A Nomad's guide to Inner Mongolia-part two

From city to desert to mountains, it was now time to make the 250 km journey to the grasslands. I had made friends with the bus driver and so got to ride the rest of the trip in the front seat. This was advantageous for several reasons, mainly the leg room was considerably more than the cramped space previously endured and my new position allowed for a perfect view of the other travellers, who were sleeping in the most interesting positions, sprawled across each other and dangling face down into the aisle. My new Chinese driver buddy and I had a great hand gesture conversation, which was fully compounded when we ran out of oil and no petrol station had the right kind. There we sat, he looking utterly dismayed, in the middle of the grasslands with no oil and a bus full of rambunctious Europeans. I tried to cheer him up with some over enthusiastic thumbs at side of smiling face but he only looked at me from the corners of his eyes as though I were completely mental. I thought that I had achieved another of those blue square shaped victories when he finally began to beam with delight, only to realise that he had somehow, without leaving the van, managed to find someone to mix the oil from scratch, a concept which was only slightly concerning.

We set off again, new driver buddy full of relief produced adrenaline, which had the effect of prompting him to drive like a lunatic. As I was in the front seat, I was the only traveller on board who was able to see quite how close we came to hurtling head long into a lorry. It seems in China, if there’s a traffic jam and you just don’t quite feel like waiting in it, no worries, it’s totally fine to drive off road for a few metres and then zoom down the lane of oncoming traffic. The sound of the horn, in all situations, is the theme tune to Chinese life.

We arrived at the grasslands in the early evening. It was quite an incredible juxtaposition of landscape-in twenty four hours we had gone from the desert to the mountains and now we were standing in a huge expanse of flat, grass covered land (I know that sounds obvious, but it’s the best way to describe the surroundings). All that we could see around us were the five yurts (large, circular tents with a raised wooden platform on which you sleep) in which we would spend the night, a larger yurt for dining, the Mongolian family farm house and an outhouse. There were also several cows and horses and very large piles of cow dung from which to make a fire. The yurts were arranged in a line so that behind and on both sides, all that could be seen was undisturbed land, on the end of which the sun was now settling and the sky had become transfixed with vibrant pinks and oranges.

The yurts

The yurts

We had a traditional Mongolian meal of rice, noodles AND potatoes with a large hunk of lamb meat and some pickled delicacies. We were also served milk tea which had been mixed with a considerable quantity of salt, this seemed to be a normal addition to a Mongolian beverage but was none the less, slightly distasteful. After dinner we sat around with the other travellers, of which there were French, Germans, Spanish, English, Dutch and American, all of whom lived in some part of China and were escaping the big cities for National day golden week. The temperature very quickly dropped to around -5 and our tiny dung-heap fire faded fast, this meant that our only possible option for prolonged warmth was to play drinking games with various Chinese alcohols, bijou being the most prominently disgusting. Thoroughly sauced, and slightly warmed, we went outside to look at the stars. The sky was utterly stunning, tiny stars, usually kept hidden, sparkled next to every constellation that we could recall. We tried to name ten but could only remember a few, all of us recognising the Milky Way with the excitement of people used to living inside a concrete, star-banished metropolis.

The boys and the rest of the travellers eating a mongolian meal

The boys and I were sharing our yurt with two American girls, Mellissa and Becca, with whom we had become friendly. That night we got even closer. It was so cold that we all slept with our shoes and coats on and had to huddle together for warmth that, in my experience, never came. The night before we left our apartment, the boys were joking with me about how cold I’d be with no sleeping bag in the grasslands, bragging about what well prepared adventurers they were for having thought ahead and owning camping equipment. The irony was not lost on me, as we lay on cold wood with a mere blanket covering us: not only had the boys both forgotten their sleeping bags, but they also hadn’t brought any warm clothes, in fact, David was at this moment donning my frilly scarf and I could feel Thomas shivering away next to me. This warmed my spirit if not my toes.

After a sleepless night, we arose to watch the sun rise and drink more salted tea. Me: That was an interesting experience but I am NEVER doing that again. Becca: I still can’t feel my toes. David: I slept quite well, actually. Me: I know, I could hear you snoring all night, you….

