A day on the Kenai Fjord

Let’s get out of Iggy for the day and do some boating.

From Whitehorse to Anchorage

It’s a pretty epic drive from Whitehorse in the Yukon to Anchorage, Alaska via Wrangell-St Elias National Park. After largely insect-free Oz and Siberia crossings the mosquitoes finally asserted themselves in the Alaskan birch forests. Fortunately they are the size of small aircraft and can be heard on approach.

Iggy is powering along, although we cracked the windscreen for a second time (oncoming truck). Frustratingly I managed to damage the rear camera cable for the Wolfbox making it a giant dashcam until we work out a shipping solution for a replacement. Past due for a clean so this is next on the list.

Pleased to discover that the LL-04 spec oil mentioned previously is readily available off-the-shelf in Canada.

Stopped for lunch below with Matanuska Glacier in the background.

Crossed into Canada

We’re about a month in and yesterday exited the US after starting the trip in Long Beach.
We’ve received some generous assistance along the way which might be nice to share here.

Iggy arrived with depleted batteries and despite responding to a jump pack was left with various fault warnings. Other than that the shipping was incident free.

Bernhard at Leitner Designs cleared several of them but it took a whistlestop visit to Sierra Ineos to complete the reset.
Some weeks later we also found time for a routine service at Elliot Bay Ineos who were happy to service our diesel.

Both dealership teams made us very welcome and we’ve benefited also from the interest and encouragement of Ineos USA.

We hopped from National Park to National Park (eight in total) up the west coast.
Thanks to Forum members @255/85 and @Bodhi’s Grenadier who kindly offered in-person recommendations along the way.

Only real issue so far is the windscreen which was cracked by a piece of debris flung off by a truck on a freeway nearby Seattle. Seems imprudent to replace a ‘screen before the Dempster Highway etc so we’re living with a ~10cm crack stabilised with a bit of superglue.

Might also be worth noting that oil of the correct spec (for a diesel) is difficult to find off the shelf in this region - it’s best to plan ahead and buy online.
Yet to try sourcing direct from a BMW service centre though, that might be an option.

Pan-American trip build in photos

Reached the end of the to-do list on the refit.

• Rear Loadspace (thanks OffRoad Systems)

• Roof rack (Leitner Designs plus Clevershade)

• Rear seat water tank by Pak Offroad

• Under seat/Door cards (thanks BDM Leather)

25,000kms in and wouldn’t change a thing.

Grenadier 1 : Simpson Desert 0

Arrived Mt Dare after a solid two days/one night crossing.

French Line was pretty hard going, temperatures were hot but not brutally so - mid to high 40s with a peak of 51C.

As mentioned elsewhere we would have been closing on GVM, with 80L of auxiliary fuel and 55L of water on board.

We ran the tyres at 16psi front and 18 rear. Pleased to report no punctures/failures.

Didn’t have to break out the shovel or maxtrax.

One particularly talc-y dune took three attempts but everything else the Grenadier marched up and over with minimal fuss.

Reported average speed 20kph, average fuel consumption in very challenging sand was 19.6L/100kms.

Aircon was running full blast (we are safari windows and no tinting) but cabin temperature was no issue.

Latest pics: COVID-bubble getaway

Find pictures here from our 5-day sanity-break in Queenstown, New Zealand.

Notes from quarantine

Monday 1 June 2020 and the penultimate day of our two week mandatory quarantine in Sydney. We’ve used this time wisely and prepared a Trip Summary and a set of Frequently Asked Questions about the last ten months around the world. Enjoy!

For those interested in the quarantine experience, here’s how it works.

Incoming travellers are provided information regarding quarantine on the flight. Upon landing an initial screening is conducted - a temperature check and some questions regarding symptoms.

Passengers are loaded onto buses by military personnel and transported to the quarantine location. We were offered a twin queen or king room, before being registered by the NSW police and assisted to our allocated room by military personnel.

A table is placed in front of the door, upon which breakfast, lunch and dinner are placed. Menus take into account dietary needs and change daily.

