I woke up around 7:30 in the morning. The owner didn’t stop by to light the fire for me last night and I had to take the blankets from the next bed because it was quite cold. Since I had already packed my bag the day before and had already poured what was left of gasoline into the bottle, I ate the four cookies I had left. That was my breakfast.

Before leaving, my neighbors called me and invited me to have breakfast with them. They still had much of the food left from the previous noon. They served me a sort of tea that I can’t help but think is dirty water. Around 8:30 in the morning, I farewelled them and continued on my way. According to the map, I should ride thirty-five kilometers before reaching the asphalt.

The first two kilometers were horrible because the road was still bogged down and the grass was very high, which made it more difficult to drive on. Finally, I reached drier grounds and easier-to-travel sections. However, I always seem to end up choosing the worst route because suddenly I find myself standing on a very steep upward slope and not knowing if I’m going to hit the ground again. Fortunately, by repositioning the motorcycle and with my feet on the ground, I managed to top it. Taking a break I realized that there was a better option.

So far, I have only covered sixteen kilometers.

I still have to go down the hill and follow a section that, from afar, seems a bit flooded. Dodging the muddy areas, I reached the asphalt ahead of schedule. In the end, I only had to drive for twenty-five kilometers, and not the thirty-five kilometers I expected. From this point, there are about sixty kilometers of asphalt to my destination. Unfortunately, the first kilometers are of very poor quality.

When I arrived in Jarjorin I went to the hostel I had seen online, but there seemed to be no one there. I then turned to my second option. Along the way, I found a nice hotel and I stopped to ask about the rates. The price for the cheapest room is 100 Euros per night. I considered I should not make that kind of expense and searched for another option.

The second hostel was quite difficult for me to find.

After going around the dirt roads several times, I arrived at Gaya’s guesthouse. I found Gaya, the owner, along with Marcus and Ray, a German and a Canadian who were farewelling each other. After staying for a few days, Ray just bought a motorcycle and was about to leave. I decided to stay in a yurt so I didn’t have to carry my suitcases up and down the stairs. I was sharing it with a Korean who has gone to spend the day at some hot springs that are about one hour away from Kharkhorin.

As it was quite early, I left everything and headed to see the Erdene Zuu Monastery. The temple belongs to the World Heritage and is considered the oldest still active in Mongolia. The buildings aren’t very large, but their walled surface is. The construction was ordered by Abtai Sain Khan, the first ‘Jebtsundamba Khutuktu’, in 1585. By that time, Mongolia declared Tibetan Buddhism as the state religion.

The monastery was damaged in 1688 during one of the many wars between the Dzungars and Khalkha Mongols. In 1939, as part of a purge that obliterated hundreds of monasteries in Mongolia and killed over ten thousand monks, the monastery was destroyed. The temples were converted into museums in 1947 after Joseph Stalin pressured Choibalsan to maintain the monasteries to prove that the communist regime allowed freedom of religion in 1944.

Once inside, it was time to play the tourist card.

When visiting the museum, I remember that some tourist attractions have one ticket for general admission and another for you to take pictures. In this case, it was 10.000 Tugriks to enter and an extra 20,000 Tugriks to use the camera. I visited all the buildings just before the rain started. As I finished my visit and left through the main gate of the wall, I called my father on his birthday. The conversation goes on long enough for me to realize that kids dressed in traditional clothing are starting to emerge from a nearby souvenir shop.

I took the opportunity to take a few pictures of them. They were so joyful they even posed. A guide nearby told me they had traditional clothes of the Kings and Queens of the 12th century. I watched them the whole time and then returned to the hostel to chat with Marcus for a while.

The New Zealanders appeared in the afternoon.

They waited for their motorcycles to be towed, and Marcus spent some time thinking about whether or not to keep one of them. He didn’t have a helmet and the rental company wanted to charge him a deposit of 600 Euros. Around 8:00 p.m. two more people appeared: Alexis, French, and Daniel, Russian.

They invited me to accompany them to dinner somewhere in the city center. I had already bought food, but I accepted the invitation. We walked for half an hour, if not more, before reaching the restaurant. Along the way, Alexis notices that there is an art gallery and we go in to visit it.

