After a harrowing 5-day/900-mile, (1,500 kilometers), drive across the amazing expanses of the northern Gobi Desert, (see previous blog), we arrived at the site of the 16^th Annual Golden Eagle Festival just outside of Bayan-Olgii in Western Mongolia, and parked to join the growing crowd of spectators. Some of you may recall

This hunter was among the favorites of the crowd.

that when we crossed Siberia in 1996 and reached the town of Kosh Agach near the Mongolian border, our Lonely Planet Russian Guide book said we were close to “the middle of nowhere”. Maybe we were closer now? We knew there were serious problems with the rear suspension, but nothing that needed our immediate attention. The sun was shining in a futile attempt to warm an icy wind gusting across the field of competition. The temperature was hovering around freezing.

Things were just getting started with the first big contest. Ethnic Kazakh eagle hunters from all over this part of the country had gathered, reportedly some 72 of them. Dressed in their finest attire, they were a fierce bunch indeed. The real stars were the Golden Eagles, huge birds of prey, some weighing over sixteen pounds with wingspans up to 8 feet. In these mountains of the Mongolian Altai, eagle hunting has been a tradition for over 2,000 years.

Ethnic Kazakh Golden Eagle Hunters

In the first set of competitions, each hunter, mounted on a stocky Mongolian horse, would start at the end of the field and call to his eagle, which at that moment, timed by the officials, would have its hood removed and be released by an assistant from a nearby hill. If the eagle was well trained and in tune with the game, she, (yes, females are normally used because they are larger than males), would hear the call of her owner and spot the dead rabbit or Corsac fox pulled behind his horse at a full gallop.

The close relationship between the hunter and his golden eagle was amazing to observe.

Approaching at speeds up to 199 miles per hour, (320 km/h), the eagle would zero in on the bait, and braking slightly at the last few seconds, hit the target, sharp talons extended, with up to 700 pounds of impact. Normally, in a real hunt, this would kill or at least stun the prey instantly. At this point, the trainer would quickly dismount and retrieve his bird to its perch on his thick leather glove, offering some tasty pieces of mutton or perhaps a rabbit leg. For the eagle, it may be sport. It may be a challenge. For sure, it’s about getting food, so in the mountains where hunting is done in the winter, the trainer must remove the eagle from the dead prey before the pelt is damaged.

It’s a fiercely competitive Event

If you look at the series of photos below, you may get an idea of the action which took mere seconds to photograph at a “high-speed continuous” setting. It was a very impressive demonstration of speed and power. Imagine being hit in the back by 700-pounds of razor-sharp talons at over 190 miles an hour. Ouch!!!

The old hunter in the center was last year’s winner.

Each eagle contestant was timed from her release to final impact on the target. A fast kill could be 14 seconds from start to finish. In some cases, the eagle would circle for a few minutes, just enjoying the freedom of flight. In one case, spotting the dead rabbit drug behind her trainer’s horse, as the eagle came in for the kill, her attention strayed to a small dog in the crowd of spectators and, looking for something more filling, suddenly veered off and hit the poor dog. The trainer quickly rescued it, but we don’t know if the dog survived. The eagle was just doing what her instincts told her to do……get food.

Retreating to the luxury of our warm Camper for the Night

Exhausted from our drive, we retired to the warmth of The Turtle V to take a shower and cook dinner. A nasty wind whistled outside. As we had many times on this trip, we were very glad to be in a warm hard-sided camper with the luxury of hot water and the convenience of our Thetford Porta Potti. With not a tree or bush in sight, the standard blue portable toilets we might be accustomed to at a large event were not to be found in these countries. The Espar Airtronic air heater purred away at its “maintenance” mode and our Espar D5 Hydronic, working with the FlatPlate fluid heat exchanger, gave us all the hot water we could use.

After a shot of Genghis Khan vodka, we slept soundly, glad to be off the road and looking forward to the next day’s competition.

In the morning we gently headed out. The rear suspension seemed to be doing fine without the help of the air bags. Turning back to Ulaanbaatar was not an option. We already knew how bad that road was. We could only hope it would get better. It didn’t!

This young shepherd just wanted to check us out. Well, maybe he was hoping for a treat.

We were not lost. We just didn’t know which of several two-tracks might go to the next village and stop, or maybe just to an abandoned ger (yurt) site. Fuel was not a problem yet, but it could be if we ended up wandering around the endless grasslands too long.

