After 6 weeks, 10,000 miles, 19 countries, 2 break downs, 3 flat tyres, one ferry of doom, one bus ride from hell, 14 escaped police fines, a string of convoys and several bowls of mutton stew, the Soyombo Racers have made to the Finish Line at Dave's Place, Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia!
Riding the never-ending nothingness of the Kazakhstan landscape, it felt like the scenery would never change until we stumbled across pony-land, where hundreds of horses and foals grazed alongside the potholed roads of the vast steppe. It's unfathomable that places like that exist on this planet, with no civilization, industry or life in general softening the bleak and rugged terrain. Driving for hours with nothing changing was almost unbearable, just the odd carcass of a death-daring cow or a truck rumbling in the opposite direction. We still had to get through Russia, not to mention Mongolia and we had a tight deadline. When would Kazakhstan ever end?!
Eventually we came to Karaganda where we waived the name of a hostel we found on a website at a couple of young police officers who then decided it was best that they directed us by riding along in our tiny Micra, three in the back (with the luggage) and two in the front. Borbonky enjoys joyride number 4. After dashing across the town trying my darn hardest not to go through any red lights and follow the guards abrupt instructions, they eventually gave up, and handed us over to a frantic looking taxi driver. We followed his car through the darkened streets onto a road which choppy surface felt more like driving on the sea. Arriving at the address, it was clearly not a hostel but some poor bloke's house. Being about 11pm we cringed as the highly strung taxi driver began to hammer on the back gate, riling all the dogs on the street. Anger seems to be an emotion shared by most of the Kazakhs, including the canine kind. Our ears pricked as we heard a pretty peeved voice answer back 'I don't speak Russian' and round popped a curious face. As rally coincidence would have it, he turned out to be the founder of the website Hospitality Club, a network which hooks you up with fellow travellers around the globe for a free home stay. Veit, the English speaking German guy, had no idea why the address was listed online as a hostel as the house belonged to a local Kazakh guy who they knew through Hospitality Club, but we were invited in anyway and entertained (or talked them to death) about our on-the-road endeavours. We also learnt by Veit's Kazakh girlfriend Viola, that throughout our travels across ex-soviet lands, when we had been replying, 'pa Ruski, pa Ruski!' to officials, passers-by and generally everybody who tried to communicate with us, thinking we were informing them we spoke 'no Russian, no Russian!' in the hope they would leave us alone, we were actually saying 'in Russian, in Russian!' which would explain why they would then chat away expecting an in-depth conversation to our incompetent bewilderment.
We gladly saw the back of Kazakhstan as we embarked on the Russian border. Piston Broke and the Professionals rejoined us at the gates as us girls reminisced Tatu and decided the only way to enter Russia was wearing a lot of brightly coloured, uncoordinated make-up before stocking up on vodka immediately.
We slid along the tarmacked roads and set up camp with the lads, in what was the coldest night so far, mind-boggling to imagine that just over a week ago we were frying ourselves silly in the Turkmenistan desert, our ice cold water turning to tea-less tea within minutes.
The next day we decided we needed to lose the boys and quicken up the pace if we were going to make Lucy's flight deadline. As we dashed across smooth roads mingling through lush hills, we came across a very unusual sight - a mini with a phone box on its roof. Two chaps clad in bowler hats and suits along with two lasses flagged us down and borrowed a bladeless hacksaw to get their beaten motor back on the road. Amused by such an encounter we whizzed off to get as close as possible to the Mongolian border.
Stopping off for some faggot dumplings (there's no place for vegetarians in Central Asia), transfixed by the small fuzzy TV showing some poncy Olympic skipping dance and unable to bear facing the biting cold again outside, we asked the woman in the 'kaff' if it was possible to kip on her floor. She refused but pointed us in the direction of a wee bloke who was hovering by the door. It turned out he was a night worker at an electricity power station and had access to a little (heated!) cottage for sparkies on a night shift. We cosied in like little evacuees from the war and got a decent 40 winks before the next 200km to the final border of our trip. We were greeted by Piston Broke, The Professionals, A Very British Adventure and Heels on Wheels who all swiftly made it through the border whilst we were held back due to water stains on Lucy's passport and a balls-up with her visa dates.
Little did we know it would take a lot of convincing, pleading, telephone calls to 3 different embassies, an overnight stay at the woman border guard's house (and inevitably a home cooked lamb stew washed down with 'peeva' - beer - and vodka by her plastered hubby) and eventually dishing out threats the next day that Tony Blair was very angry with the 'Cheff' guard, before we were allowed into the country we had drove across a third of the planet to reach. Thank god Lucy's dad is 'best mates' with Tony Blair and the Mongolians don't realize our Tony's actually retired.
