Camel Spotting

It was almost sad to think that this was going to be our final train…almost. We were such a well oiled train-boarding machine by now that even in our bleary-eyed state in the early AM hours, we had all our belongings successfully stashed in their cubby holes and within minutes our cabin looked like some sad advertisement for New York. Every retailer from grocery stores to independent coffee shops bagged their products in “I heart NY” sacs – as a result our cabin was littered with them.

This was my most anticipated journey of our trip purely for the scenery…we pulled out of Ulaanbaatar and despite exhaustion were captivated to watch the rolling green hills that make up the Mongolian-Manchurian steepe. This area had been our home for just a few days, but there was an unspoken homesickness that we all felt.

Too soon the steepes were gone…slowly the landscape became much sandier and barren…the harshness of the area evident in the bones that littered the area. We had finally entered an area of the Gobi Desert. I was initially disappointed that my brief foray into this awesome country did not allow me time to divert down to the proper Gobi Desert to visit the massive sand dunes that decorate the postcards…but I was delighted when I learnt that our train China-bound train was going to pass through part of this amazing landscape.

The Bactrian camel is one of the rarest mammals on earth. There are two areas where they still reside in the wild, the Taklimakan Desert of China (in 2003 there were 600still there) and the Gobi Desert in Mongolia, where last count had 350. It was about 1100 in the morning when we noticed the lush green landscape evolving into the sandy abyss and the visual hunt for camels began. We spread out - focusing on different sides of the train...desperate for a glimpse. We stared...and we stared...and we stared...and after two straight hours of staring at endless plains of sand, I had to take my bleary, now partially crossed, eyes to bed for a little nap. Will, a reliable chap, agreed to take the first shift and stood there...staring...as I, guiltily, drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

That is, peaceful until the words "camel" came out of Will's mouth in an excited cry. I am not the most agile of creatures but I made it from dead asleep on my top bunk to standing at the window in the hall, shutter snapping in mere seconds. It might actually be the fastest I have ever moved in my life (and I once caught on fire). As impressive as Will was, it was Sarah who was the true eagle eye. No, I take that back...she didn't spot camels...she would almost sense them - it was eerie but extremely useful. Thanks to Sarah's sixth sense we were successful in our quest to find the rare Bactrian camel and the equally rare Saiga Antelope!

We stared out the windows…in the hall…in our cabin…in the dining car…all the way to China – worried that if we looked away we would miss one of these extraordinary creatures. Our nightfall border crossing was a great relief to our strained eyes. After a painless but methodical departure from Mongolia, we crossed the border to a bizarre bit of musical fanfare. Denied disembarking, the whole train was relocated to the wheel shed, the cars we separated, hoisted up onto hydraulic lifts and the wheels changed. Yep, you read correctly - it was just like a being at a Jiffy Lube.

Here's a bit of trivia for you...it turns out that not all train tracks are the same in the world. The standard gauge is used by 60% of the world, including North America, Europe and China...the train we were currently on was fitted with a Russian gauge that is utilized by 17% of trains worldwide. So, rather than standardizing...each and every Trans-Mongolian/Trans-Siberian Train must simply change their fittings. Honestly the hoisting up and down was very smooth, the re-coupling (when the slam the cars back together)...not so much. But 90 min later, we were all done and free to disembark the train to seek out one of the world's smelliest washrooms.

Travel can be exhausting. And although much of the day was spent staring at sand dunes, searching for signs of life in amongst the bones, part of it was trying to figure out when we would have access to a washroom again or sitting quietly under the scrutiny of hostile customs officers…and I’m not complaining, I wouldn’t change it for anything, but the metal toll it takes…bed was welcome that night. I had big plans to enjoy my final night on the train but within moments… the gentle rocking, with the occasional slam that to me mimicked de-raiment...lulled me to sleep in seconds.

Good food made better with "old" friends....

I have always thought a dream vacation dwelling would be a plush hotel room overlooking the Eiffel Tower or one of those little huts over the water…and I still think they are…but trust me…add Mongolian Ger to the list. Although we all love Ulaanbaatar, it was universally sad to leave the Steppe countryside this morning.