Driving and navigating for the next three days through the northern edge of the Altai Gobi and adjacent deserts was very intense. I was in charge of finding the best track with the least washboard and not over stressing our damaged suspension. This was not a good place to break. There is no good place to break when you are thousands of miles from home on a different continent in the middle of a third world country. While I focused on the next 100 yards in front of us, Monika scanned the horizon making sure we didn’t veer off the general direction.

What are you looking at dude, I live here!

Just follow the Telephone Poles!

At one point, she insisted we stop because the best track turned toward the right while all the others continued straight. As chance would have it, a Mongol man in a Russian Lada Niva 4X4 came from the other direction. Monika got out and stopped him. Speaking Russian, he drew lines in the sand indicating how many tracks we had to cross to get back to the main one and then gave us a tip, one that I recalled the American Camel Trophy team had used to navigate through a lengthy stage crossing in waist-deep grass during the 1997 Madagascar Rally. He said ,“Just follow the telephone poles”. That got us to the next village, but then they ended and Monika was again just guessing.

Crossing No-Man’s Land

The next section was the most desolate one. We drove for a whole day and never saw a soul on horseback, motorcycle or in a vehicle in either direction. Checking the map, it appeared that this was basically no man’s land between two provinces. In this endless desert, she began noticing that every 10 kilometers or so, there was an odd looking rock placed next to the track and realized they must be the main road markers.

When there were hills the track just wandered in and out of the valleys. It was an overland travelers dream road.

As our Russian motorcycle friend had warned, one section of the track was completely under water, but we could see where others had entered and exited. A low area nearby was used for harvesting salt, always a valuable commodity in any country. We continued west until the dying light made driving unsafe. Even with our high-powered PIAA auxiliary lights, these roads held dangerous surprises in the dark. The potholes of the Stans had taken their toll on our suspension but it seemed fine as long as I watched the bumps. Looking for a place to camp, the track wove its way through a strange rock garden. It begged us to stop for the night.

As we approached small towns they were well marked but actually finding them on our paper map was difficult. Mini markets were well stocked with Chinese goods, often with American names. A bottle of good cabernet was not to be found, but Genghis Khan Vodka was available. There were more yurt camps near settlements. A couple of times when we stopped to have lunch or to inspect the suspension, young boys came galloping across from nowhere to check us out. Always very friendly, we wished we had not been in a hurry. Herds of goats and horses seemed compelled to cross the road just as we approached them. The occasional small group of camels were totally unimpressed by our approach.

Finally, arriving in Olgii at
the Annual Golden Eagle Festival

We arrived just in time for the beginning of the competition.

By afternoon on the fifth day we rolled into Olgii and headed straight for the festival outside of town just as the competition was warming up. For the moment, our mechanical problems could wait. We were about to witness one of the most exciting events in Mongolia, the Annual Golden Eagle Festival. If we had parked any closer to the main arena we would have had to own an eagle!

Getting directions out of the sprawling city of Ulaanbaatar was a bit of a challenge at 6:00 AM. We did have a tourist map, but of course, it was not in English. We had no GPS chip for Mongolia, but knowing our destination was west, as long as we had the sun to our backs we couldn’t be too far off. With the exception of a few potholes the paved highway was remarkably good, a relief after the horrendous roads we had driven in Tajikistan. We stopped at dusk near the village of Nariyntell. Finding a good, safe place to camp was a joy! Just a matter of pulling off the blacktop for a hundred yards.

The first morning driving west toward Olgii brought us this spectacular sunrise.

Our Eberspaecher Airtronic air heater kept us warm as temperatures dropped into the low 30°s. Not a single vehicle came by all night. Peeking out the window in the morning, the horizon was on fire. As the first rays of sun

To our surprise, we came upon a ger (yurt) camp right next to the “main highway”.

burnt through the low cloud cover, it was a spectacular show. Slowly, as the warmth melted over the distant hills, the entire sky took on a tangerine glow, reflecting off the dusting of snow that had fallen during the night. In the light of dawn, we saw we had neighbors. Cozy gers, (yurts) dotted the hills, portable homes for the nomadic people that follow the grass of summer. (The Mongolian word is “ger”; in English, we adopted the Russian word “yurt”.) In these times, many families have winter quarters in Ulaanbaatar where their children can attend school.

