Archives 2010

Dear Friends, Family, Fellow Travelers, and Random Readers,

Merry Christmas from Beijing, China!

We’re thrilled to be celebrating Christmas from the Middle Kingdom this year. Its a different experience than Christmas back home. For starters, Santa is only featured in a few select Western shopping centers, and his presence isn’t really felt in Beijing. There are no lights on the houses, or little Christmas trees or candles in our neighbor’s windows. Christmas carols are not heard in shops or homes. There are no sales on egg nog. There is no egg nog.

Despite all this, Beijing is in a festive mood. The weather has changed and its suddenly freezing (literally). Hou Hai Lake already has its first firm layer of ice, and people will be skating on it soon. The wildlife (what little there was in the city) has receded into nooks and crannies, and people walk around with scarves pulled up to their eyes and hats pulled down to their noses. I imagine they are all smiling under their winter wear and wishing me Merry Christmas with their desperate, freezing eyes.

There are some holiday events going on in Beijing this year, but mostly they are centered around food and wine, and have little to do with the actual holiday. Luckily for us, family will be visiting our little hutong home and bringing the holiday spirit with them. We have a mini Christmas tree that we’ll be stringing up popcorn on, and we’ve purchased a copy of It’s a Wonderful Life. We’re making our own Christmas fun this year!

The Chinese don’t celebrate the New Year on the 1st. Chinese New Year is coming up (Feb 3rd) and everything will be festive and lively then. It is the single most exciting and celebrated holiday in Asia (and thus, on the planet probably). Fireworks explode from everywhere for several days on end. Two years ago in Shanghai, there were so many fireworks people were throwing them out high-rise windows and one bounced off our taxi, skidding to a stop outside the window and exploded with a shower over the entire car. Its something you can only understand by experiencing, and we’re looking forward to it with fire extinguishers at the ready.

For now, we’re signing off for the remainder of 2010 and wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! We’ll resume updating Abandon the Cube with the dawn of the new year. All our best wishes to you and yours and a happy start to 2011!

Sincerely,

Abandon the Cube

We recently did a visa run. As with many people who live in China, we have to leave the country every 60 or 90 days to reactivate our 1-year visas. We recently decided to try the Beijing-Erlian visa run rather than the traditional Beijing to Hong Kong run. Here are a few details on how to make your visa run a quick success:

1) There are loads of buses that go to Erlian, you can leave from any one of the stations, and it is easy to call ahead of time if you speak even a little Chinese to ensure the buses leave on your scheduled day. Here are the Beijing Long Distance Bus Options.Or, a few other options on how to get to Mongolia.

2) Once you arrive (and if you take the bus you’ll arrive at 3 or 4:00am) you may need to stay at a hotel for a few hours until the border opens. It opens at 8:00am. If you arrive at the bus station you can easily find a driver to take you to a local hotel. Bargain, but you should be able to get the ride and the hotel for under $12 USD. Prices should be in Chinese. The hotels are not great, ours was heated by a stove and had wooden beds and a squat hallway toilet, but we only stayed a few hours and it was much-needed rest after 11 hours on a sleeper bus.

3) Crossing the border takes patience. You have to get a cab to the gate. Make sure they use the meter, as they’ll try to charge triple what the meter would have. The cab drops you off at the border, then you have to negotiate with a jeep driver to take you across the no-man’s-land to the actual Chinese immigration building. No walking allowed!

4) You use the same jeep to get all the way to the Mongolian immigration side and then through that to the first town across the Mongolian border. Your jeep should cost about 50RMB or less. We negotiated hard and paid only 30RMB, but we also went all out and even included one of the Chinese border guards, who was extremely helpful.

5) If you want, you can easily get your jeep driver to drop you off at the city square, otherwise you can simply turn around without leaving the Mongolian border zone and negotiate with a new jeep driver to take you back to the Chinese side. Getting back to the Chinese side is cheaper and easier as most Jeep drivers have limited loads.

6) Once back in Erlian, you can take a cab from the bus station in Erliain to Beijing for around 200RMB a person. The bus is 200RMB as well, so if you want to save some time, the cab ride is 7 hours while the bus ride is a grueling 11. I prefer the bus as its a sleeper unit so you can relax, sleep and even read.

7) Your visa will need to be registered once you get back to China. Good luck!

We recently signed a one year lease on a local hutong home called a ping’an. A hutong is a cultural community of homes in the traditional style, single-level and with minimal amenities. We decided that if we were going to live in China we should experience life like a local, and thus we moved into a hutong.

Our first impressions are complex. We find that nearly everything in the ping’an is broken. The landlord assures us these will be fixed or replaced soon. We’re not bothered by this as we expect things to take more time in the hutongs.

Second, we find the Chinese style bathroom to be something we expect will take some time to get used to. The bathroom is a tiled room about the size of a closet. It has a sink, western toilet and ceramic mop bucket under the sink. The sink has no pipe, but drains free-fall into the ceramic bucket underneath which then drains into a hole in the floor. The shower is simple a showerhead on the wall, with no doors or compartment. This means that whenever you shower the entire bathroom gets soaking wet. A drain in the middle of the floor empties the shower water. Since the whole room is the shower, you can’t store anything in the bathroom, and even putting the toilet paper somewhere dry has become impossible. We’re trying to come up with a smart method to deal with this style bathroom. My idea—a wooden sauna floor so the water drains under it yet you and walk in without getting your shoes wet and tracking water throughout the house. The temporary solution—slippers for the bathroom only that you put on anytime you go in. We’ll come up with something to make this workable and enjoyable!

Living in the hutong means living in close, close proximity to a lot of people. Although we haven’t formally met our neighbors, everyone knows foreigners live here. Case and point, when I came home from the teahouse this morning where I do my internet stuff, the police were at the ping’an telling me my neighbors reported that I had failed to register as a foreigner living there. (You have 24 hours to register with the police as a foreigner living or staying in China, I had about 3 hours left on this clock when the police arrived). They were extremely polite and I told them I’d register that day, which I did. However, I think its amusing that so many people already know we are here and keep an eye on us. This can be a good thing, once we prove we are not here to be loud, annoying or disrespectful. Also, the lady who reported us was 90 something years old, and you know how old ladies need drama!

The last thing I’ll mention as an initial observation is the amount of noise you hear in the hutongs. First, animal noises. I like all of these, including the pigeons, the cats and dogs people have as pets that run around the alleys, and even the sounds of some creature at night making a nest somewhere on the roof. Being close to nature, even minimally like this, is much nicer than the total lack of wildlife in the apartment complexes. The human noise in the hutong is extreme. People on bikes go up and down the alleys throughout the day yelling things like “mechanic available!” or “trash collection!” or “handyman!” or “housecleaning service!” I think this is great, but since it is all day long, I wonder if several months from now I’ll still find it quaint and fun. Several times a day a group of old men and women walk by and I hear bits and pieces of local gossip. If my Chinese was better, this would be really cool. I hope it improves so I can eavesdrop more efficiently. They play go and Chinese checkers outside the house sitting on little stools and gossiping, which is, so far, my favorite part of the neighborhood life.

As many of you know, we were recently evicted from our apartment in Beijing. This stellar nightmare had a surprisingly happy ending when we recently signed a one-year lease on a hutong ping’an in Beijing. The misery of finding a new apartment in Beijing in the middle of the freezing winter time was hard enough, but looking for a specific thing while freezing makes it hard to stay focused. After a week and a half of searching for apartments I finally found exactly what I wanted—a hutong building.

The apartment has a living room, master bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, dining room and extra guest bedroom and an office. In short, it is the biggest place I’ve ever rented. Additionally, it is in a hutong (a traditional-style courtyard village, where the entire community is in a 1sq kilometer block). One hutong home is called a ping’an. Since the communities expanded and grew, and more people moved in, they went from being the traditional courtyard surrounded by three large buildings, to a scattering of smaller homes and apartments at ground level, usually with a maze of alleys and passageways to smaller homes. Most hutong homes don’t have a bathroom, so public bathrooms are located around the hutong alleys. Ours has a bathroom.

I was so happy when I walked in and saw the ping’an that I knew it was where I wanted to live for the next month. A German fellow and his Chinese girlfriend were living there and the place was trashed! I mean, it was the most trashed home I’d ever seen. Piles of dirt and trash were strewn everywhere, clothes were piled on everything, furniture was piled on top of furniture and one whole room was stacked to the ceiling with unused appliances, furniture, trash and clothing. I had no idea how big some of the rooms were because of all the stuff! Nevertheless, the location was so great (near a bus stop, in a cultural hutong with great access to local pubs, cafes and shops) that I didn’t care about the mess. I made an offer on the spot.

The following day the landlord agreed to my offer (via an agent) and I paid a half month agent fee and watched the landlord pay the other half, everything was upfront. The landlord arrived and we started examining the mess. She said if anything was broken to let her know and she’d fix it. I later found via testing everything that almost all appliances were kaput! As of yet, the landlord hasn’t returned to fix anything, but she assures us she will next week. I have no reason to doubt that.

We signed a lease and paid three months rent and one month deposit. We then learned that we would be paying about another 1,000RMB a month in heating as the heating system was antiquated and the ping’an inefficiently insulated. We were so happy about the home we didn’t care. We spent the next three days cleaning out the mess, and even had a cleaning crew come in to help. After the cleaning crew left the mess was more manageable. It will take quite a while to get the place up to where we want it, but with a bit of paint and decorations the ping’an will be amazing. We’re so happy with the new place, despite the heating costs and multitude of broken appliances, that we just can’t wait to have it totally ready and get settled in!

Pictures will be forthcoming once we get the basics dealt with and figure out where to put everything.