Returning to the city did give us things that we were unable to get at the Ger camp…warm shower…decent food…so my disappointment was short lived after the first drops of hot water touched my skin. Desperate to find a meal of non-mutton, we headed out to a popular restaurant with the ex-pats in the country…it essentially was a Mongolian Olive Garden – all that was missing was the breadsticks. I try and eat traditional when I travel…but that first bite of Italian food was pure heaven.

Some more reliable readers (I am writing mainly to Staci here) will remember my description of the crowds that lined the streets of Ho Chi Minh City when Christopher and I unknowingly booked a Vietnamese holiday over Tet. Well this time, my vacation coincided with “Mother and Children’s Day” in Mongolia. This means that people dress their kids in fancy dresses and take to the streets. Similar to most National Holidays there is eating, playing but no drinking. Well as North Americans embrace dead Monarchs or Presidents as an excuse to toss back 2-4, Mongolians recognize this day as a day to celebrate on the streets…sober. Bizarre idea…

After a suitable amount of museum visiting and souvenir shopping (I bought more ridiculous things in Mongolia than anywhere else in the world – just wait to you see my winter jacket next year) we returned to the 24 bank (still open, even on National Holidays!) to prepare for the next leg of our trip…China.

There was just one Mongolian must do before leaving…we still had to eat at a traditional Mongolian Bar B Q restaurant. The only thing I really knew about this country before arriving is that they have sparked a number of BarBQ establishments in the Seattle area. Food like this is better shared in a large group…we hadn’t seen the Dutch folks in a while and were hoping to meet up with some of our earlier acquaintances…the Americans. We had been just missing each other for over a week now, so it was a desperate last ditch but we sent an e-mail letting them know our dinner plans.

It would have been an amazing meal anyway (seriously – try a Mongolian place near you – or visit me here and we’ll go together), but getting a chance to catch up with ‘old friends’ made it all the better. We heard all about their crazy Siberian adventures and what life was like on the third class section of the train – and we told them of our escapades. I won’t reiterate their stores but for a good read check out Karen, Michael and Blake’s own blogs (and AMAZING photography) – top three listed at the bottom of this page.

My friend Betsy and I once discussed the concept of travelling friends…and it’s true. People that you would never spend time with at home because of age, gender, geography etc…they are your best friends on the road. You share information, recommendations, warnings and stories with them. They are a source of comfort, amusement and sometimes frustration. Some of them you will never see again and some will be lifelong pals…but they all make the journey more interesting.

Buyer-la for reading!

I'm pretty much Mongolian by now....

If I ever have to give up my Canadian Citizenship, I am confident that I could easily slip into life as a Mongolian. I didn’t come to this conclusion lightly…I determined this after a full day of Mongolian activities that tested my fortitude.

I awoke this morning after the absolute BEST sleep I have ever had. Last night it was chilly outside, I was tired from a full day of Mongolian activities so when I settled under my duvet as the fire warmed our Ger to a warm and cozy level...sleep came quickly and stayed for 10 hours.

I poked my head out of the small Ger door and was immediately blown away by the scenery - it really is absolutely stunning. Our Ger is nestled in the shadow of a few giant boulders (that are high enough to qualify for mountain status) overlooking rolling green pastures dotted with herds of grazing animals and other felt homes.

After a less than delicious breakfast our group decided to split up; with Will, Sarah and Pete heading off for some trekking and Tricia, Fiona and I choosing to tackle the Mongolian horses again. To attain the true experience we donned traditional Mongolian overcoats, Dells, and headed out to meet our horses at Turtle Rock (This rock has no spiritual significance; it's just a pile of rocks that look like a turtle). I’m not sure why, but there were several random men at the rock who seemed to be unhappy with the manner in which my coat was done up…here is where one of those cultural differences make travel so interesting.