As the light show faded into a shocking blue sky, we came to Bayanhongor, the first town of any size. Here we found fuel and then, by following a horse-drawn water cart, we were able to fill our own tanks with water, one 5-gallon bucket at a time. There were no faucets nor hoses. We had come 350 miles, but it was still roughly 650 miles to go to reach Olgii and the Annual Golden Eagle Festival would start in two or three days.

Yes, one of these two-tracks wandering across the grasslands was the “National Highway”. Often the question was, which one?

The pavement ended here and the road signs were sketchy or nonexistent. The surface, or should I say the “surfaces”, were mostly dry, but the washboard was 3 to 4 inches deep. Normally we could stay on top of such corrugation at 35 mph, but there were enough “gotcha holes” that any sustained speed over 20 mph was difficult. The game was to find the track out of four or five that had the best surface, and they changed frequently. Checking our map, yes, this was marked as the “National Highway”. There were short sections of pavement that appeared for a mile or two in the middle of nowhere, but they ended very abruptly with an 8-10 inch drop-off back to the dirt.

A loud POP spells trouble

The bolts on the Hellwig air bag bracket on the passenger side were completely gone. Perhaps sheared off by the many potholes and drop-offs. The heavy duty bracket was bent beyond use. It was now pushing on the bottom of the camper box.

On one such drop-off I heard a loud pop that told me that something had broken. We stopped to inspect and found that the Grade-8 bolts holding the drop-arm bracket to the frame were gone. Fortunately, I had similar bolts in my emergency-it-will-never-be-needed repair box and we were back on the road. But not so fast. The big bolt on the drop-arm itself was also gone. We fixed that with a replacement almost the right size. Then the other real problem became more obvious. The bolts holding the Hellwig Airbag to the frame on the passenger side had been hidden by the inside fender skirt of the camper box. They were also gone, and the heavy bracket, still attached to the air bag, was now pushing up on the body of the camper, not on the frame. The bracket was badly bent and not useable even if we had replacement bolts. It was not pretty.

Soon, the gers (yurts) would be packed up and the owners return to Ulanbaatar for the winter.

With the cutout I had made on the fender well back in China, we could see the missing bolts that had looked fine then, but had probably been loose for a thousand miles. I never suspected them because the airbag pressure remained a 40psi. With still hundreds of miles to go before any real civilization, we now had to trust our rear spring packs and Rancho shocks to carry the full load. We left the Hellwig bags completely deflated on both sides to stop the passenger side from cutting the bag.

Olec from Moscow showed
us on the map where he had come from and warned us about the flooded areas ahead which had been difficult on a motorcycle.

Just as we were finishing what repairs that were possible, we saw a lone motorcycle headed down the road. Of course he stopped. That’s what you do when you see a fellow overlander. His name was Olec and he was from Moscow. He had traveled across Russia and Kazakhstan and was headed east to Ulaanbaatar. Apparently he did not know about the Golden Eagle Festival in Olgii where he only stopped for fuel, but he did tell us about the road conditions. Rain and snow had left parts of the track under water that had been difficult for him on his loaded bike. It was getting late so we invited him for a “home cooked” meal and enjoyed an evening of conversation in the warmth of our camper. Tomorrow would be another adventure, and the essence of adventure is not knowing how it’s going to come out. The absolute silence in this vast grassland was shockingly peaceful.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Life is an Adventure

The Essence of Adventure is not knowing
how it’s going to come out.
Live your dreams and have a great and healthy 2019.

Best Wishes
Gary and Monika

Our favorite Turtle in Baja California’s Rock Garden.

Mongolia!! The name of this landlocked Asian country has a magical ring to it. We could not think of Mongolia without our minds drifting on the image of the legendary Genghis Khan. Born in the 1160s, he spent his early life assembling a dedicated army of nomads from the immense grasslands of the Gobi, at 500,000 square miles, the fifth largest desert in the world. His fierce warriors were relentless. They could ride day and night, making a slice in their horses’ neck to drink the blood. By 1279 Mongols had gained full control of all of China, undeterred by the Great Wall. See how well walls work?

Mongolia! The wide open space was just the way we remembered.

By 1280 they had stormed across Asia, conquering and burning major cities like Samarkand that lay hopelessly in their path. With perhaps 80,000 mounted fighters followed by a huge herd of spare mounts, they could travel 100 miles a day which was unheard of by other armies of that time. According to one source, they were sent out in teams of ten. If one was captured, the rest of the team was killed. They were unstoppable! 

