In Sidetracked Volume Four, we featured a story about Tim Cope’s three year journey, on horseback, from Mongolia to Hungary, on the trail of Genghis Khan. His book based on the journey, On the Trail of Genghis Khan: An Epic Journey Through the Land of the Nomads (Bloomsbury) was awarded the Grand Prize in the 2013 Banff International Book Competition. Andrew Mazibrada caught up with Tim before he left for Mongolia again to learn more about his incredible journey.

Andrew: Where did your love of Russia, Mongolia and Central Asia come from?

Tim: In 1998 I abandoned a Law degree in Australia to study to be a wilderness guide in Finland. The twelve-month course focused on traditional Finnish culture in the boreal forest zone and tundra of the Sub Arctic. The year entailed, among other things, three expeditions (by canoe, foot and ski) into nearby Russia. They were journeys that opened my eyes to a world that had been more myth than reality for someone like myself who had grown up in rural Australia. Russia at that time was going through a chaotic period of transition – in 1998 there was an economic meltdown. Many people had not received salaries in six months or more, and some people I met were living off fishing, hunting, and the gathering of forest food to survive. One of our journeys involved hiring a Soviet era helicopter (which, in 1998, was outrageously cheap), packing it with 10 canoes and equipment for three weeks, and having the pilot drop all sixteen of us students in the wilderness to paddle back to civilisation.

During these first journeys to Russia, I was struck by the people who, whether they were families subsisting in remote, mostly abandoned villages, or in larger centres, showed an open-door culture of hospitality and a remarkable sense of spontaneity and celebration. The people of Russia were as diverse as the landscapes, and all attempting to reclaim their unique identities in the wake of the Soviet collapse. Over time I became intrigued by the connections between people stretching across this vast land based on a common environment and way of life. The mysterious eastern origins of the Finns inspired me too. I was beguiled by the thought that there were interrelated cultures and languages, and entire histories yet unknown to me that transcended modern state boundaries.

I began studying Russian before the year was out, and when I graduated I forfeited my ticket home to Australia. A friend, Chris Hatherly and I plotted to explore Russia and Siberia by bicycle. In September 1999, with a budget of just $2 a day, we set off from north of St Petersburg, aiming for Beijing. In the 14 months ahead, we experienced frostbitten toes, the woes of northern Russia’s snowmelt, and even found ourselves pushing the bikes along the BAM railway in Siberia to the north of Lake Baikal. Yet this adventure was a way into the heart and soul of the people – many of whom adopted us like long lost relatives. In the end, we would traverse Mongolia where I would become inspired by the nomadic cultures of the steppe zone. Seeds of future journeys were planted there.

You speak fluent Russian and you guide in Siberia and Mongolia. How did you come to learn the language, and learn enough of such a dangerous area to guide in it?

I’ve been learning Russian since 1998 when I studied with Russian students in Finland and made my first journeys to Russia. Over the decade that followed I spent the majority of my formative years in Russia, Ukraine, Mongolia and Central Asia more broadly, where it is crucial to know the Russian language. Apart from my 14 month bicycle adventure from north-west Russia to Beijing, I also undertook a 4,500km rowboat journey down the Yenisey River in Siberia to the Arctic Ocean, and later a three year journey by horse from Mongolia to the Danube River. These fuelled my passion for traditional cultures, drove my writing and film projects, and inspired me to take people to Mongolia and Siberia to experience life there first hand. I’ve been taking groups to the Altai in Mongolia, including two school groups, every year since 2008.

I don’t see Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Russia, and even remote Siberia as being dangerous places. When I was in Finland and studying traditional ways in which Finns lived in the forest, I learnt that what appears to be hostile wilderness to one person, is another person’s garden from which everything required to sustain life can be found. I take the same approach to people and society at large – by learning about the history, language and culture, one can learn how to see the world through different eyes, and therefore not only gain deep, horizon-extending understanding, but reduce risks. If I return to University one day I would love to study anthropology – what fascinates me most is the way in which cultures have evolved, hand-in-glove, with their environments.

What sort of relationship do you have with local people in Siberia and Mongolia? How important is it to have a strong relationship with local people when guiding?

When my horses were stolen on just the fifth night of a journey from Mongolia to Hungary, it felt like I had lost almost before I had begun. However I was fortunate to find the horses the next day. A nomad returned them to me, saying: ‘A man on the steppe without friends is as narrow as a finger… a man on the steppe with friends is as wide as the steppe.’ I needed to leave my baggage behind as a westerner, reach out of my dream world, and get to know people, however unfamiliar. Over the course of the next year, I came to realise just how fundamental that saying would be, not only for my survival (and that of my animals), but also for truly getting into the fabric of a place and understanding the people. It doesn’t matter whether it’s guiding, journeying, or just visiting a place – in my opinion it’s coming to know the people on their terms that is the most important aspect of travel. I have friends right across Central Asia, Mongolia and Siberia, and my friendship with them is the true measure of my travel.