Arrival in the land of genghis khan
After a good night’s sleep at my Irkustk hotel, I awoke at 6.00 am, hoping I had left enough time to get organised and have breakfast before heading for the railway station and my train to Ulan Bator. I need not have worried; the thoughtful hotel had come up with a novel way to speed proceedings for busy travellers: no hot water. With a shave and a shower dispensed with I was soon ready to spend another 24 hours on a train.
My companions on this leg of the journey turned out to be Jean-Pierre, a retired Parisian patent lawyer and veteran traveller, and Nico, a 41 year old adventurer from Hamburg. English was the common language, both speaking it well, luckily for me, and it was not long before banter was being exchanged.
Outside it was snowing, which I was quite pleased about, as I am sure no one would really believe I had been to Siberia without at least some snow. The downside was that as the snow turned to grey rain the visibility on what should have been the most scenic part of the trip along the shores of Lake Baikal was ruined; no snowy mountains, just a dark gey lake with a light grey sky.
Inside, beds on this Mongolian train were a lot harder than on my previous one, but the gender-dedicated toilet was a little larger – and smelled rather better too.
It was not long before thoughts turned to food and the restaurant car; smoke had been rising from a chimney on the roof of one carriage when I boarded the train and I assumed that was the restaurant. It was with some alarm, therefore, that I read an entry in the passenger comment book in the corridor that said it would have been nice to have a restaurant. Nico checked with the attendant and confirmed there was none. Woe is me: my previous supplies bought in Moscow were all but gone and my search for a supermarket near my hotel the previous evening had been fruitless. The first significant stop would be at Ulan Ude, 7 hours away, where I hoped there would be vendors on the platform – if I made it that far.
In the meantime Jean-Pierre was helpfully reading the ‘Instruction sheet for inter-city passengers passing through customs border of the Customs Union’. Apparently it is prohibited to convey meat, fish and vegetable products into Mongolia. Nico was worried about his salami, but Jean-Pierre and I kindly offered our assistance in disposing of it at dinner time before we got to the border (I was especially keen to help). We were more concerned about what to do with our sun beds and central heating boilers (also prohibited), but trusted that something would turn up.
At lunch time Nico produced his impressive salami, not to mention tomatoes, cucumbers and boiled eggs; Jean-Pierre provided a plate and a pen knife; and I provided a very small plastic bag to put the egg shells in. Thank you Nico!
The platform at Ulan Ude was devoid of the vendors I had encountered at most stations on my previous train, so I found a kiosk in the station building to get supplies for dinner. Not a lot was on offer, but I did manage to obtain water, a loaf of dry bread, a squeezy bag of jam and three bars of chocolate: starvation was going to be averted.
As the day progressed the weather cleared and the increasingly dry landscape became a fascinating mix of rocky hills and wide river valleys. There was more of interest that afternoon than there had been in the entire four days from Moscow to Irkutsk. I even had to keep breaking off from my study of ‘Hercule Poirot’s Christmas’ to take photos; most annoying – would I never find out who dun it?
At 8.00 pm we arrived at the Russian border. We knew that the toilets would be closed at this point; what we did not know was that they would close 30 minutes earlier, thwarting our lavatorial plans, nor when they would reopen. It was a little worrying, bladder-wise. Fortunately we were allowed to use the toilets on the platform before being confined to our compartment for nearly two hours.
First, our passports were inspected by a rather attractive Russian border policewoman. She took a full five minutes on each passport, using a magnifying glass, an infra-red scanner and some kind of swipe reader; it was a relief when she finally gave the official stamp and returned the passport.
Next was a short Mongolian lady policewoman who inspected the storage spaces above the top bunks and under the lower bunks. Fortunately there were no stowaways.
Next was a customs officer who wanted to know whether we had anything to declare. We didn’t.
An hour later, still at the station, another policewoman checked that all our passports had been stamped. Finally, the train was on the move again – but only for a few miles to the station on the Mongolian side. Here there was more checking of storage spaces for stowaways (or possibly sun beds), further close inspection of passports and checking of luggage for prohibited goods. After only another couple of hours we were on our way properly. It was now midnight and we were glad to prepare our bedding and settle down to sleep.
