or ‘things that I’ve forgotten to write down and mustn’t forget that I did them’
Day one in Ulaanbaatar (UB):
Feeling immensely spiritual (and quite honoured) after catching an extremely rare Buddhist ceremony at the main Monastery (pictured) in UB. So rare in fact, our guide called her mother as it began so she too could hear the prayers and chants around us; incredibly moving.
Facing down pick-pocketers (my new favourite past-time)
Last night I jokingly remarked over dinner how awesome it might be to watch the sun come up over the Mongolian mountains. Given that we were literally in the middle of nowhere, camping, there probably wouldn’t be another opportunity like it.
Our Honcho, a mad, mad woman called Odka – “Like Vodka! But no V!” she exclaimed – greeted us and drove us into town.
Things of note
24hr banking in UB is a work of genius. The only caveat being that you have to knock on the door of the bank until the teller wakes up! Also, once inside, be ready to manoeuvre [quietly] around snoring cashiers. .
Around midnight Moscow time [4am Mongolian time] we were joined by a couple who had tickets stay in in the Tsar’s Retreat. That’s right, I now no longer have my room to myself. Boo.
The good news is, the couple seem quite cool. One Brit and his American wife. One night of sharing the cabin left ahead and then we reach Mongolia. Well, that’s not strictly true.
We’ll be arriving at Ulanbataar at some point tomorrow. We actually cross the border into Mongolia in a couple of hours. [Hilarious] Russian ticket inspectors are aboard now: two women, late 40s, wearing knee high leather boots, full make-up, bright pink liptstick and a light blue, figure-hugging uniform reminiscent of the flight attendants from the 70s. Possibly the best thing I’ve seen on the whole trip to date.
You wouldn’t believe it. I’d snap a photo if I could but I daren’t. I fear I would be taken outside and shot or worse, taken back and used as a Russian sex slave forced to do their every deed at the crack of a singular, jet-black whip.
Growing up on the relatively small land mass known as the British Isles, I guess the longest single train ride you could take would be London to Edinburgh [8hrs, in December snow]. As such, you can’t really get your head around being on a train for four or five days.
It still blows my mind.
Wooden shacks and settlements pass slowly by as our track meanders around the northern border of Kazakhstan. Having been led through tree-soaked hills and over ancient oxbow lakes, the landscape is now quite barren – we are approaching Mongolia.
I slept for about ten hours last night, maybe twelve. We’re easily way ahead of Moscow time now and drinking ’til dawn is a pleasant experience. It’s 13:30 at the time of writing. The gentle clack-clack clack clack of the tracks below make an oddly comfortable sleeping companion and rest has come easy.
My watch says it’s April 15th but honestly, it could be any time. Officially we’re into our second full day of train travel and, at 12:25pm Moscow time, we’re all very hungover.
Also, we’ve established a constitution:
Which so far have fared us well. Plus, to help pass the time (between the vodka and the beer) we’ve organised different things to look forward to throughout the week.
Last night was ‘dress fancy’ night. Seven of us in total ventured down to the restaurant car for an evening dinner and, for a time, we were the only ones there.
Much merriment was had…
Oly & Me. Good lad.
Later, a fairly inebriated Mongolian woman came to join us at our table and, much to our shared amusement, we soon discovered that the only the only English that she knew was in the form of Christmas carols.
On a train, somewhere in deepest Siberia, in the middle of April, singing Christmas carols… with a drunk Mongolian.
Brilliant. I don’t even have a box for that but I’m ticking it anyway.