This great country in the heart of the Asian continent is a hard place, Very hard. Or that has seemed to me on two wheels. The arrival to the border from Russia and by Altai is spectacular: Beautiful roads full of trees and all very green. But little by little you are immersing, almost without realizing, in the desert. In desolate places, full of stone and fine hills that give way to others and others. A land that seems yerma but that hides streams and lakes behind the background hills.
The first experience is sleeping on the banks of lago Uvs In the province of Ulaangom. So my tent and amount away from the two cars with which I share the road. I want to see sunrise and sunset without noise around. And that's. The sunset is impressive and the red color of the rays of the king's king floods everything. Water changes color to every minute and mosquitoes make their appearance. There is silence, Little is heard. I get tangled up in the bag and soon I fall asleep.
The sunset is impressive and the red color of the rays of the king's king floods everything
In the midst of the night I wake up the sound of some helmets on the ground that make my store rumble. I go out, still half asleep. Not cold, I clarify my eyes and refine the ear. They are a lot of wild horses that pass near my store and my motorcycle. I am hallucinating. I listen to the noises they make, How they communicate and how they smell an intruder that bothers in their way. Little by little they calm down and move away, They go to sleep in the same lake, to its banks, As we all do. I fall asleep again ...
I wake up again, In my ear something breathes, They are not horses, They never come so close. I hit a jump and open the zippers; They are too close, I rub my eyes. Almost begins to dawn, But the sun still does not appear; A kind of mist cover the ground. When I want to realize, I am surrounded by cows that snack my motorcycle and my store. I hit a berrido like the ones I have heard to jeans in my town, But they don't pay attention to me. The gloves, that I left on the motorcycle, They are liked; The cows are very silly. I walk the three steps that separate me from the motorcycle and fright. They look at me impassively. I'm going to bed. In the morning they are still there, looking. I move away from cars even more to pee behind a shrub and all come with me. There is no intimacy with these cows.
In the middle of the night a lot of wild horses pass near my store and my motorcycle. I am hallucinating
The day begins with breakfast and face washing in pure water. After, On the motorcycle, I face the passage of one of the hardest lands for its composition: the Gobi desert. It is unusually very green and renamed it as the Prado del Gobi. This is good for me in the sand areas, Well, it is wet and the step is not so complicated. But on the clues, Touleé undulé causes the motorcycle to resend. Too much for a small motorcycle loaded to the stops, But still my F700gs will resist.
Today we get to cross one of the rivers of the road, It is very grown and with the motorcycle it is even impossible to try, So it is best to hire a trailer that passes it. A sand storm makes us all get into one of the vehicles. When you move away, We continue on the way.
The desert, unusually, It is very green and renamed it as the Prado del Gobi
When eating the two cars they come together and throw an awning from one to another, The table and chairs underneath. But I don't want canned food and prefer to try "what is cooked" and I approach a ger, typical Mongolian house, Round, covered with tarpaulins and insulated with filter (sheep hair). Within, center, A stove that acts as a kitchen and the beds around (Even those beds are tables most of the time). A small wooden table in the background and four inhabitants: Two girls, the older brother and the mother.
I take my hand in my mouth to indicate that I want to eat. They understand me instantly. Women, Oronda and with very used clothes, He sits in front of the kitchen and feeds her with small woods. Above is the wok, Where cooks. Uncovered it and start cleaning the remains of noodles, probably from dinner. Put water, This is heated and again with a brush the edges. The water does not throw it, He throws it in a plastic container. Has several willing on the ground, next to the door. Repeat the operation again on two occasions. As, an older man has entered, with a staved coat. He rains in one of the beds and asks for something. It, accepting some tickets, It returns a bottle of liquid transparent, Vodka surely. Man expects a little more, But seeing me point with the camera decides to retire, Leaving the guest.
More have passed 30 minutes and my guts rugen while the woman has not stopped cleaning the wok
More than thirty minutes have passed and my guts roar. This woman has not stopped cleaning the wok. I indicate by signs that it is clean enough for me, I am hungry. Then we go to the selection of the meat. Through the “Muuu” and “Beee” onomatopoeia, I ask about the type of meat, that I will learn later, will always be lamb, except on some occasions, horseback. He sits on another of the beds-sofa, where has a wooden table with several pieces of meat on top.
At this point I have already become a friend of the two little ones and Charleroteo with the biggest, about twenty years. Next to the wooden table there is a urinal; I prefer to look the other way and think about the power of fire to eliminate food bacteria.
Two hours have passed since it began to prepare a simple soup and my stomach has closed
The woman chop the most lean part of the set, Looking at me until I tell him that it is enough meat. Much for me. What I still don't know is that I will share my food with all that family. The fire of the stove gives heat, Wok water is boiling and adds the pieces of meat. The steam with a smell of lamb floods the guest. As, Between laughs and photos with children, The woman goes to bed next to, where in another table he kneads the flour and water pasta until it turns it into the closest to a pizza base. When it has it stretched and with round shape, Pass it over the kitchen, drying it just to make a roll with it again and cut it into strips, thus creating great noodles that, Then, throws in the tasteless water.
Open the wok lid checking that the meat is well cooked and distributes the soup into several bowls. The biggest, for me. Two hours have passed since he began preparing this simple soup and my stomach has closed. Addition, He is boiling, So I can eat much less than what I had sworn two hours ago. Like what I can alone, On a table with prefabricated sauces boats and another table with more raw meat. I thank you and ask the price. 5.000 Tukruks, About two euros. I pay you thank you.
I get out of that happy ger to have lived a everyday moment, The eating time of some peasants
The children accompany me to the motorcycle and, how not, They want to go up. I take some photos and the older brother gives me an email address to send them. It will be the first thing to do when I get to Ulán Bator. This time, I loved experience. I get out of that happy ger to have lived a everyday moment, The eating time of some farmers of the Gobi desert.
