Woken by another hostel user's Skype conversation we grumpily assumed we were being forced to breakfast unsociably early, but a national geographic photographer pointed out that, in fact, our iphone clocks were an hour slow. We headed out into the crisp morning, our faces chilled, as we searched the suburb with unpronounceable Russian road names for the tour operator we had been recommended.

We tracked Golden Gobi down in the corner of a derelict square which looked as though it had barely survived a recent bombing raid however, after knocking on the solid steel door, we were let in to a cosy entrance hall filled with chatter. We were introduced to Olgie, who I had been emailing thinking she was a he, and we sat around a big map with mugs of coffee and discussed what we wanted to get out of our expedition to the Gobi desert.

I understood about 60% of what was suggested, nodding approvingly at the rest and taking Bob's lead on how many days camel riding was acceptable, but we were soon shaking hands and smiling, as Olgie went to discuss the plans of sand dunes, military jeeps, camels, gurs, ponies, lakes, glaciers and mutton head broth with the rest of our group who were currently sleeping, awaiting our confirmation of the route!

We headed off to see the city, faces dry, hands in pockets and heads reeling from the sickly smog which lay thick over the conurbation. We found Chiggis Kahn square, notable by its lack of ruined buildings and its glorious central towering statue of the mounted warrior looking imperious and brandishing a fistful of weapons. Old Mongols shuffled around under layers of coats with hard weathered faces, in stark comparison to the many young women who strutted across the square in knee high leather boots and full faces of makeup, accompanied by young, sharp suited men. We stumbled back to the shops and found an amazing collection on western brands hidden in a tired glazed outer building. We didn't need anything but the whole experience was very odd, leaving us wandering around the supermarket trying to interpret labels and dodging the toothless grand-Mongols in the vodka section who were very keen on Bob wishing them happy birthday with a peck on the cheek...

After an email from Olgie we headed back to the Golden Gobi Hostel where we met our new best friends, a Swede called Simeon and a French girl called Emily who as far as we could gather were not 'together' and had both come from Nepal. They looked as relieved as we did that the people they were spending the next 12 days in a bumpy old Russian military jeep were 'normal-ish' and after a brief friendly chat we went our separate ways to prepare for our departure the next morning.

After stocking up on dried fruit, nuts and lollipops for any kids that we needed to bribe we had an excellent hot chocolate, and chatted to an eco-friendly yak brusher, who was heading out to film nomads trussing and combing yaks for their wool. Apparently the Yaks come in 3 distinct colours and they don't mind being epilated. Dodging the mature, rotund Mongol in the shampoo Isle as we exited, we headed back to the apartment to try and pack for the desert winds and sub-teen nights. Bob could not have been more excited...

Supper was a simple affair, not wishing to challenge our constitution before a long day in the truck, and we hit the hay as the sun went down, trying to ready our body clocks for the upcoming 12 day challenge that the morning would bring.

No posts will follow this for the next 12 days as we will be heading through Outer Mongolia to the Gobi desert in our battle wagon and unable to communicate with the outside world. We hope the election goes well and that Princess Charlotte continues to impress all who she meets. Happy Birthday Chris and Wish us luck, we shall update you (hopefully) on the 19th of May. X