First, a little background information on rental practices in China: In general, you sign a lease and pay your rent whenever you move in. No one waits for the first of the month to move. We signed our lease on a three-bedroom apartment in Dongchang district on the 21st of September, for example. You pay your rent in China by giving one month deposit and three months rent up front. You pay your rent every three months, essentially. Our lease was unique in that is stipulated two months deposit, two months rent.

We had a hard time finding a three-bedroom apartment for us and our roommates. Once we finally did, our agent charged us over half a month rent for a finder fee. We later learned that the landlord paid the realty company a months rent, and we should not have paid a fee at all. The agent (named Sam) pocketed the money. We later learned that he was in cahoots with an agent at the company listing the apartment, a girl named Lina. (This all comes into play later!) The company listing the apartment, should you wish to avoid it, was 5i5j, one of China’s largest realty companies.

On the 15th of November, right before our rent was due for the second time, we were alerted that we were being evicted because the landlord had sold the apartment to a new owner who did not wish to rent it out. They told us we needed to be out by the end of the week. In a total panic (my parents were visiting from abroad and everyone was extremely busy) we consulted the lease and learned we had to be given ten days notice. We countered with this information and they begrudgingly accepted. They had tried to pull a fast one on us, hoping we wouldn’t be able to read the lease that was all in Chinese.

Our contact with the rental company was a 30+ year old local named Lina (aforementioned). She spoke some English, which is why they probably assigned her to us. She admitted that we did get ten days, and told us they would be free, we didn’t need to pay for them. We had until the end of the month to be gone. This was all confirmed in English and Chinese, in multiple expressions so as to erase the issue of it possibly being a misunderstanding.

It turned out Lina was telling us a series of lies to get us to do what she wanted, without any concern about the effect her lies would have on us and on her coworkers. Here’s how the misery of the eviction played out:

Lina lied about the ten days being free and the landlord showed up to collect the ten days rent, prorated. Since we asked repeatedly for this deal in writing and Lina refused, we had no evidence to support our claim.

Lina lied again when she told us all the furniture we purchased for the apartment would be bought by the landlord. When the landlord arrived she knew nothing about this arrangement. We lost all the money we spent on furniture, and had to leave it all behind because there was nowhere to move it. This was Lina’s second lie, and although we had text messages from Lina proving she promised this, the company and the landlord refused to agree.

Lina promised to find us a new apartment for free as part of the deal when breaking a lease with a client. This turned out to be a total scam run by Lina and her friend Sam. Lina showed us apartments that were so vile or so far out of our price range that she knew ahead of time we would reject them. Meanwhile, her accomplice (Sam, aforementioned) would show us nice ones in our price range. Her friend then tried to charge us a large finder’s fee, which he would split with Lina. She would make money on finding us an apartment, money being her ultimate goal here.

I confronted Lina about these many lies and immoral practices and she turned bright red and refused to answer me. She showed up at our apartment the following day with two large gentlemen from the company and told us we had to be out of the apartment that night! It was around 5pm when she arrived with her ‘henchmen’ to evict us on the spot. We told her to get lost, and told the people with her about the many lies she had told us. She denied it all, and a series of yelling spats ensued. Eventually they left in a huff, but nearly as angry as we were. We were dealing with a greedy monster of a woman who was lying to everyone she encountered. Our poor roommate, this being their first time in China, were suffering through a horrible first impression of life in China.

The following day was the 30th, and we were informed that they would come to inspect for damages and return our deposit at 10:00am. They were over an hour late, and once they did arrive we learned they had only brought half the money they owed us for the eviction (our deposit plus two months rent for breaking the lease). The landlord arrived, more agents arrived, and the new owners arrived and began measuring the walls for their furniture. There were around ten people in the house, all together, as the madness unfolded.

We informed them that Lina told us we could stay for ten days for free. The landlord was shocked and refused on the spot. Lina didn’t arrive and her coworkers refused to honor any of her promises, despite any evidence we provided. We explained to them the massive series of lies we were told and that we were extremely unhappy about the whole affair. What happened next was shocking. They refused to give us the money until we signed a form saying we were leaving. We signed, and then they informed us they only had half the money we were owed and that we could collect the rest at their office at the end of the week. One of our roommates began to get furious and explained that he would literally not leave the premises until the money was delivered. I explained that our trust was betrayed and we were extremely hurt by the whole process. The agent we were dealing with apologized for Lina’s many lies but said they couldn’t honor any of them. He agreed to get us the money within the day, and the roommate would stay in the apartment until I called to say the money was in hand. The situation had deteriorated so much that we were literally leaving a human being in the apartment for our security until we had the money. If we left, they would have no reason to honor their promise to deliver the rest of the money they owed us. Since everything they had told us so far proved a lie, we didn’t actually know if we would get the money.

Later that day I went to the company headquarters and had no problem getting the money, at which point I called and the roommate left the apartment. Our standoff having ended with us on the losing end in every respect. However, everyone I met at the company headquarters apologized for Lina’s behavior and one of the men pulled us aside and said, quote: “she does not respect herself and she does not represent the company, or myself.’ He was deeply ashamed of what had happened to us because of Lina, and he gave us his business card and said that if we ever had a problem in Beijing to call on him and he would help. He really wanted us to know that not all Chinese are like Lina and that he would help us with whatever problems we faced, as a friend. This was such a moving display that we totally forgot about Lina’s selfish methodology and greedy approach to life, and were instantly brightened by this gentleman’s offer of assistance.

The whole event was so horrific and spread out over half a month that one of the roommates decided to leave China altogether, having tired of what he saw as a place where he wasn’t welcome. I don’t blame him one bit! It was a horrible first experience in China! He claims that in all the places he has travelled, China is the only place where he has had such trouble and felt so unwelcomed, and why spend one moment of your life in a place where people don’t want you. He is now on his way to south-east Asia and the land of smiles. Mike and I decided to stay in China, and we’re sure we’ll find many, many more people like the gentleman who offered his help, than people like Lina. Good riddance to her, the only good side to this whole affair is that we’ll never have to interact with her again.

The Long Way Round

We recently watched the series Long Way Round, where Charlie Boorman and Ewan McGregor ride their BMWs from London to New York– the long way around. They cover some 19,000 miles in around 3 months. This show was of interest to us because we recently completed the 2010 Mongol Rally, a charity ride from London to Ulaan Bataar, Mongolia. Ewan and Charlie did a strikingly similar route though much of the same territory, stopping at many of the same sites.

Charlie and Ewan set up an office in London several months prior to their departure and hired a small staff to help plan their route, get the necessary paperwork, consult with them on border crossings, and many more activities, like writing and disseminating sponsorship proposals and calling companies for donations. These were all activities we undertook for the Mongol Rally, and oh how nice it would have been to have an office and a support crew to do so!

To train them before the ride, they hired a personal trainer. We did sit-ups in the basement. To prepare themselves for harsh border crossings they hired an ex-military safety guru to teach them basic evasion, combat training, weapons use and how to best deal with a hostage situation. We watched Steven Segal movies. To prepare for any unforeseen medical problems, a doctor was brought on board. We had several boxes of band-aids and a suitcase of pepto. To learn Russian prior to departure they hired a Russian area consultant, a visa advisor and a language coach. We got an language book off Amazon and read the history of Russia. To fund the trip, they had a room full of women sending out proposals and a celebrity actor pleading for kit. We had a proposal we made ourselves and sent to everyone we could think of– and they promptly laughed in our faces. Needless to say, we’re jealous of their support crew.

They rode a nearly identical route from London to the Ukraine as we did, passing through the Czech Republic just as we did, and stopping at the Church of Bones, which we routed ourselves out of the way to see. Along the way they had various monuments and tours cleared for themselves and the support and video crews, and his two-van support team went ahead at most border crossings and at major sites to arrange visits, viewings and make for easy passage. A lot of what they saw would not have been possible without the support crews, and yet without Ewan on the team it wouldn’t have been a TV series at all.

The show itself is inspiring and lively, and gets me eager for our next self-guided adventure travel or rally. Its hard to watch a show like this one that makes travel look so dangerous, difficult and unattainable without a whole crew behind you and then realize that with a bit of real-world thinking and prior experience you could undertake the same trip as they did, and I’m sure people have.

diss I’m not trying to the Ewan-Charlie team, as I think they have something special and love what they are doing. I just think it is sad that it takes a celebrity on a team to get publicity for it. A lot of great travelers are doing equally amazing trips and because they arn’t A-listed stars they don’t get sponsorship, recognition or free gear, and the trips don’t get publicized so that most people think travel is this dangerous and relatively pointless activity.

Abandon the Cube has undergone changes…for the better we hope. Be the first to check it out! We’re excited about the changes we’ve made and can’t wait for you to browse around the new stuff!

As I said, we added a few new pages– the foremost of which is a page of Top Ten lists about various adventure and travel categories ranging from travel foods and gear to the greatest travel adventurers and most intense adventure rally events. Let us know what you think of the Top Ten page, and if you want to add any lists or suggest list ideas, simply contact us with your ideas.

We also expanded the Events aspect of Abandon the Cube to cover more of the activities ATC participates in, from the Mongol Rally to Habitat for Humanity and teaching English abroad. Its a work in progress but we’re hoping the pages do well and attract a bit of interest. With any luck, we’ll be partnering with some English teaching programs soon to bring you the best information on traveling abroad to teach.

But wait, that’s not all! The website changes are ongoing and comprehensive. We continually update the Most Influential Adventurers page. We’ve added a few more female adventures, an area we were sorely representing previously. Suggest someone for the list by contacting us or leaving a comment be low. We’d be happy to know who you consider the world’s greatest adventurers.