Limited drinks and snacks can be ordered from room service, and an outside food order is permitted once per day. Delivery slots can also be arranged for online grocery shopping. Care packages can be received from family and friends but must not include dangerous or perishable goods.

Towels are replaced every three days, bed sheets weekly and crockery, dishwashing liquid, a small fridge and kettle are provided.

A 24/7 security guard on each floor confirms those under quarantine remain in their rooms and alerts police in the lobby of any escape attempts.

A nurse in the hotel telephones daily to confirm wellbeing and checks any COVID-related symptoms. Volunteers from the Australian Red Cross also telephone to check on welfare.

On Day 10 a test for current COVID infection is conducted as a precursor to release on Day 14.

Wristbands are provided after a final health check allowing release on the 14th day.

Here’s how it feels: it is undoubtedly a slightly peculiar experience to be confined to a single room in this way, even after our several weeks in self-isolation. We feel well-prepared, having grown accustomed to coexisting in close proximity 24/7.

We’ve had no issue with the food and haven’t felt the need to order something in. We are enjoying the reasonably-sized meals after the US, where portions can be epic.

The greatest challenge is the confinement and lack of exercise. We are tackling this with a daily yoga regime courtesy of Youtube.

We felt well looked-after throughout and appreciate quarantine comes at no cost to the traveller, excluding any extra food ordered. At all steps of the process personnel have been personable and considerate.

So we’re pleased to have a clean bill of health, if not confirmation of whether my flu in New York in February was COVID or not. It once again seems the biggest risk comes from others so it will be weird to be moving around in a community where no-one is wearing masks!

Bunkered down in Lafayette

March kicked off with us collecting Disco in New York. From there we made our way down the Eastern seaboard of the US, to Huntersville, North Carolina - at which point the Coronavirus pandemic began to impact our plans.

For us, like everyone else, the oncoming pandemic was accompanied by a wave of uncertainty. Not the least being a seemingly substantial gap existing between the risk profile one might conclude from expert authorities and that espoused via the public position of politics, the media, and the surrounding population.

Foremost on our minds remains the circumstances of our family and friends, many of which reside in areas that have been hit hard by the virus.

We decided to slow our progress southwards, concerned that we might cross into Central America and find it difficult to avoid the contagion, receive treatment, or repatriate ourselves and Disco.

At the same time, we were concerned that being in Sydney, and indeed making the trip home itself, exposed us to far more risk of contracting COVID than self-isolating here in the US.

Accordingly we made the decision to pause our travels for a week in Lafayette, Louisiana. From here we are in striking distance of a shipping solution for Disco and airports for us, should we need to evacuate.

It’s uncertain times and circumstances change by the day. With not much else to do however, we’ve pondered what our remaining journey might look like, noting that our window for this trip closes around July-August of this year.

At this stage it seems unlikely that the situation in Central and South America will have stabilised sufficiently for us to continue our itinerary southwards in safety. Instead, circumstances permitting, we plan to follow the Rocky Mountains north all the way to Alaska - with our goal being to reach the Arctic Ocean at Prudhoe Bay, terminus of Alaska’s Dalton Highway. Noting that both borders are presently closed to non-essential traffic.

Presuming borders reopen in time and all goes well we will return the car to Australia from Los Angeles, at this stage likely in July 2020.

Until our next update, stay well, stay safe and look out for each other.

Latest pics and updated itinerary

Find pictures here from our route through East Central and Central Europe, along with updated itineraries for Western Europe, the United Kingdom and Ireland.

Latest pics and updated itinerary

Find pictures here from our route through Eastern Anatolia then following the Black Sea Coast into Istanbul, along with updated itineraries for Turkey and Central Europe.

Eight gates to paradise

A former Soviet republic, Turkmenistan was constituted as an independent state in 1991. The population is ~80% Turkmen, with the remaining 20% a diverse mix of ethnicities found across Central Asia (Uzbeks, Kazakhs, Russians) along with emigre populations (Ukrainians, Azerbaijani, Armenians) and unique local populations of a non-Turkic origin (Balochi, Nohurli).

