"As long as your horse is strong, travel and learn to know different places."

Uliastay. Not mentioned in any travel guide book explicitly and only a small dot on the map: Aimag capital of the Zavkhan province. But actually it is just a small Mongolian village. No place you have to see. And certainly not a place to return to. And yet our path has led us back almost exactly on our four-year jubilee. Why? Because continents, countries and places begin to overlap on a long-term trip. Because the travel route changes over time, because we seldom plan ahead for more than two months and thus never know exactly where we are going next. Because the world is infinitely big and offers a bunch of possibilities and surprises. Because we are more and more guided by our mood and the wind.

"Once seen is better than a thousand times heard."

Since we stumbled rather unprepared into the Mongolian winter seven years ago, Mongolia has a special place in our hearts. It is this typical phenomenon that experiences that bring you to your personal limits remain particularly bright in the memory. And the bitterly cold time in Mongolia has brought us to our limits more than once, mentally and physically. We have made the crossing of the deep frozen country only thanks to the hospitality of the Mongolian nomads. And as usual, mind has done its sorting work perfectly afterwards. The evil moments, the times when we have doubted both our reason and ourselves, have been deleted neatly, or pushed far into the dusty corners of the brain. But the images of the warm-heated yurts, the foaming milk tea, the soft winter light, the bursting sea ice are still alive. Memories and experiences that have shaped us, and have showed us that personal limits can be pushed forward.

It is always dangerous to return to a place where you associate such strong emotions. The risk of being disappointed is much higher than when you venture into unknown regions. It is the own expectations and not descriptions of other travelers which are put to the test. And we know only too well: time is pausing nowhere, especially not with us. And that is why we are now looking a bit worried out of the train window, asking ourselves: Has Mongolia changed?

"A man may not have a heart, but surely he has a stomach."

The "Platzkart" wagon of the Transsib from the southern border to Ulan Batar is fully booked. Many families, couples and businessmen are on their way back from China. Heavy suitcases, boxes with electronic equipment and huge plastic bags are lifted to the upper shelf and stowed under the seats. A Mongol in our age, who is studying Chinese in Beijing and speaks some English, is joining us. Thanks to his help, our bicycles are in the same train and we travel at the price of the locals. 6 dollars for 14 hours. About the same price we would pay for a short ride on the city bus line in Bern. Bahadur is looking forward to the holidays in his homeland. "The meat in China is shitty," he tells us. It would have no taste and if he goes back to Beijing, one of his suitcases is always filled with good Mongolian meat. The train attendant, in dangerously high high heels, pushes the food cart past us. We choose the national dish "Tsüivan", noodles with small pieces of carrots and of course first-class Mongolian meat. Yes, and there it is, the taste from our memory. In winter, this greasy food was our fuel, indispensable to survive in the cold, but now in summer... "very good" we nod bravely. Well, at least the food remained the same.

"Who follows the sun will never freeze."

After dealing with registration and visa extension in Ulan Batar we finally get back on the bike. We have chosen the biggest mountain ridges as our target this time. The Khoridol Saridag Mountains in the north, the Kanghai Mountains in the center, the Altai in the west. And in between wide steppe, river valleys, lakes, forests. Nomad's land. It is a fantastic route on small dirt tracks, old overgrown double tracks, narrow single trails and short hike-a-bike sections over the highest passes. It is wide, lonely and wild. Wolves are howling around our tent, singing us the song of the high north as a lullaby. The meadows are glowing in a colorful potpurri of alpine flowers. The mountain streams are crystal clear and ice cold. Perfect to wash off the sweat of the day with an evening bath. We follow the sun.

"Fast rabbits have often shit on their legs."

Many of the high valleys are deserted. Although we sometimes pass by a few old stables, the nomads are no longer there. We are witnessing an exodus, are witnessing how an ancient way of life is changing to modernity in no time. Even if Mongolia as a country hardly can offer any prospects to its population in the cities, as Bahadur explained us on the train. The deserted valleys make us sad, and when we get into one of the small settlements, the feeling increases. People look depressed and unhappy. Hardly anyone smiles, our friendly "Sainbaino" is often answered with a grumpy one. The little shops are filled with liquor. What's happening? That's not how we remember the Mongols. Do we really experience how the old hospitality is swept away from capitalism? How the silence spreads...

"Being on the road means being free."

On July 18th we reach Uliastay. With cranberry compote from the German brand "EDEKA - Good & Cheap" we celebrate 60'000km and the beginning of our fifth travel year. Do we sometimes think of going home? Yes, sometimes. Sometimes we catch ourselves speaking from home. Sometimes we feel a slight longing in us, the wish to stay longer in a place. Not always to be just a stranger on transit, but someone who feels at home. But then we look up to the starry sky, ride into the sunrise and think: "No, not yet."

And so we continue our journey westwards in direction of the Altai mountains. And we hope that beside the scenic beauty of Mongolia we will also find its true soul again. Then that is our strongest memory: the smiles, the warmth and the kindness of its people.