As always, the resources page can help you decide if you want to abandon your cube, how to go about it and a few other odds and ends to help you ATC. We think this is a great place to expand, and we’re always looking for new travel resources and tools to add to this page. If you have suggestions for us, don’t be a strange!– Let us know your thoughts.

Finally, we have a few more destination pages coming soon! We’re excited about uploading new destination pages for the countries we visited while on the 2010 Mongol Rally. Check back soon!

Happy exploring, and let us know what you think of the changes!

We’ve been looking all over for a place to buy a ferret. Yeah, I know what you are thinking, why buy a pet when you will just have to leave in a few years and possibly leave it behind. The quarentine process for brinign animals from China to the USA can’t be easy, and besides, ferrets are just glorified rats. Here’s my retort, sirs:

Ferrets are adorable, they do a warrior dance to signal when they want to play or fight that involves rolling around upside down and tossing their bodies side to side. If all warriors did that dance there would be no war… only massive laughing sessions followed by treks to the closest bar.

We looked at other animals as well. In 2006 we owned a rabbit in Beijing, but it quickly died. It was either sick when we purchased it from the street corner salesman who was also selling fish and toilet bowl cleaner, or he died as a result of running around or soon-to-be-condemmed apartment. He died so quickly after we got him that Mike seems to think it was his fault. I’ll go on record saying it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it did mean that this time around we didn’t want to try our luck again with a Beijing bunny.

Cats are the best option, in my opinion, but Mike is allergic. Lame. And although I’d love a dog, how could I possibly part with that or give it away whenever I left Beijing? Ideally, the most generic and cliche animals are actually the best because they interact with humans on a high level and when guests come over they are not terrified, a they might be if a ferret ran by unannounced.

To check out our options, we went to the Beijing Guanyuan Market – The Fish, Bird and Insect Market. Obviously insects and fish were out of the question (boring, loud, boring, ugly, etc…), which left birds. I’d be happy to get a bird actually, but one that flies around and is interactive, not one of the irritating and loud ones that is scared of humans. I had a cockatiel in middle school that would fly around and land on people’s heads and eat seeds out of your mouth. I miss him, his name was Fido.

Anyways, fish and bugs were out, and the birds were mostly tiny and overcrowded, with 10-20 birds in a tiny cage meant for one animal. We also saw cats, kittens mostly, in tiny cages meant for rabbits and rabbits in cages meant for rats and so on. Only the ferrets had large cages, and they wanted over $500  USD for one ferret. We really wanted to get one, but we didn’t want to party with $500 to do so. To get to the market if you happen to be in Beijing, take the subway to Fuchengmen (line 2), take exit B and head North, the market is on the right (East) hand side of the road, just inside the Second Ring Road. It is in an old hutong, so you can walk around the maze and find food, rabbits, insects, more food, and clothing.  A nice but not appetizing combo.

A lot of people are interested in how much money our website makes, how we acquired so much content for the blog, and how we created the various destination and other pages on the website. It is, actually, one of the most common questions we get about Abandon the Cube. We had a lot of learning to do once we decided to start our own website. We were not interested in making money on ATC at first. That was a natural progression once our pages started to earn rank and increase in readership. We didn’t figure out the entire process in on our own. Luckily, we had friends!

Several years ago, not long after we started Abandon the Cube, we met a couple who work very hard and have had an impressive career in digital marketing. They started their own company called Moomu Media, a digital marketing company aimed at helping people increase their website page rank through SEO, PPC, keyword-rich content and analytics tracking. They have a proven track record that speaks for itself.

If you are curious about how to increase your page rank, make your website profitable or simply expand your readership, contact MooMu Media and tell them ATC sent you. Check out their success stories and contact them via email: sales@moomumedia.com if you are interested in a consultation for your website.

Since it was my birthday week we got to do a lot of really fun stuff. After all, you only turn 27 once! Mike decided to take me to the Beijing zoo to celebrate. With the new apartment I was hoping to get a cat but one of the room mates is allergic, so a trip to the zoo to see the giant cats there was a consolation.

In 2006 our visit to the zoo ultimately resulted in one of our friends yelling at a local child for tossing his empty coke bottle into the lion cage and yelling at the other animals. We were shocked at how people treated the caged animals, yelling, throwing things, banging on the glass and generally just being annoying and rude to the animals and other human visitors to the zoo. Now, 2010, things were a bit different. You still had the occasional asshole, but those are everywhere I suppose. At Como Park Zoo in Minnesota I saw a fourteen year old boy throw a hot dog into the monkey cage. So it goes.

A few memorable events happened while we were at the zoo. First, the boy throwing his coke bottle into the lion cage (lion helpfully pictured here). The lion jumped up and began to limp around the periphery of the cage. His front, right paw is seriously injured, you can see him holding it awkwardly in the picture. We watched for a while, but it looked like a recent injury. Hopefully they have resolved it by now!

The second event was when we were attacked by the Golden Monkey. The cage, to preface, is shaped like a giant metal mushroom. You can walk under the mushroom close to the ‘stem’ and look up and see the Golden Monkey flying around in his cage from branch to branch. I was looking up at three monkeys clinging to the sides of the mushroom cage when suddenly the male monkey became aware of our presence and jumped from where he was perched, falling around 12 -14 feet until he landed directly above our heads on the cage roof. He snarled and scared the hell out both of us! He rattled the cage and showed his teeth and even pounded on the grating. He was really angry! We backed up (honestly, we practically fell over backwards he terrified us so much) and a moment later the monkey was back on the wall, acting like nothing happened. Naturally, we moved back under the overhang area and watched. A minute later he noticed us standing there and free-fell from even higher, landing right above our heads and rattling the cage and making off monkey yelling noises. It was like Planet of the Apes!

Mike pretended to get mad at the monkey, yelling at it “Don’t you scare my girlfriend on her birthday, evil monkey!” it only takes about five seconds for a million Chinese people to gather whenever a commotion is detected. Mike’s fake taunting of the evil money quickly drew a crowd…. a very large crowd. The evil monkey climbed back up in the cage and ignored everyone, making Mike look like an evil spectator and the monkey like the innocent victim. This was one evil monkey we were dealing with, here. We shuffled away eventually, when it became obvious the monkey had one that round. Don’t worry, we’ll go back to the zoo again soon and see who wins round two!

After the zoo we went over to a friend’s apartment for taco night. They were friendly enough to invite us over and one of the room mates at our friend’s place even produced an extremely large birthday cake! They hit the lights and came out singing Happy Birthday. We played cards and chatted about old times, these friends having lived in beijing since 2006. All in all, and despite Evil Monkey, it was a great birthday!

Since we finally had an apartment we were free to start looking for jobs. We set about looking in the obvious places for expats living abroad, craigslist, the Beijinger, CityWeekend and other Beijing-specific websites with classified ads. In Shanghai in 2008 I found my job on Craigslist, proving that even legitimate,professional companies post on the plebeian forums. We began to stalk the classifieds in search of employment.

Harry, our British room mate, worked at a reputable English-teaching company across town. Andrew found one-on-one teaching gigs to fill his wallet. Mike and Lauren wanted to avoid teaching English if at all possible, having already experienced the joy of teaching in Beijing we were eager to try something new and also add a new skill set on the ol’ resume. They began to search for jobs in their desired fields, holding out for a decent paying opportunity. Lauren went to four interviews and turned down four jobs due to low pay or immoral practices. One job doing marketing for an online sales company was in the final phases of negotiating the contract when Lauren learned that the goods sold online were counterfeits being peddled as legitimate, she turned down a position paying $3,000 a month. Eventually, both found positions they could enjoy for a short time while refilling their bank accounts and learning new skills.

Teaching English in China is fairly simple and extremely straight forward. Most companies are seeking people who have a bachelors degree, though they will make exceptions. They are looking for native English speakers, though again, they make exceptions and are sometimes seeking Spanish, German and French native speakers. A TOFEL is not required, but it is helpful and in higher paying companies (like Wallstreet, Berlitz and EnglishFirst) it is a huge bargaining chip. You can find more information on our resources page about TOFEL programs.

To read how to apartment hunt in Beijing, check out our previous post on the issue!

Having decided to stay in Beijing for a while, we set bout organizing ourselves to look for an apartment. We were determined to stay in the central area of Beijing, right in the middle of the expat community. Sanlitun is a great area, near the shopping, bars, restaurants and other expats. It is a great area to live about 10 minutes from, which is where we started looking. We wanted a traditional, small-town Chinese community with a courtyard and trees. We also wanted to be near the subway and have access to fresh air and sunlight (meaning, high up in an apartment). With such in mind, we got online and started looking for apartments. It turned out that apartment hunting in Beijing was a different beast than the relatively easy process in Shanghai.

First, we combed the online site listings, which revealed a more expensive bracket of apartments than we really needed. We discovered that Andrew, the Oklahoma boy from the Mongol Rally, was also staying in Beijing for a while, so we joined forces to find an apartment for three, and then, when another friend at the hostel joined the group, we started looking for four-person apartments. This dramatically decreased our options since the one-child policy means most apartments have only two bedrooms and, if lucky, an office room.

Nevertheless, we decided to meet with a man renting his apartment online. We showed up only to discover it was actually a crooked realtor who was planning on charging one months rent in commission to show the apartment for his ‘friend.’ We waited until the realtor left and told the actual owner we’d take the apartment, he declined unless we paid a fee to the realtor, which we declined to do. After several more days of looking we found a two bedroom with an office in our price range. A different, semi-crooked realtor only wanted half a months rent for commission. Thing got convoluted quickly when the actual owner failed to materialize and in her place came a small army of men and women in suits claiming to represent her. Despite the annoyance of dealing with two different sets of middle men, we decided to get the apartment. It was in a great location with a decent interior and furniture, and room for 4 people, albeit barely. This picture is from our balcony, and shows a bit of the infamous Beijing pollution.

