Sleeping problems appear again. The father returned around 1:00 in the morning to give a blessing to his son. I woke up at 4:00 a.m., and I couldn’t get back to sleep since. Around 8:00 in the morning, they got up and the woman began to prepare breakfast. It was the same assortment of things as the day before. When I started to prepare my things, the woman told me to wait a little before leaving. The trip ahead was long and hard, and she was already preparing lunch for me: horse meat, rice, and salad.

We ate at 10:00, and I left around 10:30. I had approximately fifty kilometers ahead of me. Again, the road crossed the steppe, the mountains, and then the steppe again. The mountain pass is twisty and full of road saws and loose stone. It runs entirely parallel to a small river that crosses the mountains

I observe the mountains are covered in snow.

The temperatures are starting to drop, and I rarely cross paths with anyone. In the past few days, I have barely seen people or settlements around the cities or towns. Before reaching Tsagaannuur I pass by Lake Dund, which has snow-capped mountains in the background. Upon arriving at the town, I saw that the city seemed to be fortified. A double fence runs along the entire perimeter with several observation points. Could it be that it was the first city on the border a few years ago?

I enter the city and a guy on a motorcycle intercepts me. When I told him I was looking for the traveler’s hostel he answered that many have stayed with him instead. He invites me to see his house to see if I like it. He offers me to sleep on the floor for 25.000 Tugriks and have dinner for another 20.000 Tugriks. It’s still cheaper than what he cost me yesterday and I don’t think about it too much.

When I ask about the town’s bank, the problem arises.

Banks in small towns do not have ATMs. Recently, I have had more cash expenses than I would have liked. I must withdraw money to pay the exceeded import time fine at the border. The only option he gave me was to go to Ölgiy, about sixty kilometers south-east from there. Supposedly, all on asphalt.

The man hops on the motorcycle with me and we go to the gas station before continuing. Everything goes fine for the first twenty kilometers. The asphalt has some potholes but is it pretty good in general. However, little by little we approach the mountain pass that is covered in snow. Right at the foot of the slope, the asphalt ends.

After four years, they still haven’t paved it.

I start riding up, confident that I can make it. After completing more than half of it, I gave up. The snow covers the entire width of the road. I began to turn around and told my companion to get off to facilitate the maneuvers. With the engine stopped and the gear engaged, I rode a few meters alone until I thought it was safe. I told the man he could get back on and we began the descent.

Unfortunately, a small section has too much ice. I don’t know if it was because of it, or simply because I hit the front brake, but we both ended up on the ground. Luckily, we had no serious physical damage but I saw the right saddlebag had broken. We pick up the saddlebag, stand up the motorcycle and I continue down alone.

We made it back to Tsagaannuur with the saddlebags on our backs.

Once back, it occurred to me that since the saddlebag is reinforced with a sheet of metal, perhaps it can be temporarily repaired. The man asks his brother to bring a drill and we begin the repairs. We made several holes in the sheet metal and leather of the saddlebag and then sewed it with one of the ropes I carried with me. We’ll have to see how long it lasts. For now, it doesn’t seem to be a bad solution. To my amazement, they charge me 15.000 Tugriks for the help.

I can’t remember how the conversation evolved, but the man told me I could pay 150.000 Tugriks with my credit card at the gas station. They would give me 100.000 Tugriks in cash. I would later realize that the difference would be given to him. I began having a bad feeling about the situation.

He then says he can exchange the dollars for me himself.

I was thinking of saving them for Russia. As it was a necessity, I thought I could maybe exchange 20 dollars to get to the 400.000 Tugriks I needed for the border. I felt a little calmer, even though the exchange rate was worse. He wanted 30 Dollars when it should be 20 Dollars. It was not until 8:00 p.m. when the man wanted to make the exchange and, to my surprise, he told me that he did not want to accept ‘folded’ bills.

Mine weren’t marked, just slightly curved from carrying them in my wallet. With this excuse, the exchange rate goes from 30 Dollars to 60 Dollars, which is unacceptable. He told me a story about how the exchange rate in town is different from the one in the city and this, again, is different from the one in the capital. I am also told that only one Bank in Ulaanbaatar redeems notes that are not perfectly flat.

