg.  Wow.  The rock formations alone were something to behold.  Such a beautiful place.  First thing I noticed coming into the city was multiple huge billboards advertising the Fairfield café/bakery and guest house.  It looked very inviting, and had a very western feel about the whole thing.  You just don’t see those kinds of signs around.  With that, we thought we’d check it out.  The signs I’m sure have paid for themselves.  Fairfield turned out to be what seemed as a small building, but in actual fact is quite well setup as a guesthouse as it stretched out towards the back, and only appearing small from the road.  Now, customer service in Mongolia is something of a very foreign subject.  There is none.  At all.  Employees rarely smile, and we had to order at the counter.  My Caesar salad came as a green salad with cocktail dressing.  Lukas ordered chicken (his second favourite item for consumption), and Ash had some soup.  We thought to ourselves that the place was actually disappointing based on our eating experience.  Disappointing particularly after having expectations raised after seeing the advertising signs down the road.  It turned out that one of the owners is Australian.  After discussing quietly what we would do to make the place a huge success, we decided to move on and allow Fairfield café/bakery and guesthouse to become an impressionless memory – soon to be swept aside for more important things in life, such as hot springs.  But not before we got some carrot bread.  Yum.

On the road again, we steered south until we left the paved road.  This was where I became increasingly excited at the prospect of what terrain we would encounter and how the Pajero would perform.  We travelled until we got to the Tamir River, which was an amazing oasis with relatively no people there.  The river was flowing strongly and was lined with huge trees that were different to any others I’d seen in Mongolia.  I believe they are Siberian Aspen trees, but still require confirmation of whether that’s accurate.  They shed quite a lot of shade creating fantastic campsites all along the river.  We navigated across a narrow, dilapidated bridge that gave alarming noises as the vehicle moved across it.  Once across the river, we again were in open pasture, heading for a mountain pass, which we needed to cross in order to reach the day’s final destination.  Then it started to rain.  Pajero – you’re up.  We were sideways, up, down and diagonal getting across the pass.  Then the rain stopped.  And then we arrived at an area where several tourist camps were setup.  Lukas and I checked the availability at the Tsenkhur Spring Resort as Ash believed that if she were to do it, we would be turned away (potentially some expat bringing dollars to the table type thinking, also because she was turned away from the other resort we had already checked).  The girls in the reception area took one look at Lukas’s eyes and decided immediately that they had a room for the night.  Not sure about that one, but Lukas lapped up the attention.  We unloaded a few items and made our way to the Ger lodging that would be our home for the night.  Soon after, we had a fire going, and began to count the ear bugs that were starting to accumulate in numbers as the daylight disappeared.  Lukas made good use of the hot spring water pool, which was billowing steam from its surface – it did in fact look very inviting.  Ash and I ordered a plate of Tsuivan for Lukas, as we were still reasonably blocked up from trailgrazing.  Again, customer service at the restaurant was seriously lacking, and any form of pride or attitude of excellence in how they presented themselves and the food was totally absent.  We tipped the reception girl, as she actually demonstrated what appeared to be a passion for meeting new people and couldn’t help us enough with settling in.  That was a first in Mongolia.  We had to insist on the tip, which made it even better.  Even better still was the fact that her receiving the tip didn’t diminish her continued level of service for the duration of our stay.  After Lukas returned from his Roman experience, the Tsuivan was ready, and we spent the remainder of the day playing Mushig and enjoying each other’s company before sleep.  Oh, and we setup one of our LED lights at the far side of the ger to attract the ear bugs.  Ear bugs, because evidently they like to enter your ear as you sleep.  Yana.  Still no sign of the metal spoon.

