The Mongolian roadways are amazing and truly worth a minute to explain.

Any paved road quickly disappears within a 20-30km range outside the capital. There are patches of paved road around some of the provincial capitals, but I would be very surprised to learn if more than 200km of continuous paved road existed in the whole country outside of UB.

Mostly what you get is a patchwork of rutty dirt paths in the hard baked mud and sand. To the north toward the Siberian Taiga, where rain is more common, this can quickly become impassible mud. To the south in the Gobi things actually can smooth out a bit as the land flattens and lack of rain leaves the dirt packed as hard as concrete. Where the terrain becomes impassible by vehicle the journey continues by horse, ox, camel, or foot.

One must quickly abandon the idea of there being roads, or a highway system at all in Mongolia. When preparing yourself for a multi-day drive out into the steppe it’s best to think of the countryside as having the most amazing system of off-road dirt tracks in the world. In this sense, you will see some amazing people and places in the remote areas of Mongolia and get hours of quality off road time in as well. Some thrill seekers pay big money for eight hours a day of bone rattling, teeth chipping, ass numbing, off road adventures. In Mongolia all this adventure is included free of charge with any trip to the countryside.

In addition to the physical characteristics of Mongolia’s roadways, the nomadic system of navigation is quite impressive as well. For example, on a ten-day trip across 4,000 kilometers our driver never once had a map, a compass, or any sort of navigational device. Instead it was a system of intuition, experience, and some occasional head scratching. When required, a course correction came with little warning. The driver would tense slightly as he then jerked the wheel to one side or the other, never slowing down, never saying a word. A fun little game in a jeep with no hand straps. The driver was able to make these “corrections” despite no visible landmarks from horizon to horizon on the flat empty stretches of the Gobi.

Occasionally we would adjust our course to head straight for some ger several kilometers off in the distance. After pulling up to the ger, the driver would disappear inside, usually emerging minutes later wiping a white mustache of airag (a drink made of fermented mare’s milk) from his face. Then we would often turn around and head back the way we came. After the 2^nd or 3^rd time this happened I remember Anne asking our guide what the driver was doing each time. Our “guide” (essentially a cook who spoke some English) explained in his limited English “That is just his style, he likes to stop and ask directions.”

[Insert getting directions picture series]

Getting there is half the fun.

Nomadic Roads