Crimean wars

In 2004, lone Australian adventurer Tim Cope set out from Kharkorin, the ancient capital of Mongolia, to travel the length of the Eurasian steppe on horseback, all the way to the Danube River and Hungary. The 10,000-kilometre journey took three years to complete, on a succession of 13 horses (many of which were stolen along the way). It was a journey that had not, as far as is known, been completed since the 13th century and the days of Genghis Khan, founder of the Mongol empire. The Great Khan would launch a series of invasions that resulted in the conquest of most of Eurasia.

Cope sailed from Krasnodar Krai, in Russia, across the Kerch Strait, in 2006, to continue his journey through Crimea. While in the autonomous republic, he witnessed some of the tensions that are making the current tussle between Ukraine and Russia for ownership of Crimea such a volatile issue. In the town of Bakhchisaray, Cope saw first-hand how decades of conflict between ethnic Russians and Muslim Tatars – who had been forcibly deported from Crimea by Soviet authorities in 1944 and were not permitted to return until the mid-1980s – were affecting everyday life.

Late last year, a first-person account of Cope’s journey, On the Trail of Genghis Khan, was released. Here are two extracts from the book, taken from the chapters on Crimea.

FROM EDEM’S FARM I rode for three days along mountain and forest trails. It was the peak of summer, my third on the steppe, and a part of me was mentally weary and comforted by the thought it would be my last in the saddle. The mosquitoes stressed the horses, and the heat increased the risk of saddle sores. Additionally, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in Crimea. In wider spaces, people bearing historical grudges with each other were separated by the muting qualities of distance. Here, trapped on such a small, sought-after chunk of land, cultures, layers of competing histories, and even environments were compressed, and I found myself bandied from one to another. There was no let-up, and ahead of me, things were only about to get more intense.

In the evening of my third day out from Edem’s farm a Russian horseman led me as far as the edge of the forest, where oaks gave way to an old Tatar walnut orchard. Pressing on, I took the opportunity to enjoy a passing moment of aloneness. I slowed the horses to a walk, soaking in the way their hooves shifted quietly along a track of powdery white clay.