Our road trip adventure was concluded by another ‘never again.’ We were taken to what appeared to be a Mongolian ghost town: half farm, half tiny village with abandoned, tiny stone and cement houses in long rows and several disgruntled animals scattered about randomly. A horse ride across the plains was included in the price of our tour and so, although none of us really trusted the safety of this option, we didn’t want to miss out on something that we had effectively already paid for. The horses were tiny; in fact, watching the boys wobbling around on top of these under developed beasts was comical in the extreme, especially since we had a boy in our group who was just less than 7ft. The saddles were held on by little more than a thick piece of string and the reigns were way too short. What wasn’t comical was the complete lack of control that any of us had over the horses. The best example of this was when we came to a main road. My horse was at the front of the others and as we approached the road I pulled the reigns to make it stop. This instead prompted the horse to stride purposefully out onto the road, when there was a bus heading straight towards us. In England, if a driver sees a horse on the road, they will slow down, turn the music off and generally be patient with an animal of considerable weight and power. The buses reaction to having fourteen people-baring horses appear in front of it was to speed up, hand on horn: another near fatality and yet another story to tell. After we had cantered precariously back to the farm/village/?, we climbed back into the bus and made our jolly way back to Hohhot. This time I used my new Chinese bus driver buddy to practise my Chinese. Badly.

Back in Hohhot and checked in to a considerably more comfortable hotel, we decided to meet Becca and Mellissa and head out to some bars. All: We won’t drink much tonight, just a few beers and then bed. I’m really tired. Four bottles of vodka and two Chinese night clubs later, we were all wandering aimlessly around Baby box, gambai-ing every suitable looking person we could find (which essentially came down to any Chinese person who had a drink in their hand). Chinese clubs are always an experience. Massively over the top in their décor and pumping a strange combination of cheesy-classics and heavy bass, they make for a really fun night out; especially as we’re usually the only foreigners in there and so for one night, we gain celebrity status. Baby box, however, had its own guest celebrity-enter Chinese lady Gaga followed by a whole crew of photographers and body guards. She walked straight past us, this random Chinese lady dressed as lady gaga, got onto the stage, performed two songs, badly, got down and made her way back through the throng of over excited fans. The whole time, her body guards (there were four of them flanking her on all sides) kept stony expressions behind their dark sunglasses. Oh China!!

A Nomad's guide to Inner Mongolia-part one

Our Inner Mongolian adventure commenced forth at 5am on Saturday October 1st after one hour of sleep and a considerable amount of tequila. For some reason David and I shunned an early night in favour of more hedonistic pursuits, believing that this would make our early flight more tolerable. We whiled the night away on our balcony, watching the dancing lights of Pu dong and talking about stuff that two inebriated Europeans usually talk about-utter bollocks. Some hilarious miracle got us to the airport on time, plonked us firmly in our seats and boom-sleep (for David at least). I am actually somewhat in awe of David’s ability to sleep on demand in almost every situation-he had on average ten naps a day, completely unperturbed by the dodgy smells and potential fatality of his surroundings. Although the flight to the most Northern reaches of China was only two hours from Shanghai, as with most domestic flights they gave us a delicious meal of unidentifiable meat-in-bun and some overly saturated rice, otherwise known as congee, otherwise known as ‘that disgusting rice-type thing’. Thomas was not happy, I know because he told me, several times over several days. The whole journey was taken up with an incredible desire for ping shui (bottled water) but once we arrived at the airport and located a shop, the only drink option was milk-rows and rows of milk. First Inner Mongolian fact- they dig cows.

Me and the boys on Hohohohohhot

Our first day in Hohhot was spent wandering around beautiful markets lining narrow, winding streets. Traditional Mongolian buildings and run down, yet charming houses were adorned by Chinese lanterns and the familiar five star flag that flew for National day. The pertinence of this was not lost but is better left somewhat ignored. We found ourselves in an auction where we managed to buy two massive paintings for the walls of our apartment, which has now been thoroughly Chineseified and looks great. We also went to a temple which was incredibly colourful with many hidden corners and had a five tiered, layered stone pagoda standing proudly in its courtyard. Outside the temple several old men sat around, playing cards on tiny make-shift tables and drinking liquor from small metal flasks. We quickly became an attraction, being a minority far more here than we ever are  in Shanghai. However, unlike the sometimes snooty-tooty, swanky pants air of the Shanghaiese, the Inner Mongolians were polite and simply interested in our strange, exotic selves.  Our first impressions of Inner Mongolia: the smiling, inquisitive faces of the local people-a real mix of Chinese and Mongol- and the traditional meets modernistic aspects of two cultures, once colliding, now co-inhabiting. This mix of culture was reflected in the beautiful buildings and loud, bustling shopping centres; in the drive for excess and consumerism on the busiest shopping street I have ever got lost on and the peaceful temples: the vibrant colours reflecting obvious care in their upkeep. We knew straight away that we were in for a fantastic five days and we were not disappointed.