The Turkmen historically identify to one of five major tribes, with the most prominent being the Teke of Akhal province, who give their name to the heritage horse breed from this area, the Akhal-Teke.

Once the capital of the Parthian empire, Turkmenistan features some historic urbanisations not the least of which is the ancient city of Margiana/Merv and the Bronze Age metropolis of Gonur Depe, a contemporaneous rival to Babylon.

These days however the capital is the rather extraordinary city of Ashgabat, a grandiose construction of white marble, constructed after the original city was literally levelled by a devastating 1948 earthquake.

Since 1991, two presidents fuelled by natural gas wealth have invested Ashgabat with a singular vision of state prestige which relies on heavy use of symbolism. On a large scale, examples include a Finance Ministry crowned with a giant coin; a Health Ministry shaped like a hooded cobra (referencing the Caduceus, obviously) and an airport terminal formed like a bird.

Icons (carpet/cap guls) representing the five tribes are recurring, as is the Islamic Rub el-Hizb pictured above and the heraldic eagle below. Images of the president are ubiquitous, often depicting his commitment to tradition and showcasing his many proficiencies and paternalistic care for the people of Turkmenistan. Travelling to more remote communities it’s hard not to feel that populations of origin other than the five tribes may feel under-represented in all of this imagery.

Five heads for five tribes.

Media and internet access is strictly regulated. While we were required to lodge an itinerary, after being registered in the capital we were free to move around without escort.

As only clean, white cars are permitted into Ashgabat Disco stood out in a big way and we found ourselves welcomed wherever we travelled.

Many public buildings are constructed in what architects would describe as a stripped neoclassical style, which will be familiar as it’s a look that totalitarian regimes and conservative governments have run with for more than a century. The net affect is rather surreal, and for me perhaps a little menacing due to the historical antecedents.

Notwithstanding, we agreed that Ashgabat is perhaps the most remarkable city we’ve visited.

It is not easy to secure a Turkmenistan visa invitation and it’s even rarer to be travelling through with an Australian-plated car, let alone on diesel provided at ~20c/litre… and it was a pleasure to be accompanied by a couple of great guides.

We’re grateful for the welcome and warm hospitality extended to us, what an experience.

Oh, and for the eight gates read here. It’s possible to think of these as attributes:

1. Be punctual (in your daily obligations)

2. Defend your beliefs

3. Be charitable

4. Demonstrate restraint

5. Commit to a spiritual journey

6. Be forgiving

7. Have faith

8. Act righteously/ethically

Find a Turkmenistan picture gallery here.

Fifty castles

Since our last update, published in Tajikistan, we’ve traveled firstly north into Uzbekistan and westwards along the Silk Road, which rejoins the Amu Darya river here having crossed the Kyzylkum (“Red Sand”) Desert.

We now find ourselves in Khiva, nearby the ancient oasis of Khorezm. If the Pamir Knot is the eastern nexus of the Silk Road, Khorezm is it’s western analogue, and acted as a gateway to both Persia and, onwards via the Caspian Sea, Turkey and Bulgaria.

Khorezm had a capital at Gurgan (Urgench), razed to the ground by the Mongol invasion in the 13th Century. A modest village now sits on the approximate site, while the city of Urgench which (confusingly) carries the name of the ancient capital sits 70kms or so to the south west.

With formidable deserts to the south and east, the Aral Sea to the north and arid steppe to the west, this oasis has acted as a cradle of civilisation since the Bronze Age - settled a millennia before Alexander crossed the Oxus to take Markan (Samarkand). During the Roman Period, Khorezm was a part of the Kushan Empire which connected the Indian Ocean trade routes with the desert caravans of the Silk Road.

Illi Kala (“Fifty Castles”), aka The Golden Circle of Khorezm, refers to the collective architectural remnants covering two and a half millennia of occupation. Through history this area was variously known as the land of a thousand castles, reflecting it’s geographical isolation and explaining it’s capacity to remain largely independent in the presence of superpowers to the west, south and east.

