Join us in a conversation with Mark Hooper, a multi-award-winning editor and travel journalist, as he talks to us about travelling to the ends of the earth to find a good night’s rest.
The multi-award-winning editor and travel journalist, Mark Hooper, knows a thing or two about quality, restful sleep. Throughout his career, he’s had the pleasure of staying at some of the most prestigious hotels in the world, working for The Times, Wallpaper* and the Robb Report. Having travelled to the ends of the earth in seeking a good night’s rest, he reveals the one thing that helps him re-energise and prepare for the next adventure.
Bedding Down
BY MARK HOOPER
To be a professional ballet dancer is extremely physical and there must be fundamental components that ensure their well-being. What are these components?
“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. As a travel writer, it was the kind of gig you dream of. The opportunity to visit somewhere still relatively untouched by the march of Western consumerism. A week-long journey deep into the heart of inner Mongolia to live amongst nomadic herdsmen in a traditional ger on the shore of Lake Hövsgöl.
As a travel writer, it was the kind of gig you dream of; the opportunity to visit somewhere still relatively untouched (…)
It’s not the sort of trip that screams ‘comfort’, but that was partly the point. To go truly off-grid in one of the bleakest, but also most beautiful spots on earth. Our host even gleefully told us that, in the winter months, it gets so cold that the ice on Hövsgöl is so thick that trucks from neighbouring Siberia use the smooth, frozen surface as the main thoroughfare into Hatgal. The Mad Max-esque town at the southern tip of the lake that connects with the larger market town of – I’m not making this up – Mörön. Better yet, at night they’ll park up on the ice, dig a pit under the engine and light a fire in it to prevent the parts from freezing up. Health and safety be damned.
The spirit of adventure
It’s a place that encourages the adventurous spirit. With barely any horse-riding experience, I was convinced to take a mule up the foothills of the Sayan mountains. While an excursion onto the lake via speedboat resulted in us running out of petrol at the furthest point from land and having to swim to shore. Eventually, we found ourselves stranded near a place that seemed to be called Toilet (I only later discovered it was spelt ‘Toilogt’).
That said, the nights in our gers, heated by a central chimney and surrounded by utter silence, were peaceful and cosy. Which can’t be said for our journey back. Having made our way to the local, dirt-track airport for our connecting flight back home, we watched, mouths agape, as the double-propeller plane made its approach… and lifted back into the air as the pilot decided the recent rains had made it too muddy to land. Enquiring about the next flight brought a resigned shrug – same time, next week.
So, our international flight left the capital, Ulaanbaatar, for London via Irkutsk and Moscow in exactly 24 hours’ time. After a brief discussion with a local driver, we worked out that was roughly how long it would take us to drive there. There was, however, a potentially quicker option. And that was to drive as the crow flies – across the semi-desert steppes and dried-up river beds in a vintage Land Rover with little in the way of suspension.
What followed was the most uncomfortable night of my life. Constantly bumped and stopped suddenly in our tracks. We emptied our rucksacks and tried as best we could to cocoon ourselves on our spare clothing. Serving less as pillows than as crashmats, anything to protect us from concussing ourselves against the hard metal around us.
Seeking a good night’s rest
To cut a very long night short, we made it to the airport before our plane took off, but not before they’d closed the gate. Despite our pleading – and our bruises – we were met with typically Mongolian, seen-it-all-before, nonplussed stares. There was another flight next week, what was the rush?