Note: If you are looking for an apartment in Beijing, your best bet is to check the Beijinger and CityWeekend online and in print, and beware that most postings are by crooked realtors looking to take a higher commission rate off foreigners. You can also go through a local real estate company. First, you find the area you want to live in and then walk around and look for a real estate office. There is one on every major road or in most residential areas. Often, there will be an office just for a specific building or complex, and you can cut out come commission costs by going directly to the one you want.

Next time: Job Hunting in Beijing, China!

Arriving as we did in the middle of the night we had an epic sense of adventure attached to our return to China. Adding to that feeling was the fact that several ralliers were to be in the city for the next week. We got in touch with them, though they were eager to see the sights (Great Wall of China, Forbidden City and the obvious tourist stuff). We met up and went shopping with Justin, from Seattle, and two American boys from Oklahoma named Cody and Andrew. Chris, the Irishman that was a member of our Mongolian convoy, was also in town. We met and shopped, ate and generally explored New Beijing. We moved into the same hostel so we could occupy our evenings in the hostel dining hall playing jenga and smoking apple-flwvored hookahs.

Much has changed in China’s capital city since we last lived here in 2006. The Olympics, which we visited in 2008, were a huge factor. But general improvements around the city have made Beijing the figurative and literal capital. We lived in Haidian, a north-western fringe area where the universities are. We taught English at a private company there and lived in a tiny apartment that cost less than 2000RMB a month for the company to maintain. In winter, there was no heat and no air in summer. We had a pet rabbit. This time we were staying in the eastern-central area of Beijing, right in the center of the expat community. We were looking for an apartment in this area, where prices have risen around 2000 per apartment since 2006. Food, living costs, entertainment costs all went up, but an exploration of the Beijing expat job market revealed that salaries haven’t really done likewise.

More importantly, the changes were positive, obvious and refreshing. The streets are much cleaner and there is even a street-sweeping machine that goes down the main roads daily. The trash is picked up daily, and efficiently. Shopping centers are more organized, isles are wider and the people pushing carts down them are polite and smiling. The general dislike of foreigners seems to have abated. Likewise, most foreigners we saw in the first few days in Beijing were fluent in Chinese. In 2006 a fluent foreigner was an extremely rare thing. Now, 4 years later, an incompetent foreigner with a Beijing zip code is more rare.

We spent the week hitting Beijing’s highlights, souvenir shopping with the ralliers, and enjoying our relaxing post-rally down time. Having been in a cramped, tiny, dusty car for the past month, it was a relaxing change of pace.

Come back soon to read about apartment and job hunting in Beijing, as well as the trials and tribulations of dealing with a corrupt realtor.

The euphoria at being back in a land where we could speak the language, knew the customs and food, and already felt comfortable was beyond description. We sat, discussing our options, until the wee hours of the morning. A friend had agreed to let us stay with him until we decided what we were going to do. We took him up on his offer and moved into his living room.

Walking around Beijing was like returning home after a long trip. We’ve spent time in China, in our adult lives we’ve probably spent more time in China than in America, and the comfort of knowing where things are, how to get things done, and how to be comfortable were almost irresistible. The original plan was to visit friends in Beijing and Shanghai and then head to South-East Asia and eventually make it to Thailand where we’d learn a new country and a new way of life. Yet now, in Beijing, we were so eager to stay. Mike wanted to learn Chinese, to become fluent in a language he’d been learning off and on for a few years. Lauren wanted to refill her bank account with a little work, and spend some time in one place. They had been on the road for over a year and a half, having left their apartment in Shanghai on May Day, 2009. It was now mid September, 2010 and the first time they were asking where they should go.

We checked into a hostel a few days later so as not to bother our working friend by living on his couch. We took a few interviews, saw a few apartments and generally got the low down on what had changed in Beijing since we lived there in 2006. The answer– a lot! Prices were much higher, apartments were harder to find and costed around 2000RMB more a month. Salaries were lower, strangely, and yet food prices were sky rocketing.

We decided we’d like to stay for a while. Should we?– I don’t know. But we talked about it and both decided that Chinese was important to us, as was taking a break in our travels for a little while. We’d make it to South-East Asia soon enough, and in the meantime, we could wait out the winter and maybe even the spring and summer, here in Beijing, China. It is easy to get a job teaching English, and to enroll in a Chinese language school. Finding jobs in Beijing is also fairly straight forward.

Tune in again to learn how to get an apartment in China’s capital city.

With the 2010 Mongol Rally behind us, we found ourselves sitting at a restaurant in Ulaan Bataar, Mongolia, wondering where we should go. Should we head to Thailand, which was the original plan? Or should we hop on a train to China and see where the road takes us? It was hard to say, but after being on the road for a year and a half the idea of getting an apartment and relaxing in one spot for a while seemed more than enticing. It was just such a big decision that we decided to hop across the border and see how we felt.

We had previously met two American brothers, also on the rally, who were planning on heading down to Beijing. Likewise, the Irishman from our convoy was headed that direction and we had heard that several other teams had members heading towards China’s capital. It seemed like the place to be. We walked to the UB train station and discovered one cannot book a train ticket in advance. The American boys handed us some cash and we agreed to buy the tickets the next morning.

In the morning, we discovered you needed a passport to book your tickets, so we booked ours and gave the American’s their cash back. We hopped on the train that afternoon and settled into our crowded alley-way bunks. The Trans-Siberian train was not as impressive as one would think. The bunks were tiny, crowded and the luggage compartments were overflowing. You have to pay for sheets, and the entire train smelled of mold and dust. Despite this, it was great to be back on a locomotive and chugging along at a slow, relaxed pace. I didn’t even miss having the Saxo!

The train reached the small border town the following morning and we jumped off with our luggage and easily caught a bus across the border for a few dollars. Customs and immigration were a bit of a joke on the Mongolian side. The woman barely looked up when she stamped me out of the country along with several other people who had stuffed their passports threw her glass window at the same time. The Chinese customs and immigration were a bit trickier. I was held for a few minutes because the guards said I looked nothing like the photo in the passport. I told them all white people look alike, but they did’t laugh. Apparently I look different now than I did in 2002, and after living in a tiny car for 40 days, its no wonder I didn’t match my image. Eventually they let me through, but our bus had not waited and we were left stranded at the border crossing with our luggage, a mile or two from town.

We set off walking into town thinking it wasn’t a great start to possibly staying in China. But, just as I was grumbling about being left by our Mongolian bus driver, a Chinese driver in a van pulled over and picked us up and drove us to the train station for free. They were friendly and chatted with us the whole way. It was such a good feeling to be able to communicate again, having been useless in Mongolia on the communication front. They were so incredably friendly that they even invited us to their homes, which we declined in favor of catching the night bus to Beijing… but not before we had a breakfast beer at a Chinese chain restaurant we have always enjoyed in the past. Mike’s first epic Breakfast Beer picture in China!

Sleeper buses seem to be specific to Asia. Essentially, everyone gets a bunk-bed sleeper compartment and the top-heavy bus rolls down the street swaying from side to side. It seems dangerous and unsteady, but if you want to sleep over the 12 hour drive it is worth the small upgrade. Our sleeper bus deposited us in the middle of Beijing at 3:00am on a Friday. We walked sleepily to a 24 hour McDonald’s to talk about our options. Where should we go from here?

Tune in next time to find out what we decided…. or if we decided!

Having finished the official aspects of the rally our convoy of nine set about enjoying the lovely city of Ulaan Bataar, which ralliers refer to as UB. While on our previous visit in 2007 to Mongolia we thought UB was a dust-covered wasteland that looked more like a Russian prison camp than a city. By 2010 the city had taken on new charm and was decorated in bright, flashing lights and paved sidewalks, with only the occasional dust storm. Buildings being demolished in 2007 had made way for newer, safer looking structures and even a 5 star hotel. We were impressed with the upgrades.

The convoy, having enjoyed its finish line party until late, was led by yours truly to the only hotel that would accept nine drunk ralliers at 3:00am without a deposit, the Miami Hotel. This was conveniently located near the finish line bar, so a parade of dirty ralliers stumbled from the bar to the Miami, singing and cheering their own accomplishments on the rally. We settled into the hotel and, in the morning, discovered it wasn’t a hotel but a brothel. I talked with the reception personal in a mix of Russian and Chinese to discover they didn’t particularly want us shutting down business, which our presence apparently was. We packed up that morning and spent a few hours wandering around with our luggage looking for a hotel. None were to be had, UB was booked. We returned to the brothel for another evening and, despite their looks of dismay, the 90 year old receptionist allowed us our previous rooms.

After securing accommodation for the night we set about securing food for our desperately hungry bellies. A Chinese restaurant around the corner had peaked our interest, so we spent a few hours gorging ourselves until even the Irish were unable to eat another bite. We shopped, dined and then, heading back to Miami, we got ready to hit the town for an epic Saturday evening.

We returned to the Finish Line party to meet more ralliers who were streaming into the city daily. We ran into some of the same teams we’d been bumping into across the steppe. An ambulance we thought had died 200 miles back appeared in the parking lot that evening, with all of the occupants alive and well– a surprise to many of us. One lad did injure himself trying to do fire walking while drunk, but aside from that their injuries were only psychological. It was a great sense of finality and completion to be at the Finish line while other teams came in, to hear their amazing stories and to see their dust-covered faces and starved stomaches as they smiles from ear-to-ear and cheered their arrival at the finish line.