Most of the remaining ruins date from the Kushan period, but were constructed on sites fortified at least since the Achaemenid, Parthian and Sassanid eras and likely all the way back to the Bronze Age settlement.

Check out some pictures from a few of the better preserved sites.

Edge of empires

We have just completed our journey along the Pamir Highway, Wakhan Valley and Kulob roads, broadly travelling east to west from Osh in Kyrgyzstan to the Tajik capital of Dushanbe.

The Pamir Highway, if not perhaps the Wakhan detour, is I think the primary reason many travellers visit Tajikistan. The highway traces an ancient Silk Road route connecting Central Asia with gateways to China and India (via Pakistan). This intersection is represented geographically by the conjunction of the Pamir and Panj/Wakhan Rivers; and ultimately by a nexus known as the Pamir Knot, where the Tian Shan, Hindu Kush, Himalayas, Karakoram and Kunlun mountain ranges come together.

Image credit Caravanistan, the go-to resource for travellers in Central Asia

For the Greeks, this great plain north of the Hindu Kush, bordered by the Pamir mountains (to the east) and Tian Shan mountains (north) was known as Bactria. Following his defeat of the Achaemenid Empire it was the furthest reach of Alexander’s advance into Asia. Almost a millennium later, it represented the furthest reach of the Sassanid Empire, centred on Damascus, defeated in turn by the Rashinid Caliphate, and subsequently became the cradle of the Timurid Empire centred on Samarkand.

In the 19th Century the Wakhan Valley, and the Panj River in particular, became the demarcation line between the Russian and British Empires. To this day, the northern shore of the Panj River (known in the upper reaches as the Wakhan River and in the lower becoming the Amu Darya) is Tajikistan, the southern shore is Afghanistan.

Setting aside the political map, at a local level is a complex combination of peoples and cultures.

The Lower Wakhan through which we travelled is, from Ishkashim northwards, peopled by the Wakhi, who speak a unique local language known as Khizik. Historically, but less so today, higher altitude pasture along the same valley was peopled by Turkic Kyrgyz nomads. Further upstream to the east are the Indo-Aryan Khowar people, also with a unique dialect. Going in the other direction, downstream of Ishkashim, the population is primarily Tajik, from a Persian ethnicity. These communities have distinct religious and/or sectarian traditions.

A quiet Wakhan lane

Notwithstanding the collision of political and cultural maps, at ground level in the Lower Wakhan Valley from Khargush to Ishkashim we found an oasis of calm - perhaps the friendliest, most hospitable people we have encountered so far. Farmers pause in their work as you drive by, waving their welcome from the middle of a field. Everyone is enjoying the fall weather - men harvest hay or drive plough teams while groups of women chatter and laugh. It’s a rural idyll.

Across the river, the Hindu Kush rises like an anvil against which this fragile way of life might be hammered.

An Afghan hamlet

As one moves downstream following the Panj River gorge, the ongoing threat to security is made visible with a military presence patroling this crucial road. With precipitous drops, boiling rapids below and Afghanistan a stones' throw away we treated this as ‘do not stop for photos’ territory and hastened on through.

Reading about this place when studying grand strategy or history is one thing; but encountering the autumnal landscape and a welcoming community in these unyielding mountains was like stumbling upon Shangri-La.

We both feel very fortunate to have made the difficult journey in (and out!).

Find a gallery of photos here.

The air up there

The highest pass to be encountered on the Eurasian leg of our journey is Ak Baital, the highest altitude road in the former Soviet Union. At 4,655m Ak Baital is of a higher elevation than either of us has driven, although we think Han holds the altitude record of 4,800m as a passenger from an Andean trip a few years back.

Han’s epic high altitude bus ride had them pulling out the oxygen bottles and smelling salts, and I’m sure she pictured us cartwheeling off some precipice after a fade-out at the wheel.