Land of Genghis Khan

When Öegedei Khan, the third son of Genghis Khan and second Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, succeeded his father, he continued the expansion of the empire, and was a world figure when the Mongol Empire reached its farthest extent west and south during the Mongol invasions of Europe and East Asia. He led his ruthless cavalry from the windblown steppe of Central Asia into Europe to amass the largest continuous empire the world has ever seen. It covered 9.15 million square miles of land – more than 16% of the earth’s landmass and ruled over 110 million people between 1270 and 1309 — more than 25% of the world’s population at that time. Despite his and his father’s brutal campaigns, or perhaps because of them, Genghis Khan is still alive in the hearts of Mongols.

This nice man stopped just to see if we needed anything.
In Mongolian tradition, we should have offered him a cup salty milk tea.

As we drove across the seemingly endless grasslands, skirting the Gobi, free of fences and guardrails that had held us like a mouse in a maze crossing China, we had to stop and soak in the new freedom. It was hard to imagine Genghis Khan’s bloodthirsty hordes galloping across the endless plains. The highway remained good and traffic was light except for the occasional herd of sheep or an overloaded freight semi. Horses and camels grazing near the road gave us a feeling that we had entered a special place. Finding somewhere flat to camp for the night was simply a matter of turning left or right off the tarmac for a hundred yards and deciding which direction the sun would rise in the morning.

Animals are roaming freely.

The first winter storm had kissed the hills with a frosting of snow south of Ulaanbaatar, the capital of the country. Not wanting to deal with the congestion of a big city, we pulled off into a frozen field just outside of town and called it home. In the morning we blitzed the downtown, first finding a tourist hotel where we could do a quick load of laundry, and then getting lucky, we snuck into an empty space in the center of the mass mid-day confusion that was not marked “Зогсоолгүй”, (no parking). Finding a store where we could buy a SIM card for our phone and then the tourist office for maps and information was all within walking distance.

An early start the next morning got us out of town before the mad rush hour. We headed west for the small town of Olgii where the famous Golden Eagle Festival was about to begin. The tourist office had advised that the road was open and that it was a two-day drive.—That’s how long it took busses. It was not mentioned that much of the road was not paved and that busses drove 24 hours a day, usually in pairs because one often broke down. We would return to Ulaanbaatar again to retrieve parts for our suspension, but that’s another story.

Many of you may recall back in Tajikistan Blog #8, we had met this amazing young girl. If not or if so, here is an update on the Magic Girl of the Pamirs.

At 11 years old, there was a look that clearly said, “Whoever you are or where you came from, I am here.” “I was waiting for you.”

It was another spectacular warm sunny day in the mountains of Tajikistan,— as warm as it gets at 14,000 feet. The intense blue sky almost hurt our eyes. We could feel why this is often called “The Roof of the World”, according to National Geographic “one of the last truly isolated places on earth”. Glaciers carved their way down peaks over 24,000 feet. Turning off the Wakhan Corridor along the Afghan border, once trodden by Marco Polo as he followed The Silk Road, we climbed over the 4,122-meter, (13,523 feet), Koitezek Pass and headed slowly down into a long valley following the turbulent Toguzbulok River. The dusty Pamir Highway was equally as rough in places as the Wakhan Corridor had been.

We looked at this young girl in amazement. What in the world was she thinking….

Spotting a small creek on the side of the road, a tributary to the larger swift-rushing river, I backed into it to wash off some of the silt-like powder that had hitched a ride on our truck. No sooner than we had unpacked our bucket and wash brush, three young girls who had just carried some old window frames across the road came back. As they walked over a small foot bridge, the last girl stopped, waded out into the water, took the brush from my hands and started to help me. Monika and I both looked at her and at each other in wonder. In these countries girls of any age don’t approach strange men. She spoke no English and little Russian, only Tajik and the local Shugni dialect. Words were not spoken nor were they necessary. There was magic of wonder in her eyes and frustration that she could not talk to us, but still a smile and eyes that said “I don’t know who are you or where are you from?” “Never mind. I’m going to help you.”

At an altitude of 10,000 feet, potatoes, carrots and wheat are the only crops that are being grown. No fruit trees and no vegetable patches. Wild bees but no honey bees survive.

