The Planning

How does one end up hitchhiking from Europe to Mongolia?

At first, I was talking about it for a long time and was doing nothing to make it happen because I was doing my studies for ages. My original idea was to cycle to China, but I’m slow. So, when I did a little bit of math, I realized that it would take me a couple of years. And that seemed a bit too long. (Also, I’m rather bad at repairing bikes, so my bike would probably fall apart before I would leave Europe). 

Also, I didn’t want to go alone because that would be sometimes boring (and I would have a cabin fever). My boyfriend Huan would never voluntarily leave his country for more than a month (except for a UFO attack or so), so I was looking for a travel buddy. In some countries on my way people tend to find penises very important, so it might be good to have at least one per group. I didn’t have any, so I was looking for people who happened to have one. I gradually found two traveling partners, who then always found a girlfriend and changed their mind. 

Then after a short hitchhiking trip with Vojta, a friend of mine, we found out that we might not necessarily want to kill each other even during a long trip, se we decided to go together. Vojta is the most cynical and nihilistic person in the world, but he usually keeps his word. (And he promissed to learn Farsi for traveling in Iran even though normally he complains he is horrible at languages, so that was a good sign.)

We were still thinking about going by bike, but we eventually agreed to hitchhike. Also, my cousin was by the time hitchhiking to Japan and told me that Mongolia was nice. So I decided I wanted to go to Mongolia instead of just China. Vojta wanted to go everywhere, so making the trip longer sounded like a plan. (Vojta then found a girlfriend too, which made me kind of worried about the journey, but he didn’t back out.) 

If you wish to travel like this, it is still helpful (but not necessary, I think) to earn some money before. The biggest black hole for money was the insurance, the vaccination (I’m not hardcore enough to blow this off) and the visas (Yep. The dream about roaming around free like the wind ends in the very moment one reads the visa conditions for pretty much any country). So, I stopped telling people I was self-employed, almost a business person, and found a regular job. 

Then for about half a year we were mostly talking about the journey and doing nothing (at least me, because I had a thesis to write and parties to attend). We decided to start in autumn, which was kind of a stupid idea, but it was still better than ending up in Mongolia in winter. Vojta would go anytime, and I still needed to graduate and do my side-jobs and go to bars and play role-playing games and to do my full-time job for at least a year because I had promised that.

In spring I started to feel guilty because I had still done nothing, so I at least googled the visa requirements and prices of vaccinations, which both made me almost faint. As for visas, going to Mordor would be easier than entering most of the Central Asian countries legally by land (the strategy of most of the governments obviously is to force any foreigner spend a yearly income of an ordinary citizen of a country to allow them entering that country). Also, we found out that we couldn’t apply for any of the most difficult visas from home because they are all valid for 3 months, whereas we would need the first of them in some 4 months after the start of the journey (I don’t count the visa for Iran because it seems – at least from the internet – that it’s not as hard to get).

So we prepared mentally for a visa hell and started paying shitloads of money for vaccination. Then I was too occupied by my thesis, so I just bought a backpack and besides that was doing still nothing, whereas Vojta was sometimes sending me pictures of cool-looking places usually someplace in Armenia where we won’t be able to go in winter because it will be too cold there. If he didn’t send me anything for a week, I started to worry that he was going to back off, and the closer the agreed start of the trip approached, the more paranoid I was. 

Two months before the planned start I had to tell my boss that I was going to quit, and at that moment it became kind of serious. Are we really going? All the “big plans” I’ve ever came up with eventually failed to materialize. Is the trip really gonna happen?

I also realized that (besides that I still didn’t have the thesis done), I hadn’t arranged pretty much anything except for the vaccinations. But I still had too much work to do on my thesis (and at the back of my mind I still kind of expected Vojta to be kidnapped by aliens, a huge meteorite to fall on Europe or something else to happen that would prevent the trip from happening), so I really started preparing only when I finally graduated – about one month before the time we planned to go. 

I bought some stuff (way more than I originally planned, but I was too scared of the 3 or 4 months of cold and heavy rains we will have to survive), I took up a first-aid course, I found a person who translated some basic hitchhiking sentences to Persian for me, I opened a new bank account to be able to withdraw money in other countries without an exorbitant additional fee, I was trying to heal my injured arms so that I would be ok by the time we start the trip, I bought several tablets that would enable me to access internet, write this and use offline maps – and always returned them because they always were somehow broken (it seems it is nearly impossible in today’s world to buy a device that would be able to do all of these 3 things, have a battery and wouldn’t cost a zillion). 

I also cut my hair short in order to make their washing easier and to look the least feminine possible and the most unattractive to random perverts (it seemed to work for Kateřina Mandulová in Russia, it didn’t work for Viktorka Hlaváčková in eastern Europe much - they are both solo travellers, though - so let’s see). 

In the meantime, I was sometimes hit by a sudden sadness that I would miss my boyfriend, or I was, on the other hand, afraid that he would give me some ultimatum (like I either stay, or he breaks up with me). However, he stayed as patient and supportive as always. Also (quite surprisingly) my family wasn’t freaking out much and nobody was seriously trying to convince me not to go anywhere and to do something more conventional instead.