Day 3

Arising in the morning, we were greeted with the sight of dead ear bugs everywhere.  What a depressing life they must lead.  I guess, there’s only one way up in the afterlife after the ear bug existence.  Lukas took no time at all to again hit the Roman baths and after careful deliberation, Ash and I decided to follow.  Wow, it was so nice.  The water felt very smooth across the skin, which didn’t entirely give me huge comfort, but I reasoned that the water was actually full of minerals, which allowed my brain to settle that it was actually very good for me.  The next bath was even hotter as it was just being filled up.  What an unbelievable amount of water must go through these pools over an extended period of time.  After a breakfast culinary experience in the restaurant that smacked of budget cuts and revenue raising at the same time (shit food at crazy prices), Lukas again hit the baths while Ash and I went trekking in search of the source of this piping hot natural liquid that made this place so worth-while.  It was only about half a kilometer when we came across a makeshift dam wall that was harboring a catchment of spring water.  It seemed to just ooze out of a patch of ground which had been turned into a Mongolian cultural place of worship.  These places are easy to distinguish from the pile of blue silks and tugrugs attached to a dilapidated religious structure.  Apparently there are these natural springs dotted all over Mongolia, which truly is an amazing natural wonder to experience.  Not long after, we headed back to the resort and began to pack up so that we could move our adventuring to another place.  We decided that camping on the bank of the Tamir River was a must this night.  We packed up the Pajero, bid the reception staff farewell and were on our way back.  The drive back to the river was not nearly as exciting as the night before, but still enjoyable.  The scenery made everything so soul enriching.  We got back to the bridge and took about fifteen minutes to find a suitable spot for a camp, which we found underneath two of the big trees, right on the bank of a narrow but strongly moving part of the river.  Setting up was a pleasure.  I could just imagine sitting on our chairs next to the river, listening to the water move and maintaining a feeling nothing short of bliss.  Lukas had energy to burn and volleyball was the Tamir sport of choice.  Here’s a challenge, have three people try to keep the ball in the air by only using volleyball digs with hands without the same person touching the ball twice in a row, fifty times.  Frustrating stuff.  Dinner was beef coconut curry and rice, and the evening entertainment consisted of consuming fire roasted marshmallows (yes, a fire creating ambience like you wouldn’t believe) and a lovely Shiraz whilst watching the latest Robin Hood movie on the laptop.  Cool as.  At the conclusion of this fantastic day, we packed up some of the gear into the Pajero to secure it (lots of light fingers in Mongolia), and jumped into the tent.  Sleep again did not stay away for long.

