Just Us Left Then?

Faces pressed enviously to the glass, we watch through the first floor window of the Tsagaanuur border control offices as the last three remaining Mongol Rally cars are photographed by the customs guy in his nice suit and waved into Mongolia.

Lucky bastards.

End of no-mans land. Russia right, Mongolia left.

All that remains besides us are the two Romanian bikers Sarah & Jono had met previously on the road in Russia and we’d rediscovered in the queue for paperwork just a short while before. But now even they’re all but set. Not having to faff about with the paperwork to import their vehicles into Mongolia, they’ve been officially waved through but are just making a last few checks to their bikes before firing up their Austrian made 650cc engines and disappearing into the wilderness beyond the gate.

So soon it’ll be just us left.

Barely an hour ago there had been more than a dozen teams parked up, all awaiting paperwork & stamps. Now with the departure of those last 3 teams and the no doubt shortly departing Romanians, there’s just us, the Zoomers and the Lost Boys that remain.

Having only just made it through the Russian side before they closed for the day and watched the guards lock the gates in our rear view mirrors, our hearts at first fell to see how many rally teams were parked in a fenced off compound just off ahead of us as we arrived 30km later across no-mans land on the Mongolian side.

Bollocks. Looks like there’s a big queue and we’re right at the back of it! But looking on the bright side, the knowledge that if we were to be stuck here until tomorrow, there would be plenty of other teams to hang out and swap stories with. And we’ve plenty of beer.

Unlike us however, all these teams had rolled up many hours before with most having left Russia first thing and arrived at this point around 7am this morning. And now with the clock clicking slowly towards 6pm, their paperwork had finally come through and one by one, the guys were called up to get their final stamps and be shooed off through the gates on their last 1600km leg to Ulanbataar before the border closes for the night.

So near and yet so far it seems.

Having been sat down for several thousand miles already, we decide to take a seat wherever we can find one and wait to be inevitably told we’re too late to cross today and to make ourselves at home in the rather cold & desolate looking customs compound which had been filled with teams when we’d arrived.

While the rest of us clutter up the nice clean border office and generally make the place look untidy, Rich from the Lost Boys is handing over the last of his paperwork and is chatting with the lady behind the glass. Well, sort of. As her English is only marginally better than his Mongolian.

“Did you lot notice any other teams come through behind us when we left Russia?”

Blank looks are exchanged before everyone tiredly shrugs their shoulders.

Rich interprets this as a definite ‘no’, mimics our tired shrugging and informs the no doubt harassed Mongolian Border official the best he can that we were are indeed the last troublesome Westerners in shit cars to pass through the Russian side today and she can probably knock off soon.

With that, the lady picks up the Lost Boys pile of paperwork and scuttles off out of sight, leaving all the desks behind the glass now ominously empty.

Rich wanders back over to the rest of us and sets about helping us make the place look that little bit more untidy before offering a optimistic “I think they might rush us through you know”. Gareth isn’t so sure.

“I doubt it” he sighs. “You heard all the other teams. Most of them had been here nearly 12 hours and only just made it through today. And that's bloody quick by Rally standards. Some teams spends two days here sometimes!"

All right, calm down. It's just a border crossing!

“And we’ve been here……oooooh, about an hour and a bit” I add with a glance at my watch. “I think we’re here for the night boys and girls.”

“Still, I can’t think of a safer place to camp than a customs point!”

That’s it Dan. You give ‘em the big sell sunshine.

But Rich is insistent. “She wanted to know if we were the last ones through. Why else would she ask?”

Lost Boy Nick chuckles. “Best hope the guys who were waiting when we arrived were a pain in the arse all day then. They might just want to get shot of us!”

The rest of us chuckle in agreement. Before a tired silence once more descends upon the Tsagaanuur customs office.

“Dan-eeeeel Tal-yor?”

Eh? Whassat?

I look up from my I’m-nearly-in-Mongolia-but-not-quite daydreams and find that the lady we’d last seen disappearing with the Lost Boys paperwork about 30 minutes ago has returned. And I think she wants to speak to me.

I hold up my hand to identify myself to the tired looking Mongolian civil servant and prise myself off the table I’ve been perching on.

“Hello!”

“Dan-eeeeel Tal-yor?” she enquires once more as I approach the counter. I smile and nod. Ok, so I’m not ‘Dan-eeeeel’ exactly, but it’s close enough. And besides, I’m pretty sure I’d be struggling with her given name were I to have it written down in front of me.

She smiles back and passes a sheaf of papers through the slot at the bottom of the window. Arse. I just know I’ve fucked up one of the forms. Probably have to start this bullshit all over again in the morning no doubt. Nice one Dan, you moron. That’s another fines mess you’ve gotten…

“Custom form” Mrs Mongolian Customs interrupts my silent internal scolding. “Must give when Ulaan Bataar”.

I look closer at the papers. Stapled to the top is a bright pink sheet of carbon paper all scribbled out in cyrllic. But it also contains in English script the name and details of our trusty car, Percy.

No doubt wearing an expression of slight confusion on my face, I hold up the sheet and ask the million Tugrig question. “We can go?”.

Then I point helpfully to the door, just in case. She smiles back again.

“Yes yes, you go”

My word. The lady from Mongolia, she say YES!

Into Mongolia!

With my face still no doubt bearing the same slightly confused expression, I turn to face my fellow travellers. “Fuck me. I think we’re in!”

And so we are. Within a few more minutes the nice lady has returned twice more with the required paperwork for Sarah & Jono’s Fiesta and the Lost Boys Swift.

With the sun slowly dropping on the horizon, we all stumble down the stairs back out into the now ominously chilly early evening breeze to our waiting chariots. Only then do we dare celebrate with hugs, high fives and maybe even a few high hug fives. Which I’ve just made up.

Then fear sets in. What if they’re fucking with us? What if this is some sort of Mongolian joke? Maybe we’re being filmed for some sort of budget Asian version of ‘You’ve Been Framed’ and the Mongolian Jeremy Beadle is waiting round the corner to pounce.

Like all fearless, intrepid explorers, we decide there’s only one thing for it.

Leg it & play dumb if we get caught.

Up ahead at the gates, we’re amazed to see the Romanian lads are only just finishing their fannying about tightening panniers and whatnot and are pulling their crash helmets and gloves on, ready to depart.

As we pull alongside, one of them grins from inside his protective headgear. I think this is Alex, although I’m not yet 100% sure, mostly because we’d only met about half an hour ago in the mad scramble to try & get paperwork sorted along with convincing the local customs that we didn’t have swine flu. Which was done via the medically proven method of paying 18 Roubles.

“You guys are in too huh? Cool!” then his thumb finds his starter and the KTM springs into life. Ready or not Mongolia, we’re a‘comin!

“Oh well, only one thing for it I s’pose” says Gareth.

“Let’s fuck this puppy”

Indeed.