We were captivated by this young girl, only 11 years old. We camped there for three days and met her family who invited us for tea. Each time we saw her and those mysterious Asian eyes, always discreetly catching ours, we could sense her uncomplicated imagination fueled by her burning desire to communicate. Was it her innocent confidence that shyly said. “No fear”—Bring it on!”? Without a single word spoken, she had captured our attention and our hearts. How could we help her?

Fast forward a year through Kyrgyzstan, China, Mongolia, Russia, South Korea, Japan and back to California. Every time we looked at the pictures we had of this “Magic Girl of the Pamirs”, the feeling came back. Through a series of emails, we were able to contact a young man, Sheroz Naimov, the Director of the American Corner, in Khorog. The American Corner is a free learning center sponsored by the American Embassy designed to promote mutual understanding between the United States and Tajikistan and offer a place for young children and adults wanting to learn or improve their English.

Masha’s father was in disbelief when he learned that we wanted to sponsor his daughter in a special private school.

Khorog is a small town, hardly a city, and the capital of the Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Region (GBAO). Situated in a valley at the confluence of the Gunt and the Panj rivers, at 7,217 feet above sea level, it is relatively low when you consider that 50% of the country is over 10,400 feet. Khorog was at least three hours from the village where Masha lived on a road that can be closed by snow or rock falls at any time. We had driven it twice.

We had learned there was a wonderful private prestigious school in Khorog sponsored by the Aga Khan Development Network, (AKDN). What is that? His Highness, Prince Karim Aga Khan IV, is the founder and chairman of AKDN and is the 49th hereditary Imam (Spiritual Leader) of the Shia Ismaili, a very unique and liberal sect of the Muslim religion. For example, those of the Shia Ismaili faith have no mosques or minarets. Their home is their church. The women are not required to cover their heads or faces, but many do use a headscarf out of practicality and old tradition.

Masha’s mother, a soft spoken woman, always had a ready smile.

Sheroz Naimov volunteered to help us. Hitching a ride with a friend to the girl’s village, he spoke to her and her father and explained that we wanted to sponsor her in the Aga Khan Lycée school. Sheroz told us Masha had tears in her eyes. Her father called Sheroz the next day to ask in wonder, “Is this really going to happen?” Yes, Sheroz told him, but now the first problem would be finding a safe place for her to live in Khorog. Secondly, could she pass the entrance test with her very poor math and Russian?

Searching for a home where she could safely live most of the year while she was at school, Sheroz’s father and his sister both opened their homes and their hearts to her. Extreme generosity and hospitality are a corner stone of the Shia Ismaili faith. The amazing warmth of these people whom had never met us nor this young girl truly astounded us.

Problem number two was that because of Masha’s limited schooling in math and Russia, she could not pass the Aga Khan Lycée school’s entrance test. After three months of intense tutoring, she made the grade. Now the story gets more exciting.

Monika explained a page out of our world atlas, probably pointing out California but Masha and her younger sister had eyes for the camera.

She was 12 and nearing 13. We supplied her with a phone so she could call her mother and father. Of course, she had to have a computer and printer and appropriate “city” clothes for four seasons. Sheroz arranged a modem and internet for her so she could Skype and WhatsApp with us. In the beginning, Sheroz had to translate for her, but her magic smile and the sparkle in her eyes told us she was making the transition from a remote village life, away from her home, her family and friends, where daily chores included gathering firewood and milking goats, to being a modern teenage girl in a “city” environment. Hard to imagine? Perhaps it was that No Fear! attitude we sensed from our first contact.

We recently celebrated her 15^th birthday with her new school friends and family live on Skype, amazing when you consider that Khorog is 7,525 miles, (12,110 km) and 12 time zones away. She is essentially in her sophomore year of high school and taking 17 classes 6 days a week with special English and math tutoring after school before she takes a local taxi to her home-away-from-home to do her homework and help with household chores, including cooking.

When we first realized that our dream of helping Masha was actually possible, we wrote her a letter to have Sheroz translate.

I said “smile” and Monika did. Masha could not understand a word, but her face said, Wow! I am happy you found me”.

Dear Masha,

You are about to start a new and exciting part of your life. We know you must be a little anxious with all the changes that are happening. The doors to the world are opening for you. You will need to study very hard. Sometimes it will be difficult. We want you to know that you can do anything you can imagine. Anything! You can be a doctor, a nurse, a teacher, a ballerina, a musician, a professional guide, an airline pilot. Yes really, the sky is the limit.