Day 4

In the morning we took our time to rise.  A little disconcerting to see the outside of the tent covered in spiders.  It’s almost as if each breed of critter was taking turns in checking us out.  After finally wiping the sleep from our eyes, we unpacked the Pajero and made some breakfast.  Relaxation was still the theme, although Ash and I did decide to see how the river felt on our bodies.  Taking a quick dip was super refreshing.  We took our time with leaving this place, played some more volleyball, and completely chill-axed.  When we finally did decide to pack up, it was close to mid morning.  This time we had a pretty solid packing routine and it took even less time than before to get the Pajero filled and steering away from the Tamir River.  We will definitely be back to this place.  Driving back into Tsetserleg, we decided to fill up our coffee cups from…yes the Fairfield café/bakery and guesthouse.  The establishment that we agreed would leave our memory after the first experience.  The coffee was actually really good, but I simply cannot understand why UHT milk is so widely used in a country with such a huge fresh milk resource.  With the click of the coffee cups in the centre console holders in the Pajero, we were motoring East, back towards where we came from.  On the eastern side of Tsenkhur, a small town about thirty kilometers east of Tsetserleg, I decided to pull the Pajero over so we could consult the road map and decide on which direction to take heading homeward.  We still had a couple of nights remaining in our adventure and seeing as many different places as possible was on the agenda.  Now, you may remember at the beginning of this blog, the reference to how the Pajero became the catalyst for our extended stay in Tsetserleg?  Well, at that particular moment, whilst on the side of a national Mongolian road, the vehicle simply switched off.  At first I thought it was the battery.  There was absolutely no charge in it.  Then I remembered our new purchase of a Chinese made inverter/compresser/jump pack we picked up from the State Department Store before we left!  Perfect chance to test it out!  After connecting it up, I crossed my fingers and tried to crank it.  Nothing.  Yana.  Ash suggested that we find a mechanic from Tsenkhur who can take a look.  About half an hour later a dusty old sedan arrived at the scene and a small man dressed in socks and crocs with a black t-shirt with “New Zealand” written on it jumped out holding what appeared to be some jump cables (possibly made in his garage).  After he tried cranking it himself, he connected the cables to his beast, and got the Pajero to the point where it began cranking finally, but still lifeless apart from that.  At this point, I thought it may have been a fuel delivery problem, and evidently this thought was also shared by the ‘mechanic’ who I’ll refer to as Kiwi.  He pulled the fuel line and we confirmed that the fuel pump was still working.  Kiwi’s experience with 2004 Pajeros was about as much as mine, so the general consensus was for the vehicle to be towed back to Tsetserleg.  With that, Kiwi left on the promise that he would find a vehicle suitable to tow the Pajero.  Oh and it would cost us 100,000 tugrugs.  That would probably be cheaper than a tow in Australia, but still quite a little income spinner for Kiwi, who’s level of professionalism, service and risk management were non-existent.  Half an hour later, there was still no phone call from Kiwi.  We saw a couple of vehicles off the road in the distance with people congregating together.  It’s not a peculiar sight to see cars just pulled randomly off the road and families having a picnic or afternoon siesta.  I suggested to Ash that we approach them and see whether they could tow us at least partway back.  So, we locked up and started out on foot to the party of people.  Once we got there, Ash asked whether there was a chance they could tow us, and they agreed to tow us back to Tsenkur.  Which was actually very gracious of them.  One of them had a V6 Land Cruiser, which we connected to using an old strap and Ash’s Brother’s wheel brace (standard Mongolian towing attachment).  They towed us back to Kiwi’s mechanic shop in Tsenkhur without incident.  I tried to give them 60,000 tugrugs, which they refused to accept.  Nice.  They then packed up the strap and bid us farewell.  I then realized that they had taken Ash’s Brother’s wheel brace.  Oh well, small price to pay I guess.  By then, Kiwi had arranged a Porter (kind of light truck with a flatbed tray) to tow us to Tsetserleg.  Kiwi wanted to drive, which I was okay with as the liability would have been on him if anything was to go wrong.  The whole way there, Kiwi attempted to crank the Pajero without success.  100,000 tugrugs later we were back in Tsetserleg at the Haingai Auto Repair Shop.  After moving the Pajero into a small garage, the mechanic (Enkh) said that he would call us to give us information on what might be wrong with the vehicle.  