Jargalant

Jargalant

Although sleeping is more of an opinion, when the outside starts to get clear, it feels like a miracle. I step out of the tent, and therefore from the entrance, trying to move my limbs slowly, as if I were facing a bodily freeze. I start walking towards the top of the hill, driven by a higher need. It is to circulate some blood. I reach a modest elevation and start running wildly to restore at least some body heat. The cold that was just beginning yesterday has become a real reality. The sun is about to rise majestically and coldly, while the silence and gentle undulations of the hills tell us about the times when these places were ravaged by the hordes of Genghis Khan. After a few minutes, Bruna reaches me, and we comment on the hardships of the night together. We are amazed to see the nomads starting their morning activities returning the herds to graze and milking the yaks. It seems incredible how this people can move around without any concern for the cold, in fact, what we consider a freezing morning is simply the beginning of their summer day. Winter hasn't even arrived yet, and it will be very different from what we are experiencing now. Kambah tells us that when he went out, he had to scrape ice off the windshield.

Meanwhile, the guides had prepared breakfast outdoors, and Kambah offers us a scene that we would have simply called disgusting just a few days ago. Yesterday he ate a lamb chop and left it on the hood of the jeep, so much so that I find myself wondering if anyone even thought about providing breakfast for the dogs by leaving it there. He instead takes it and scrapes off the fat-covered meat, letting it fall lovingly into the teacup. We didn't understand before, but now everything is clear, and the initial shock turns almost into admiration.

The day is beautiful and we leave at 9 am. We pass by the French group to see how they have managed, finding them just woken up and shivering terribly. They still have a couple of nights in tents but ask us for the address of the next ger camp. The experience was enough for them, and they believe that one might not even survive. Their guide, a young woman, slept in her Canadian tent and seems quite responsive, while their driver readily accepted the hospitality offered by the nomads.

We set off towards the Arkhangay province. The landscape continues to vary, beautiful low mountains (The average height in Mongolia is 1580 meters above sea level). A few dozen kilometers from the starting point, we see piles of stones that are tombs from ancient times, dating back over a thousand years. We reach the banks of the Ider River until we have to cross it with a wooden beam bridge, the view from which It's even colder than the previous night. Before crossing, we ask all our known saints for protection, and once on the other side, we lighten the psychological burden with some photos of the escaped danger. We see forests of dead larches and are told that the cause is insects destroying entire valleys. It seems a remedy has been found, but the devastation remains. In the middle of the morning, we stop at a gher for tea and Let's try some yak butter. (renowned for its high lipid content) with oats cakes The hosts are delighted to see us enjoying a delicious meal. They usually find that foreign visitors are very picky and waste food. This is exactly the case; we're all very satisfied. We're still in the summer camp, and they will soon move to the winter one. The environment is clean, and we plan to thank them for their generosity by giving them some gifts that we brought specifically for them, especially for the lovely children. In return, the nomads offer us some aaruul to take with us during our journey, through the gentle hands of their children.

Lake Terkhin Tsagaan and Volcano Khorgo

We ascend through a valley to reach a hilltop. crossing trucks, many of which are loaded with wooden planks and we don't understand how they manage to withstand the road and the load. They are usually old Soviet-made Ural trucks; it's also surprising how they manage to descend down the slopes with trailers attached. The road winds through mountains and valleys, and from the highest point you can enjoy a stunning view, with larch forests alternating with meadows. We soon arrive at the beautiful lake. Lake Terkhin Tsagaan surrounded by craters of extinct volcanoes, the youngest of which is Khorgo. The Volcano Khorgo It has a diameter of 200m and a depth of 100 meters. The lava flows from the volcano have blocked the Terkh River, forming the lake. We set up camp around 13:45, located just a few meters from the basin at an altitude of 2080 meters, under a cold wind that inhibits solar activity. We have lunch in the camp restaurant with a meat and potato stew. The wind decreases slightly, and we move about ten kilometers to see the Khorgo crater.

Walking along the rim of the crater, the wind is very strong but the view is stunning of sacrifice. We return to do some aerial photo of the ger camp and a bit of relaxation before dinner. We get to know a couple from Genoa and a guide who speaks Italian. Her name is Zulaa, and she's a twenty-two-year-old student passionate about Italy, so much so that she studies our language at the U.B. University. She offers us what they call Mongolian vodka, which is fermented milk with an alcohol content of around 12%. The vodka is only transparent in color but it’s good, although it always has a quite noticeable cheesy aftertaste. Meanwhile, the French arrive, happy not to have to camp out in tents anymore. There's a boxing semi-final on TV at the Olympics, which sees the Mongolian competitor win and qualify for the final. A relaxing walk while the wind dies down, and we enjoy the pleasure of sleeping in a yurt.