Honestly, it seems like a joke to me.

I would rather prefer to pay 50.000 Tugriks at the gas station than lose 40 Dollars. That is the same the Bank charges me to withdraw 2.000.000 Tugriks, and I will only receive 100.000 Tugriks. We went to the gas station and I saw how those 50.000 Tugriks were given to this man, discounting the gasoline he just poured into his motorcycle.

I can’t help but think everything is a hoax.

We had dinner and I went to sleep at 9:30 p.m. I finally got the money, but I could have broken my motorcycle. I want to leave the country once and for all. It seems that from now on, everything is asphalted. Let’s hope it is like that.

I get up at 7:00 in the morning and start preparing my things. The border doesn’t open until 9:00 a.m. and I can leave safely at 8:00 a.m. I remembered that I had the drone uncharged and I left the batteries plugged in while I continued taking care of the motorcycle. As I finished, this man’s father began to complain and asked me for an additional 10.000 Tugriks to charge the batteries. After breaking the saddlebag, being almost cheated with the Dollar exchange rate, and having given him an extra 50.000 Tugriks to withdraw some cash, I almost lost it.

I decided to get out of there as soon as possible.

I arrived at the border at 8:30 in the morning. It was freezing cold (-7°C) and everything was covered in snow. I got first in line and went to the guard post to fill out the forms. The truck driver who was right in front of the barrier pitied me and let me into his cab until they lifted the barrier.

I entered the building among the first but made the mistake of following one who went to window ‘2’. When I realized I had to show my passport at window ‘1’, there was already a crowd of people waiting. No one respects the line and they even sneak through the door instead of handing the documentation to the agents.

While I waited to throw my passport out the window, Margaux appeared.

A French woman traveling on a motorcycle who speaks some Russian and seems to be receiving instructions from a native person. Margaux had stayed at Ölgiy the night before. She has a 5-day transit visa, but no one had told her this border closed on Sundays. As an added problem, she found ice and snow at the mountain pass and could not continue on her own.

The person she was talking to was someone who stopped to help her and who transported her motorcycle to the border in a truck. I took her passport to save her some time and our long journey at the border began. My passport went through without inconvenience, but hers was blocked because she wasn’t driving the motorcycle. It is no longer considered a vehicle, but rather a transported package.

Therefore, Khairlis also has to present his documents to continue.

Meanwhile, outside the building, we found an officer examining our documentation. They took Margaux inside and the officer explained to me I had to pay a fine. I already knew that, but then he told me I should have notified them six months ago. I explained the decision to return to the country was quite recent but that I contacted customs and even went to the offices in Ulan Bator. No one knew what I should do or they simply did not answer me.

The officer insists I have to pay a fine and I ask several times where I should do so. After an hour had passed since we arrived, the officer sat down to write the sanction. It took him almost 2:30 hours to fill out a dozen pages completely by hand along with the payment order.

To my surprise, the payment has to be made from a Mongolian bank account.

The amount is the same as what Koji had told me through another traveler in the same situation. For a moment I thought about not using cash and transferring directly from my account, even though that would be much more expensive. However, that’s not possible.

In the end, the officer accepts that I pay in cash, but I have to do it through another window that seems to be the one that issues the insurance. The officer sneaked in and placed my order first, but I still had to wait 15 minutes before it was my turn. The insurance company makes the payment, and I give them the cash before returning to the window with the officer.

During the time I was waiting, Margaux was already given the green light and she continued towards the next border with the motorcycle on the van. The officer checks the payment and gives me the stack of papers to sign.

All I have left to do is get my exit from the country stamped!

I get in the line with fewer people and wait for my turn. When I get to the window the officer tells me that if I’m driving a vehicle I must wait in the other line, and I do as instructed. After almost twenty minutes, it was my turn and they told me: “This is the transit line, you should take the other one if you’re driving.”. Yes, the one I have just come from.

That queue is now empty and the officer is gone. I rudely complained to the officers, telling them I had already queued twice and they ended up stamping my passport. With the stamp on, I can move on.

Margaux is about 1 hour ahead.