With that, we caught a taxi to seek some accommodation for the night (just in case we needed it).  I bet you can’t guess where we went?  So, we called Fairfield and enquired about accommodation.  They said that we could stay for 100,000 tugrugs per night including breakfast.  When we arrived, they informed us that the guesthouse was actually full, but they had re-booked us at the Khas Hotel which was directly across the road.  Nice of them to let us know over the phone.  The Khas Hotel in comparison to Fairfield appeared as a concrete and tile block.  Very uninviting, less than warm and cheeeeeap.  Turned out that the room rate was 70,000 tugrugs per night.  A little different to what we were quoted I hear you murmur.  I guess the 30,000 tugrug breakfast must be something to write home about.  It was interesting to note though, as we walked across the road, the illuminated sign on the front of the building was missing the “T” from “HOTEL”.  I couldn’t help but be slightly amused to decipher that in broken English as “KHAS-HOEL”.  Perhaps Germanic origin?  Touchè.  We settled into our room at the Asshole.  Hehe, can’t help but chuckle as I write.  Ash and I decided to go for a walk around to see some of the sights before it got dark.  Walking towards the scenic mountain faces so close to the city reminded me of how small and insignificant we actually are in the scheme of things.  We moved up a few different streets in search of an establishment that may sell half-decent wine, to no avail.  We did find Craft beer though.  I have found that Craft is the choice of Mongolian brews.  Reminds me a little of James Squire One Fifty Lashes from Australia.  Much better than most other beers in the country, which are comparable to the taste of Victoria Bitter or Camel piss after the Camel drinks its own piss.  One thing we noticed about Tsetserleg is how many young people live there.  Just to reiterate this fact there was an open air concert pumping as we walked down one of the main streets.  Seems that there is quite a lot going on in this small city.  It certainly would be interesting to find out more about what goes on and how things differ from this province to the next.  Getting back to the hotel, we decided to take a deck of cards to the outside table at Fairfield, and with a couple of beers, we played Mushig.  Lukas ensues a high level of confidence when it comes to this game, which tends to either make him win in a blaze of glory, or burn in a fiery inferno.  Tonight there wasn’t much glory for the young man.  Soon a young Mongolian man named Nurka, sat with us, taking an obvious interest in the game we were playing.  Mushig after all is very much the card game you play when in Mongolia.  We invited him to join in, dealt out some cards and before long we had a good insight into what he was doing in Tsetserleg.  It turned out that Nurka was a horseman, or at least somebody here to escort some foreign travelers to a different place on horseback.  We bought a couple more beers and the mood became more festive.  It was actually a really fun night of playing cards and getting to know this young man.  He explained to us how he had recently bought eight horses locally and was going to ride them back to Selenge province – roughly five hundred kilometres away.  Some Norweigan travelers were coming to Tsetserleg to rendezvous with him and allow him to escort them back to Selenge.  Sounds like a perfect way to see the Mongolian countryside.  Nurka then went on to explain how he had lost the eight horses, briefly mentioning that he believed the horses to be ‘freed’ by brigands, or the like.  (Starting to sound like the adventures of Chinggis?).  His shamanistic Grandmother gave him the right direction to locate them.  Wow – the tale gets very interesting you say?  Under spiritual guidance, he eventually located all eight horses over a great distance and brought them back to Tsetserleg in time for the Norweigan conquest.  Talk started to steer towards how awesome it would be for foreigners to have the all Mongolian experience with unbelievable service thrown in.  For a troop of Mongolian horseman to put on an amazing raw display of talent (potentially including horseback archery – how cool would that be!!?).  Follow that with an eagle hunting demonstration and possibly some interaction with the foreigners then some throat singing and haunting long song in the countryside.  You would pay big dollars for something that would be orchestrated into a fantastic and interactive ‘show’.  I don’t think that travel guides understand that here though.  Gives one food for thought….Nurka started to talk that he would definitely be qualified to be a tour guide in this context with his eagle handling skill.  Sounds impressive.  After another round of brewskis, this time reverting to recycled camel piss, we agreed to catch up with Nurka in the morning, as he’d asked Ash if we would be keen for a horse-ride.  Bloody oath we would.  We called it an evening after some good old fashioned cards, beer and general all round warm feelings. 

