by Tim Cope
In the meantime, however, I am going to take a breath and enjoy the experience of new and opening horizons with the completion of this book. After that, I will probably take a long walk with my four-legged companion to think about it.
—Tim Cope
April 9, 2013
List of Maps
1. Mongolia
2. The Mongol Empire
3. Kazakhstan
4. Russia
5. Crimea
6. Ukraine
7. Carpathians
8. Hungary
Acknowledgments
What began as a plan to ride horses for eighteen months from Mongolia to Hungary has shaped and consumed my life for a decade.
Broadly speaking, there have been three stages—the preparation, the journey, and the digesting of the experience, including the making of a film series, but mostly the writing of this book. At every stage, help, support, and encouragement from others have allowed me to go forward.
Some of these people to whom I owe my gratitude I have lost contact with, partly because while I have been consumed with the journey, they have long moved on in their lives; others are still close friends; and some, I am sad to say, did not live to see the end of this project.
In the early stages I owe many thanks to my parents—Anne Cope, and the late Andrew Cope—and my then-girlfriend, Kathrin Nienhaus (now Kathrin Bender-Nienhaus). My great-uncle and great-aunt, John and Alison Kearney, have supported me throughout my travels over the years and offered crucial moral and financial assistance.
The horse world is a varied, and confounding one for the uninitiated, and there were individuals who helped guide me into it. CuChullaine O’Reilly, a founding member of the Long Riders Guild, responded at once to my request for advice, offering generous wisdom, a sympathetic ear, and encouragement that not only equipped me with the knowledge to travel by horse but inspired me to carry on with what I learned far beyond the Danube and write this book. His colleague, Long Rider and author Jeremy James, also offered some guidance.
In Australia, Cath and Steve Baird of Bogong Horseback Adventures generously gave me my first taste of horse riding—a packhorse trip in the Victorian Alps. In Western Australia, Brent, Sam, and Sascha Watson of Horses and Horsemen provided training, then advice throughout my journey. They introduced me to equine vet extraordinaire Sheila Greenwell, who donated a veterinary kit and throughout the journey offered life-saving vet services by correspondence.
Then there are those who helped me in the countries I traveled. Old friends Tseren Enebish of Mongolia and her husband, Rik Idema, Tseren’s elderly mother, and her cousin Bayara Mishig hosted and guided me through the difficult early stages in Ulaanbaatar. Gansukh Baatarsuren, a young enthusiast of Mongolian history and horsemanship, helped me buy my horses and was an endless source of nomadic cultural insight.
In Kazakhstan I stayed with some seventy families, but in particular I’d like to thank Evegeniy and Misha Yurckenkov in Oskemen, Aset and his son Guanz (who generously offered me Tigon), Baitak in Akbakai, and Dauren Izmagulov and Azamat Sagenov in Atyrau. I’m also particularly grateful to Kosibek Erzgalev, the minister for agriculture in Western Kazakhstan, and his team, who helped me get my horses into Russia. In Almaty, thanks go to Rosa and Vadim Khaibullina of Tour Asia for visa- and logistics-related assistance, and to Gaukhar Konuspayeva for putting me in touch with many helpful contacts.
In Russia I was supported by Dr. Anna Lushchekina of the Russian Academy of Science, journalist Inna Manturova, and Dr. Liudmilla Kiseleva. Liudmilla, a professor of biology and an environmental activist, unfortunately was killed in a car accident in suspicious circumstances only a couple of weeks before the end of my journey. I’d also like to thank Yuri at the Kalmykian Wild Animal Center, the Kalmykian Institute for Humanitarian Sciences, and Nikolai Vladimorivich Luti and all his crew in Timashevsk. In the winter of 2005–6, I traveled to Crimea to renew my Russian visa. I was hosted for a month in Sevastopol by my surrogate Russian grandmother, Baba Galya, whom I had befriended in 2000 while cycling in northern Russia. Her daughter Shura, grandchildren Olya and Dima, and son-in-law Sasha Shishkin, kindly looked after me for a month. Sasha died suddenly of cancer in 2007. Baba Galya passed away on November 24, 2008, just shy of her eightieth birthday.
In Crimea, thanks go to Ismet Zaatov, deputy minister for culture of Crimea, and to Ira of Argamak Horse Center, near Feodosiya, and her helping hand Sascha, who has unfortunately since been killed in a horse accident.
In Ukraine itself, thanks to Anya Summets for her love and support, particularly during the period after my father’s death, and to Vladimir Sklyaruk and his family in Kodyma, who arranged for Tigon and the horses to be looked after while I returned to Australia after my father’s passing. In the Carpathians, Ivan Ribaruk remains a good friend. I was fortunate in Hungary to have broad support from many. I am indebted to János Loska, who single-handedly arranged my journey across the border into Hungary and then to the Danube, as well as the special ceremony for the finish in Opusztaszer. Peter Kun, István Vismeg, and Tamas Petrosko also deserve special mention.