Waking at 6.00 am to our first views of Mongolia we were not disappointed. Dry, grassy, treeless hills were scattered with villages where many of the dwellings were gers. We soon approached the outskirts of Ulaan Baatar (the city seems to have many different spellings and I will probably use them all, plus some of my own). First impressions were that it was going to live up to its reputation as one of the most polluted places in the world: a multitude of tall chimneys were belching smoke, and the extended industrial suburbs were no pretty picture. However, the centre of the city was a surprise; the air was clean and there were many shiny new high rise buildings, with more under construction.
I was met at the station by the hostel/tour group I had booked with and was immediately struck by the friendly welcome. In Russia, despite meeting some friendly and helpful people, notably Dmitrii, I commonly encountered rather dour expressions; here, people smiled kindly at me. It felt very different.
Arriving at the hostel I was given tea, then breakfast, then more tea. Everyone was very welcoming. I liked it, although at one point I began to think that perhaps, after so much time on trains, I was starting to hallucinate. There, in front of me, was a man wearing lederhosen. Had I been dreaming about Mongolia? Was I really in Austria? But no, I was in Mongolia and he was really there, a Bavarian who now lived in Paraguay but still liked to wear his native attire. Naturlich.
Walking around the pleasant centre of the city I was struck by how few old buildings there were. The friendly guy at the tourist information explained that until the early 20th century there were, with the exception of the odd temple and one or two rich people’s houses, only single story dwellings, and many of them were nomadic ger tents. The first higher buildings were called hat-falling-off houses because people would come up to them and lean back to look up, losing their hats.
He was also able to explain (sort of) why everyone drives Toyotas. Quite literally every second car here is a Prius, and half the rest are Land Cruisers or other Toyota models. Apparently they are mostly imported second hand from Japan and Toyotas are ‘allowed’.
In the evening I watched Tumen Ekh, an ‘Ensemble of Traditional Cultural Heritage’, and a very talented group they were. Performing in a densely packed and richly decorated little theatre, they put on a varied show of music and dance. Some of the acts, like the decor, had a Chinese feel to them (the cultures were of course entwined for centuries), but others, the rather bizarre Mongolian throat singing, for instance, were distinctly local. The velvet cat-suited female contortionist drew applause for her amazingly graceful and gymnastic contortions balanced on short poles. My favourite was the 8 piece musical ensemble playing traditional instruments; they gave us rather jolly, upbeat numbers as well as hauntingly beautiful and emotional slower items, and finished with excellently played and surprisingly effective versions of Scott Joplin’s The Entertainer and the Can Can.
Ulaan Baatar has surprised me. I expected a grimy, backward city. Instead I got a pleasant environment surrounded by attractive state of the art high rises and restaurants that serve food as good as I eat in Europe. The people are friendly, English is widely spoken and the country has a rich cultural heritage. Tomorrow I set out on a 3 day tour to explore a little more of the country and it’s history.
kharakhorum
Setting off at 8.00 am we picked up another traveller from his hotel. Steve leads an interesting life; in charge of regional English exams for the British Council, he spends a few years in one country before moving to another part of the world. He has been out of England for 32 years and is currently living in Beijing, so he was able to give me some good tips for getting around the city, as well as some ideas for Japan, where he has previously been based. He and I were the only members of our group, together with our driver Ganbaatar, our guide Gotov and our assistant guide Oyu, an intern.
It took a while to get out of Ulaan Baatar; traffic is a big problem. Oyu walks to University; it takes an hour, which is what it would also take in a car. On the edge of town we stopped at a supermarket that, other than some unknown brands and a few strange looking products, could almost have been Tesco. And then we were in open country of unfenced, treeless grassy plains and hills, scattered with domestic horses, sheep and cattle. Every family has 10 to 15 horses; richer ones may have 100 or more. Mare’s milk is used to make a mildly alcoholic drink and horse meat is commonly eaten. In a couple of places vast fields were being sown with a local strain of wheat; how it germinates I do not know because the soil crumbled to dust in my fingers. They may get some rain in June or July but this is an arid country; rainfall in the capital is 8 inches a year, but some areas are dryer. Even in winter, which is typically -20 C but can go down to – 40 C, the snow rarely falls deeply. The wheat just has 3 months to germinate, grow and mature before harvest in September.