We went to the car auction downtown to see what became of our donated rally cars. We discovered that the cars are auctioned in ‘as-is’ status to the highest bidder in a public arena. Pictures of the cars and their basic facts are put on a powerpoint slide and displayed to a throng of bidders. Most cars were selling for anywhere between $1,000 USD – $1,500 USD, despite the fact that most cars were also in a dire state of disarray. We learned that cars are one of Mongolia’s chief imports and sell for much higher than they would in the US or Europe. We don’t know, yet, what our little Citroen Saxo sold for, or if it was sold at all. Some cars apparently become the property of the owners of the various drop-off points. We found this out by visiting several of the drop-offs and seeing cars from the ’08 and ’09 rallies sitting, stripped of parts, in the parking areas. It was sad to see some rally cars cast off like that, knowing the epic adventures people went through to get them to Mongolia.

We spent the next several days shopping for gifts for family and supporting sponsors, as well as taking pictures, enjoying our last days as a convoy family, and preparing to head in our own separate directions. It was sad when the first of our group had to depart, the convoy felt broken and at a loss. It was hardest to say goodbye to the Norwegians who had so heroically saved several teams from demise by allowing them (and all their gear) to be loaded into the Fiat and carried to UB, despite the fact that they risked not finishing at all by carrying so much weight in their car for everyone else. We’ll miss Aslan and Bear! It was also hard to say goodbye to the two Irish. One from the north, and opinionated like a radio talk show host, the other from the south and as vocal and witty as a salesman. It was rough leaving the Aussie giant as well, who had grown close to Mike and developed a great giant-chiwawa relationship. Slowly, the convoy drifted in different directions towards Europe while Mike and I drifted towards China and Bill caught a flight back to the USA.

The Citroen Saxo was literally breaking in half. Our previous day’s welding was only a band aid on the larger fact that the frame was splitting in half, right down the middle. We had already removed all excess weight, and were riding with the three lightest people in our car, Mike, Lauren and Chris– a man from Southern Ireland who had a pension for story telling.

All of us expected a hard ride ahead, but after the welding at the last drop off point, we were riding in high spirits and having a blast. Chris jumped on the roof of our Citroen and rode, zip-tied to the roof, for over an hour. Watching the sunset behind us as we raced for the finish line, it was a highlight of the entire trip. 9 people in high spirits with the future ahead and trials an tribulations already behind us. Even if the cars exploded and died on the spot our mood couldn’t be ruined. Watching the sun set, with our cars weaving in and out of the light, our roofs covered in screaming and ecstatic ralliers, we were euphoric. We had less than 500 miles to go, and 200 of those miles would be on hard pavement, we learned. We were almost home free!

As the roads worsened (and we had heard roomers that they got worse before they got better) we noticed new sounds emanating from the Citroen. We took out even more weight, and only Chris and Mike were left in the car. Lauren rode with the Norwegians, Bill with the Aussie in his Suzuki Swift. What happened next was as unfortunate, but still proved interesting. Somehow, driving through the night, the Norwegian car got separated from the group. I was in that car, and we reached the pavement around 2:00am. we looked around, eager to celebrate the end of the bumpy roads, but the other two cars were long gone. We didn’t know if they were ahead of us or behind. After taking a vote, we decided to wait on the edge of the pavement until morning. I didn’t sleep at all, and at first light I was flagging down cars with messages scribbled on bits of trash. I asked each driver to take a note to the cars if they saw them ahead. The notes just had our location and the time. I showed the drivers pictures of the missing cars on my camera and then waved them off. By mid-morning a Chinese driver told me he’d seen two red cars broken down about 50 miles ahead of us on the pavement. We all jumped in the car and were ready to pull out when, from behind us, the Suziki Swift pulled up and Bill and the Aussie jumped out. They reported that the Citroen Saxo, the fearless ATC car, was finally dead. It had died during the night sometime, the engine having seized, the oil and gas filters both filled with dust and sand. It wouldn’t even turn over. It was scrap metal, they reported. Mike and Chris were back with the Citroen trying to get a tow from a passing trucker. Meanwhile, and to double the trouble, the Swift had a leak in the gas can. I jumped in the Swift to translate (in case they spoke Chinese) and we rushed to the next drop-off town some half hour down the road. The Norwegians went back for the ATCs dead car.

With the Swift, we had the gas tank patched and called the Adventurists’ contact in the city to report that the ATC car was on its way. The contact arrived, a lovely vegetarian, Christian lady– a double oddity in Mongolia. The Swift headed back to pick up the Norwegians and the dead ATC car. Meanwhile, she took pity on me, as I was pitiful, and took me to her vegetarian restaurant. She made me lunch and I ate with her and her family. She then dropped me in free room at her upstairs hotel. I napped for four hours. When I woke up she made me tea and talked to me about becoming a vegetarian. To be honest, it was surreal. Finally, as dusk was approaching, I heard the three cars pull up and my 8 team mates jumped out and we began to rip the ATC car apart. We sold a lot of the interior goods to the vegetarian and her husband. The rest we had to trash. We put four in the Swift and 5 in the Norwegian Fiat (some on the roof). That night was the last party for the finish line and it had long been a goal of ours to make the party. The Norwegians put their foot to the floor and we were bumping along behind the Swift as fast as possible.

It was midnight before we reached Ulaan Bataar. We saw it in the distance, an orange glow in the sky up ahead, and cheered. In the Swift, Phil the Aussie, Mike, Chris the Irish and I were all choking on the horrible smell from Chris’ shoes. It was so vile that Phil eventually slammed on the breaks, in sight of the city and the finish line goal, and threatened to toss the shoes. He even pledged his last beer to wash them out, anything to kill the smell. I’ll admit, it was rank. But with the city so close, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was hilarious to watch Phil stomp around as he got Chris’ shoes and tied them to the roof, before peeling out and re-joining traffic.

In town, we were all euphoric about finally reaching our goal. Bill crawled on the roof of the Norwegian’s car and, not surprisingly, they were pulled over by the Mongolian police and warned. The Swift didn’t wait to see the punishment. Chris was driving and he took that moment to admit he didn’t have a driver’s license and the car wasn’t registered to him! We panicked. The odds of not getting pulled over for a bribe or minor offense were extremely low. Nevertheless, we forged ahead looking for the finish line. Bill crawled back on the roof of the car and was pulled over yet again, this time within sight of the finish line. The cops were not as friendly this time, they took Aslan, the Norwegian driver, and kept his passport, setting a disciplinary meeting for the next morning.

We jumped across the finish line to see only one other team sitting around. They reported that the finish line party was over. There was no one around but the cops who had arrested Aslan, which put a sour taste in our mouths since we were, after all, here to donate a ton of money and cars. We walked around town for a while, eventually returning to the bar near the finish line. We met up with a few other teams around 2:00am and had a nice time celebrating our finish.

Looking around at the other cars in the finish line holding pen, we were happy to see friend’s cars from along the route, including the Face Race team and Mongol Schumachers, both of whom we caravanned with for the first half of the rally. It was like seeing an old friend to see their cars there.

43 days on the road, 10,000+ miles and we had finally made it to the finish line. Sure, some of us were arrested, one of our cars didn’t make it, one passport was missing and we had no where to go for the night, but we were happy and excited to have made it across 1/3 of the globe by land.

Next– ATC spends a week in Ulaan Bataar… why?

After leaving the Aussie mining camp we hit the road hard, trying to make up time and cover ground since we’d been relaxing for two days at the camp. We were nearly spoiled by the warm showers, hot food and great entertainment on the mining compound, and it was a sad moment piling back into the dirty cars and hitting the road. That night, we made it quite far and shockingly without incident. We even found a decent hotel to stay in, only our second hotel for the entire trip. Since our tent was ruined and still dripping wet from the rain storm two days ago, we were out of other options. The hotel was nice enough, and a friendly Mongolian lady helped translate for us and dinned on eggs and potatoes with our caravan.

The next morning we found the mechanic’s shop– a small garage on the outskirts of town, and had them set about welding our back end. Since we had too much weight in the car over unstable and bumpy roads, the frame in the back of the car literally split in two. The tires were rubbing on the wheel wells, and the back right tire had already worn through the gas line. The mechanics took the entire day welding in a bar across the trunk, separating and pushing back the two sides of the car and playing a round of darts between each act. We had literally run the thing into breaking in half. They patched the gas line and we were ready to roll. Unfortunately, it was already late evening by the time we got away from the mechanics. The rest of the caravan had waited patiently the entire day. Now we had a problem. Our car couldn’t support the weight it was carrying. We dumped everything we owned on the ground and began selling things to anyone who walked by. the tires fetched $25. Our expensive tent got us a return of about $15. Food, games, books, clothing, supplies, car parts– everything was dumped in the trash or sold. We put the remainder, our three personal bags, in the back of the Norwegian’s car, and we put three lighter weight people in the Citroen Saxo to keep the weight down even more. We were still riding low and it was only a matter of time before the gas line was rubbed raw again.

It was going to be a rough trip to the capital, this we could already see. The caravan was patient with our pathetic situation, and Aslan the Norwegian even offered to carry the people if we could all go through our supplies and leave what wasn’t necessary. They tossed stuff from their car, selling the spare battery, the sound system, all unnecessary food, etc. They were serious about keeping everyone safe. Once you get a challenge in a Norwegian’s head, it’s as good as achieved. They were determined to get us all to the finish line.