We just want to make sure you know that you have a huge team behind you if you have a problem. You have us here in California. You have Sheroz and his family. You have the American Corner. You have your mother and your father and your sisters and brother. All of these people are standing behind you to catch you if you stumble or fall. You might find this hard to believe, but because of the Internet, there are also thousands of people all over the world right now who know about you and what you’re about to do. They saw your smile the day that you jumped into the water in the creek by your home to help us wash our truck, and they know that you will succeed in anything you can imagine. You are very special and you have amazing power. Have fun and don’t worry.

We send you our love and support. Soon we may even be able to talk with you and with Sheroz on an amazing system called Skype.

Gary & Monika

This past Summer we journeyed to Tajikistan to visit her and her family, a grueling 26-hour hop from Sacramento to San Francisco to Istanbul to Dushanbe (the capital) and then a 14 hour drive in a 4X4 Toyota to Khorog—still three hours by 4X4 to her village. The trip was a real eye opener. It is a unique way of life for the people in the Pamir Mountains who have survived in this remote part of the world for hundreds of years. Spending three days at her home made us realize just how poor her large family is. There were conditions we were not truly aware of when we were invited for chai in 2014. 

The traditional morning breakfast in the Pamirs is black milk tea with a touch of butter and homemade bread.

They had no running water. All washing, dishes, brushing of teeth etc. was done in the irrigation ditch, conveniently located in front of their traditional Pamiri home. The ditch took its water from the river where cows, sheep and goats grazed. Cooking was done on an old metal wood fired stove. Water for tea was boiled on an antique hotplate that resembled a burner on a 1950’s electric stove. Bread was baked daily in a dilapidated, rickety Russian electric oven. Sanitation facilities were a bit shocking. The “outhouse”, located on a steep path up a hill behind the cow & goat shed, was something out of a Li’l Abner cartoon. As is the norm, we all slept on thin mattresses in a communal living room where all meals were served and where any social activities took place. No tables or chairs. Despite these seemingly harsh living conditions, everyone was extremely friendly and hospitable. We had experienced the same in yurts in Tuva, Central Russia.

We brought gifts for the family and fruit, rice, chicken, eggs and vegetables to contribute to the meals. At 10,000 feet, their crops are limited to potatoes, carrots and wheat. Bread, tea, and potato, carrot & onion soup with a bone or a piece of meat from a recently killed sheep gave it some flavor. The community is not really a village as we imagined. It consists of perhaps 15 or 20 homes spread out across a wide valley, in-between potato and carrot fields laced with a web of small interconnected irrigation channels. Many of the families are related, so when a sheep or goat is slaughtered, the meat goes to many homes.

Ready for school in her winter uniform, she looks quite professional.

At this altitude, winters are brutal. Animals must be kept in closed sheds because packs of wolves are a problem. Wood, gathered during the short summer, and dried cow and sheep dung are the family’s main source of heat. The small sheet-metal cooking stove is moved inside the main room as the temperatures drop.

We now had a much clearer idea of where this young girl was coming from and the daunting change in her life that we were offering and imposing on her. At the age of eleven when we met, she did not have a dream of where the future would take her. We gave her unlimited choices, no doubt a little overwhelming at first. Now we watch how this adventure evolves. Her English is rapidly improving, thanks to additional classes and tutoring. With two and a half more years before she graduates in what is the equivalent of high school, her current aspirations of being a musician, an actress or a doctor may change more than once. We talk with her often by WhatsApp or Skype. Our primary goal has been to keep her healthy and happy while she is learning, and to teach her the power of dreams.

Masha is wearing a traditional Pamiri cap. Men and women seem to wear the same.

Before we left Tajikistan we took her and Sheroz’s niece to Dushanbe, the modern capital of the country. It was their first travel by airplane. We had fun spoiling them. It was a new world of museums, zoos, shopping malls, hamburgers, Baskin-Robbins ice cream, pizza, escalators, elevators, and even a 3D movie. Their own comfortable bed in a nice hotel with unlimited hot water was special. Masha also had her teeth cleaned by a professional dentist, all topped off by a manicure and a visit to a hair salon. The two girls returned to Khorog by themselves, by the standard 14-19 hour 4X4 taxi into the mountains. Their minds no doubt swirling with impressions from another world.