The minute you hit Mongolian soil, you understand that this is what the rally is about. In a nutshell, the roads are corrugated dirt tracks heading into oblivion which branch out into different directions, no matter which one you choose they're basically just a variation of each other, with same size pot holes just in different places. Navigating is purely by compass or just following the telegraph poles. Average speed is about 20 mph. Mobile phones are useless as there is only signal in towns which are all separated by 200 km of this barren, bumpy 'road'.
We caught up with the other teams in Olgi but again had to put our foot down and as night fell we found a bus load of Mongolians who were heading the same way as us so we let them lead the way. This was in between several stop offs to get towed through river crossings which seemed to get deeper and wider each time. After snoozing at a road side cafe and sipping the local salty tea, we hit the road to Khovd where we tried in vain to get hold of some tugrog but none of the banks accepted our cards. About 30km away from the town a giant sand storm enveloped the mountainous landscape, blindfolding all but a meter around us. Perfect timing for Borbonky to start chugging, spluttering and failing to accelerate. It all felt worryingly familiar and memories of the break down in Hungary flashed back. We chugged along, the sump guard working it's magic, until she finally conked. Mid sandstorm meant we couldn't get out the car or pop the hood, the sand burnt your skin it was so strong (and also snatched our map of Mongolia, never to return). When the storm eventually cleared, herds of camels, mountains, gers (yurt tents) and a golden sunset appeared. About 1 car an hour passed, but all going in the opposite direction. One car informed us (through highly exaggerated hand gestures) that another 3 rally cars had also broken down 5 km along the way and kindly wrote us a note in Mongolian asking for a towing to them. Hope was alive. By now it was pitch black, we had no money, no signal and not much food. We cracked open a tin of peas and waited for a truck. An hour or so of flagging down vehicles under the crystal clear Milky Way and abundant shooting stars, we got two kind fellows to tow us to the other ralliers. To our despair as we caught a glimpse of the ralliers they were also being towed, away from us. Our hearts sank. The towers couldn't take us any further so we were back at square one. Another truck soon came along and agreed to tow us to the next town, 70 km away. The next morning, after the men spent all night digging their truck out of the sand - they got over-excited at the sight of a pack of wolves and thought it would be fun to chase them off the track until the wheel got stuck - we reached the town and found the other ralliers, who luckily, turned out to be mechanics. After pulling apart Borbonky's brain, they gently informed us the head gasket (basically the engine) had blown. There were no spares in this neck of the woods.
Alone again but still hopeful, we had to get the car to the charity drop off point, 400 km away. Amazingly we spotted 3 rally teams go by, 2 of them mini 4x4's, perfect towing material. And so we set for the evening's ride across rocky dark terrain, we were kept in high spirits as the boys trudged on without complaint until we made it all the way to Altai. Perfect example of Rally endurance and hospitality. There's no 'i' in 'convoy' after all!
Reaching the rally drop off point, Borbonky was given a thorough once over by the Mongolian garage but the bad news was inevitable, we had no choice but to leave the car with them. Tearfully we gathered our belongings from our beloved friend, what a trooper she was, getting us all the way from Ireland to London and to the back end of nowhere. Leaving her at the rally graveyard was a sorrowful send-off, but the other teams reassured us that we had done a grand job getting to Mongolia where the car's value will go to charity (and what a value she will make), and reminded us that the rally t-shirts say 'From London to Mongolia', no one knows where Ulaanbaatar is anyway! We had accomplished a great deal in old Borbonky, she had served us well.
The next point of the journey was by far the most tedious, frustrating and uncomfortable as we boarded the sardine bus. It was meant to take 24 hours max, but due to stop offs every half hour, for toilet breaks, to change shredded tyres or to fix the broken front window mid snow storm, and once for the driver to go relax at his friend's gaff for a couple of hours, we staggered into Ulaanbaatar. The bus ride was 36 hours later of singing along to the driver's blaring pop tunes from the Mongolian family on board, 3 mutton stews, one bottle of 'airag' fermented mare's milk (which tastes an awful lot like home brewed cider if you forget that it's creamy white and comes from a horse's udder). Little sleep was had on the bus, the choices for seats were limited, given that it was a bus for 13 people, yet 18 somehow were squeezed in. The luggage behind and around you meant there was no room for your feet and the seat back was wedged forward, making the only possible position to sit was curled up like an embryo with your head lent against the chair in front of you until each bump you went over bounced you against it and caused a constant headache. Not to mention the sleeping Mongolian who gradually ended up on your lap every five minutes.
