Today was our last day of riding – I am really glad of it. My legs have been chafed by being in the saddle, and there’s a spot or two on my leg that’s been rubbed raw and which I have to take care to keep clean and sterilised, using precious plasters. Some of the horses are coming with us, including dear old Aloysius, but we will be carrying most of our necessities, food, parts of tents, with us.
For about 15km per day.
We had an interesting time while riding today; we were all a bit tired and fed up and longing to get to camp so we could ‘relax’, so Kaz suggested we play a riddle game to pass the time. We soon ran out of all the riddles we all remembered from The Hobbit. I asked one that I learned all the way back in Year Two, when I was seven: I fly like a bird and buzz like a bee; got a tail like a fish, got a hop like a flea.
Kaz asked one that puzzled us for the longest time and kept us occupied for at least a few minutes. I finally guessed the answer; would you? Poor men have it, rich men want for it, and you die if you eat it.
We’re staying in a fairly pleasant valley, with a group of gers a little way away from us and an old, tiny wooden Buddhist monastery on a nearby hill. we have to walk quite a way to get the water – always a sore point with us – but at least the ground isn’t too lumpy.
We are sorting out the food we’re going to take with us in the foot trek, since the buses won’t be accompanying us during this time. Leslie, Ellie and Emma have done very good jobs of organising the supplies, considering some of the messes we’ve created in the vehicles. However, we didn’t do so well when it came to fetching water. It took FOUR of us girls to bring back ONE full jerry can of water (taking it in turns) that one of the boys could have lifted easily. Which they did.
We are ashamed.
We had tomato sauce and pasta for dinner – the evening meals switch between this and chilli con carne from a can with sticky rice, with tuna thrown in for those who want it. Haven’t got tired of it yet.
In the hours after dinner, with the sun setting and we were washing our clothes and ourselves (the legs of several female trekkers needed a close shave) the locals turned their livestock loose, and several of the goats came to say hello. One goat ate a dropped biscuit wrapper – sending us into a panic attack about whether we’d poisoned it, would we have to pay for it if it died, before remembering it’s a goat, nothing can poison a goat.
In the meantime, the goat then launched an assault on Manda’s tent and tried to eat the guy ropes. We chased it away by screaming and hitting it with socks.
I haven’t spoken much about Manda. She is our translator and interpreter, about eighteen, or so she tells us. English is her third language, after Mongolian and German, so there’s no trouble in her translations. We all love her, despite her inability to put her tent up without help.
I’m sore in legs and feet from the riding, and though I enjoyed it, at the moment I feel that if I never sat on a horse again, it would be far too soon.
I only hope the remaining horses or the goats don’t eat the tents during the night.