Dell coats fasten on the side and are cinched up tightly in the middle with a sash. Mongolians cinch them very tightly, thus the top portion of their coat becomes a pocket for carrying supplies or a child. As we had none of these, and have been accustomed to the luxury of breathing, we had our sashes a bit on the looser side. I guess these random Mongolian men thought that I was ignorant of the correct way to dress in a Dell for they just approached me and started readjusting. Of course the language barrier made it impossible for me to explain that in my culture it’s not appropriate for strange men to walk up to a female and start adjusting her clothes, touching areas that normally would result in a molestation charge in North America. But when in Rome…

After the awkward touching was over, we started out on our ‘steeds’ (I don’t know how to type sarcastically) for a leisurely ride back to our camp. The first 30 min was more leisurely than we had intended – we moved a total of 25 feet. Tricia’s horse just seemed to have a mental block on progressing past a big rock. Fiona’s horse seemed content to just wander around in search of food. My horse never stops moving…it’s just constantly in circles. It wasn’t quite the ride we had envisioned…at this rate we wouldn’t make it back to our camp in time for our train to China…3 days from now.

Eventually a Mongolian boy with a stick happens by and “encourages” some forward progression. Next obstacle…a herd of goats. For the record there is absolutely no shortage of herds of goats around here…this is not a new thing to these horses…but they had to stop and stare as if was had just stumbled across a herd of unicorns. After a few more stick persuasions, our stallions plodded along to the next distraction…a pond of water.

Being the kind-hearted riders that we were, we stopped to let our horses have a few laps of water. That was a mistake. Any doubts that my horse hated me were completely erased the moment that stupid beast started splashing me with dirty pond water. He did not respond to any of the commands that I learnt in my years of riding classes. I gave up all hope when it became clear that he wanted to roll around in the water, regardless of the fact that I was still on his back. The young boy with the stick saved me from ending up in the drink that day – I made it out with just a soaked right leg.

Finally we progressed away from the water…slowly making our way back to the camp…when our next Mongolian adventure just popped up…Yak herding. It appeared as though 6 baby Yaks were leaving their nomadic home, making a break with an older rebellious Yak. Our guide boy immediately recognized the situation and while the rancher was heading the Yaks off on the North side, he (with his responsive horse) cut the Yaks off and turned them around. Tricia, Fiona and I were very integral to the success of this mission as we strategically placed our horses on the south side, thus eliminating a path of escape. Luckily the Yaks were not bright enough to realize that we actually had no control over our horses and really would have never been able to hinder their escape.

Yak children safely returned we meandered home in time for a disappointing lunch before heading out in the “Benz”. Gurley our guide was great and if we just mentioned something, she found a way to make it happen. It seems for a few dollars, we could rent a car and driver to take us exploring. The “Benz” is the fanciest car around…so it was quite an honour that we were allowed to ride in this car. The driver (and owner) beamed with pride as we piled into the back seat of his 1988 Mercedes Benz and headed out for a more reliable form of exploration.
We toured around, visiting little Ger shops, camels and oovos before I got it into my head that I needed to take a photo of a Yak. Tricia had learnt about this primal need I have to photograph things while searching for that crocodile in Belize and knew that I would obsess over it until it happened. Well, finding Yaks is way easier than finding crocodiles and we stumbled across these large, hairy beasts in a matter of minutes. Obviously I needed the Benz to stop so I could get closer to these animals (I wasn’t worried…Yaks love me…I could just tell).
As we were watching a bull try and unsuccessfully seduce a female I heard a plop and swung around and saw a freshly born calf, still covered in afterbirth, wiggling on the ground below an exhausted mother. The next 20 minutes were spent watching Mommy clean and try and help the young yak to stand. I could tell that my cohorts were getting tired of standing in a field of Yaks…waiting for junior to take his first steps…but I felt we had to stay. I am about the least maternal person that there is, and despite my profession, I am not overly caring…but I felt strongly that I needed to be there in case the Yak calf needed me. Of course I have no idea what it takes to raise a Yak…but I am sure there is an Idiot’s guide to book on it.
Fortunately, especially for the newborn, my Yak raising skills were not needed as junior stood and successfully wobbled along in under a half hour. Happy for the Yak but felling a loss for something I never really had, we returned to the camp to be reunited with the others after their successful trek.