Day 5

The sun was fairly high in the sky when our eyes opened.  Ash seemed to fair quite well through the night, but it felt like a fluffy cat had crawled into my mouth sometime while I was asleep, had a bowel movement and then died.  Nothing a breakfast at Fairfield couldn’t fix we were sure.  Well actually the breakfast wasn’t too bad – again a little Aussie influence there methinks.  We had sausages, bacon, eggs, toast and washed it down with some coffee.  We met Nurka not long after and determined that the plan for us was to hire a motorcycle (he had one already somehow), and cruise Northward to where the horses were waiting for us.  Sounds awesome.  We packed some water to rehydrate after the previous night’s activity and before long we had two motorcycles ready to go.  It was a little while since I had been on a motorcycle, but I was very confident that I would have this sorted out in a flash.  Before we could say “is this such a great idea?”, we were off.  Cruising through the back streets, we soon merged onto the road heading northward over a nearby mountain.  I remembered why riding a motorbike is so addictive.  Beautiful scenery and you being in amongst it, is a feeling that really has little comparison.  At the crest of the mountain we hit the dirt road.  Or should I say dirt, corrugated road.  That’s an experience on a Chinese motorcycle for sure.  It took us about twenty minutes before we veered off the road and strapped across country towards some gers in the middle of a massive valley of pasture, surrounded by a forest and mountain range.  Need I say any more.  Firstly we went inside and consumed milk tea as a welcoming gesture, then it was off to the horses.  It was interesting to learn that the horses names were not at all consistent with their colour.  The white horse’s name translated to “Brownie”.  It seemed as though Nurka was a little perplexed with my question, appearing to fabricate the names as he thought of them.  It wasn’t long and we were all on horseback, on our way over this amazing piece of land, inhaling the scenery with its sensory stimulating effect.  After about an hour of riding, the realization began to grow that there is a definite reason why people who ride horses often, wear riding pants.  When we dismounted after reaching the base of a ridge, a wave of relief washed over me (well, a part of me).  This place was magical.  A spring of unbelievably fresh, clear and cold water was cascading.  Climbing the ridge allowed immediate access to a forest dotted wild strawberry field.  The strawberries were small, and most of them not quite red, but they tasted amazingly good.  I lay down amongst the strawberries for a moment, and fifteen minutes later I opened my eyes.  I hadn’t even realized that I took a nap.  Tranquility at its very definition.  After another guzzle of fresh spring water, we mounted the horses and started back to the gers.  Ash was led the whole way, but Lukas gained confidence as he moved along and it didn’t take him long to ride the horse without being led.  The horses were of course very placid except for the constant fly deterring head bang action coupled with the random spray of horse sneeze.  It felt like there was a fairly tight knit little community in the valley.  A couple more farms could be seen which seemed to be sharing resources with each other.  One thing that Ash and I often talk about is the Mongolian absence of caring for other Mongolians outside of the family circle, and how awesome it would be to be part of a small community that do in fact support each other.  Once we got back to the gers, we tied the horses and went back inside for a feed of fresh cream, bread and cookies.  Oh, and milk tea.  After this, Nurka took us to another family ger where we could see curds being dried.  Inside we were again treated with a buffet of fresh cream and bread.  This time though we managed to walk away with a 1.5 litre coke bottle full of refined milk vodka.  The taste of this delightful beverage wasn’t strong, only with a hint of sourness, but Ash told me that this is a drink to respect due to the fact that it will put you on your bum before you even know it.  Before long, we were back on the motorbikes.  A quiet relief from the horse saddle.  We managed to get back up to the top of the mountain where we got off and took a look at a rock formation where legend says an ancient Mongolian hero placed a large rock on top of what looked to be a turtle head, which actually killed a menacing two headed snake in the process.  Hmmm, well that’s the story we got from Nurka.  We motored on and soon came to a checkpoint station where some police were.  We were waved to the side of the road by a policeman, which we were happy to comply with.  At this stage, I didn’t feel any anxiety at all, it just seemed to be a matter of course.  Well that soon changed, when we learnt that Nurka didn’t have a license at all.  I produced my Mongolian license, which I realized too late, did not have me registered as a licensed motorcycle rider.  That was my Australian license.  Yana.  I was given a 200,000 tugrug on the spot fine.  Nurka was put in a police car and was taken to the Tsetserleg ‘down-town’.  I sat there a little dumbfounded with what had just happened.  It only took us a minute or two to realise that they had actually let us go.  Which means that they were more than happy for us to ride the motorcycle away!  Unbelievable.  I get a fine for not being ‘licensed’, and then we can ride that very motorcycle away, unlicensed.  Not to mention I had Ash and Lukas on the back of the bike with me.  So, we putted our way back to Fairfield, where we thought we would hang out and await news of Nurka’s fate.  Well, it must have been ten minutes and he was back at Fairfield also.  The policeman seemingly had driven him away in front of us in a demonstration of power, only to simply let Nurka ride away, unlicensed, unfined.  It pays to come from the same province as the policeman who catches you breaking the law, so it seems.  It felt like he had come back with a little ‘win’.  It also felt like I had just been cheated at cards.  What an interesting dynamic to be a part of.  Understanding how things really are is something that does take time for somebody who is brought up being taught a different set of ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’.  We managed to get some food that was leftover in the Pajero and heated it up.  It was the remainder of the coconut beef curry and some ginger lemon chicken.  Yum.  Another game of Mushig followed with only a beer each.  We needed to go to the bus stop at 10pm to collect some parts that we had arranged for Ash’s Brother to send during the day.  That was 446,000 tugrugs worth.  Nurka tagged along with us to greet the Norwegian contingent that were travelling on the same bus.  After collecting these parts, we made our way back to the Asshole for a battery reset in preparation for the next day.  The day was catching up fast and we were all feeling the effects of it. 