The last stage of my journey, from the Danube until now, has been the longest, and in many ways the most trying. I owe great thanks to my mother, Anne, for sheltering me for the best part of two years after I returned home. Mum has supported me through the highs and lows I have experienced while coming to terms with the end of one journey and the beginning of new challenges. Likewise, thanks go to my brothers, Cameron and Jonathan, and my sister, Natalie. Family friends the Cooks, Wallaces, and Nicholsons have been great supporters of our family, particularly since the passing of my father.
It goes without saying that I owe much to my father for introducing me to the outdoors and doing everything he could to support me on my path to adventure and writing, even when it involved abandoning my law degree at university—something that did not sit comfortably with him at the time.
The book has been a major thread of my life for nearly four years. I have written it in many places. I began writing at the Drouin South home of our longtime family friends, the Wallaces, who kindly offered use of their study. Then I went off on solo writing “expeditions,” such as when I was invited by Andrew Faulknor (aka Viktor) to his property in the Strzeleckis, where I wrote by day in a shed and slept in a tent at night with Tigon. Some of this book was written in Mongolia, and in November 2011 I was given a Fleck Fellowship to write in the artists’ colony at the Banff Centre for Creativity, Canada. The last part was written mostly in Tawonga in the Victorian Alps, Australia, where I have had very understanding landlords in Helen and Glen McIlroy, forever patient and supportive friends in the Van der Ploeg family, and a trusty canine sitting on the couch by my side and demanding a run at the end of every writing day.
Through all of this time, I am thankful for the patience and belief of my literary agents, Benython Oldfield in Australia and Gail and Howard in Washington, D.C., and my publisher, George Gibson, in New York, who was willing to go out on a limb and commission this book from an unknown, rather disheveled Australian.
Anton Mueller, my editor, has lived through the journey, and although it has been via correspondence between New York and Australia, I feel like he has accompanied me for every hoofstep. Anton has both encouraged and challenged me during the writing process, and I feel indebted to him for the personal growth I have experienced as a result; the book simply would not be as it is without his input. During the writing of this book—and the cutting, which has involved reducing the original manuscript by almost half—I have also enjoyed the generous feedback of longtime friend and travel companion Dr. Chris Hatherly. Then there is the person closest to me, who has had to live through all the ups and downs. My girlfriend, Khorloo Batpurev, did not know me when I carried out the journey, but she has had to weather every challenge as I have relived them. It’s also true that while I have long since returned from the steppes, I have not been 100 percent present at home, either. Thank you, Khorloo
, for all your love and care, and for sticking this long journey out.
There are many other friends and supporters who have helped me greatly, including my former English and history teacher Rob Devling, longtime friends Cordell Scaife, Ben Kozel, and Todd Tai, and more recent friend Joss Stewart. Thanks to the many others not mentioned here.
Lastly, it would never have been possible to carry out this journey without the support of sponsors. I would like to thank the following:
MAIN SPONSORS
Iridium, satellite phone communications
Internetrix.net, particularly support from Daniel Rowan
Saxtons Speaking Bureau, especially Nannette and Winston Moulton
The Australian Geographic Society
MEDIUM-LEVEL SPONSORS
Bogong Horseback Adventures (Victoria, Australia)
Horses and Horsemen (Margaret River, Western Australia)
Odyssey Travel
Mountain Designs
Spelean Australia, distributors of such brands as MSR, Therma-Rest, and Platypus
Reflex Sports
Fujifilm, with special thanks to Graham Carter and Darren at CPL Digital Services, Melbourne. Fujifilm and CPL were responsible for supplying the transparency film for my photography (a range of Astia, Provia, and Velvia slide film) and the reproduction for this book.
Inspired Orthotic Solutions, with a thank-you to Jason Nichols
Equip Health Solutions
Dick Smith Foods, with special thanks to Dick Smith
Mobile Power
MINOR SPONSORS
Baffin Polar Proven, Nungar Knots, Ortlieb, Leatherman, Magellan, Mountain Horse, Bates Saddles, Energizer, Custom Pack Rigging, Lonely Planet.
Image Section
Me and Ochirbat, the elder of the nomad family with whom I stayed while buying my first horses. Packhorse recruit Kheer also pictured.
Nomad encampment Arkhangai Aimag in Central Mongolia.
Kathrin, my girlfriend, traveled the first two months with me through Mongolia. Kathrin Bender-Nienhaus
Kathrin heading off into the steppe, packhorse in tow.
Scenes at a family camp on the shores of Telmen Nuur lake, Zavkhan Aimag.
Scenes at a family camp on the shores of Telmen Nuur lake, Zavkhan Aimag. The ger is being deconstructed for migration.
Scenes at a family camp on the shores of Telmen Nuur lake, Zavkhan Aimag.
Ukher Tereg—Yak (or cattle) carts, traditionally used by nomads of Central Mongolia for haulage, particularly for migration.
A family helps me to set up camp not far from Uvs Nuur lake—the same night that a drunk attempted to steal my horses.
The Oirat man of the Durvud tribe who explained that his ancestors had traveled to the Caspian Sea, where they became known as Kalmyks, before returning to Asia in the eighteenth century.
Looking north to the Borig Del Els—a sandy desert sometimes described as the most northern desert in the world.
The horses grazing in camp on an idyllic Mongolian summer evening.
Churning fermented mare’s milk, known in Mongolian as airag (or kumys in Kazakh).
