The feeling of this town tells us we are closer to Asia, not just because of the amount of Mongolians and Chinese that grace the streets, but because of the cheery Buraty people common to the area. We head for a nearby buddhist datsan, full of colourful temples and mandalas, with jolly old monks posing for photos along the way. Unfortunately our prayers for sunshine were left unanswered and the rain that began on the hour of our arrival in the city (the first rain the area had seen for 2 months!), carried on relentlessly. With this we decide to head for Mongolia. Of course this plan didn't go as planned as we find that the quick, easy and highly convenient bus to Ulaan Batar is fully booked by travellers more prepared than we are. So instead we are left to explore a route known only to the brave and (mainly) stupid. To make things worse, we happen to share a dorm with a couple of Irish folks, meaning guarenteed hangover on the morning of our expedition. Taking the minibus to the border along bumpy roads, i spend a few hours in limbo between reality and the land of nod. Luckily while i was busy attempting to catch a few winks, Andi was doing what he does best: making friends with the locals. Handy indeed, when a maze of checkpoints and bureaucracy awaits.
Having successfully left Russia and with no clue how things work in Mongolia, we decide best to follow our new friends for a beer. We are treated to a fantastic welcome as they show off their rather impressive vocal and guitar skills. It seems that even the young generation of mongolians adhere to the traditional songs of the landscape, and watching from the window of the bus, its easy to see why.
We head to the home town of Unika and after a very appreciated dinner we drive with her family to a camping place. This turns out to be an hours drive off road, fording rivers and bouncing between the roof and seat of a jeep. We arrive at a picture postcard location, with vast open steppe bordered by sweeping hillsides. Horses and livestock graze in the distance and nomads in tradional del trot gracefully from ger to ger. All is tranquile apart from the 500 or so people who happen to be singing, dancing and fighting in the middle of it all. By chance, we have come across a local nadaam festival. A battle of strength and skill in the 3 manly sports of wrestling, horse racing and archery (with vodka drinking appearing to be the unoffical 4th). We are introduced to Unikas family, which appears to be every other person we come accross, including the honourable wrestling champion. 
An old man in a long silk del with medals pined to his chest takes us by the hand and leads us to his home without speaking a word. We sit humbly and sip from the bowl of Airag, fermented mares milk (which by the way tastes exactly how you would expect). The inside of the ger is beautifully decorated, with carpets and painted furniture around a central stove. He poses proudly at the head table with his wife as we document the occasion with a photograph. It is all very dignified, which wasn't so true of what was going on outside, as the last drops of vodka were absorbed. At the end of the night all of the rubbish that was evenly spread across the steppe was burnt on a big toxic bonfire and the drunks that were stumbling around were collected and taken home to avoid becoming the midnight snack of a hungry wolf. We too retreated and enjoyed a much needed sleep after a fairly random but brilliant day. Next stop Ulaan Bataar. 