Day 6

Another sleep-in followed by some bread and cream.  Yum.  We were pretty motivated this morning to find out how the Pajero was faring.  We left Lukas in the room to get a decent rest, and headed back out to the repair shop to investigate.  The Pajero was in the middle of open-heart surgery.  The radiator, air box and everything in the front section of the engine bay had been taken out.  The old mechanic was standing in the engine bay and there were two other mechanics peering into the engine bay with laser focus.  Ash and I looked at each other and shared the knowing look of “she ain’t going anywhere”.  It was at this point that we decided that we needed to get back to Ulaanbaatar.  The old mechanic (Enkh) explained to Ash that the timing belt may not have been the only problem with the vehicle, but they won’t know until the new belt is on the machine.  With that, and the trust endowed in the expertise and care of Ash’s brother’s vehicle, and not to mention the transfer of another 250,000 tugrugs as a pre-payment, we headed back to the hotel.  Finding a taxi in Tsetserleg is never difficult.  Finding a taxi in Mongolia is never difficult.  An old Prius was our chariot back to the hotel, and to my absolute amazement, the driver actually asked me to put my seat belt on.  I couldn’t believe it.  I tipped the man for his safety consciousness.  Something that is ‘in-your-your-face’ lacking in Mongolia.  As we got back, we saw Nurka sitting over at Fairfield.  Interesting.  We thought that he would have been leading his horses and the Norwegians across the Mongolian countryside.  His explanation to us after we approached him was that the horses had been stolen.  Far out – this guy’s luck is so unpredictable!!  We felt really bad for him.  This was the trip he had been waiting for, the reason we believed he was in Arhangai Province.  We introduced ourselves to the Norwegian contingent shortly after, and their understanding was that the horses had been stolen as well.  They were disappointed for sure, but in the very same breath they began talking about buying motorcycles.  Oh well, adventure is where you seek it.  After regaling my motorcycle and brush with the law experience with a couple of people who were interested at Fairfield, we met briefly with a man who Ash knew, somebody who used to work at Oyu Tolgoi.  His name was Batsaikhan and he was the Guest Relations Manager at Fairfield.  Straight away we could tell he was a man who was interested in you and seemed to have an element of integrity about him.  We loped back over the road to the Asshole to wake Lukas, grab our stuff and check the hell out.  Lukas was already awake and had negotiated with a hotel staff member for a router, in order to maintain his Instagram fetish.  We grabbed our stuff, and made our way over to the Tsetserleg bus stop to book ourselves a one way journey back to the big smoke.  The 2pm service was fully booked.  Next bus departed at 7pm.  Unreal.  The trip was going to take at least 8 hours, giving us an estimated time of arrival of about 3am.  Un…real.  We made our way back to…..Fairfield.  For a place that left the impression that it did at the beginning of our adventure, Fairfield had become the foundation of strength that the whole experience was set on.  We ordered a pizza, sat on the couch, Ash and Lukas got a dose of personal entertainment device, while I wrote some of this blog.  Before we knew it, we were on our way back to the bus stop.  After some confusion and a little angst about seating arrangements, and the fact that one of our seat belts was out of service (we weren’t letting Lukas not wear a seat belt), the coach pulled out of the terminal, and began the long journey back to the capital.  It was bitterly disappointing to see a young girl standing up in the aisle as it appeared that her fare had been accepted to travel a short distance.  This is a private organization providing a regulated service and allowing her to stand up while the bus travels.  To say I was disgusted, was an understatement.  Another element of the trip that made me feel less than human was when I had to go to the toilet.  When the bus stopped for a short break, I decided to get off and follow the throng over towards where the latrine was.  Well, the line was as you’d expect, and I did see a number of Mongolian men relieving themselves over by a distant fence.  As one would expect, I toddled over to the same area and commenced the natural relief process.  I was forced to hurry a moment later by a middle aged man pointing at me and yelling to another man what is translated as “foreigner”!!  The other man came around the fence with a fistful of tugrugs shaking his head at me.  Seemed I had done him out of some income.  Well, at that point in time, I wish I was fluent in Mongolian.  I would have strongly suggested to him that his choice of career was not something to regale to the Grandchildren in order to inspire their motivation to succeed.  A little traumatized by that experience, I boarded the bus again to share the rendezvous with Ash.  I am simply amazed at Ash’s ability to sleep when travelling.  I used to be able to when I was a kid, but in recent years the ability to feel comfortable whilst sitting with my neck in unnatural positions has all but left me.  So, I had the pleasure of listening to about 5 hours of throat singing, long song and fat Mongolian men in Deels standing on a mountain or by a river with their arms raised.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the Mongolian art of voice projection, but when basically the same sound and images are forced upon you for 5 hours whilst you travel over a pot-hole ridden road in a bus full of people who respect their horse more than they respect you, it becomes an exercise of mental strength to maintain the rage.  At about 3.30am, we rolled into the bus terminal at Ulaanbaatar.  By 4am, we were at home and looking forward to some actual rest.  Our bed, literally felt like a cloud of angels’ feathers as we sunk into its creases and while memories of broken Pajeros, stolen horses and metal spoons faded, deep, dreamless sleep claimed us. 