The temple in Hohhot

The next morning we squashed into a van with eleven other travellers and made our long and bumpy journey through the valley and into the Gobi desert. Once in the desert, we exchanged van for treacherous, hot-wired sand jeep and sped like maniacs across the sand dunes. For an adrenaline junky, China’s considerable ignorance in the face of health and safety means exhilaration in the most unlikely of places-this essentially became the tone of our whole trip.

Thomas, David and I had decided that we didn’t quite fancy a camel ride (I once spent five hours on one in Israel and had had my life’s fill of numb bum) and so we separated from the group and made our way into no-man’s land. Actually, if I’m honest, nowhere in this section of desert could be described as no-man’s land. Aside from the fact that it seemed almost impossible to escape the various entourages of moseying camels, there was only one view that wasn’t marred by China’s fantastic ability to completely shun natural beauty. David: That’s got to be the biggest factory I have ever seen.’ Thomas: ‘Shall we take the picture facing the other way? I can see the cable car in full view.’  Me: ‘We shouldn’t walk too far from the group boys, we might get lost in the desert forever’. Boys: ‘Shut up Sophie.’ Regardless of the interesting juxtaposition between miles and miles of pure white sand and streams of grey-white factory pumped pollution, the experience was great fun. We did eventually find ourselves pretty secluded and able to privately attempt, poorly, to throw ourselves off of sand dunes and to sit and watch the sky turn different shades of red and orange as the sun departed from the day.

After the desert and an even more treacherous jeep journey back to the bus, we headed into the mountains…and got lost…several times. After a five hour journey, a few naps and a constantly rumbling stomach we arrived at the Wudang Zhao temple, the biggest Tibetan temple in Inner Mongolia. We got shown to our room, which we shared with three others and was heated by a small electric fan. The Lamasery in which we slept is two hundred and fifty years old and incredibly basic, yet subtly beautiful and obviously much loved and cared for. The toilets were dangerous-housed in a cement open air building and in complete darkness, the two massive holes that dropped several feet into…imagination needed…were potential traps for the unsure footed; It was breezy, to say the least. Dinner that night was microwavable something that was cooked in a pan of water heated on one of the electric fans-it was not delicious but it was resourceful and welcome after being made to wait until almost midnight. The boys and I decided that we would go and explore the temple prematurely, so, taking a torch, we made our way up the winding steps and around the courtyards of the temple. It was impressive, even in the dark, and the sky above shone with a multitude of stars. It’s amazing how happy a starry sky can make a person who has become used to a sky shrouded constantly by smog. It was breathtakingly beautiful and we stood in the courtyard, heads up to the sky like children hoping to see Santa’s sleigh at Christmas. We finally returned to our beds after having a bit of a dog scare and realising that this midnight exploration may result in a loss of face. The Chinese value face, I value mine.

The next morning we were woken by a Chinese woman’s exclamation: ‘Oh, you’re still asleep.’ And were hurried down to the temple where we ate a breakfast of noodles, handmade in front of us, as we sat under a tree watching the Lama monks get ready for their day. This was made more interesting by their use of smart phones and the stylish donning of designer trainers but, as Thomas reminded me, they must advance with the times. In past days the temple was also a school, and the 2,500 room complex was home to 1,200 residential monks. Today the Lamasery houses a mere sixty, all of whom are salaried. The Wudang Zhao temple is beautiful, the surrounding willow trees (from which it gets its name) are covered with the coloured fabrics of the Tibetan monks-Blue symbolising air, white for water, yellow for earth, red for fire and green for harmony, wisdom and natural surroundings. David: ‘Has it been raining strips of fabric?’ No one: ‘Ha-ha.’ The temple itself is built up the mountain and so there are many small, spiralling staircases cut into the stone and various paths to discover. Additionally, the mountains frame the temple on all four sides and the air was actually breathable!! Wonderful! We spent the morning in the temple and then began our 250km journey to the grasslands. On route we stopped to use the toilet (this had to be done my crawling through a hole in a fence and balancing precariously over a 15ft drop) and to buy as much Chinese liquor as we dared-we were told it was going to be very cold on the grasslands that night. We had no idea how cold very cold could be…

The markets in Hohot