Deciding we deserved a comfy bed, a hot shower and a good greasy brekky, we checked into one of UB's more comfortable abodes. Clean and refreshed we walked as a team to the Rally Finish Line, ordered ourselves some frosty pints with old friends The Professionals and marvelled at our success and persistence at independently getting our unprepared, inexperienced, jammy, relentless, sweet talking backsides through mechanical mayhem, across desserts and over mountain ranges, through rivers and sand storms, with temperature degrees sweeping from over 40 to below 10, inedible food, incomprehensible language barriers, angry border guards and confused traffic police, in one (albeit messy, smelly and exhausted) piece.
Thank you to all those who have supported and been in touch with us along the way, as you can see we have had a truly amazing experience, one that we will always remember. It was all and nothing of what we expected and it is truly astounding to know we got ourselves this far. We have raised over 2,500 quid for our charities and we can still collect more, so if you have a few pennies you can chuck our way, please give us a shout, there are links above to our Will We Make It site where you can make a payment online. We hope you have enjoyed the updates along the way and thank you all for keeping in touch. There will soon be a link on this website for Sheryl's ongoing overland travels to China for your lunch time reads! But in the meantime, thank you to all of you for keeping us in mind, sorting us out with preparations, in whatever way you have helped, we have seen really tremendous generosity from people before as well as during the rally in so many ways, we are utterly grateful to you all.
Soyombo Racers did Mongol Rally!
...It couldn't have happened without ya!
Love and mutton,
Soyombo Racers
Reaching the rally drop off point, Borbonky was given a thorough once over by the Mongolian garage but the bad news was inevitable, we had no choice but to leave the car with them. Tearfully we gathered our belongings from our beloved friend, what a trooper she was, getting us all the way from Ireland to London and to the back end of nowhere. Leaving her at the rally graveyard was a sorrowful send-off, but the other teams reassured us that we had done a grand job getting to Mongolia where the car's value will go to charity (and what a value she will make), and reminded us that the rally t-shirts say 'From London to Mongolia', no one knows where Ulaanbaatar is anyway! We had accomplished a great deal in old Borbonky, she had served us well.
The next point of the journey was by far the most tedious, frustrating and uncomfortable as we boarded the sardine bus. It was meant to take 24 hours max, but due to stop offs every half hour, for toilet breaks, to change shredded tyres or to fix the broken front window mid snow storm, and once for the driver to go relax at his friend's gaff for a couple of hours, we staggered into Ulaanbaatar. The bus ride was 36 hours later of singing along to the driver's blaring pop tunes from the Mongolian family on board, 3 mutton stews, one bottle of 'airag' fermented mare's milk (which tastes an awful lot like home brewed cider if you forget that it's creamy white and comes from a horse's udder). Little sleep was had on the bus, the choices for seats were limited, given that it was a bus for 13 people, yet 18 somehow were squeezed in. The luggage behind and around you meant there was no room for your feet and the seat back was wedged forward, making the only possible position to sit was curled up like an embryo with your head lent against the chair in front of you until each bump you went over bounced you against it and caused a constant headache. Not to mention the sleeping Mongolian who gradually ended up on your lap every five minutes.
Deciding we deserved a comfy bed, a hot shower and a good greasy brekky, we checked into one of UB's more comfortable abodes. Clean and refreshed we walked as a team to the Rally Finish Line, ordered ourselves some frosty pints with old friends The Professionals and marvelled at our success and persistence at independently getting our unprepared, inexperienced, jammy, relentless, sweet talking backsides through mechanical mayhem, across desserts and over mountain ranges, through rivers and sand storms, with temperature degrees sweeping from over 40 to below 10, inedible food, incomprehensible language barriers, angry border guards and confused traffic police, in one (albeit messy, smelly and exhausted) piece.
Thank you to all those who have supported and been in touch with us along the way, as you can see we have had a truly amazing experience, one that we will always remember. It was all and nothing of what we expected and it is truly astounding to know we got ourselves this far. We have raised over 2,500 quid for our charities and we can still collect more, so if you have a few pennies you can chuck our way, please give us a shout, there are links above to our Will We Make It site where you can make a payment online. We hope you have enjoyed the updates along the way and thank you all for keeping in touch. There will soon be a link on this website for Sheryl's ongoing overland travels to China for your lunch time reads! But in the meantime, thank you to all of you for keeping us in mind, sorting us out with preparations, in whatever way you have helped, we have seen really tremendous generosity from people before as well as during the rally in so many ways, we are utterly grateful to you all.
Soyombo Racers did Mongol Rally!
...It couldn't have happened without ya!
Love and mutton,
Soyombo Racers
