Mongolian Mountains

Archie the Truck was ready to accomodate its 23 passengers. Apart from tourleader Gino from Spain and the two local Mongolian guides, I was the only one not to have English as native language. The rest of the surprisingly exprienced, age-wise, group hailed from Canada, USA, Scotland, England, Australia and New Zealand.
The routines were explained, jobs were distributed, supplies and food were purchased and off on the bumpy road we went.

The destination of the day was Terelj national park high up in the mountains in the north-east of Mongolia. Before reaching our port of arrival, though, we visited what is arguably the country's national monument: A huge, stainless steel statue of a horse, on top of which rides the possibly most famous of the Khans: Genghis. Inside there were a museum, another statue (that of a huge, richly decorated riding boot) and souvenir shops, the hollow structure hosted a horde of people, eager to get to the viewing platform atop the horse's head.

The landscape rushing past the windows started to change. Gradually the hills got steeper and taller and soon we were all alpine adventurers. The rain, that had been alternating between pouring and drizzling all day, began easying up, and by the time we had found a decent camp spot on top of a hill in the shadow of a mountain, the rain had stopped. After all and sundry had done their dedicated duties and the horse meat was put in the pressure cooker, I switched on my GPS-watch, put my running shoes on and went for a brisk jog in the stunning surroundings. It wasn't until I got back that I realized I had done the 5.2 km run at an altitude of nearly 1600 metres.

Specks of blue were visible in the otherwise grey skies, but evenso, with the four-seasons-in-a-single-day climate, I packed my daypack with rain gear and a dry-bag before trotting off on the six hours hike to the local monastery that was on the agenda for the day. Rock-formation after cool-looking rock-formation was passed as we hiked through valley after stunning valley, over ridge after breathtaking ridge and among cow after docile cow. The waterproof equipment turned out to be unused, though, as the rain stayed away all day, and we even got some sun shining upon us.

The path up to the actual monastery was lined with signs, speaking words of wisdom. Well, what passes for wisdom if you believe in magical crystals, the existence of souls and seven hells. One of the gloomier ones was a gentle reminder that the amount of molten iron you have to drink in hell is larger than all the water in the oceans. The temple itself was slightly more upbeat, with a wheel of fortune pointing you to which of the 108 life rules you ought to follow.

A post hike beer was accompanied by one of the more exciting and trash-talky sessions of Jenga ever, outside of the professional circuit. After a delicious meal and some frisbee throwing night fell, and Gino brought out his laser pointer, showing some of the constellations on the amazingly starry sky. Soon enough I crept into my tent and my sleeping bag, atop my sleeping mat, Or, you know, sleeping tarp later at night, as it turned out to have a small and undetectable puncture.