Accordingly when looking at the elevation profile of our Pamir itinerary (thank you Caravanistan) we thought it prudent to prep ourselves with Diamox and a progressive approach from Osh (963m) via Sary Tash (3,150m).

Our lead up was not ideal. In Osh I’d been levelled by my third instance of food poisoning in five weeks, while Disco was being fed a diet of increasingly sketchy diesel. One can filter out water and dirt, but a lowered cetane rating (less bang) is harder to fix.

On the morning before Ak Baital it’s fair to say I was picturing the surface of Hoth, minus the Tauntauns. We both donned winter pants, socks and boots while Disco was battened down for blizzard conditions. I visualised changing a wheel in whorls of snow and sleet.

Ak Baital at 13 degrees Celsius: somewhat milder than expected

Ak Baital proved in fact very straight-forward. With a consistent incline and good surface Disco powered up with no issues, the turbo largely offsetting the leaner air. We overnighted in Murghab (3,650m) and, lacking forced induction, experienced some breathlessness when hoisting our luggage and walking around town.

Next morning and 100kms or so out of town we swung south towards the Wakhan Valley, which one enters through the Khargush Pass (4,344m). The surface here is somewhat more technical, the track peppered with boulders often exceeding Disco’s clearance. The final steep, rock-strewn incline proved too much - Disco was simply unable to rev sufficiently to spool up the turbo and produce enough power to move forward at walking pace.

Like a roller coaster prepping for launch we reversed back down for a run up. Khargush Pass was taken in a headlong Dakar-esque rush of bottoming suspension, roaring engine and thumping underbody bash plates.

At the end of the day, preparation stretching all the way back to decisions made in Oz came together with favourable conditions and we had a much easier time of this stretch than many.

Next big elevations will be Peru!

The fifth horseman

When contemplating the year off, one of the things I really looked forward to was a break from the tyranny of one’s schedule. No need to be in room 10.07 at 11AM, or be in Brisbane on Tuesday etcetera.

Turns out it’s even harder to escape this sort of thing than it seems. For us, a hard date for Iran means a hard date for Turkmenistan means a fixed window to cross the three northern ‘Stans and so on. Meanwhile every day ticks towards the turn of season in the Pamir Mountains, when comparatively mild conditions give way to the truly formidable.

Accordingly no sooner had we made it out of Russia (a full 8 hours before visa expiry) we were asking ourselves how long we could afford to spend in the Northern and Eastern Kazakh steppe. We plotted a course south for Almaty.

The leg from the border to Oskemen was easy enough, albeit by then rather late in the day. The road was a snaking 1.5 lane carriageway, unlit of course - although the LEDs fitted to Disco turn night into day.

Oskemen via Ayagoz and Taldykorgan to Almaty was another story, with 80% of the leg (taken over three days) subject to roadworks or in an otherwise desperate, and yet unpredictable, state of repair. Potholes and washouts can be up to 40cm deep: easily enough to shear off suspension let alone burst a tyre or crack a rim. Much of this across a featureless semi-arid plain.

The circumstances demand attention: eyes on the road, ears searching the bangs, rattles and judders for signs of mechanical distress. Land Rover technology helps out with cameras that project obstacles obscured by the nose of the car, while the driver dances a dance with oncoming vehicles also avoiding the worst of the surface.

Like riding a motorcycle at speed, walking in a desert or completing an endurance event, there is something exhilarating and transcendent about such an all-consuming application of one’s attention. Which is not to say that it’s pleasurable in the moment, if that makes sense.

I was reminded that for whatever reason my mind seems to thrive in this sort of scenario, so despite some fatigue I was left feeling ready for a George Lucas post-apocalyptic wasteland; or indeed whatever other conditions lie in front of us.

Through all of this Disco threw up one gearbox fault (turns out Eco mode doesn’t work in such conditions) - which cleared on a restart - and otherwise did not miss a beat. I couldn’t be more impressed.

The fifth horse of the end times is grey and named Discovery.