After another disappointing dinner (everything in this country is mutton) and a movie highlighting the attributes of Genghis Kahn we settled down for a rousing game of ankle bones. Assuming this was another case of lost in translation I was surprised when Gurley set down a bag of actual ankle bones to play with. My competitive streak came out when we started a make-shift game of Candy Land with the bones of goats…I placed second.
And with my virtual silver medal in place, we headed back to the Ger to settle down for another amazing rest. It was a great, and long (you know, you just read all about it) day – I may need some more practice before I become a Mongolian Horse Wrangler or the makeshift mother of a Yak…but just wait…someday Milton Bradley will learn of this elusive ankle bone game…and that…I will dominate. Buyer-la for reading!

I'll never have a career as a milkmaid...

No 'cultural' visit would be complete without a visit to a traditional home. Some people find this visit very campy and absolutely refuse to participate. I find it an honour that people around the world allow us (for some sort of remuneration of course) into their homes, eat their food and learn about their way of life. I know that if someone wanted to come and sit in an overpriced Seattle Condo, eat Lean Cuisines and learn about my Apple TV viewing I would welcome them with open arms. So that is how we ended up in a Ger in rural Mongolia, desperately trying to remember the cultural lessons we received to help avoid any social faux pas.

It was a clash of inexperience to start with – obviously none of us had been to a Mongolian Ger home before and the family that we visited had just been added to the roster of participants, we were their inaugural visitors. This family lives a bizarre life of modern mixed with traditional. The family of four reside together in the one room Ger, heated by a wood burning stove in the center - traditional. The Ger is outfitted with a TV, refrigerator and deep freeze - modern. The fridge is full of milk that mom milked from their cow and the freezer is full of meat that Dad hunted - traditional. It's an odd contrast.

The Dad of the house and his adorable 3 year old daughter greeted us with huge smiles and as we were escorted to the Ger, I instantly became nervous. Prior to our visit we were given a briefing on traditional customs so as to not be offensive. This is usually where the wheels fall off for me and I get so nervous trying to not be offensive that I slip up and do something horribly wrong.

After I walked into the home, remembering to veer immediately to the Eastern side, there is an instantaneous cozy feeling that overcomes any guest. The fire crackled away as we sat down and immediately enjoyed a cup of Milk Tea (given that one of the main traditional drinks if fermented mare's milk I was pretty excited for this concoction of green tea, milk, hot water and sugar). We slowly sipped our drinks and nibbled on some fried bread, always careful to accept food with the right hand, while chatting (with the aid of an interpreter) to family some about their unique daily life (we discovered that the Dad was the same age as Tricia, Sarah and I).

So far I have been able to avoid any unintentional and insulting blunders, and for that I am quite grateful…but now comes the homemade yogurt portion of our meal. This yogurt made fresh from farm ingredients is EXTREMELY tart - it is that level of sourness that immediately makes your face pucker in some sort of inadvertent, yet offensive, expression that, in this case at least, caused the mom to start handing out some sugar. After some necessary sweetening, I closed my eyes and just willed this thick, creamy (two of my least favourite culinary descriptors) custard-like food to go down…it was then that I made the biggest gaffe yet...I didn't lick my bowl. It felt like all eyes were upon me until I was gently prodded and advised that I needed to lick my bowl in order to show appreciation for this odd dessert. So my tongue snaked its way around the bowl, silently protesting the action while the pleased faces of my hosts looked on approvingly.

The Dad, excited to share the full Mongolian Family Experience invited to us to help out with the family chores. The yogurt…the milk tea…I should have guessed what we would be up to. Let me ask you...have you ever milked a cow...with your hands...while a feisty calf is trying to feed? It's quite a system - first the baby suckles, stimulating the flow of milk then the Dad has to wrestle the baby away while I squat on a little stool, holding the bucket between my knees and then start squeezing the teets. It took a bit of time, but I was finally able to at least get a little something to flow...it was nothing compared to the torrent of milk that the experts got to flow.

Disappointed in my milking talents and resolved to just purchase it from the store, we return to the Ger for another round of fried bread and awkward questions. As an uncomfortable silence descended upon us…the Dad suggested that we play volleyball for our next activity…WTF? I enjoy these visits but at some point they really do need to end…the sun was setting and now he wanted to play Volleyball in a field in the dark?

