There is a huge statute of Chingis Khan in Ulaanbaatar which I will never see. Yet I have seen the side roads of Mongolia and they might scare you more that Chingis Khan. Especially if you drive an ordinary car. And more so if this car is a 40 years old one with not much of a horsepower.
In the afternoon, after we received a special permit to visit the areas close to the Mongolia-China border, we set on our way to Hargaan Muur lake. But right from the beginning the car was telling us it does not like anything about this idea - the Mongolian sideroads, us and the stupidity of it all. It started to break down. First, our exhaust plugged up by the carbon that the rough roads loosened up.. After we removed the rear part of the exhaust, we drove another ten kilometers to a large uphill. We could prey, beg or promise anything in the world to our Trabi, but it was unable to climb the hill. Neither first gear nor reverse could make it.
There is some strange madness to the Mongolian side roads. They are really only tracks in the grass or sand or rocks, and if someone does not like the old "road" he just starts a new one next to it. Sometimes, there are as many as ten of these tracks to choose from. These tracks crisscross each another or they go as far as hundreds of meters from each another. Yet sometimes one (or more) of them slowly parts its way with the other ones. And suddenly, you are going somewhere else than you wanted to go. Of course, you could follow the direction signs. You could, if there were any, but there are none. So you take one road and, hopefully, you will get to where you wanted to go originally. I guess a strong belief in gods, any gods, is really useful here. If you end up somewhere else than where you wanted to go, at least you can say that it was meant to be like this.
Unable to climb the hill by our chosen way, we selected another track about five hundred meters away. The track looked more manageable, but then, in the middle of the road the car died. And when I day "died" I mean a state where the car doctor can only look sadly at the passengers and say: "I am so sorry, but I have a very bad news for you...". The engine stopped working and after a few starts the starter also went on strike. As the night was falling, we backed the car down the hill and set up the camp.
The next day we found out that the little bolts that keep the rotating timing system in place gave way and the washers partially grinned the sensors. Furthermore, the starter shorted again. It took Hynek almost a half a day to get it all partially fixed so we could either continue our trip or go back. After some defeatist talk we decided to push on. The "road" was getting worse and worse. Finally, about a hundred kilometers from the lake we were told that there is no chance to get to the lake with an ordinary car. It is a hard trip even for the Gazik all terrain military vehicle. We were just beyond Tsengel when we admitted a defeat. The car was slowly coming apart, even the roof rack support broke. So we set up a camp and decided to go back to Olgiy.
Some people say that if someone changes his opinions he has no integrity. Others say if someone hold his opinions despite all the odds, he is a stubborn ass. Take your pick about us, but to our defense I have to say that all the Russians coming here to fish in their all-terrain vehicles wanted to take our picture and the picture of our Trabant and called us "molodci". Yet we felt defeated by the road. Which, of course does not mean that I love gravel roads any less than before.
In the afternoon, after we received a special permit to visit the areas close to the Mongolia-China border, we set on our way to Hargaan Muur lake. But right from the beginning the car was telling us it does not like anything about this idea - the Mongolian sideroads, us and the stupidity of it all. It started to break down. First, our exhaust plugged up by the carbon that the rough roads loosened up.. After we removed the rear part of the exhaust, we drove another ten kilometers to a large uphill. We could prey, beg or promise anything in the world to our Trabi, but it was unable to climb the hill. Neither first gear nor reverse could make it.
There is some strange madness to the Mongolian side roads. They are really only tracks in the grass or sand or rocks, and if someone does not like the old "road" he just starts a new one next to it. Sometimes, there are as many as ten of these tracks to choose from. These tracks crisscross each another or they go as far as hundreds of meters from each another. Yet sometimes one (or more) of them slowly parts its way with the other ones. And suddenly, you are going somewhere else than you wanted to go. Of course, you could follow the direction signs. You could, if there were any, but there are none. So you take one road and, hopefully, you will get to where you wanted to go originally. I guess a strong belief in gods, any gods, is really useful here. If you end up somewhere else than where you wanted to go, at least you can say that it was meant to be like this.
Unable to climb the hill by our chosen way, we selected another track about five hundred meters away. The track looked more manageable, but then, in the middle of the road the car died. And when I day "died" I mean a state where the car doctor can only look sadly at the passengers and say: "I am so sorry, but I have a very bad news for you...". The engine stopped working and after a few starts the starter also went on strike. As the night was falling, we backed the car down the hill and set up the camp.
The next day we found out that the little bolts that keep the rotating timing system in place gave way and the washers partially grinned the sensors. Furthermore, the starter shorted again. It took Hynek almost a half a day to get it all partially fixed so we could either continue our trip or go back. After some defeatist talk we decided to push on. The "road" was getting worse and worse. Finally, about a hundred kilometers from the lake we were told that there is no chance to get to the lake with an ordinary car. It is a hard trip even for the Gazik all terrain military vehicle. We were just beyond Tsengel when we admitted a defeat. The car was slowly coming apart, even the roof rack support broke. So we set up a camp and decided to go back to Olgiy.
Some people say that if someone changes his opinions he has no integrity. Others say if someone hold his opinions despite all the odds, he is a stubborn ass. Take your pick about us, but to our defense I have to say that all the Russians coming here to fish in their all-terrain vehicles wanted to take our picture and the picture of our Trabant and called us "molodci". Yet we felt defeated by the road. Which, of course does not mean that I love gravel roads any less than before.