Hold the Mutton, Please.

I refuse to even try to understand why, after having our passports checked by both the Russians and the Mongolians which takes three hours, we have to sit at the border in silence for seven more roasting hours before continuing on to Ulan Baatar. At least this time our cabin was not disconnected from the rest of the train and left in the middle of the tracks somewhere without a bathroom for four hours. Count your blessings.

Mongolia was far more exciting this time around. We had met a girl in Irkutsk whose family runs a guesthouse in Ulan Baatar (UB) so we had them pick us up at the train station, which far surpassed the taxi ride at the mercy of a haggered crone who tried to charge us $5 to go 3 kilometers two years ago. As we sat on the couch waiting to be checked in we heard some girls talking about the weirdness of their roommate who was walking around in special underwear...

"Is he from Sweden?" Jessica asked.
"How did you know that?"

Our next option for getting to Beijing by train was in four days so we opted for an overnight excursion to Terelj National Park outside of UB. It was a good idea to get out of the city because as soon as you do it actually becomes an interesting country! The small section of the park that we saw was mountainous and dotted with massive boulders of various shapes. We ate lunch in a ger and, after declining to ride the diabolical ponies who are known to seriously injure 90% of their riders, walked up a small hill and across a swinging rope and plank bridge to a buddhist temple.

Then we were off across the plains, bumping along dirt tracks and through landfills towards our lodging. I was in awe of the small collection of gers when I saw it. They had set up a farm with stables and pens for the sheep, goats and cows. As the weather was warming more and more goats were being born, filling the pens with mewing balls of adorably furry creatures. The newborns were nursed briefly and then brought inside the warmth of the ger to live their first few days in the kitchen. When we stepped through the low door they began to call to us from their makeshift pen in the corner. Our ger was actually two round rooms complete with a door between them. It takes 20 minutes to erect the structure, which if you see the elaborate framework would amaze you. They made vegetarian food for us, which was so surprisingly delicious. We watched the grandmother steam long snakes of dough in a large pot and then cut them into thin noodles which she fried with vegetables. And in the morning we had yogurt and something like clotted cream, both homemade with their fresh milk.


During the night snow fell and turned the entire world white. I ventured out as everyone else recovered from a night of cards and Mongolian vodka. In the goat pen the mother of the nomadic family beckoned me to watch the birth of a goat. As soon as the tiny white one was out and cleaned off he was learning to stand, which he did five minutes later.

I have heard a great deal from others who travelled through Mongolia and went deeper into the Gobi for week-long (or more)treks. They aren't all good stories and some of them are actually terrifying but I think it would have been nice to escape into that world for a while longer. Certainly the hospitality, kindness and fascination of the nomadic people is reason enough.

We were able to buy train tickets all the way to Beijing this time. In 2004 Kip and I spent a hellish night on a "luxury" night bus with bunk beds covered in blood and other fluids from Erlian (Chinese border) to Beijing. I vowed that I would spend $1000 to fly before I did that again, so for our budget and sanity's sake it was a good thing that the train wasn't full. We passed the day with a Mongolian mother and her blind 18 month old travelling to India for surgery. What a sweet and (mercifully) quiet baby! Before we entered the outskirts of Beijing the train made a brief stop at the Great Wall.


Along with William and Iona (our new Kiwi friends) and Irene (an Americanized Dutch girl) we hopped in a taxi at the train station and made our way into the city. After check in we had agreed to venture out for food and whatever else our bodies could handle. I suggested a vegetarian restaurant that specialized in fake peking duck. It was a hike, but our Lonely Planet (I know I should never trust them) highly recommended the place and we were all keen. An hour later we were dragging our exhausted bodies up to the door of the completely empty, partially renovated building where the restaurant used to be. We were crestfallen. But it all worked out as off of Wangfujing shopping street we found the most glorious restaurant with a picture menu and ordered enough for 20 people. Best Chinese food of my life!

While I was still in Ulan Baator, Mongolia I attempted to update my journal. The power went out just before I finished and I lost about 40 minutes worth of work. Well, I just spent half an hour updating my journal again, but the entry was erased by the inadequate computer or connection or just by bad luck.

Anyway, I am well and safe in Vietnam. Perhaps I will try to update again, but I am very frustrated at this point and may not. Please check back from time to time. I will certainly update when I return home.