Luckily our guide Gurley stepped in and apologized for us…explaining that we would love to engage in a game but we have obligations back out our camp…it’s too bad really – I may have had a few missteps with dining etiquette and I am certainly not a talented farm hand…perhaps Volleyball is where I would have shined?

The Mongolian Magic Kingdom...(posting from the road)

There is a common debate that I hear in hostels and airport lounges - travellers vs. tourists. Those who view themselves as "true travellers" refuse to be lumped into the same category as the Hawaiian shirt wearing, Disney bound individuals. They view themselves as explorers that gets down and dirty with the locals, only visit off the beaten path locations and would never dream to set foot in a western food chain. I am neither a traveller or a tourist, I view myself as some sort of a hybrid...while I don't want to sit on a bus and hear just an American's view of the world - I do feel a visit to any foreign McDonald's as mandatory. I have also learnt that, generally speaking, if something is touristy it is because it's awesome. The Eiffel Tower, Disney Land, Niagra Falls and Machu Picchu are some of the top tourist destinations in the world, and once you get through the massive crowds...all are awesome.

That was my long winded intro into my touristy but awesome morning adventure into the Ural Mountains of Mongolia. Our first stop was to visit, hold and even hug a massive Golden Eagle. These massive birds of prey are traditionally caught and trained to be hunters. The prevalence of 24-hour supermarkets seems to have erased this need however and the birds are now trained to not rip the eyes out of tourists as they play with them for photo-ops. (This a photo of Sara holding Wiki - note the MASSIVE wing span. And the bird is pretty heavy as well). Touristy and a little gimmicky...yes. But awesome still the same...yes.

We didn't even have a chance for our eagle-high to wear off before our mini-bus stopped at the next "ride" in our Mongolian Disney-like day...camels! Those who were subjected to my Egypt photos can recall how much I LOVE camels - they have very photogenic faces - but are horribly uncomfortable to ride. But my mind works fast to justify any animal encounter...and the camel that I rode previously was a dromedary camel (single hump) and these were Bacterium (double hump) camels...maybe more humps will lead to an increase in comfort...definitely worth a shot. So I mounted my massive beast and discovered, shortly, that there is no correlation between humps and comfort. Camels are just uncomfortable to ride. This was particularly unfortunate news for people who had to make the same trip that I am currently on...the traditional method of travelling from Moscow to Beijing was via camel...that is 40 days on a camel...I couldn't make it 40 min today.

So now a little more sore, predominantly Will and Pete, we piled back onto the mini-bus and headed for the next amusement park stop...an ovoo. This really wasn't so much fun as it was 'required'. No trip to Mongolia would be complete without walking clockwise 3 times around a large pile of rocks and then tossing a rock onto the pile while uttering a wish. I really felt I had to stop and search from some good luck after that pigeon snubbing at the Monastery yesterday. It was a little touristy for us, but the locals still actively use these cairns to pay their respects to the mountains and the sky.

After a full morning we arrived at camp, checked into our ger (survied a shortlived but wicked freak hailstorm) and then headed out to shoot a bit of archery before getting back in the saddle...horses instead of camels this time. Specifically Mongolian Horses - a breed unchanged since the time of Genghis Khan that is notably smaller than our stallions. So needless to say...we all looked a little silly on these pony sized horses as we rode through the fields but to their credit (and strong genes) the horses themselves didn't seem to mind.

And so we rode...through gorgeous fields full of cattle, sheep, goats and yaks - the landscape occasionally dotted by gers - while the sun slowly started to set over the Ural Mountains...it was quite amazing...but time was an issue…today’s attraction visits weren’t over yet…

These clever birds have everyone fooled...(posting from the road)

The first attraction that we visited in Mongolia was the Gandantegchinlen Monastery. Should you ever go, I promise you it won't be the brightly clad monks or the beautifully decaying buildings that you first notice...it will be the pigeons. Millions and millions of pigeons call the Monastery home. Surrounding and throughout the Monastery, kids and crippled people sell tiny bags of birdseed so that you too can pay homage to the pigeons by giving them a little treat.