Eventually I moved out of my room (a friend of mine will live there the next year) and put all my stuff to my mother’s house instead. The agreed day of departure was quickly approaching, Vojta had been probably sitting on his ready backpack in his empty flat for a couple of weeks already, sending me more pictures of cool places, whereas I was chaotically preparing 100 things at once. On the last day, I started squeezing the infinite pile of absolutely necessary stuff into my microscopic backpack, and I succeeded with some 4 hours delay. I said goodbye (for the second time) to my boyfriend and when it was already dark and freezing outside, we finally started hitchhiking. We caught no ride that day and eventually returned home, along with a Chinese guy on his hitchhiking trip to China whom we had met on the petrol station. The day after we were more successful, so the trip finally started.

The Equipment

Many of the cool travelers whose blogs I’ve seen have a detailed section where they describe the stuff they carry, with brands, price and weight at best, so I will try too:

• a horribly expensive new backpack (45 l) of a loud color (why does most of the outdoor stuff for short people have so flashy colours that you just cannot hide them in the shrubs if you need to?)
• a horribly expensive thick sleeping bag to minus zillion degrees (hopefully)
• a new tablet that enables you to write stuff and access internet (that’s pretty much it)
• solid boots
• my mum’s old skiing pants
• my cousin’s GPS messenger
• my old skiing jacket with only few holes
• my friend’s fancy old camera
• my boyfriend’s functional towel
• a 1951 army cooking pan from a flea market
• an army raincoat
• 2 magical T-shirts and a pair of pants that NEVER stink (add 100 points to the skill “civilization”)
• my larping costum garment (more or less might suit the dress-code in Iran)
• sleeping bag linings
• a new waterproof jacket and pants from my mum
• a new small down jacket
• my boyfriend’s old cell phone
• a headlamp
• 2 camping mats
• a water filter
• some other random stuff (such as socks) I find unnecessary to describe

We also have some other stuff that Vojta carries (because he is way taller and heavier and doesn't have injured shoulders):

• my cousin’s tent, big enough for one human and 100 ants (it survived his hitchhiking trip from Europe to Japan, so it must survive this one too)
• a gasoline cooker
• a power bank
• medicines

Why are we doing this?

Why the hell not!

Well, one might imagine quite a lot of reasons why not, so I will try to explain here why yes and to convince my dear readers I haven’t lost my mind. I will speak for myself because Vojta, my hitchhiking partner, also knows how to write. Plus, he hasn’t explained it to me either.

When people do things, they usually do them to achieve an aim. But, well, does everything need to have an aim? Are there things you don’t do for some aim because they are the aim themselves? For me, such a journey used to be an aim like that. It was mostly because I started thinking about it a long time ago, when I was a kid, a kind of punk, hated my society (especially the fact that you need to wake up early to go to school) and wanted to become a homeless or a shepherd when I would grow up (circle the most appropriate option). However, when I grew old I stopped hating my society (I now appreciate it quite a lot, actually), stopped getting up early and realized that I sucked horribly as a shepherd (if you’re a city person, try to make a herd of sheep enter a truck – you may realize that too). And I started thinking about reasons why hitchhiking with a tiny budget to a different continent through some completely unknown countries might (or might not) be a good idea. (Eventually I foud out it still was a good one.)

To start, why hitchhiking? Why not going by air, buses, trains, my own car, my own tractor – except the fact that it costs money?

First of all, flying is cheating! It’s like a teleport, it’s not traveling. It’s your money traveling, not you.

Nope, in fact, I just enjoy more the journey than the destination. I don’t like the moment when you appear in a different part of the world in a couple of hours out of nowhere – I enjoy much more the slow progress you make when you hitchhike, cycle or walk. I like unexpected things and I let them happen. (When an unexpected thing happens in the air, chances are high it’s a bad one, though). And I don’t like flying because it uses up way too much resources from the environment.

Moreover, when you hitchhike, you meet all sorts of people. I can imagine it might be a negative thing if you don’t like people – but if you like them or do not necessarily hate them, they can tell you a lot of things. About their countries, their families, their ways of life, their communities… You can experience different ways of thinking. As a hitchhiker, you aren’t on business terms with people – you aren’t their customer – they are not selling you anything – and your conversation might be much more genuine than if you are a tourist. (Money is cool but I don’t wish it to be the only means of my interaction with others). Also, unexpected things can happen very easily – and they are often positive. You are invited for a visit, people suggest you interesting places to see or you completely change your plans because somebody offers you to stay at their place for a couple of days or goes hiking with you. Besides that, you peep out of your usual social bubble and might find something interesting, strange or disturbing outside – and it makes you think about the world in a different way than usual.

Second, why from Europe to Mongolia through Central Asia? There is nothing!

The answer is – that’s exactly why. As for Mongolia, I know that there used to be some guys on horses who attacked other guys with fewer horses and that people live in yurts in there. That’s pretty much it. As for the Central Asian countries, I can (almost) find them on the map, I know the names of their capitals and I’ve been told at school that some of them had oil. There are in fact very little things I know about them as an ordinary European. However, people also live in there, don’t they?  So there must be at least something, right?

