🇲🇳 Mongolia – eagles instead of seagulls
11 days and 2,466km (Total: 140 days and 28,025km)
Mongolia is an overlander’s dream. You can travel in any direction and you’ll find otherworldly landscapes in harmony with real nomadic culture. You just have to be okay with the weather flipping moods in seconds, riding through sand, and seeing more camels than humans for days on end.
We crossed the border from Russia straight onto the main asphalt road that cuts through the country — a country with an average of two people per square kilometre. The first sign of civilisation was a town called Ölgii and, at nearly two thousand meters altitude, the winter gloves were back out for the first time since Europe.
That night we stayed with a family spanning three generations, all living in a big ger (yurt) with a few cabins for guests in their garden. The dad of the middle generation worked as a tour guide and spoke good English, so I asked him what route we should take. He looked at our fully loaded bike, then at me and Becs, and quickly said “stick to the road” — as if it was a dumb question I had asked. He warned of August rains and the risk of getting stuck in the middle of nowhere.
We listened (for now). For the next two days we rode hundreds of kilometres between scattered towns. The air was crisp, the landscapes green. It reminded me of Jersey but stretched a thousandfold, with mountains as a backdrop, camels instead of cows, and eagles instead of seagulls.
When the sun started to descend, we’d look for a place to stay. The tactic has been refined: I’d wait on the bike while Becs went in to play the innocent traveller. Even when they say they're full, they have a room available somewhere. And even when they have prices formally listed on the reception desk, there's always room to negotiate (until a more fancy place listed a double room for €75 and we said we'd do it €25 — that one didn't work and we ended up in the tent).
Evenings were slow and peaceful. We’d walk past kids playing basketball, families watching the TV inside their ger, and stray dogs which didn't pay us any attention — just like the locals. We’d have a couple of beers, reflect on the day’s events, and plan for the next.
Mornings would always start with coffee. I've been keeping ground beans in a packet from my favourite coffee shop in Jersey, appropriately called “Bean Around The World.” But the grocery stores only sold instant coffee, which won't satisfy my addiction. I ended up in an actual coffee shop ordering ten espressos, then trying to explain to the young woman I didn’t want them made, just the beans ground into a plastic bag. After some confused translations and bewildered looks, we got there. The whole saga only set me back €10 (cheaper than Bean Around The World).
First addiction satisfied, the next one came knocking soon after. The asphalt road was smooth, enjoyable and safe, but I was craving the adventurous path. So, on the fourth day, we left the asphalt and rode two hundred kilometres across tracks, grass, and sand. In Mongolia, you can basically go in any direction you want and you will find a way.
We aimed for Uliastai, one of Mongolia’s most remote cities. We rode up to the gates of a local ger camp on the outskirts, where the young owners told us we could pitch our tent in their garden. It turned out to be karaoke night (we hadn’t clocked it was Friday night) and they pointed to a central ger with a massive TV and sound system. We tried to pay for the stay — cash practically forced into their hands — but they refused. We pitched the tent as far from karaoke central as possible, but still laughed ourselves to sleep that night as local songs grew louder and the singing quality steadily declined.
After Uliastai, we cut back onto a smaller, mostly paved road and slowed down the pace. For four days we cruised through stunning scenery, stopped for lunch in fields so large you can’t see the edges, and pulled up at ger camps in the evenings. For €5 they often let us pitch the tent behind a fence or cabin to hide from the evening winds. A hot shower and somewhere to charge our helmets was just a bonus.
One week after entering Mongolia, and on a diet of tuna, beans, and biscuits, we made it to Ulaanbaatar. Riding into the city wasn’t pretty, as we passed through suburban ger districts that looked extremely impoverished and exuded potent smells my brain struggled to comprehend.
But the city itself was like many in Europe… high rise buildings shimmering in the background while younger folks sipped ice tea in the afternoons and alcohol in the evenings. Being the final days of August, there was a “back to school” vibe in the air.
We took a few days rest and prepared for the last leg of the journey: bike maintenance, money exchange, and washing clothes. We would have loved to stay longer, but summer was slipping away and we didn’t want to be left behind.
Next stop: the road to Vladivostok.