While the mechanics were ignoring/working on our car, the caravan filled the hours by shopping for traditional Mongolian dress, which most of us bought (our team excluded since we were broke after the car repairs). Everyone looked dashing in their Mongolian garb. We set off down the road only to encounter a massive hill crossing right out of the gates. The car made it to the top before the gear linkage popped out again.

Come back one more time to see if we make it to Ulaan Bataar! In the next episode– the end of the rally!

This is the story of how a lone Aussie walking around in an un-named ger village in the middle of the Mongolian steppe managed to save our rag-tag convoy of international ralliers. For this to make sense, you may have to read the previous post, The Surprise Recovery of the ATC Saxo, which outlines how our car was nearly dead when suddenly another team’s Fiat died and was towed by the Red Cross to a small ger camp.

We arrived in the camp only to discover that the afore-promised two truck was out of commission. The camp’s only shop was charging over $4 a soda, and the food was so inflated in cost that there was little we could afford. We were all eager to get out of town as soon as was possible, and stood about negotiating with various locals to secure tow for our fallen Fiat Diablo and their Norwegian owners. Suddenly, Al the Canadian walked over with wild stories about having met an Aussie miner. Chappy, he had been called, had invited us all to dine, shower and sleep at the mining camp a short distance off. We all smiled from ear to ear but as Al was a prankster, the smiles faded as soon as the realization that he must be joking set in. He laughed and waved over a strange messiah of a character with a long flowing grey beard and the kindest blue eyes. He was wearing denim and a yellow rain jacket that would have fit in perfectly on the docks of any major port. He looked tired and yet welcoming, worn and yet incredibly alive. Chappy shook our hands and told us to follow him. Meanwhile, he had the Diablo towed to the mining camp’s garage for safe keeping.

We followed Chappy around several small hills and into a ravine. I began to doubt we were going anywhere but on a wild goose chase when suddenly a small, walled-in camp emerged in the distance. A parking lot with white rock spaces rested out front with a chain-link fence surrounding about 20-25 gers. Two buildings stood at the southern end, with roughly ten shipping containers in various positions acting as different storage, living and bathing compartments. We were welcomed by Chappy and some of the other English-speaking workers at the camp. The head of safety and regulations was a Mongolian lady with perfect English who showed me, the only woman in our convoy, to the lady’s bathroom. The bathroom was a shipping container with a wooden door that led to two shower stalls and a small bathroom with a sink. She claimed there was constant hot water, a statement that nearly made me hug her. She next led me to a the wooden buildings at the southern center of the compound which revealed a game room complete with pool table, ping-pong, darts and work-out equipment and a game table for chess or cards and a small library and computer room for internet. The adjoining room was divided by shipping container walls but housed a small kitchen with state-of-the-art facilities and tables to seat over 100. Here I was introduced to a Mongolian woman who was married to an American diplomat (stationed overseas at present). She immediately took an interest in us and made sure we had everything we could ever need. She led us to an unoccupied ger where several workers were bringing in extra beds and covering them in blankets and pillows. Their kindness was overwhelming and we all melted into a sensation of comfort and glee.

I jumped in the shower so fast I nearly left the shampoo in the ger. It was indeed hot water, and the first I had encountered since arriving in Mongolia six days prior. I was ecstatic, and stayed in the shower for twenty minutes until the water ran clear and all of the dust and soot was out of my hair. Afterwards, I met the rest of the convoy in the dining room and gorged myself on expertly cooked Mongolian cuisine and juice. The first home-cooked meal in Mongolia and the first non-packaged food in a long while. We met and chatted with several Westerners who were at the mining camp doing reporting, analysis and safety checks. They did not seem as happy about the hot showers and amazing food as we were, but everyone’s spirits in the camp rose when they saw how happy they were making us all, and how appreciative we all were.

The next morning, after sleeping in a bed for the first time in a long while, we arose to a full breakfast and a day of waiting in the camp’s game room while the Norwegians tended to their car. We all believed it was dead, but by dinner time they emerged with news that an entire team of mining engineers had the day off and had decided to help rebuild engine and come up with a solution. They had, essentially, fixed the Diablo for free and used their expert advise to mend a broken fuel pump. We ate dinner with the miners and Chappy’s whole crew before setting out nearly at dusk for the next town on the road.

Chappy made us aware that not only had we taken a series of wrong turns to get where we were, but that he could get us back on track with one minor correction. We were appreciative of his advice, and the whole crew took pictures with our tiny convoy before setting out.

THANK YOU CHAPPY, and THANK YOU TO THE LEIGHTON CONTRACTORS and Mongolian support teams!

Coming next: Find out if the ATC team’s Citroen Saxo makes it to Ulaan Bataar

We pulled out of Khovd behind schedule and a bit fearful of our Citroen Saxo’s ability to make it all the way to UlaanBataar. The gear linkage continued to pop out roughly every 50k. We would all jump out, jack up the car, and Bill would do his magic under the machine while Mike and I repacked the car and got ready to toss the jack in the trunk. We could fix the issue and be mobile again within five minutes. Despite this, the fear was ever-present that one of these times it would not be as simple a fix as a duct-tape band around the linkage. We held a short team meeting and decided to forge ahead. We were now convoying with two other cars. A Suzuki Swift with an Aussie and a Irish guy, and a Fiet Diablo with a Norwegian duo in it carrying a hitch-hiking Irish and a waylaid Canadian. Together, we set off towards the next check point, with everyone involved fully aware that our little Citroen Saxo might not make it.

That first day we made it roughly 100 miles, traveling for roughly seven hours. We didn’t stop until well into the night. At one point the road disappeared and our three cars could be seen from a distance, I’m sure, bobbing around on the Steppe going nowhere in particular. Since we couldn’t see the road, we decided to stop. The Norwegians took off to scout out the road, telling the other cars not to turn off their lights. Naturally, once they were out of range we hit the lights and watched them drive around in circles across the Steppe for a few moments before taking pity on them. We set up a campfire, set up our tents and cooked a massive joint meal of ramen and Norwegian military ration packs. That night it rained, and it became apparent to Mike and I that our trusty tent was no longer water proof. Rivers of water ran down the interior of the tent and the bottom, far from being water proof, was now a swimming pool holding our sleeping bags. We jumped out as soon as the rain let down and slept restlessly in the car.

If we thought things would get easier from this point on we were sorely mistaken. In the morning, we packed up our soaking wet belongings and hit the non-existant road. We eventually found the path we needed through the hills and saw a road up ahead in the distance. As with all things in Mongolia, our roof rack began to wear and tear and less then an hour after departing it slid off the roof. We spent an hour jerry-rigging the rack, ripping apart the useless bits and duct-taping the entire newly constructed frame to the car. Thanks to the Norwegians, we had a few extra zip ties to secure it. We set off, leaving a pile of broken roof rack bits in the grass. About ten minutes later, the gear linkage popped again.

Despite all the problems with our car, what happened next was the biggest surprise of the day. I was riding in the front seat of the Fiat Diablo with Aslan, the Norwegian warrior. He was in the midsts of telling me that the only thing that could disable his beast of a car was a computer error. We jumped up on the road that we had all seen in the distance and within five meters of riding on smooth asphalt the Fiet went dead. Aslan was as calm as when the Vikings invaded the New World, and jumped out of the car to assess the damage. Five hours later, there was nothing to be done. The engine was jerry-rigged in much the same fashion as our roof rack, with wires and plugs duct tapped around pipes and hoses. It looked like modern art, and it worked…. for a while. Eventually the Fiat needed a tow, and a friendly Red Cross volunteer showed up with a Jeep just in time to town the Fiat to the top of the hill where a small collection of gers stood around a tiny shop. There was literally nothing else in sight for miles. The Red Cross worker spoke some English and explained that she could secure a tow truck tot take the Fiat to Ulaan Bataar, meanwhile the Norwegians donated their tool kit to the Jeep driver for the tow. It slowly became obvious to us that the tow truck could not materialize for days and the cost was skyrocketing the more people got involved. It wasn’t looking good for the trusty Fiat. Just when we were all discussing how to move forward without abandoning any of our convy, the Canadian walked over the hill with a bearded Aussie in tow to save the day.

Coming next– How an Aussie in the Mongolian Outback Saved the Rally for our Norwegian Heroes

Despite the horrible past few days, we were determined to enjoy Mongolia as much as possible and to return to having fun on the rally. We drove carefully along the Mongolian roads, which cannot be fairly called roads at all, but are more like a suggested path through the Steppe. Often the road would end at a giant bolder and we’d go around it, or up a giant hill we’d have to make it up in first gear. The roads were mud or gravel, but not cement. We edged the car along doing 20 mph on a good stretch. Suddenly we were aware that we wouldn’t be making the final party on Saturday the 4th. There was no way on roads like this! That night we pulled into the first town, Ogli, by 6:00pm. We didn’t feel like stopping yet, but at the same time we needed a shower, a real meal, and if we drove on we could lose the main road and get lost on the Steppe in the dark. Since there are no road signs, you are pretty much guessing when you come to a fork in the dirt road.

We found a small ger camp with advertised hot showers for $10 a ger. We confirmed the price with the lady in the office after hearing it from a tourists who had been living in the ger for a few days. We threw our stuff in the ger, put the car in an ancient garage behind back, and set off looking for food. We found a Turkish restaurant other ralliers had recommended, and dined on lamb and salads with fanta. Not bad for the middle of nowhere. Back in the ger, we settled in and I took a shower. It was, perhaps, the coldest shower I’ve ever been in. It had slivers of ice in the water, which only came out of the spout but not the shower head so that you had to bend down and stick your head covered in shampoo under the tap of ice water. I was shivering profusely when I got back in the ger and climbed under all the blankets. I couldn’t stop shaking for over an hour. We hung out, Mike and Bill had a beer while I stayed warm, the shivers subsiding. Around 10:30 there was a knock at the door and two young women came in and demanded money. We asked what for, bored already by the game they were trying to play.

