Day Thirteen – Tarialan, etc

gosh it’s all a bit of a blur, and this shonky erdenet Cafe in Internet is going to close in 40 minutes … what to say, what to say …


Tarialan main street.

At the top of a gruelling pass I’m trailing and up ahead Tama is accosted by screaming children – at first I think it’s some kind of Tour de France-style victory party, or drunk festive locals determined to reward reward his feats of athleticism with beer and Chinggis, but of course it’s not that, of course it’s these grubby orhpan gypsy children trying to sell him jars of hand-picked wild strawberries. But, Tama doesn’t want a bar of it, it’s anybody’s guess when those hands last saw soap. We bike onwards, leaving the dusty steppe behind, and while we’re parked up having our sixth litre of water for the day this wobbly motorbike nearly skittles us, the driver falls off his bike a couple of metres ahead of us and reels up, yelling, waving his fist, demanding we … pick up his bike? Tama picks up his bike, suddenly we are best friends, the drunken peasant shakes hands, high-fives, hugs, nuzzles Tama’s neck, demands vodka, we give him cigarettes, this kind of works, he turns around and pisses all over his bike and hand, turns back and shakes my hand again, he sits by the side of the road, trying to get us to stay with him at his ger, we politely decline the invitation, Tama restrains him from throwing rocks at passing motorbikes, he hugs Tama some more and nuzzles into his neck, and elderly couple pull over in their van and tell him off, he wobbles off and we wonder how the hell to avoid him down the road, the motorbike weaves and topples over, we seize the chance and make a run for it before he can get up again, as we hoon down the hill little depraved gyspies run screaming from the gullies blocking the road and brandishing shit-stained strawberries, we plough right through them and don’t look back.

Dinner is pleasant.

About Doiggus Khan

Tom Doig is a writer, performer, editor and moron. Tom has been published in The Big Issue, Maxim and Voiceworks. His plays include "Survival of the Prettiest", "Hitlerhoff" and "Selling Ice to the Remains of the Eskimos". He has an MA in Hitler Comedy and is currently writing a PhD about climate change. "Mörön to Mörön: two men, two bikes, one Mongolian misadventure" is Tom's first book.
This entry was posted in Amazing Landscapes, Cycling, Dirty Scamming Beasts, Drunk, Dusty Badness, Friendly Locals, Holy Fucking What?, Mongolia, Over Friendly Locals, Peasants, Rabid Dogs, Shonky, Stupid Tourists, Travel, Vodka. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Day Thirteen – Tarialan, etc

  1. Dan Tasker says:

    Ha ha ha ha ha ha….damn gypsies!!!!

    Make sure you lads bring some of that vodka back, it sounds the bizniss.

  2. henry says:

    Oh shit this is good. I started at day 16, and began reading backwards. Fucking lahars of ice, drunken mongol Evil Kinevals, and more pontoons than Vietnam …
    Sheeeeeeeeeeeeet

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