Saturday, September 24, 2011

Mongolia. Wow.

A view from our tent in the Terelj
 For three weeks now we've been exploring Mongolia.  Rough plans only allocated about a week here, but the country's beauty and the people's kindness kept urging us to see and do more.  Our time here was divided into two individual mini trips.  The climbing trip to the Terelj, and the Russian Jeep tour.

Our travel party was increased to three after picking up another traveler, Shachar, in Ulaanbaatar.  The three of us would climb, drive, break down, get lost, camp, freeze, make fire, and dine in deserts and yurts over the next 3 weeks.

Climbing the Terelj National Park.
Jesse and Shachar warming up at headquarters.
Leading the 5.11c Mongolian Route Rage


Jesse going up.
Less than 2 hours from the capital of Mongolia, Ulaanbaatar, is a vast area of wide open grassy steppe, portioned into plots by mountain ranges and sporadically pierced by sharp rock outcroppings.  It was by one of these random mounds of stone that we set up camp for five days.  These rocks, as well as the adjacent formations, were all dotted with protection for climbing.  All types of routes were available with cracks and slabs ranging from 5.7 to 5.13 (the first time we've seen the American grading system since before Bulgaria).  It was here that we were introduced to the Mongolian desert and steppe weather pattern of warm days and freezing nights.

Shachar on the sharp end of the rope for the first time ever.
Jesse changing shoes after getting to the peak.
Goats, sheep, horses and yaks shared our backyard.
The Mongolian Engineers.
On our first night we heard music in the distance and became detectives.  Operating under the sad assumption that we would find a group of tourists, only Mongolians were found.  We stumbled upon an anniversary party for the Mongolian engineering guild.  In the midst of a bonfire, live music, and freely offered Chinggis (Mongolia's favorite vodka) we made first contact with the locals, using English with the youth and Russian with the elders.









The animals made their way into the office on the last day.


The Russian Jeep.
A common way for foreigners to explore the truly diverse Mongolian countryside is to rent a minibus with a driver and get taken to the sights.  After talking with the organizers of the Mongol Rally, we were able to get our hands on a Russian jeep without a driver.  With extra food, fuel, two tents, a rope and a compass, we departed Ulaanbaatar with our sights aimed at the Gobi.

We're about to head through the ice canyons in Gurvan Sayhar.
Taking a break at the Buddhist shrine while looking back at the road.
With the help of some Polish hitchhikers that joined us for 4 days, we found an incredibly beautiful and remote climbing area at Их Газарин Чулу (Ikh Gazarin Chulu.).
Adriana at the rocks she influenced us into finding.
He helped us find bolted routes
 hidden throughout the rock fields.
Climbing in the rocky oasis.

We slept in a field of dried goat manure
because it was the closest we could get to mattresses.

The team.


Jesse and Shachar making it to
the top of the dunes.
It wasn't far from the capital when the roads ceased to be flat and paved.  The main interstate highway that we took all the way to Dalanzadgad was actually just a network of intertwining dirt roads that resembled the varicose veins on an elderly lady's legs.  Hourly, the vistas would drastically change between endless flat green steppes, snowy mountain passes, and empty desert wastelands. Because the country, outside of the capital, is virtually undeveloped, it was easy to imagine traveling through the same stomping grounds as Mongolia's great Chinggis (Genghis) Khan.


The steppe, dunes, and mountains at Khongor Els.
It got pretty beautiful.

Stuck in the dunes with a ripped engine belt.
Jesse and Shachar operating on the belt.
We had to spend the night.
Hearing an engine in the distance,
we ran through the dunes and found help. 














Old sign of Soviet and
Mongolian friendship.
Though our experience was as close to driving through a National Geographic episode of Planet Earth that I've ever been, interacting with the locals was the most memorable aspect of the trip.  Back in the Terelj, I got the impression that Mongolians are a considerably happy people.  After visiting multiple remote regions, this impression has been reinforced.  This was surprising in light of the fact that they were the longest standing members of the hope destroying Soviet Bloc (after the Soviet Union itself).  While a dissertation could be written on this topic, a short and cynical hypothesis for the happiness may be that the race and competition of wealth building that is capitalism has not yet reached far from the capital.  40 percent of the people here are still Nomads.  It is true that they don't live as long as citizens of rich countries, but the only other place I've met such happy people was in remote Indonesia.
When our transmission dropped, locals stopped by to have tea, coffee, and beer with us in the middle of the road.  Nearly every Mongolian knows how to fix a Russian jeep.