I don’t need to see the most important monuments in the world and the whole UNESCO heritage list (Vojta says there indeed are some UNESCO sites in Central Asia, but I don't really care). I’m more interested in how people live at different places and what they think (even though it might be difficult to understand if they tell it to you in a language you know four words of, or it may be downright upsetting). There just are things in the world that you can’t google. 

Also, a very simple reason is that if you start your journey from the Czech Republic - where I happen to come from - there is no huge ocean between you and Mongolia. And that's quite important because hitchhiking boats might be a pain in the neck. It requires a lot of effort to persuade people, and I'm a bit too shy for that.

Third, why with little money?

When I was first thinking about this trip, it was simple – I just had no money. Then I happened to work and earn some, but I sticked to the original idea because I just found it more interesting. It is in part connected to what I said before about hitchhiking. On this journey, I don’t want to do business with people. Also, I find it safer – I prefer not to become a walking wallet that anyone might want to scam or to steal from. Sure, it can still very well happen but if you use as little paid services as possible and start many of your interactions by “sorry, I travel without money”, you can discourage some scammers from dealing with you straight away. 

Another reason is that I would like to try living in a bit different way than I do at home. We are so much used to buying everything for money that we can’t even imagine trying to do stuff without it. And people tend so much to think that it is impossible to travel if you are not rich that I would like to show the contrary. 

If you don’t pay for things, you must be more inventive to get them in a different way (a simple example: you need water. You either can buy it, or you might try asking locals whether there is a source nearby, whether the tap water is suitable for drinking and whether they can give you some… Foreign languages and pantomime exercise included.). 

It also may be much less comfortable. You may end up camping in a city park or in a house ruin when it’s freezing outside, you are hitchhiking in rain, you try to take a “shower” with a bottle of cold water, you travel 200 km in a completely packed tiny car with your backpack on your knees… But it might be worth it. You end up thinking a bit outside the box, you find out that some things you found impossible are actually very well possible, that you are able to endure quite a lot and you may find that doing things is kind of more intense like this than if you do them in the “ordinary” way. (Besides, you’re more prepared for a zombie apocalypse. No doubt.)  

 Fourth, why for several months?

Is a 2 weeks’ holiday not enough? Do I not have a career to build, taxes to pay, mortgage to repay, kids to make and family to sustain?

Mongolia is far away from Czechia. That’s why.
And I’m lucky enough my family can sustain itself at the moment (and my boyfriend is a really tolerant person). I’m also lucky enough to live in a rich (some Western-Europeans and my fellow countrymen might be surprised I’m saying this) Eastern-European country where an average income allows you to live comfortably if you only sustain yourself, and to put some money aside if you’re a bit modest and don’t drink much beer. As for taxes and all the other stuff you must pay in exchange for living in civilization, in my country there are ways how to legally suspend all of them if you don’t work and are abroad. 

The rest is a question of preference in our part of the world. I can imagine my career may suffer but it’s still worth for me. I'm not working on finding a cure for cancer, nor am I a firefighter, so I doubt the world will suffer from my absence in the economy system. I even think I will be more useful to humanity by reducing my carbon footprint, by finding out what is the life in other countries like and by sharing my experience with those who would be interested.

To achieve this, I want to roam around, I don’t wish to be pressed by time like in the “normal” life. On every trip, there were moments when I thought it would be great to go to some more places, a bit further – but I needed to go back to school or work. I wish to have enough time to be led by chance and to experience what it is like to be on the road. If I want to try living in a different way than I’m used to, it requires a bit more time than an average holiday. I’d like to find out how long I need to travel in a hobo way before I realize that I want to go home and to live in a civilized way again. (This has never happened to me yet, but my longest trip has been one month long.) And most important, there are many countries I don’t know and many things I want to learn. A couple of months is not enough either, but it’s better than 2 weeks.

Finally – am I not afraid? Is it not horribly dangerous?

I indeed am afraid. But not as much that it could stop me. I am lucky enough I haven’t been traumatized by anything real so far, so I’m mostly afraid of the unknown. (I suppose that’s what most people are afraid of, though.) Sure, there are bad things that can happen, such as car crashes, accidents, running into assholes... But these things can happen when I stay at home, too. We try to be reasonable and don’t do things that really might be risky – such as going to war zones or unstable areas, going to the middle of a desert with no water, telling cops they are morons and telling customs officers their country’s leaders are damn dictators. We wish to get home safe and are doing the best to make it. I suppose that the only objectively risky thing we are doing is using cars in countries where the traffic rules are equal to what is physically possible, where seat belts are used as a fashion accessory you usually fasten on the back of your seat so that it looks more cool and where the turn signal is a swearword. (Driving our own car totally wouldn’t help since the locals know way better how to get around in this mess.) At the same time, the fact that we are hitchhiking helps us because people can sometimes warn us against a danger or tell us what to be aware of.

I wanted to add some wise summary here, but it all sounded terribly general and shallow, and I erased it. So, let’s just say here that I want to roam around in a hobo way in order to learn stuff because I think learning stuff is cool.