We had plenty of sunshine but the temperature varied a lot through the day, chilly in the morning, hot for a while in the afternoon and suddenly turning cold again.
We passed some small towns and villages of gers and small single story houses but no large towns. In the middle of nowhere we stopped for lunch at a rest area that might have been transplanted straight from Europe were it not for the menu. I struggled a little with my meal of lamb, and the milk tea was distinctly odd. I thought I was going to get a nice cup of tea with milk in for a change, but the drink consisted of milk, water, lots of salt and ingredient X; I think it must be an acquired taste that will take longer than my short stay in Mongolia to acquire.
350 km from our start we arrived at Kharakhorum, the capital city of Genghis Khan. If I expected to see the remains of palaces and temples towering into the steppe I was disappointed: it has virtually all gone, destroyed by a Chinese army; the few remains are in a museum. It seemed a long way to drive to visit a museum, but the next morning made it worthwhile. We visited the local Buddhist monastery, built in the 16th century using stones from the old ruined city. I soaked up the peaceful atmosphere, and in the temple sensed the centuries of contemplation and spirituality. I loved it.
Next stop was the mini-Gobi, a one or two mile wide belt of sand dunes that stretches for ten miles. Strangely, the edge of the dunes was one of the few places I saw trees growing.
Our destination for the second night was a nomadic family’s camp set on the grassland not far from rocky hills and outcrops. We were welcomed with a bowl of yoghurt and cookies in the family ger, which was remarkably homely, with areas for sleeping, cooking, eating and and worship. Steve and I shared a ger for sleeping.
That evening I began my epic journey across the Mongolian steppes, following the old silk road loaded with precious materials and spices to trade in far off lands. Or, to put it another way, I had a camel ride. The local variety are the Bactrians, which have a convenient place to sit between their two humps. I quickly mastered camel riding; all I had to do was sit on it and not fall off and I seemed to be brilliant at it.
Returning from our adventures we ate dinner in the famly ger before helping Steve out with his bottle of vodka, not to mention his bottle of wine, the grandfather of the family encouraging us to down our shots of spirit.
And then it was time for bed for us and time to wake up for the family dogs. They had slept most of the afternoon and not barked once, even when we arrived. The reason was now clear: they were saving their energies to bark all night. Quite what they were barking at I don’t know, but with no fences protecting the sheep and horses (and me) from marauding wolves, the dogs felt obliged to put on a good show. These dogs are tough; Gotov told us that they will sometimes take down and kill a wolf.
Having survived the night unscathed, the next morning brought a new adventure, this time following Genghis Khan as he galloped across the plains, firing volleys of arrows as he drove all before him. Yes, I had a horse ride. We were led for the first twenty minutes and then turned loose to master our own mounts. I must be a natural, because once again I not only stayed in the saddle but navigated my trusty steed back to the camp on a route it had only done a thousand times previously.
The family move about five times a year, seeking the best grazing and sites for the different seasons. About 800,000 Mongolians do this. When a country is more than 11 times the size of England and has only 3 million people, of whom nearly half live in the capital Ulaan Baatar, there is still plenty of room for this lifestyle. On a calm sunny evening it seemed idyllic and easy to see why people would choose this life rather than live in the city. And then I thought about the outdoor life through long winters down to minus 40 C and decided that it probably wasn’t for me after all.
Another long drive took us to the Hustai National Park, home to the Takhi or Przewalski’s horse. These wild horses are genetically different to all other horses. They went extinct in Mongolia in the 1960’s and were successfully reintroduced from breeding stock in European zoos in the 1990’s, an encouraging conservation success story. The sign at the entrance told us to keep to the main road; I think off road might have been smoother than the rough dirt road we bumped our way along for an hour in search of the elusive animals. We did see a few on the hillsides in the distance, but it was scant reward for our pains.
We finally returned to Ulaan Baatar at 7.00 pm for a welcome shower and preparation for the train to Beijing the next morning at 7.30 am.
Rob's Roads 