A dash through the Altai Republic

We (well, I) literally staggered out of Mongolia after a final ger stay which turned into a long, hazy night of yak milk tea, mutton and Mongolian vodka as I discussed business opportunities pitched by Altay locals.

The crossing to Russia was mercifully swift, and as the metaphorical fog lifted later that day I found myself driving the breathtaking mountain roads of the Russian Altai Republic. There must be something in their crystalline mountain water, as we found ourselves in towns and amongst folk that gave us an entirely different impression of Russia and her people.

With only a brief transit visa, we unfortunately were unable to stick around to enjoy the hospitality and explore the misty fir forests: we had a date to keep for a planned service with Land Rover in Barnaul.

Aleksey and Ivan returned the car to delivery condition

While Han and I enjoyed a day in Barnaul, Ivan and the team at Albion Motors refreshed oil and filters, rotated the wheels, replaced the tyre destroyed in the Gobi, and found time to fully detail the car to an as-new standard. On pickup the next morning I was given instruction on managing the vehicles fuel system when the temperature drops below minus ten celsius - not something I’ve had reason to prep for to date.

All of this was duly recorded in the Disco’s online service history, maintained globally by Land Rover.

Han and I took the opportunity to completely repack the car, and dashed to the Kazakh border to cross before our visas expired.

We found ourselves reluctant to leave Russia again so quickly and resolved to return to explore the Western provinces by car or bike, now that we’ve got the measure of getting around - and know a great place to fix a Landie.

Don’t fence me in

“Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above. Don't fence me in

Let me ride through the wide open country that I love. Don't fence me in

Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze. And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees

Send me off forever but I ask you please. Don't fence me in”

Five weeks in and we’ve just about settled into the routine of not having a routine. Mongolia’s landscape, culture and people have exceeded our expectations.

Driving across this spectacularly diverse countyside - grassy steppe, desert sand, pine-clad mountains - where climbing over every rolling hill has led to a vista more beautiful than the last has felt unconstricted, an opportunity to cleanse the senses remaining from the corporate lives we put on hold recently. No longer feeling the need to check an inbox hourly and determine success through a PowerPoint pack and instead a simple focus on the basics - where will we sleep, what can we eat, where will we get fuel? 

For Mongolians, possessions are more about function than form. A sturdy horse to round livestock may have been replaced by a motorcycle, but as infrastructure such as paved roads, 24/7 power and mobile connectivity is enjoyed only by larger towns this has meant the continuation of a way of life that has endured for centuries. It’s devastating to witness the impact pollution and desertification is having on these communities.

Fences simply don’t exist, with public-owned land in the country leased to nomadic families for summer pasture. Travelling from A to B there’s no circumnavigation of private land - the route’s direct unless geographically impassable (although they’ll give any river or mountain crossing a good go). I’m indebted to my husband’s incredible driving skills and the car has so far survived with only one replacement tire and a lost front registration plate, but the state of or sometimes lack of roads has been a test of my nerves and possibly our marriage!

We feel privileged to have been able to roam this land freely with so much generosity from the people we’ve met. 

The Bing Crosby version of this song was played at my grandpa’s funeral some 30 years ago. I have many happy memories of bouncing around the Somerset countryside in his car (before seatbelts were compulsory!). Grandpa was an unassuming Scot who probably wanted to see more of the world than he did - I hope he’d be proud of his ‘wee girl’.

See our Mongolia photo galleries here.

HG

Head south east until you hit the power lines, then turn right

The Ömnögobi aimag (South Gobi province) of Mongolia is a wide arid steppe, with a low barrier mountain range separating the Gobi Desert proper.

As many travellers do, we broke up our trip south with a detour to the spectacular Ikh Gazrin Chuluu National Park, a veritable garden of stone. Ikh Gazrin Chuluu lies east of Mandelgovi, the trip there gave us our first real taste of navigating the wide valleys of the steppe, where ‘roads’ are conceived in the loosest terms possible and GPS must be combined with ‘Navigation 101’-type attention to geographical features and compass headings.

