Leaving Ulaanbaatar to join with Altaa's parents

Before journeying out to Darkhan, Mongolia’s third city, en route to the district of Erüü (pronounced Euro – a more stable community than its monetary namesake) in the northern Selenge province, we went to the local car pool for long-distance trips. Myself, Altaa and her brother Sükhee, clambered into the taxi with our bags that could not fit in the boot stuffed between and on top of our legs and if that was not enough to the lay the foundations for deep-vein thrombosis, then sat there for 25 minutes as the driver looked to fill the last passenger berth (which he said he had confirmed but that looked with every cramp-inducing minute ever more unlikely). Eventually, Sükhee went around the vehicle plaza and found a mother and baby also seeking transport to Darkhan. After some prevarication, the mum agreed and we were off. It was a 3¼ hour drive on agreeable paving – a luxury in this part of the world. We had expected to rest the night in Darkhan but Altaa’s uncle was already present in his Pajero jeep. And so after 45 minutes of refreshment, we were once more on the road, departing a little after 11.30pm.
It was amazing how Altaa’s uncle navigate the dirt tracks with nary a sign in the gloom and only a compass juddering on the corrugated road and his own mental acuity. At just past 1am, we came across not one but two vehicles with flat batteries a mere ten yards apart. We powered up the first one over ten minutes, then trundled along and then trundled along and dealt with the second, another ten minute stint. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with such acts – indeed from a Christian perspective it has everything to commend it – but in the fright cold of night in such early hours, though I, in all probability, have done the same, my weariness did not leave myself well-disposed towards the other drivers who had not got their transport in proper working order before embarking on their arduous voyages. Altaa’s uncle not shutting his door properly led to his four wheeled drive releasing an insistent beep every single second was most deleterious to bonhomie until we worked out it was the door at fault. That the stricken parties had not stuttered to a halt drawn up alongside each other, both heading in different directions, made it hard to tell if one had stopped to help the other and packed up or had carried on regardless and come to grief too. That said, two good deeds had been achieved for the day and it wasn’t even an hour and a half into the new day. Motoring on, there was a fair selection of wildlife to observe braving the freezing conditions – a mouse, two sparrows, a horse with a tail long enough to sweep up the dust behind it and the rest of its troupe two minutes drive further on. Arriving in Erüü süm (district) centre, we gave the horn to a cow blocking the through way - this isn’t India, you’re not holy here – and finally pulled up at 2.30am. This wasn’t the end of the night by any means. With a bout of present-giving to Altaa’s excited family and a further meal, no-one – including Altaa’s youngest sister, but ten years old - got to sleep until 4am. Altaa’s parents had volunteered their bed to us but Altaa surrendered the right in order to honour her mum and dad and I willingly consented. We took the floor with a rug and eiderdown beneath us to take the edge off the uncompromising ground.