They wanted $10 a person for the ger. We were rightly outraged. We even had it written on a piece of paper that it was $10 a ger. After the past two days, this was too much. The two tiny girls tried to throw us out of the ger, but we were, obviously, too big to be thrown. They called their boss, who refused to listen and said he had lots of expenses and needed the money. I told him the shower was ice water, and unusable, and the ger was not insulated. He didn’t care or listen but demanded we pay the girls or leave. He hung up on us. We didn’t budge. After over an hour, we agreed to pay $5 a person or else. The boss man agreed, but not after a huge scene with the girls. I paid them, but wouldn’t let my hand go of the bill until the other girl brought exact change. They were furious, but also, you don’t’ barge into someone’s room late at night demanding they pay. What kind of hospitality or businesses sense is that? We were already sick of Mongolia, and we’d only been in the country three days. We fell asleep and in the morning got started around 10:00am since our car was blocked in by other rally team cars. We drove off, hoping to make it to the next town that night.

The next town was Khovd. Outside of town we saw a poster for a ger camp that was catering to ralliers. This could go either way, but we wanted to see who was there. Inside the ger camp we found five teams having dinner and talking about camping outside of town for free but using the warm gers now. Seemed sensible. We drove out of town to set up, but on the way met a team of 2 Norwegians who had picked up a stray Canadian and lost Irishman. They were towing a broken-down car with a giant Aussie and a disgruntled Irishman in it. They asked if we had room to carry one of them, but with our car weight already exceeding the max and nowhere for the person to sit, we had to decline. They were dropping off the Aussie’s car at the drop-off point (only one in each major town sponsored by the rally) and were then going back to the ger camps. We followed them there and had a great night getting to know the boys and hearing about their broken car. In the morning, we agreed to set off together in convoy after picking up a few more tires.

That morning proved the biggest scare of the trip for our team. The Saxo refused to go into first or second gear! The gear linkages had been falling out intermittently, but this was a first. We took it to a shop where it was magically fixed and we put on a new tire. Other teams were swapping tires at the drop-off point and after a few hours we were all ready to roll together. It would be nice to be in convoy again.

It wasn’t that late when the army arrived. Five men in camouflage must have heard the guards were being treated like kings and wanted a piece of the action. They had large rifles over their shoulders, fingers on the hilt. They did not look amused. To entertain the guards and make the holding pen bearable teams had purchased vodka. The army guards rounded up all the bottles and put them in the trunk of a car and told the ralliers not to drink. They turned off the music and said we needed to keep it quiet. A little drunk already, the ralliers thought they could charm the army guards the same way they thought they were charming the border guards. One of the army men pulled his rifle in front of him, cocked the weapon and leveled it at a young British kid in a purple scarf. The kid’s eyes widened but he didn’t move of yell. He just stared straight ahead with his hands in his pockets. I was out of my tent and standing near the boy in the scarf. The guard eventually lowered his rifle, and the kid nearly crumbled to the ground, he was in shock, I think. In the background I saw another army guard with his rifle pressed against a rallier’s back, bending him over the hood of a van. Everyone was silent, mouths agape. The man pushed his gun hard into the rallier’s back one more time then they withdrew and told the ralliers to be silent.

After they left a new emotion settled on the group. It wasn’t anger this time, but pure defiance. Someone turned back on the music and someone else got out the vodka. After a while of drinking a third person had the bright idea to drag race the cars across the holding pen. They lined up several cars. I was in my tent reading again and heard the idea as it was shouted out. Knowing no one was sober enough to drive out there, I got out of my tent. I didn’t want to be run over and wrapped up in tent fabric. I jumped out, video-camera in hand, and filmed the cars reaching the end line. Next came e-brake contests trying to spin the cars. They came dangerously close to the tents, people sleeping inside. Next came the idea to race the ambulances. They were lined up and reeving their engines. Some moron turned on the sirens and as they cleared a bigger race area the army guards reappeared. This time, I couldn’t really blame them. Ralliers were drunk and drag racing ON government property after being warned to be quiet. I turned on the video-camera and caught the guards harassing ralliers, pushing them with their weapons and then, stealing everyone’s cameras. They didn’t get mine as I snuck back in my tent and filmed through the tent fabric.

In the morning, I marched into the border guard office and demanded to use a phone to call the American embassy. I wanted out of this situation. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine how last night could have gotten out of hand if the ralliers had thought it a good idea to fight back against the guards, or if the guards had lost it, or god forbid, if someone had brought a local girl back to the holding pen or something. I wanted out right now, and I wanted the American embassy to know what was going on to file a complaint against the Mongolian government. I demanded a phone (politely at first). They turned white, shook a little and took me to a phone. Since it was long distance, they said I couldn’t call and tried hard to keep me off the phone. I knew there was a phone in town at the post office. I turned on my heel to go call from there but I heard in the background the guard picking up the phone and very quickly issuing a new command. At the post office, to no shock at all, we found the door bolted. Locals around the post office said it was strange and should be opened. Obviously they had called ahead to have it closed. The post office clerk was probably watching us through the peep hole. A sympathetic local pointed to the top of a nearby hill. ‘Emergency phone’ she said. It was a good 2 hour hike up the hill, and yesterday when ralliers had tried to fly a kite on the hill they had been held in a separate room and questioned for a while. We couldn’t reach that phone without being seen. No cell phone reception in the valley so we were literally stuck and back to square one. I went back and told the guards I’d be reporting them in UlaanBataar. They promised we would all get out that day, Saturday, as the place would be closed Sunday and they didn’t want to babysit us another night.

It was not surprising when they cleared every car in the pen by 5:00pm. We were out at 3:30pm, having been forced to pay yet another bribe. $10 USD directly into the guards pocked that everyone was kissing up to the night before. I’m glad we didn’t participate in the sucking up process. I took a picture of the head guard stuffing money into his pockets, and we sped off down the road.

We had been held for two days, no food or water provided, no heat or comfort, no explanation, no phones or way to contact anyone, and no help from the guards or the Adventurists. Everyone came out of the holding pen speeding. A small booth selling insurance demanded everyone pay, our car stuck out middle fingers and didn’t slow down. No more bribes from us, that’s final! We pushed the car as fast as it would go on the gravel road out of town. We rounded the second bend and came to a screeching halt. The Belfast boys car was ahead of us in the ditch. Before the car had halted we were running down into the ditch. The boys were not there, the van was totaled and the windshield broken. Glass was everywhere, but half the insides of the van were gone. All of their bags, everything. They had left maybe 2 hours ahead of us. There was no blood inside the car. We packed up as much of their stuff as we could gather and fit in our trunk then set off towards UlaanBataar, hoping we’d find news along the way of the Belfast boys and return some of their stuff. We slowed down our car and drove carefully again.

What a harrowing two days, the worst of the rally. The Adventurists did not help us at all, what was the registration fee for? They had one job, one job in the entire rally and that was to make sure we imported the cars legally and quickly and they had failed. As a result, guns were pulled the night before on what could have been a horrible incident, and today the Belfast boys had crashed, probably doing just what we had done- sped out of the holding pen. It was unacceptable, and the Adventurists would be hearing about everyone’s anger and the danger they had put us in. Already one rallier had died, and they could have easily had several more deaths at the border and right outside it because no one cared that we were being held there, treated like animals, and robbed.

From the previous post you learned we had trouble getting through the various windows to get through Mongolian customs and border control. In fact, they were holding us (and about 20 other teams) in a cement and metal pen off to the side of the compound. We walked around asking what was going on and the other ralliers in the pen were livid and dripping with anger. The anger was raw and bubbling to the surface the longer the ralliers were held there. Everyone was lying to them and keeping them against their will in an inhumane pen, when all they wanted to do was get to UlaanBataar to donate their car and the money they had raised for charity. It was a classic case of doing good and being punished for it, they felt. I walked around talking to various teams for several hours. The consensus was that we were not getting out any time soon and that there was nothing to do but wait since we had literally no idea, as a group, what the problem was. Some teams had already called the Adventurists and reported that the adventurists had to pay a $900.00 fee per car to import them legally into Mongolia. The Adventurists said their bank account was not sufficient to pay for all of the cars at once, and indeed could only pay for a handful of cars each day. Another team heard a similar story but that they were drawing the money out of an account that had a withdraw limit per day, thus only a few cars a day could go through. The border guards refused to let the ralliers go on good faith, assuming the Adventurists would pay eventually. Meanwhile, the Adventurists distrusted the guards and refused to pay for teams that had not yet arrived since they thought the guards would keep the money and hold the ralliers. It was a catch 22. Apparently the Adventurists thought this arrangement was acceptable. The ralliers being held in a cement pen disagreed.

The first day, we arrived in the pen around 11:00am and once we figured out we’d be there a while we set up our tents to get out of the harsh summer sun. At night, we were told, it would drop to well below zero. Mike did not have a sleeping pad, so we dumped all of our clothes on the floor of the tent to make a bed to keep him off the cement. I ripped the back seat out of the car as my sleeping pad. We set up, expecting a freeze that night but sweating profusely during the hot daytime hours. Card games were played in the shade of the cars and another team had a poker game going. Someone had a guitar, and music was played until his fingers were sore, then the Belfast boys put on their Ipod and aimed the speakers at the compound.