For the time being, we are taking care of all her needs. We know of other young girls and boys her age who have dreams of getting an education and could use your help, so if you are interested, send us an email, wescott@turtleexpedition, and put “Khorog Help” in the subject so it will not get lost in our junk mail. The average income in Khorog is about $100-150 a month and the tuition at Aga Khan Lycée school, grades 1 thru 9, is 460 TJS (Tajikistan Somonis) a month, which is $48. There are other expenses like computer, phone, internet, uniform, daily transportation, school supplies, etc. If anyone is interested, we can introduce you to another young person. On your part, it would be a person to person relationship with frequent conversations on Skype or WhatsApp. Our chance meeting of Masha and our ability to sponsor her (thanks to Sheroz Naimov who made it all possible) and watch her learn and grow has become one the highlights of our lives.

During the night the temperature had dropped to 37°F but Green slept well in the down sleeping bag we had provided for her, spread on top of two thick Cascade Design Therm-A-Rest sleeping pads. Morning dawned; another beautiful day, perhaps our last in China. Knowing the bureaucratic paperwork that waited for us at the border, it was good we got an early start.

Our last super highway in China was rather monotonous.

An hour or more was spent looking for the office of the customs clearing agent who was supposed to handle our exit paperwork. Wrong address, wrong phone number. The home office of NAVO finally got us connected, but by then, of course, the border was closed. We had time to do some last minute shopping and search for a place to spend the night. Spotting an unfinished office building just out of the center, we set up Green’s tent on the sidewalk using rocks instant of tent pegs and enjoyed our final evening with her. Any port in a storm.

Getting ready for the Border Crossing

In the morning, we had time to take a hot shower. It’s always good to be clean and neat when crossing borders. It was a late 10:00 when the lethargic customs clearing agent finally showed up, and another three or four hours of waiting and lunch break and, and, and—. The reality was that we were supposed to have a 30-day visa for China but because of the National Day Golden Week celebrations starting October 1, the border would be closed for seven days, so we had shorten our visit by two days. Then it took all of two days to wade through the bureaucratic entry process in Kashgar and two more days to get out here in Erenhot. And, so we were told, this was normal.

Saying goodbye to Green

A final happy moment with Green, our constant companion throughout the crossing of China and the last leg of our Silk Road Adventure. We are still in contact with her.

It was afternoon when we said our last sad goodbye to Green. (Her actual Chinese name is Zhang Zhi Qiong. Being born on Earth Day, she chose “Green” as her English name.) Green had been an amazing guide and often put up with our criticism of the drivers, the bathrooms, the flashing strobe lights on the highway, the Chinese government and the numerous police checks. Through it all, we had become great friends and her knowledge and patience gave us lasting memories, outlined in the last 26 Blogs. She fell in love with camping in her green tent and she claimed that she’ll never eat another American style dinner in China because no restaurant could come close to our cooking.

Wanna drive your own vehicle in China?

Can we recommend driving your own vehicle across China? Most definitely NOT, even if you had a three-month visa. But if you do, we can highly recommend NAVO. Green was the perfect guide for us, even with her at times lengthy government-taught details of some subjects that didn’t exactly match the information taught in the West about China.

Entering Mongolia

As we crossed the border into Mongolia, we breathed a sigh of relief. The sky opened up over endless grasslands with herds of sheep peacefully grazing. We would not see another fence for months.

Mongolia: Where could we camp? A N Y W H E R E

Evening was coming on fast and the smell of snow was in the air. Where could we camp? Answer: Anywhere!!!!

Happy Thanksgiving

To all our US Friends and Family around the World

Gratitude

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home,
A stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past,
Brings peace for today and
Creates a vision for tomorrow.

Melody Beattie

As previously mentioned, we had been advised that shipping our truck from China back to United States was not a good idea. The truck could be held in a Customs’ storage lot for possibly a month or more, sitting in the salt air and open to vandalism and theft. Our plan now was to drive north into Mongolia, with a stop in the capital of Ulanbaatar and drive to the remote town of Olgii to experience the three-day Golden Eagle Festival. Maybe ride a camel into the Gobi Desert before crossing into Russia.

The Great Wall of China at Badaling

We couldn’t believe the hordes of mostly Chinese tourists wandering around on top of the Great Wall at Badaling.