Day 7

Well, we have now skipped about a week, as I had to go back to work.  But you’ll never guess what we were doing at 8am in the morning after I got home from work at about 1am?  Ha, yes we were on the bus travelling back to Tsetserleg.  A couple of days previously, Enkh the mechanic had advised that we needed to find some valves to fit the Pajero as the cranking of the engine without a timing belt had busted a few of them.  Ash’s brother had managed to find some and they were sent out to Tsetserleg for fitment.  And now, we were on our way back (less Lukas) to supervise the final repair and hopefully bring the Pajero home.  The trip out was reasonably eventless, we stopped for a bowl of banshtai tea, which is always refreshing to me.  I love Mongolian cuisine – something that most expats don’t.  After pulling back into the Tsetserleg terminal, we made our way directly to the garage.  There Enkh was standing in the engine bay again, but it seemed apparent that the repair was in full swing.  The old mechanic had spent some time in the countryside in the recent days, hence why the machine was still in bits.  After transferring another 300 000 tugrugs for his trouble, we went back to the accommodation area of the town seeking a room.  This time we checked into the Naran Hotel, in the hope that we could see the beautiful mountain that was almost a ‘stone’s throw away’.  The room we had looked over the back where the rubbish pile was.  Oh well.  After a mutton and Khurshuur dinner, we got the phone call that we were waiting for.  The Pajero was fixed!!  We went straight to the repair shop to see the machine in one piece.  Ha!  Everything was back together.  Enkh mentioned to us that we should take it for a drive – maybe fifty kilometres or so just to make sure it runs normally.  Okaaay.  As it was getting dark, we didn’t bother doing that, but took it back to the Naran Hotel.  We thanked Enkh and his team profusely.  I think we had made a sort-of-rapport with them and we decided that the next time we were in Tsetserleg, we would find his home and drop in.  We then went to Fairfield and caught up with Batsaikhan who had helped us immensely with checking on the Pajero whilst we were away.  During that time, there was the beginning of a trust or friendship developing between him and us.  We spent the evening talking with him while emptying Heineken bottles.  It was a little spine tingling to learn that Batsaikhan was going to enter the political arena.  One thing that Mongolian politics lacks is politicians with integrity and a love for the Mongolian people.  Ash and I believe that Batsaikhan possesses both of these traits.  We pledged to assist him where we can, and because Tsetserleg and Arhangai province is so beautiful, we even suggested that we would move here in the next couple of years.  His eyes lit up.  That night we also learned that Nurka’s horses weren’t stolen, but his initial transaction (his purchase of the horses) was cancelled by their seller.  Their confidence in his ability to care for them and ultimately lead tourists over a long journey had been severely reduced after losing the horses the first time.  I didn’t think that such a contract cancellation would have been strictly legal, but the Police did apparently get involved, and I’ve come to learn that there is not much that goes on in Mongolia that is ‘strictly legal’.  That being said, I think that the best outcome was reached, especially when it comes to the welfare of the animals, and of the Norwegians.  We bid Batsaikhan a good night, got into bed, and slipped into unconsciousness.