Retracing our course (of a sort) to Mandelgovi, we then followed the asphalt to its southerly terminus at Dalanzadgad. From Dalanzadgad it’s out onto a shimmering plain dotted with the occasional nomadic camp and herd of camels.

Accomodation was in gers (yurt in Russian), the primary form of summer housing throughout Mongolia. It’s superb camping country but it quickly became clear that hosting tourists is a crucial source of income for local families as their traditional nomadic ranging lands suffer desertification due to climate change.

Check out pics from South Gobi here.

South towards the naked desert

I’m paraphrasing T.E. Lawrence.

Deserts have held a lifelong fascination: Great Victoria, Great Sandy, Simpson, Sturt, Strzelecki, Sahara, Rub’ al Khali… and with a fresh set of Russian visas approved today we’ll depart early for the Gobi, which lies along Mongolia’s Southern border with China.

So today we make final preparations for longer range touring - an additional 40 litres of diesel gives us a fuel range just under 1000kms, together with a potable water load of around 30 litres.

Equipped in this way we are an arid-region version of coastal sailors - a crossing would be dicey but we’re well equipped for our intended trip along the northern fringe.

Most importantly, we remain relatively light… so fingers crossed no digging.

Next update will, to complete the Lawrence thought, be from under an indifferent heaven.

I can’t wait!

'Instructions for Customs Officers'

Crossing the border from Russia into Mongolia saw the first use of our shiny new Carnet de Passages en Douane, which was kindly prepped for us in rapid time by Sue-Ellen at the Australian Automobile Association (see the earlier post).

It’s tough to know how long a given border is going to take to cross. The one between Kyakhta (Russian Federation) and Altanbulag (Mongolia) operates 24/7, so one should expect it has busy times and quiet times. In our case, we rolled up late Saturday morning and had a ~20 minute wait before being admitted into the Russian area. We were marshalled to an inspection area and directed into a Customs Office where our import papers from Vladivostok were stamped and taken back and we were given an inspection form.

Back downstairs and an inspection proceeded by three Customs agents and a military policeman with sniffer dog. One of the Customs personnel videoed the exercise on a little action cam.

The inspection was conducted swiftly and in a politely professional manner, with one of the agents speaking English and chattily interested in our trip. Seems the inspection was most keen to confirm that we weren’t leaving with guns/ammunition or carrying morphine.

From there the next step was passport control where we were stamped out and our exit cards were collected.

All up the Russian side took less than an hour.

Onto the Mongolian side where, after another 10-minute wait, we were setup with what was essentially an entry checklist for the car - a little paper slip requiring five separate stamps.

“Survivors Ready?”

Stamps were awarded at different counters for:

1. Receiving the slip itself

2. (Driver) passing passport control (confirmation of visa)

3. Confirmation of ownership (NSW car registration/CPD Carnet)

4. Disinfection payment (for the car ~AUD$1), disinfection occurring at a dip trough on the way in

5. Inspection (or not, very cursory in our case) of the car

No exit through the boom gate until you’ve got your five stamps.

From there the final steps are a ‘road tax’ (~AUD$6) and 3rd party insurance (~AUD$50).

Elapsed time on the Mongolia side was again well less than an hour; so in total under 2 hours gate-to-gate.

The most time consuming step on the Mongolian side was the completion of the Carnet. Sue-Ellen had helpfully included a pamphlet with instructions for Customs Officers on both entry and exit of the vehicle.

Complicating factor in this situation was that the Mongolian Customs Officer spoke way better German than English, so I found myself essentially translating the instructions into German on the fly.

No problem though, it was all in excellent humour and we would’ve got there in the end regardless.

Not really knowing what to expect at our first land border, we turned on the charm and this I think is a pretty sound default. Most of the personnel we dealt with were super friendly, excited to meet a couple of Australians and as keen to make a good impression as hosts as we were to be respectful of their duties.

So first land border done and dusted… 33 remaining if my math is correct!