11^th August, Border – Cagaannuur

By chance we had arrived at the border simultaneously with the Porsche Transsyberian Rally. It was crowded with all its contingent race cars, support vehicles and camera crew so it was quite surprising that within this circus of German machinery we found another two Mongol Rally teams. They were ‘Team Moon Unit Alpha’, Adam and James, and ‘Team Clouseau’, Rupert and Jim. They drove a Ford Fiesta and, most fortuitously, a Citroën 2CV respectively.

It was great to be in convoy again. Rupert and Jim were a little our senior, and Adam and James recent university graduates. Rupert managed tours for comedians and was handy with 2CVs, having journeyed around Australia in his own heavily adapted 4WD 2CV. Jim was a hotel critic and had travelled extensively around the world staying in lodgings varying from luxury boutique to the hilariously appalling. Adam was a keen cameraman and both he and James were a pleasure to have around with their gentle attitude and spouse-like bickering.

Walking around were several huge Germans. Probably the largest German got out of the biggest MAN lorry (German made vehicles often favoured for military applications). He was carrying a monstrous camera and pointed it at the smallest Mongolian child who was standing on the driver’s seat of ‘Team Clouseau’s’ 2CV. The child was waggling the steering wheel around and spitting out of the open window – a perfect shot.
Getting over the border took hours and we were the last over the line. The Mongolian border was a further 20km across a no-man’s-land. The road was not really suitable for anything less than a 4WD which was an ominous omen. Indeed some coaches which had braved it all the way from Kazakhstan were to turn around shortly and have the passengers transferred to the wonderful Soviet era Uaz-452s.

We had fallen in love with the Russian machines. Generally, they were ridiculously oversized, hopelessly inefficient, indestructible, god-honest engineering. The 452 is a minibus mounted on a standard 4WD chassis. They can be seen throughout the former USSR. We even saw a group of about fifteen Russian enthusiasts convoying and camping in corrals in Kazakhstan. They retail for around £2000 and can go anywhere. Unfortunately they generally run at a terrible rate of efficiency, only 1 mile to the gallon, mercifully on the low grade 70% octane petrol. All of the Soviet vehicles including the behemoth Kamaz lorries use this relatively cheap petrol as diesel would freeze during half of the year.

It was a great feeling of accomplishment to have finally made it to the Mongolian steppe as we had agreed at the outset that this would be our minimum target. We met several people at the border, doing great trips of their own, who were amused by our foolhardy attempt to do it the hard way. Many had been away for over a year taking in tours of at least three continents. One couple from Belgium had been right around Africa in their Land Cruiser. Driving and ferrying their vehicle between land masses they had reached Mongolia but were planning to return to Africa. Just before we left the border, a huge dune buggy of some description raced through, flying an Australian flag. It must have been homebuilt by someone who was very keen. His wife was in tow too and looked to be having a great time. There were also several whole families with young children travelling together.

It was quickly getting cold and dark so we camped soon after clearing the border. We pulled off the gravel road onto the short grass of the high pasture and headed out over the flat, sparse plateau towards the mountains that bounded the valley. In the distance, at the foot of the first hills, nestled a few ghurs. The air had a thin and chilling quality due to the altitude of the whole region.

Stopping some way between the ghurs and the road, we settled down to get to know our new friends and have some much needed food and rest. While we were still making camp, some children came over from the ghurs. To begin with they were very curious. Jonno made a place for them to sit and got them to teach him 1-10 in Mongolian. When some others arrived they began to get overexcited, with one new-comer seeming to cause most of the fuss.

‘Team Moon Unit Alpha’ had left their boot open with all of their supplies half falling out and on view; the children began to help themselves to items from their store. To begin with they were tugging on Adam’s arm, “Please, please – choco-latte.” They looked up at him pleading and begging, holding a packet of pasta or dried fish. Things escalated further and they were soon charging around chanting “Choco-latte,” to the tune of Happy Birthday and they began to stuff things under their tops and down their trousers. After several minutes neither Adam nor James seemed inclined to control the children’s pilfering but nor did they seem too happy about it. I took several items from the kids, who handed them over without resistance. I then gave them back to Adam who looked bewildered and still had the boot of his vehicle open. Inevitably things were taken again as quickly as they were returned. Eventually, when they could see we were getting angry, they ran off still shouting, “Choco-lattè.”

Most likely encouraged by their parents, several of the nicer kids came back in the morning, bearing gifts of fermented yogurt, both in dried balls and fresh liquid form. There was little interest from the others but Jonno and I sampled the liquid yogurt. It was fresh and fizzy and we both enjoyed it. After seeing that he had no takers for the yogurt ball, one of the kids scoffed it in one as his brother tugged at his arm, wanting a piece for himself. He was a cute kid with his flat cap, woolly jumper and big grin. I reasoned that their misbehaviour the previous night was mostly down to our strange arrival and disorganisation.

I subsequently learned that such behaviour would probably not be considered particularly rude or reproachable in their home culture. In tribal societies, particularly in regions as harsh as this, there are often very different attitudes to property. Mongolian children are also allowed a much freer rein than British, learning more from experience and exposure to parents behaviour than through discipline and rules.

Rising/Falling – Always Hoping -can be bought online at Amazon.co.uk, - ordered by your local bookshop for just £8.74 (the price the team’s car was auctioned for at the end of the rally) Just note the ISBN:9780956196613 - or bought direct from the suppliers @ £10.99 (£8.74 plus £2.25 p&p) Address Cheques to Craig Chamberlain, Glovers Cottage, Lazonby, Penrith, CA10 1AJ