The landscape in Mongolia is, of course, big. There's no other word for it. And there's something weird about how the scale affects us. You can cycle along half a day and the view might not change that much - we are minute creatures in this vastness. We wonder what it's like for families in their gers living here. The isolation must be terrible. Sometimes we come across gers in a huddle of three or four together, but more often they stand alone, presumably because their animals need space to graze the land. How does anyone meet anyone else to marry?
|Gabor is always a happy camper when there's a seat|
Our riding days have settled into a regular pattern - we always set off before Gabor, get to a village or town, stock up on food and water, stop somewhere for lunch. By this point Gabor usually has caught us up and we ride together until we find somewhere to camp. After the first two days when we find few fresh water sources, we start to load up with water at each village. It takes a while sometimes to find the pump house and in some villages the water has to be switched on by a key-holder. Invariably we turn up when the pump house is locked up and we have to ask around to find someone with a key. I guess restricted times means that everyone is not wasteful with the water. It's a mighty effort just to get water to your home - most people have trolleys to carry the plastic barrels they fill up. We often see motorcyclists, coming or going to gers in the middle of nowhere, with water barrels strapped to their bikes.
|it's a treat to find a river to camp beside|
|still at the beach|
|as useful as a bucket with a hole in it|
|the oh so stupid phone thief|