Inside a family ger near the village of Tes. The meat cut into strips and hanging to dry is known as borts.
Dashnyam (center), a Khoton Mongol who guided me across the Kharkhiraa-Turgen Mountains, sits with his wife, several of his children, and a friend (left).
Dashnyam’s oldest daughter, carrying her sister.
Dashnyam astride his one and only horse.
Dashnyam leading our hired camel towards Kharkhiraa Uul.
Rusty and I survey Khokh Nuur (Blue Lake) near the 3,000 metre-high pass between Kharkhiraa and Turgen Uul. (This photo—like many others—was taken on a tripod with a timer.)
A marmot hunter.
Dashnyam leading us toward the high pass, with Turgen Uul in background.
A proud Durvud Mongol woman leads her caravan down from the Kharkhiraa-Turgen massif to the plains for autumn camp.
Khoton family descending the Kharkhiraa River valley.
A Durvud Mongol man carrying his loved one in the saddle. Note the charcoal dust mark on the infant’s face—a traditional marking for warding off bad spirits.
Kazakhs of Bayan Olgiy Aimag in Western Mongolia were isolated from the privations endured by their compatriots in neighboring Kazakhstan during Stalin’s era. In Mongolia, they live a traditional nomadic life, reminiscent of what life might once have been like for Kazakh communities from the Altai Mountains to the Caspian Sea.
Kazakhs of Bayan Olgiy Aimag in Western Mongolia were isolated from the privations endured by their compatriots in neighboring Kazakhstan during Stalin’s era. In Mongolia, they live a traditional nomadic life, reminiscent of what life might once have been like for Kazakh communities from the Altai Mountains to the Caspian Sea.
Kazakhs of Bayan Olgiy Aimag in Western Mongolia were isolated from the privations endured by their compatriots in neighboring Kazakhstan during Stalin’s era. In Mongolia, they live a traditional nomadic life, reminiscent of what life might once have been like for Kazakh communities from the Altai Mountains to the Caspian Sea.
Ruslan descends from a peak in the Altai Mountains of Eastern Kazakhstan—the starting point for my year-long crossing of the country to the Volga delta on the Caspian Sea.
Nurkhan (far left) on newly purchased Taskonir, Ruslan (second from left) on Ogonyok, and friends, not far from Pugachevo, Eastern Kazakhstan.
Aset with his disabled son, Guanz, who is trying out my Australian saddle on Taskonir. Zhana Zhol, Eastern Kazakhstan.
Aset’s mother-in-law—witness to the collectivization of Kazakh nomads and survivor of the resulting famine, believed to have wiped out 1.7–2.2 million Kazakhs between 1930 and 1933.
Aset leads off into a brewing buran (winter storm) a day before we took shelter in Kindikti, with a young Tigon in tow.
Tigon’s first winter—he was desperate to get his paws off the snow.
Bakhetbek, our host in Kindikti, is an Oralman—an expatriate Kazakh born in the Xinjiang Province in China—whose family has since returned to Kazakhstan.
Aul of Kindikti, Eastern Kazakhstan.
The barren land along the north of Lake Balkhash. No snow, but freezing conditions.
Portrait of a Kazakh chaban (herder) near Ayagoz.
Lonely Kazakh grave on the north shore of Lake Balkhash—the kind that Aset advised me to sleep in so that the “old men” of the steppe would protect me.
The chaban Bazibek and his camel near Ortaderesin, Lake Balkhash.
Riding out onto the Betpak Dala (the Starving Steppe). I’m riding Zhamba, with Ogonyok and Taskonir in tow.
Self-portrait on the Betpak Dala, two days before Christmas. Temperature was dropping below –30°C.
Getting porridge cooking in camp on the Betpak Dala. Tigon is out of sight, curled up in my sleeping bag.
The grim gold-mining town of Akbakai on the Betpak Dala, where I was forced to hole up for the better part of three months.
Grisha and Vitka, the Russian alcoholics who took me in on Christmas Eve 2004 in Akbakai.
Grisha and Vitka, the Russian alcoholics who took me in on Christmas Eve 2004 in Akbakai.
Baitak—the man to whom I owe the lives of my horses and Tigon, and the journey itself.
Spring has arrived. Children hold some freshly picked tulips next to their woolly camel near Tasty on the Chu River, Kazakhstan.
Taskonir shares my oatmeal porridge in one of my first camps on the Syr Darya River. Note the green spring grass.
A Kazakh woman from the family in Zhuantobe that nursed Tigon back to health after his run-in with a car.
Chilikti, a typical aul of adobe huts, a few days ride north of the Aral Sea.
After a long night ride I take refuge from the heat on the floor of a family’s mud-hut, somewhere north of the Aral Sea.
Tigon and I often took naps during my night-riding routine. Here on the banks of the Zhem River, there i
s fortunately some shade to be found.
I film Murat Guanshbai’s vast herd of camels being herded across the Zhem River.
A nomad greeting not far shy of Kulsary, Western Kazakhstan. In this region, people traditionally take cover in underground homes in the daytime heat and sleep in their yurts at night.
Nomad child amid the camel herd.