We learned that we could leave but the cars couldn’t. Technically, then, they were not holding us against our will. We left the car in the holding pen and walked into the small border town. Not surprisingly, the locals took their cue from the guards and tried to rip us off. They charged triple the actual cost for anything we needed, knowing we were being held in the pen and needed food and water. Teams paid ridiculous prices for sustenance. I was too stubborn, so Mike and I cooked on our tniy stove in the holding pen and ate ramen.

That night, it did get cold, but not as cold as the previous night. The border guards came into the holding pen and several ralliers fell into their palms like sheep. They were obviously looking for hand-outs in exchange for supposed favor in the morning’s car pick (remember, only so many cars can go through a day). Ralliers fell over themselves sucking up to the guards, and put them in the limited camp chairs, stuffed American cigarettes in their mouths and poured them shots of good vodka. Mike and I didn’t participate, knowing they would leave and laugh and not give any favor in the morning to anyone who had given them money or gifts tonight. It was sick to watch the people who were the angriest and meanest in the pen, now sweetly talking to the guards and handing them coloring books for their children. At one point, the guards offered to bring in several Mongolian women if the ralliers were bored. Did I mention I was one of only two women in the holding pen? I was sickened by the whole show and went into my tent to read.

We waited in line with the Belfast Boys who had arrived at the Mongolian border before us until 9:00am. As the gates were ready to open, a local came up and told us we needed to move our cars out of the front of the line, go back 300 yards down the road, and register our passports with the authorities in the unmarked building down the way. We ignored them, since they had been trying to edge their cars around ours in line all night. Then, when a guard came up with the same instructions, we nearly lost it. “Why didn’t you tell us this at 5:00am, when we arrived?!” We soon found out why. The registration office opened at 9:00am, the gates opened at 9:00am, so no one in line had registered but the catch was Mongolians didn’t need to, nor did the Russians—so we were the only ones in line still jumping through hoops. We ran to the office then sat outside waiting until it officially ticked 9:01am. We quickly registered, jumped in the cars and… the guards motioned the Mongolians behind us through first. This wasn’t going to be an easy day, we could tell already.

We ended up through the gates by 10:00am. The Russians checked our passports, again the guards did not think the childish and somewhat chubby face on Mike’s passport picture was actually him—the dirty, bearded, thin man standing before them. It didn’t help that he was exhausted and looked older than he was. Eventually they let him through, but not after calling over every guard in the establishment to weigh in on their opinion. Bill and Lauren made it through easily and waited in the car while the Russians searched through the trunk. The head man was on site that morning, so the guards did a great job of looking without touching or taking, which made it the easiest Russian border crossing yet. Thanks, boss man!

We started driving through no-man’s land. This is usually a 1-3k empty area, a demilitarized zone agreed to by both parties. This no-man’s land was much more. We drove for ten minutes through barren hills covered and re-covered in barbed wire. The roads were the only passable part of the area so that nothing could drive across except on the roads. Guards (from which country, we don’t know) were laying more barbed wire, as if there were not enough deterrents already. A mid-way station revealed that we get a slip of paper showing we drove through legally. A friendly Russian and friendlier Mongolian both signed the car with our Sharpi marker, and waved us cheerily on.

A few minutes down the road we arrived at the Mongolian border. It consisted of a long line of cars waiting outside a fenced-in compound. This was odd since not that many cars had passed us at the Russian border, some of these cars came from elsewhere or from the day before. At 10:30 I met Betty, a Mongolian border guard who speaks decent English. We chatted for half an hour about her family, my family, and life in Mongolia. I introduced her to the team, and the Belfast boys. Meanwhile, a man had some up to the team and demanded money for driving the cars through the ‘disinfectant pool’ which was apparently a huge puddle of dirty, feces-filled water behind us. We refused to pay, as it was so ludicrous it was actually laughable but as Bill had showed him our car registration the man had grabbed it and run off into his office. He would return the registration for a small fee. Let me stop here. On the entire Mongol Rally we’ve avoided paying any bribes, any pay-outs or favors. This would be a first. I went into the office and slammed my hand on the desk and demanded it back, I ran after Betty and she advised us just to pay, as it was a small amount. I returned to the crap-pool and told the guard it made our car dirty and the fee was equal to the fee he demanded for dirtying our car. None of this worked and eventually Bill and Mike demanded I just pay the small bribe, so I pulled out one $USD and slammed it on the table in a small pile of food and fly gut residue. He was irate but I snatched the registration and walked away. So much for a bribe-free trip, and for a disinfectant wash that is probably corroding the bottom of the car?

We eventually made it through the gate Betty was guarding, and were instructed to park in front of the customs building. Once inside, you’ll never guess what happened. I’ll tell you, but I think you already know. They handed us a form called an ‘official health declaration’ which we filled out claiming we were healthy and sane. They wanted $5 USD to accept the form. You can’t process a visa without it and they wouldn’t accept it without the money. Yet another fake fee. The old woman smiled and knew she was going to get the money eventually. Yet again I yelled and smashed my hand on various desks. “Where here for charity, we raised money to help Mongolia, we’re donating our car to you to help raise more money for charity and yet you steal from us?” It was greeted with a lame, semi-toothless smile. She understood me.

Next in line was a lady who would stamp your visas and passport. Americans don’t need a visa for Mongolia (we donate huge sums of money in the form of aid) so we just got a stamp while the Brits and Irish had their visas checked. There was no fee here, which was a welcomed change, but we had one more window to go, so I wasn’t reforming my opinions about the Mongolian border guards just yet.

The final window was to register the car as being imported into Mongolia. There was a fee here… a $900.00 one! Since we had signed up with the rally we gave the Adventurists, (the body that organized the entire Mongol Rally) a deposit to pay this fee for us, and then when the car is sold they make that money back. However, this was the part that ended up costing us a bit of sanity and several days of our lives. Either the Adventurists refused to pay until they had already sold some of the cars in UlaanBataar, or the guards where holding out for a massive bribe. There was no way to know, even after calling the Adventurists we got the feeling we were being played by them as well. We were told to move our cars into the holding pen down the road. We checked this out. It was a cement platform with a cage around it. Two out houses 150yards away were the only facilities on hand. There was no water, no access to food in the compound, and nowhere to go. We pulled our cars into the pen, joining roughly twenty other cars that had been parked there for quite a while. Tents were assembled around the cars so that very little room was left. People walked around discussing what to do, some had their camp chairs out and were cooking breakfast, others played soccer against the fence or worked on their cars. Some people looked to have been there a long while. I walked around and asked what the deal was. Here was the raw deal we got in exchange for raising money for the Mongolians:

We were to wait in the pen until the border guards issued a form saying we could legally import the car into Mongolia. The guards claimed the Adventurists refused to pay the car import fee of $900.00, while the Adventurists insisted they were paying for 10 -20 cars a day (which would still leave several teams stranded for multiple days). There is no way to know the truth since it turned out the Adventurists were as corrupt as the guards. What happened over the next two days while we were held in this pen on the Steppe will shock you, so I’ve set it into another post entirely. Prepare yourselves to be shocked!

Before leaving Tashkent I spent several hours pouring over countless maps of Kazakhstan and Russia, trying to work out the best route to Mongolia. Since we rested a week in Tashkent, we had the added benefit of being able to read other team’s reports online, and the reports on road conditions in Kazakhstan were not favorable. One report in particular, from a team called Yak to the Future, told us that the roads straight North-East from Uzbekistan were so bad that it was actually easier and better for the car to just drive off-road. With some 1,500k to cover in Kazakhstan, our little Saxo would not be able to handle the abuse. Already, the car’s frame was cracking, the back tires rubbed noisily on the wheel wells, and the gear linkage popped out freely over big bumps. Our car simply carried too much weight over imperfect roads. We couldn’t take that risk. So, I continued to look at maps.

Eventually an alternative plan emerged. I decided to take our team some 700k out of the way on good roads, which would save the car and only cost us the additional gas money. Since fuel in Kazakhstan is relatively cheap, it was a good trade off. We would avoid Almaty and head towards Astana, cutting east before the city and bearing south-east and then north to Russia. It was a hell of a long way out of the way, but after hours of online research about the road conditions, I discovered that in 2007 the road I had chosen was refinished, making it a much, much smarter bet than the ancient panel-style cement roads that cut straight towards Russia.

We set off on our new route on the morning of the 23rd, with plans to make the Mongolian border in less than 5 days, with over 2,000k to travel across rough terrain with three border crossings. We were feeling optimistic. The road we chose turned out to be a good decision. We were essentially on highway for three days, with only intermittent dinosaur-sized pot holes. The worn ridges from semis on the roads remained, so that you were driving on the crest of two cement waves for the duration of Kazakhstan.

We easily crossed into Russia after a few days of non-stop driving, camping at night, and eating limited camp food at night. It was more work than play to cover that kind of distance. The Russian border, though we had heard it would be difficult and the guards had already acquired a reputation for demanding bribes, turned out to be a breeze for us. The only snag was that with his beard, the guards did not think Mike was the same boy from his passport pictures. After several minutes of laughing with them and threatening to shave on the spot, they let us pass. We looked at the map and made a snap decision. It was still early and we had made it through the border, we stopped in the first town to eat and take a short break, refill on groceries and water, and hit the road. We ran into another team that was aiming for the Mongolian border some 1000k away by nightfall.

The Mongolian border closes on weekends. We suddenly realized it was Thursday. If we drove until we arrived at the border we might, just might, make it through before closing time on Friday. We revved up the 1.1 liter engine and drove through the night, arriving at the Russian border at 4am. A team from Belfast was in front of us in line, we slept in the car for a few hours and at ten am we again greeted Russian border guards, but this would be the last time we’d see Russians in a long while, so we endeavored to enjoy the experience.