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Another of Stanley Stewart's excellent travel books - this one won the Thomas Cook Travel Book award in 2001.
Here the author heads for Mongolia, by horse, using the well tested Orto system, like the messengers of Genghis Khan - hiring horses and a guide to travel a short distance, before being passed to a new guide with new horses - sensible, in that neither the guide nor the horses are taken out of their comfort zone, nor sphere of knowledge.
The author commences in Istanbul (ok not on horse yet), taking a ship to Sevastopol (Ukraine), then into Russia and Kazakhstan before flying into Mongolia.
The travel is extensive, and the author put in the hard yards. A good mixture of the physicality of travel, some history and some sideline stories. Well written, amusing and informative.
Some amusing bits:
P91:
Dinner was served. A young ram had just been slaughtered and as a special treat a plastic washing bowl of sheep parts was laid before us. Knives were handed around and we were invited to dip in and carve ourselves a few delicacies. Mongolian's don't believe in wasting any of their beloved sheep. Everything was in there, floating in a sort of primeval ooze: lungs, stomach, bladder, brain, intestines, eyeballs, teeth, genitals. It was a lucky sheep dip; you were never sure what you were going to pull out. I fished carefully, not too keen on finding myself with the testicles. My first go produced an object that resembled an old purse dredged up from the bottom of stagnant canal. It tasted of boiled rubber. I think it might have been an ear. I had better luck with the intestines which were surprisingly good, and once brought to the surface, went on for quite a while.Sated with sheep guts, we settled into an after-dinner chat.
P103-4:
The eagle was perched on a boulder a short distance from the ger with a rather feeble looking tether round one of its legs. The bird would have made a doberman look small. It stood almost three feet high. Its curved beak was the size of a carving knife. But its most striking features were its eyes, cold, black and penetrating. They were eyes made for the malevolent stare, and at the moment the eyes were staring malevolently at me. I don't think the bird had seen a foreigner before.As Orolobai lifted the eagle gently, and settled it on his arm, it never took its eyes off me. I tried to act nonchalant. I looked away; perhaps the bird didn't like anyone staring back. I gazed at some distant hills. I examined my boots. It was at this point that I realised with a start that I was wearing a sheepskin jerkin. I glanced up. The eagle was still staring at me, his head slightly cocked. It occurred to me that he had mistaken me for a stray lamb.He stretched his wings - the wingspan was over six feet - and even Orolobai cowered. I slipped the jacket off, very slowly, and dropped it at arm's length to one side. Almost immediately the bird lunged toward it. Almost pulled off his feet Orolobai lurched forward, and in an instant the bird was on my jacket sinking his talons into the fleece and savaging it with his hideous beak.“Seems to like that jacket” Orolobai panted, struggling to pull the great bird away. But I was already halfway to the ger and moving fast.
