Roberta decided it was time to leave the ger camp. She didnt say so exactly but something about the way she wouldn’t leave the hard, rickety, double deluxe bed, told me this.
There aren’t many things in this world cozier than a ger. I may have ridiculed ours in a bout of cynicism, but they are quite attractive. Especially, ahem, if you shell out for the double deluxe luxury ger.
The yaks are all gone still, presumably having grown extremely bored of the ecolodge. Roberta is desperately trying to revive the iPad on solar energy so that she can finish her book.
You might think that my boredom here at the ol’ ger camp is of my own failing. You would be wrong.
“I would like to go on a day long camel ride.” I told the ger manager.
“Not possible!” She admonished, as if this dumb request was asked so often one might think it was advertised on their website.
Note: In this multipart series we take the adventure back into the wilds of Mongolia. Make sure you read them in order so you can appreciate the story properly.
I had the weirdest, little, nagging worry that booking a week in the Mongolian steppes at an adventure lodge might turn out to be boring.
Boy have I been vindicated.
I don’t spend a lot of time blogging out in the Mongolian plains. Most times you will find me grasping my tent and leaning back against the harsh Mongolian winds, trying to keep us both on the ground. At other times you will find me in my tent, iPad at the ready to write a blog only to feel my air mattress deflate plopping me onto the rocky ground. But mostly, you will find me gazing into the distance at a country we have reached after six weeks of hard driving, a year of planning, and a lifetime of yearning. Continue reading
Well, it is about 4am in the frigid Mongolian morning and I have attained full adventure. I woke to the sound of my greatest fear, my own stomach gurgling and bubbling with reckless abandon.
Oh please no, I begged the Bowel Gods. Have mercy.
To appreciate Siberia one need only spend 13 days driving across Kazakhstan. The transition from desert scrublands to mountainy pine forest is quite abrupt. However, it is hardly the first sign that you are in a new, fantastic world. Instead, it is small little things that become quite striking. Not only do you have maintained asphalt, you have painted lines! What extravagance! Stores suddenly have signs! How clever! Street lights turn on at night! Hurray!
The mind is blown little by little.
Disclaimer: Hans takes no responsibility for the viewpoints or actions seen in this blog. They are purely written by Shane and do not represent the feelings or opinions of everyone on the team.
Watching the Thunder Yaks pack their van fills me with a bit of dread. When the white and black Renault is carrying its full load it comes dangerously close to sitting on its back tires. They carry two teams worth of supplies and people, having rescued the Drama Llamas after their wreck in Russia. The reason for their low riding style would turn out to be something a bit more nefarious than just adding weight to their vehicle, but we would only learn about it at 2 am on a Kazakh “road”.
“You better run you adorable little child. I’m going to murder you.”
The Marabby has a steel armored undercarriage, iron knickers if you will. Thus, when I left her high centered, wheels spinning in the air, in what used to be the Aral sea, I felt pragmatic and justified in purchasing the sump guard.