I had to travel five kilometers to the last Mongolian checkpoint before doing another twenty kilometers in no man’s land. As I drive through this area I see the snow is disappearing. When I arrived at the border I saw Margaux stuck in the line of cars because she still had the motorcycle on the van.

I get first in line, hoping to move faster and then wait for her. Right in front of the barrier, there are two traffic lights and the only one I see turning green is the one for trucks. A few minutes later, Khairlis comes to look for me because he believes that it is more convenient for Margaux to drive through than wait.

If she doesn’t, she may be stuck longer than necessary.

We consider the different options before doing anything. Margaux is afraid of encountering snow on the other side of the border and not being capable of continuing. She has to leave Russia on time before her transit visa expires, and she only has four days left to do so.

We decided that it was worse to waste more time at the border than on the road. While we were taking the motorcycle down with the help of other people, they called me to pass the barrier and begin the border crossing.

Unfortunately, I went in when there was a bus before me.

I didn’t ‘t think much about it and I got in line among the passengers. Everything was ok until it was my turn. They pulled me out of the line because they wanted to control all the passengers on the bus before continuing with the rest. This helped Margaux to catch up with me a little when my bags went through X-rays. I was afraid they would find my drone, but no one said anything and I moved on. When filling out the import paper with crossed-out zeros, they ask me to do it again. I thought it would be easier for them to understand they weren’t capital ‘O’, but they don’t want that format on official documents.

At the same time, Margaux had a different drawback.

When entering Mongolia, they didn’t collect the Russian import and there are no records of her leaving the country previously. She hands over the document, and a few minutes later we are free to continue on our way. After 4 years, I set foot on Russian soil again.

It’s a bit cold, and the weather isn’t that good. Plus, Tashanta is generally very windy. We arrived at Kosh-Agach under a light blizzard and continued under light snow for almost a hundred kilometers. We stopped right at the exit of Kurai to make a decision.

Margaux was shaking.

I was handling it fine until then, but my hands started to get cold a couple of kilometers back. As there was a campsite with cabins about a hundred meters behind us, we decided to turn around, rest, and plan the next steps. We settled in around 5:30 p.m.

At 7 p.m. we had showered and were in the campsite kitchen for dinner. Margaux spent several hours on the phone trying to solve her situation. Among all the messages received, proposals of different kinds arrived: to pay approximately two hundred Euros to hire a tow truck or wait until noon to get a lower rate. In any case, we weren’t sure if the price offered was for both motorcycles or not.

Out of desperation, Margaux contacted Khairlis.

He shouldn’t have left the border much later than us. When we left he was already waiting for his documentation. It turned out that Khairlis had not yet reached Kurai and could respond to the distress call by stopping at the campsite. Margaux has asked him to try to transport the two motorcycles, but how would we get them on the van?

Khairlis arrived around 11:00 p.m. while it was still snowing. After discussing what was the best way for my motorcycle to get on the truck, the camping owner let us use some planks left over from the outside fence to make a ramp.

The first ramp we built wasn’t convincing.

It was made with three planks lined up, not equal, and full of snow and ice. As I slipped wearing my boots, I was sure I wouldn’t make it with the bike. Besides, I had nowhere to put my feet to keep it steady. Given my constant refusal, so as not to repeat the same mistake from yesterday, the owner called her son to get more help.

When he arrived he moved the van elsewhere and assembled a ramp with four planks of approximately six meters long and two reinforcement supports in between. This already looked better and I dared to try it.

Before reaching the first support point, the motorcycle sank.

The reinforcements were very far apart. Out of effort, we managed to get it out and I gave up. The owner’s son decided to go for more slats and assembled two more reinforcements while I assembled a third. After positioning the reinforcements every sixty or seventy centimeters, I tried again.

This time, I was able to put my feet on it. I managed to get the motorcycle onto the van despite the fear of having the wheel slip. Having mine in place, the group considered I should take Margaux’s as well.

It’s almost 1:30 in the morning and it’s still snowing.

In deference to the help provided, and for having already used the shower, we paid for the cabin as if we were going to stay. We put all our bags in the truck and we went to Aktash where Khairlis planned to stay overnight at a friend’s campsite. Driving slowly, we arrived and called it a day around 2:00 in the morning.