Unexpectedly, the owner is also French.

He got emotional and ended up showing us the most emblematic works before we continued. We ended up being the only diners at a different restaurant because our first choice had a private party organized. Since I hadn’t eaten properly for several days, I ordered too much food: some dumplings and Tsuivan. We returned to the hostel and stayed for a while in the common area. The New Zealanders were playing card games and Alexis and Daniel joined them. I went to sleep around midnight.

We all met again at breakfast. Marcus had finally decided to take the bike and one of the helmets the night before. It turns out that one of the New Zealanders decided that he could ride without it. The motorcycles would be transported from Kharkhorin up to twenty kilometers before the delivery point. That person would go without a helmet and as a companion during that stretch. At some point, I think about the helmet as a ‘modern luxury item’ because locals don’t use it at all with their small motorcycles.

Right after breakfast, Gaya takes them to the bus station. I realized that the Korean and another couple who were also staying at the hostel had already left. Alexis, who stayed until a little later today, is also leaving. He, on the other hand, goes on foot or by hitchhiking. There were only three of us in the hostel and we had barely seen Daniel all day.

I chatted for a while with Marcus until it seemed to stop raining.

I went out for a walk around the hill that was right in front of us, and returned around 2:30 p.m. to have lunch with Marcus. After lunch, we took some time for ourselves: Marcus was reading while I was updating my diary. Around 6:30 p.m. new guests appear: Harper and Jonas, from Oregon, and Katzya, from Japan. As Marcus and I were preparing to go out to dinner, we invited them to come with us. We had a pleasant evening that we later extended a little longer at the hostel. The American couple has been traveling for eleven months and Katzya is about to return to Japan after two months out.

All guests had breakfast together the next morning. Daniel says goodbye to us and returns to Ulaanbaatar by bus, and Gaya brings another Japanese man from the bus station. He speaks some Spanish and came to this hotel because the one he was staying in had no hot water, breakfast, or internet.

I farewelled the gang and left the hostel around 11:00 in the morning to Tsetserleg. Along the way I meet Dan and Greg, from Colorado, who are participating in the ‘Monkey Run’. They wanted to go to the hot springs and I asked if I could join them. I was thinking about going or not the previous day, but I had heard Gaya saying the road wasn’t good these days because of the rainy weather.

After a lot of effort, I got stuck in the mud.

Having only done two of twenty-two kilometers, I made the sensible decision not to continue down that path. Furthermore, if I ever arrived at the hot springs I would have to do this route again over swampy terrain to get back to the road the next day. In the end, they continue and I don’t.

I had to make the way back alone and I made it without incident. It is nice to see that after the storm we had the days before, the sun shines today. However, all the accumulated water won’t dry up in a single day. When I reached the asphalt I met two other participants, some Australians, who were going to meet the rest at the hot springs. I gave them some information about the terrain conditions and let them continue.

I followed the road for about twenty-five kilometers until I reached Tsetserleg and saw that everything that seemed to be a hotel was very expensive. The ones I visited had European prices (70 Euros/night). I see on the map a yurt camp ahead and I continue. Unfortunately, they seem to be closed since the season is over, but the last review on Google dates back 5 years. However, clothes are hanging but no one seems to be there at the moment.

I decide to continue to the next town or settlement.

Right after the camping, I come across ten kilometers of road under construction. With great patience and care, I topped the hill while avoiding the potholes. How these are made is a mystery to me, but sometimes they seem done on purpose. The road is like Swiss cheese. Luckily, the rain caught me after reaching the asphalt again.

I end up arriving in Zaankhushuu just as it stops raining. In the background, towards the border, it isn’t. I see a yurt settlement, but, again, no one seems to be there. A bit farther, near the village entrance, there is a building that, according to MapsMe, is a hostel. I park the motorcycle and confirm with someone they have shared rooms.

It’s 50.000 Tugriks a night, without breakfast or internet. I call it a day at 5:30 p.m. and I hope to be able to do more kilometers tomorrow and find a place that has internet for a reasonable price. Still, eleven hundred kilometers left to the border.