Where the hell is Anna?: I spy Chenggis Khan

Day 1: Arriving Sunday 3rd August.

Ulan Bataar

Ulan Bataar is the capital city of Outer Mongolia. Nestled between hills in four directions, this city became a permanent capital when the wandering, nomadic capital settled down in one place. I find myself fascinated with the image of a nomadic capital city. The Mongolians are, by nature, a nomadic people, and a gentle people. Five years since my last visit, I am once again welcomed by their warmth and sincerity. Truly it is a pleasure to return.

From my hotel window I look over the city towards Bhod Khan hill side. It is the same hotel I stayed in five years previously. I look out across the increasing growth of high rise buildings and apartments that support the one million people living here; one third of the country's population. In the evening I watch traditional folk music and dancing, followed by a meal with yet more music. The musicians play horse head fiddles, and instruments I don't recognise.

Wild flowers of the Steppes

Day 2: Heading north Monday 4th August. I have trouble sleeping the first night. The air is warmer and more humid that I imagined, and I am relieved to use the hotel's air conditioning. After a night in UB (as travellers call it), my driver and guide take me north to a 300 year old monastery in the Steppes. We pass through the copper mining town of Erdenet populated mostly by Russians in communist-style concrete apartment blocks built around the city. Further on and away from the city, the drive takes us on unmade roads through wild flowers and grassland, wheat fields, and oil seed rape flower. Eagles fly above my head.

Eagle over the Steppes

I teach them to play 'I Spy' and we play in a mixture of Mongolian and English. I don't know what they are guessing when it's in Mongolian, but we are having a good time.

Drying cheese on the ger roof

The first night camping is close to Amarbayasgalan monastery beside a couple of Gers (Mongolian yurts). The nomadic life appears happy and romantic, although I am told there is much hard work with drying out and moving the heavy felt of the Ger every season. The people are friendly and invite us in for tea and a supper of dried meat noodle soup. The tea is weak and milky, freshly taken from the cow with a little salt added.

Days 3 - 4: Moron Tuesday 5th – Wednesday 6th August. From Amarbayasgalan I am driven west to Moron. Although warm here, I find my clothes lacking for the temperatures ahead, not realising that there may be snow high in the Taiga. My luggage is light and contains only summer clothing.

Ger furniture

Felted sheep wool for the Ger

In Moron (pronounced Muruun) I go to the market, accompanied by Xlauga, a friend of my guide's. Her name starts with a guttural sound and I am unsure how to write it, so I’ve plumped for the X. It isn’t said ‘X’ at all, but I have no way of writing it in English. Alot of the words are guttural, and the word 'yes' seems to be abbreviated to a short throat-clearing noise. Our voices in conversation are at times gentle and quiet, which suits my ways, and other time we laugh and like a family. At my age now, I feel like the mother. Stalls in the market are simple wooden affairs and cargo containers, and the streets between them are dusty. There is a blue sky overhead and it is a warm day. I am interested in all the stalls on a market - daily life on display - and the meat sections fascinate me. I'm not really sure why the meat sections are so engaging; they reminds me of Smithfield Market in London. In one an incense burner is kept alight in the middle surrounded by sheep heads, goat heads, cow heads, carcasses and innards. As I look, the boss lady comes and she looks strict, so I carry on to buy long wool socks and leather boots for the cold horse riding ahead. I spy a man in a del on his motorbike - the 'noisy horse' of the Steppes as they call them, since they have taken over where horses were once regularly used - and he poses for a photo. And in another section, the makings for a Ger are laid out. Sheep's wool felted together for the walls of the Gers is for sale elsewhere, as are traditional wooden horse riding saddles.