I can’t really place a finger on what I’m feeling right now. My mind is in this raw burning
unrefined jumble of a mess now, and while I know this journey may have us land in the middle of
nowhere, I just can’t help but cling onto that little sliver of hope. It sounds totally absurd though,
that two dudes could actually succeed in finding that blessed treasure, gold, whatever it is in that
tomb which we don’t even know where it is within the Gobi Desert. What we do know though, is
information from those random scraps of maps and unproven research concerning the Genghis
Khan. I would be frank and honest to myself in admitting I am indeed scared. But whoever and
wherever that Genghis Khan is, we WILL and MUST find him. Before everyone else does. The
credit is ours to claim. Failure is never an option.
Charles and I are on the third plane now and I can safely assure myself that we are both left
with not much money in our sacks. This sacrifice however would not be in vain. We will not and
cannot go back empty-handed, after giving up on so many things. I would make sure of that.
Marts should be okay on her own. I kind of miss her.
From the travel journal of Charles Atkinson, pg. 1:
5/6/2013 Afternoon -To Gobi Desert
In the desert to Gobi Desert now. Somehow this desert feels different. Even a bit off, and I
have no idea why, but there’s this gut sense of foreboding in me. I guess it’s probably because
instead of powdery sand, what I can see now are pretty much gravel plains and rocky outcrops
down below, which is kind of weird. The desert is giving out strange vibes that I can’t explain.
Tim looked kind of worked up right now though, guess he really needed the money quick.
But to be perfectly honest, I feel...insecure. For the first time in these years of treasure-
hunting Indiana Jones style, I am actually feeling scared for no apparent reason.
From the Travel Journal of Timothy Ross, pg. 2-3:
June 6th, 2013 10:50 p.m. (Mongolia Time) Clear
In the ger of a Mr. Gundsambuu
DAY 2
Horrible bus ride in the desert. It’s just so bumpy and hot that I puked up a couple of times and
my tongue felt like sandpaper. Anyway we finally got to a ger for the night, and I can’t be any
more thankful. The milk, though, tasted mildly uncured, but this is all part of treasure hunting.
You got to tolerate with the expected, expect the unexpected and still you have to go on. It’s all
part of the Mongolian hospitality tradition to present a bowl of milk to the visitors and you have
to slurp it up to show proper respect. I have already prepared myself for days of consuming milk
in different forms, be it hot, fermented, dried, or churned. Anything for that treasure. Anything.
The highlight of the day, though, was during supper. Pretty much out of the blue when we were
eating, our host has decided to spice up our meal with some mythical tales about worms, which was
about big groups of travelers during the Silk Road days having eaten by worms. Or so they claimed.
Anyway, the conclusion of this monstrous freaky tale, as told by Mr. Gundsambuu our host, is
asking for us to leave Gobi Desert as soon as possible because we might be eaten. By worms.
I am not suggesting that Mr. Gundsambu, on any degree, is insane. He is a nice old man, and
therefore the suggestion from him that we both must leave because of a worm baffles me greatly.