The nomad mechanic's daughter milking the goats.

The mechanic's home.
We were invited inside for tea.

We had downtime while we waited for the transmission to
get fixed a second time.This man not only found for us the
 apparent master technician of jeep transmissions,
but he also put us up for the night. 

Traveling musicians putting on
an impromptu concert for us.



It's a travesty that we've done so much and I can only write about so little. Hopefully the pictures can help you travel along with us.

A map of Mongolia at its largest.

Next stop: China





Friday, September 2, 2011

Playing with Birds

Shamanist wrapping on a tree overlooking Baikal.
Our final obstacle before leaving Russia was getting through customs with an overstayed visa.  We wouldn't have found ourselves in this predicament if it weren't for the never ending amount of adventures to be had in Siberia.
Olkhon's coast.  Our tent was on the beach at bottom right.
A shot of the hidden cove we camped at on Olkhon

Lake Shara Nuur.


On Olkhon, the Buryats still worship
 Shamanism in the west and
 Buddhism in the east.
Shara Nuur
With recommendations coming from all directions, Olkhon Island lived up to its hype.  The island is over 70km long and 15km wide, with a wide variety of terrain.  Our mountain bike traverse across the island involved pedaling over mountains, through valleys and forests, and across steppes while breaking up the action with swims in the Baikal and Shara Nuur, where the mud apparently cures ailments and worked to revitalize my aging body.  No photograph I took, and I took a lot, can express the epic moment of rocketing down a forested mountain at full speed, the air blowing by so fast your eyes are watering, swerving around fallen trees and sunken mud holes, when you break out of the forest and start flying across a vast open grassed steppe with panoramic views of the deepest lake in the world.

Jesse looking over the final grassy steppe towards Huzhir.


I had to include a sunset picture.



Jamming around the campfire with locals.



Jesse and I hiking the tracks past Staraya Angasolka.

Our friend, Michael, came all
the way from Irkutsk to help
 show us to our last
 Russian home.
Our Lake Baikal experience didn't end with our departure from Olkhon.  With some help from the friendly Russians, we made our way to a tiny coastal village in the south, Staraya Angasolka.  Along the southern shores of the lake there is an old railway that hugs the coast.  This is the Circum-Baikal Railway, and it was commissioned by Nicholas II, the same Tsar killed by the Bolsheviks back in Yekaterinburg.  Numerous tunnels had to be bored for this railway to exist because the mountains of rock drop right into the sea in Southern Baikal.  After a hike along the tracks, it was just outside of one of these tunnels where Jesse and I set up camp for our last couple days of climbing before having to leave the country.




The following is an excerpt from my journal:


Jesse coming up
the first pitch.
Starting at the base of the cliff, standing tip-toed on a small rock to keep from falling into the lake, is where you begin.  If your belayer is above you then you have to struggle to hear each other over the breaking waves and playing seagulls.  These cliffs are the living, mating, eating, and defecating grounds for hundreds of seagulls.  This added a whole new element to our climbs.  For example, on one climb I remember being about 40 meters above the lake with the howling of the wind cutting off my communication with Jesse.  At this point I see the final anchor about 5 -10 meters above me.  I started poaching a route well above my ability and I just can't make it past a certain point.  Being so close to the final anchor at the end of a multi-pitch climb, I'm not about to give up.  Looking left, I spot a series of potential holds that may get me to the top.  Out of quick-draws, and out of sight from Jesse, I begin my traverse left towards the final ascent.  I'm now engulfed in a stench of seagull waste as I navigate through their nests.  There are so many of them that I need to probe with my hand under the filthy webbing of damp brush to find handholds.  Locking into the anchor at 50 meters high, my fingernails are stained with seagull and my arms are fully pumped.  This is the adventure I signed up for.
Ground zero for a bunch of routes.  We had to be creative with our rope placement to start off.
Our Circum-Baikal campsite with the climbing walls in the back.

We had to relocate camp to the tunnels during the rain.

Looking up after the rain. 
I got a gymnastics lesson on the hike back.  I'm watching from the right.

The guru tried getting me to spin.    



We found out he was a fellow Stulbist.


Our new group of friends joined us for the last 9km along the tracks.  We played a Russian adult version of Duck Duck Goose.

Our final Russian sunset.