Day 8

Today was the day that we were going to drive the Pajero out of Tsetserleg.  And it was.  After another Fairfield breakfast – this time we went for the bacon and egg sandwich, plus some coffee for the road, oh and some carrot bread, we were on our way.  She scooted along without any issue, even with its new diesel-like sound.  When we motored pass the breakdown location, Ash and I gave each other a high-five.  Not long after this, we turned off the paved road and steered towards Uugii Lake.  The road to the Lake was refreshing in its isolation.  Rock formations, fenced fields of wheat, sparse landscapes, and not one person.  Extraordinary.  We had to stop for a time in order for me to give something back to the Earth.  It was at this point, that you feel extremely small.  With the Mongolian countryside surrounding you, and the blue sky that has never seemed so overwhelming, the realization of how insignificant you are, well and truly sinks in.  After travelling over divets and corrugations for about an hour, my heart immediately sank when the Pajero stalled and lost all power – exactly the same way that it had when the timing belt broke.  Noooooo.  I knew it had to be something under the bonnet.  I made sure not to crank the engine, but parked up and lifted the bonnet.  Straight away, we could see that the bracket holding the battery in place had broken and had touched the positive terminal creating a short circuit.  Breathe…..relax.  We fixed the problem, and in a jiffy we were on our way again.  Whoever invented the “Occy” strap should be given the Nobel Prize.  We made it to Uugii Lake.  The first thing we did was find some offcut and leftover timber from old campfires, as there were absolutely no trees in sight.  The lake was expansive and absolutely beautiful.  The wind was fairly strong across the water, so we needed to find a semi-sheltered area.  We stopped at the south side of the lake and gave our selfless ‘requests’ to the lake.  It is said that if you ask for things at the lake, there is more chance of those things coming to fruition.  I am a big believer in asking the universe for things, as long as it is selfless and doesn’t prevent others from obtaining what they want.  The wind was a little too strong on the south side, so we moved around to the west, where other campers had already setup.  We made camp on the lake shore.  After making camp, I couldn’t overcome the urge to see what the lake was like.  A little chilly at first, but after getting all the way in, the temperature in the water was definitely higher than out.  Watching the sunset over the water was a display for the senses, particularly with the ambience of a small camp fire to keep any chill away.  The day had started and finished on a fantastic note as we secured the camp and climbed into our tent – eagerly anticipating the comfort of sleep in the beautiful Mongolian outdoors.

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Day 9

After climbing out of our tent, the first sight that greeted us was the glassy surface of the lake stretching out as far as the eye could see.  Absolutely no wind at all was blowing.  Ash and I looked at each other and shared the same thought – what an amazing time for a dip.  But almost on cue, the wind began to blow.  Damn.  We cooked some breakfast of eggs, tomatoes, cucumber and a fish that was given to Ash by a Japanese man who had caught it the previous night.  The perch was absolutely amazing cooked in cream.  We still had some Fairfield carrot bread which made a fantastic after-bite following the fish breakfast.  We knew we had a fair trip on our hands to get back to the city today, it was going to be approximately five hours of driving, and some of that was on the dirt road.  So we packed up camp and got the Pajero organized again.  Just when we were deciding on leaving Uugii Lake, Ash and I looked across the water again.  It just wouldn’t be right if Ash didn’t go for a dip.  So we did.  After a quick dunk and a change of clothes, we were heading back to the road.  This time the direction for us was Northward to the Millennium Highway.  It wasn’t long before we found the paved road, and got the Pajero steered East, heading back to Ulaanbaatar.  This Millenium Highway was a fantastic road to drive on.  As we got closer to the city though, you could really tell who was from the city by the reckless way they drove.  Over-taking, risk-taking, mis-taking.  But all in all, this trip had been an absolute eye-opening experience.  There is so much to take in when you get outside of the city, and not to mention the physically refreshing effects it has when you do.  Arhangai Province is stunning.  Its landscapes, its playgrounds and the rewards it affords certainly completes any initial unanswered questions about whether you should go and see it.  Personally, Ash and I could easily see ourselves as residents of the Province in the not too distant future.  Getting back to the city was nice, but only in the sense that our adventure had finished.  And that was only nice, because we were already looking forward to our next one.  Adventure is certainly where you seek it.

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