Weaving our way out of Beijing, we drove north. We couldn’t resist stopping one more time to visit the Great Wall of China. Badaling was reportedly one of the best places to see the wall, and since it was reasonably close to Beijing, it’s where most tourists would go.

Yummy things to eat at Badaling’s Great Wall of China. Grilled Squid.

From the entry and the parking lot, a modern gondola took us to the top of the mountain, giving us an interesting bird’s eye view of the famous wall. Unlike our other visits to different parts of the wall, where we had the place literally to ourselves, today we were not alone. Not even close. Thousands of tourists, mostly Chinese, shared our experience, which was actually what we had previously expected. It definitely gave us a different feeling being surrounded by crowds of fellow tourists. At the base of the gondola there were the usual food and souvenir stands and there was also a fabulous museum. Below you will see a few items that caught our eye.

Green, no Peking Hung Duck heads please!

It was once again Green’s turn to cook one of her special Chinese dishes. She was a talented chef.

It was late afternoon by the time we finally headed northwest again, looking for a place to camp for the night. The super freeway we were following had almost no exits and it was getting dark by the time we finally snuck off on a side road and found an empty field, just in time to set up Green’s little MSR tent. It was her turn to prepare another delicious meal. No duck heads tonight!

Oh my God! Another Monika birthday. You know how she loves birthdays. It is her special day of the year, which often runs into several days or weeks! You may recall some week-long backpacking trips into the Sierras, or was it battling a Pacific storm on the cliffs of Point Arena, or climbing the backside of Yosemite’s Half Dome, or jumping out of a perfectly good airplane at 18,000 feet? Should I mention cruising around Cuba in a 1957 Plymouth? This year, Mexico was the draw. What better way to celebrate a birthday than swimming with dolphins, eating tacos, enjoying a few margaritas, standing under a waterfall in the jungle—or how about watching the progress of class-5 hurricane Willa from a rooftop in Puerto Vallarta.

What a Ride!

Being taken for a ride by two dolphins was really fun.

We had (yeah, I get to go too) been invited by old friends, Fred Walti III and Karen Rutherford, to stay at their slightly remodeled adobe home a short walk from the beach in Puerto Vallarta. OK slightly more than remodeled, like a gourmet kitchen, a pizza oven, two barbecue area and walls covered with a beautiful Mexican art collection and great views from the fourth floor sunning deck overlooking the bay. Oh, I forgot the outdoor swimming pool on the 3^rd floor just down the hall from the master bedroom. I lost count of how many other bedrooms there were but do check out their website, http://www.coronaadobe.com.

Heidi, the playful Sea Lion

Gary and sea lion Heidi were goofing around.

To our delight, Eduardo Payan, our longtime Mexican friend from Chihuahua, decided to help celebrate Monika’s birthday. We hadn’t seen each other for years. It was high time to catch up. Dinner was celebrated at the old town Mi Pueblito Restaurant right on the beach. It was Oaxacan night. A dance group performed various dances from that state.

Wanna dance Birthday Girl?

Wanna dance, birthday girl?

Livening things up a little, after a fun swim with the dolphins, Chris Collard, (ex-editor of Overland Journal), and his wife Suzy joined us on a local bus to the famous Botanical Gardens and then hopped on a boat to Yelapa, a fishing village and old hippy hangout. You can only get there by boat. We strolled through the village, swam in the 80° clear water, hiked to a jungle waterfall, shopped at the local stores and hung out at one of the beach palapa restaurants where we met Mario, the iguana. (He was vegetarian.) Sometimes we did exactly what you are supposed to do on a beach at a remote fishing village—-nothing.

Mario, the iguana, likes hanging out with Monika.

The weather was hot and humid, to be expected this time of the year, and then Hurricane Willa showed up totally uninvited to the party. Rated as a Class 5 disaster for the beach towns along the Pacific coast including Puerto Vallarta, we jumped on the last taxi boat out of Yelapa back to La Boca where we caught a bus to town. The entire port of Puerto Vallarta was already closed. Never a boring moment. Everyone hunkered down. The town was quiet, the restaurants were closed, the stores along the Malecón (boardwalk) were boarded up. In the end, nothing happened in PV. A bit of wind, a bit of rain and some higher than normal waves. The city returned to its normal vibes. Life was good and Monika’s birthday, once again, was full of new experiences. She can’t wait for the next one, well maybe mine will get in the way first…….