I met a crazy Yank named Tim from Colorado at the train station in Mongolia and that’s where it all began. He was an enthusiastic fellow with a ridiculous sense of adventure. As we walked up the stairs to the hostel he couldn’t shut his mouth about the trip he had planned. I was exhausted from the 36 hours train ride from Beijing, but he was keeping my ears perked. This was the person I wanted to meet and his insane plan was what I wanted to do: To buy horses and ride through plains, forests, rivers and hills for a few weeks. Some other backpackers–an Aussie, Stephan, and an Israeli couple, Noam and Sharon–over heard the details of the trip and became interested. We all went out together for some pizza and drinks to converse.
I didn’t really plan on staying in Mongolia for more then ten days, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. We didn’t really know exactly how long we were going to be but at least three weeks. I phoned my family in the States and Saudi Arabia and told them of the adventure. I was totally set for some good times. Within a day, five of us were on board and took action quickly. We bought maps of the surroundings, food and stoves. We attended the notorious Black Market, full of illegal purchases and bought saddles, boots, cowboy hats and traditional dels (basically, huge jackets) that local Mongolians wear.
After four days of hectic planning we set off to the shit-hole town of Moron. Yes, Moron. To put it bluntly, getting to Moron sucked. We took a very lovely, scenic 12-hour train ride and from there took a hellish 17-hour jeep ride, which kicked our asses. It was supposed to be only 11 hours, but it continually broke down and just took longer than expected. Not to mention there were 17 people piled into this jeep and Mongolian highways consist of dirt and grass. No pavement or concrete of any sorts. For the first ten hours it wasn’t that bad. The locals and the magnificent view were occupying my attention just fine, but when the deadline kept increasing and people started sleeping, it got shitty. By the time we got to Moron it was 2 a.m., people were on top of each other, filthy, hungry and pissy as hell.
The next day we woke ready to buy some horses. Now, understand people, I don’t even know how to ride a horse and I’m preparing to buy one. It was great fun. Throughout the day the gang and I would be playing cards and we’d hear rustling outside. “Horses, horses!” Tim would yell. The local herdsmen would come to our door and bring several horses with them for us to look at. Tim would inspect them, checking out the goods and the bads, and for a couple of days we didn’t buy any. Finally, time was getting the better of us and we all purchased horses plus two more for luggage.
Traditionally, you aren’t supposed to name your horse but rather call them by their color. Mongolians have over 300 terms for horses but against tradition we all gave them names. Mine was Alexander. The first night of owning my horse, I was overwhelmed, excited and nervous. The next day we set out on some test runs and by the time we came back some of us were having second thoughts. Stephan went swimming with his horse, Noam got dragged a few yards and hurt his leg and Sharon just wasn’t down with having semi-wild horses. I had a wonderful time and couldn’t wait to hit the road. Another day went by of getting used the horses and visa-versa; they were hungry beasts and we let them indulge before putting them to work.
Finally, just after dinner the next day, we set off. It took awhile because the packhorses weren’t cooperating at all, but to their dissatisfaction we left. Two hours later we set up camp. Night fell and we had hardly gotten out of the town’s sight. The horses were stubborn and refused to carry most of us. None the less we were just happy to be riding.
The next day we woke up minus one horse. It was one of our pack horses and we had no idea where to start looking for it. Frustrated we sat around while taking turns searching when we came across a herder who said they had seen a horse a few hills over. A couple of hours later the horse was in our grasp, but the whole situation stirred up a lot of emotions in all. We set off near dinner time again to hopefully ride a little while, but our luck ran out quickly: the skies were becoming darker and darker as each minute passed.
Within 30 minutes we were being pummeled by hail and rain with wild wind gusts. We weren’t liking it, the horses weren’t liking it and the storm didn’t seem to be passing by anytime soon. As we rode on, a small shack in the middle of nowhere came into sight and we headed straight for it. The old man that lived there came up from behind us and started laughing and giving us the thumbs up sign at our dels, and he pointed to the shack. We took care of our horses and quickly entered the shack. Those people took care of us so well. They made hot milk for us and gave us blankets, allowed us to stay there until the storm passed by and then encouraged us to set up camp next to the shack.
We rested up and awoke to another lost horse. This time one of our horses wanted to mingle with the wild ones and teased us with his capture. It was becoming clear to everyone this wasn’t nearly as easy as any of us thought…. T
To be continued.
Khaled Habash can be contacted at [email protected]