Thanks for all your emails and comments.

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, getting cards and letters from people I don't even know...

A covered version of this classic blasted from the radio as we had a blissful Italian lunch in a little bistro in Ulan Baator. It was odd. The food was amazing though. After eating scant meals and drinking barely enough water for days, to be able to sit down to spinach pasta with mushrooms, tuscan soup and lemonade... One thing to be said for travelling in a place where your options are limited, when you have the opportunity for real food again it tastes heavenly. It was like we were eating for the first time.

Ulan Ude was a disaster, as all things had been in Russia. Our books indicated that from the station we should cross the footbridge, walk 150 meters and turn down any street to the right into the town square. Well, we set about to do so in the darkness of early morning. The square was nowhere to be found. Some people were uninterested in even taking a moment to try and understand what we were looking for (the huge statue of Lenin's head, which is the centerpiece of the town). Two hours later, it dawned on me that there was a whole other side of town across the train tracks and we had been wandering on the wrong side of them. The books never mentioned that this other side (with its own markets, libraries, hotels) existed!

I am going to have a Lonely Planet book burning session when I return home. Never have I been so consistently misguided!

By the time we did reach the hotel we had missed the first bus to the Datsam (a Buddhist monastery 60km from the city). We walked to the bus station where I talked to the bus driver. He did not really speak English, but we seemed to have an understanding. I asked him times for Ulan Ude to Datsam and then Datsam to Ulan Ude, gesturing with my arm "there" and "back". He even took a piece of paper and wrote down the times, listing one column Ulan Ude and one Datsam. Oh, why do I even bother with the long explanations? After rushing around the temples to insure that we caught our bus back to the city, we just sat at the entrance and waited and waited and waited. FOR THE BUS THAT WOULD NEVER COME. The buses apparently don't run back from the temples. We caught a ride with some guy(!?!?!) to a local village and took a minibus from there.

Then we had to trek to the train station to buy our tickets. We found a market where I bought some bread and tuna fish (protein, protein, protein, my body screams). The fish was so vile and tinny that I could not eat it.

The provodnista put us in the wrong cabin when we got on the train, some bureaucratic business to do with what I'm sure were illegal, undeclared goods hidden all over the carriage. We shared a cabin with a nice enough Mongolian woman who had a friend visiting at every possible moment. During our nine (yes, that says nine) hour border crossing (frequently disturbed by the train's random, halting advances, which tossed us around the cabin like rag dolls) we watched people hiding boxes of fur hats or fish tails or whatever they need to smuggle in underneath the train, in overhead bins, in the toilet, out the back of the carriage, everywhere! It was quite a juggling act.

When we finally did arrive in Ulan Baator we got in a taxi with a hideous old cackling witch in traditional dress. We agreed on 500 togog, which was more than fair. When we arrived and I handed her the bill she started ranting about dollar, dollar. She expected us to pay five dollars each to ride about a kilometer! Bah! I took two dollars out of my case and showed it to her. She balked. She indicated that we should get back in the car. Fine! Calling her bluff we did. She didn't turn on the car, just blubbered about five dollar. We just sat there. I showed her the money in my hand. "That's it," I said. She got out again and went around to the trunk. I told her to open it. She wanted the money so I handed it to her. She motioned to Kip, like "Now where's YOUR money". We said "No, that's all!" She had the key in the trunk so I went to open it. She slapped me! She ranted a minute more and then probably remembered she had a child on the stove for breakfast and it was all but ruined so she'd better rush home. She opened the trunk and we grabbed our things. She took off mumbling.

Of course the door to the hostel was locked and there was no notice explaining how to enter the building. There was no bell. Naturally our books were useless. We waited until someone came out, which allowed us entry into the building, and found the guesthouse on the second floor. After a nap and a shower (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh) we went out to find the international railway booking office, another display of how maps in our guidebooks are far better suited for toilet paper than anything. We have to go back tomorrow to find out about tickets to Beijing as they do not go on sale until the day before departure. Keep us in your thoughts as we attempt this simplest of tasks, which will no doubt cause us great undue stress...

Anyway, this leads me back to our Italian restaurant. Ah the delight. It was, sadly, the highlight of the day. More from the far side of the world tomorrow...