Yes - that is correct; the pigeons are revered at this location. Somehow the pigeons have been able to convince the Buddhist community at the Gandantegchinlen Monastery that they are symbols of Peace and not the scruffy, urban, flying rats as viewed in the rest of the world.
Much of the present day Tibetan-style monastery was actually rebuilt after the 1930's Russian Communist movement. There is an impressive 27 meter tall Buddha in the main temple that was reconstructed in the 1990’s after the original was snatched by the Stalin lead Russians and melted down to be formed into weapons.

In fact much of the site itself was destroyed by the Russian invasion, but there is one pole that remains from the original structure. We sat for a few minutes and watched the Mongolian people approach this lone pole in the center of the courtyard and tentatively touch it, a few even shedding tears…it was a little perplexing initially until Gerlee, our Mongolian Honcho, explained that over 15, 000 Lamas (monks) were killed at Russian hands – many of their relatives visit the monastery, specifically this pole, to pay their respects. Very moving.

Did you ever wonder how one becomes a monk – especially the children? Gerlee explained that the families can choose to send their kids to live and learn at the monastery at a very young age. She actually wanted to send her son, considering it a great honour, but her husband objected and her son (who is currently 3 y.o.) will remain at home.

We attempted to unobtrusively tour the various temples while the monks carried out their daily activities. Some of the monks were chanting and reading inside one of the temples while others completed gardening activities in the courtyard. I am not sure if I told you much about my travel mates, but one of them is named Will. He is a 6’4 Brit who looks like a lovechild of Jude Law and Prince William. He has recently quit his job (so obviously a hero of mine) as a Finance Director to tour the world with his absolutely stunning girlfriend Sarah – they are that perfect couple that you see in the movies. Will is also a member of the Royal Horticultural Society and fancies himself as a bit of an authority of all things gardening…this explains why he took it upon himself to try and offer aid to the monks.
I myself know absolutely nothing about the world of horticultural, so I didn’t quite follow all the events but I will never forget the sight of this massive British man standing in the monastery flower beds and, with the aid of an interpreter, offering gardening tips to the monks. Luckily the monks are a peaceful bunch and the accepted the advice with the spirit in which it was intended, plus some huge smiles.

Obviously our visit would not be complete without paying our respect to the “birds of peace”. So we coughed up a few Mongolian Tugriks and bought some birdseed – there is a belief that good luck will follow you after you feed the pigeons. The birds, the same ones that we shoo away at home, have set up this feeding racquet to the point where they have become massively overfed. What this means is that I was unable to feed them…I am doomed to bad luck because these stupid birds are too full to eat? Stupid birds.

I am leaving Ulaanbaatar now and heading out to the heart of the Ural Mountains to camp in a Ger – keeping my fingers crossed that feeding habits of the flying rats don’t put a bad luck curse on me! Baayerlaa for reading!

The city that never sleeps....(posting from the road)

I am sure some of you are wondering if I chucked it all and jetted off to NY based on the title of this entry? Well I have been to NY, and while it does have some interesting sights and cultural events it is truly Ulannbaatar, Mongolia that should hold the title of the ‘city that never sleeps’. Post offices open on a Sunday! There are several 24 supermarkets and most amazing of all to us Westerners...a 24 full service bank.

I had heard before setting off for this country that is "up and coming" in the world and I am here to report that nothing could be more true. As Western and other Asian companies look at new ways to exploit the minerals and coal that line this country, housing developments are popping up all over. A trip up to a viewpoint of the city allows us to see the traditional gers being surrounded by American-style gated sub-divisions. There is also a large American School that appears to have been recently constructed (looking for a new job Wicky?). There are also several plots of land that have been clearly been segregated for future developments.

But in addition to enjoying the banking and postal amenities that the city has to offer we took in a cultural performance of Mongolian throat singing. It truly is as odd as it sounds - men and women make a sort of guttural noise from the base of their throat in different octaves while a small band on traditional instruments provides accompaniment. In between songs, presumably while they are resting their throats, a troupe of dancers or a contortionist will entertain the crowds. I do have some video that I will post to facebook in the future (or here if I can figure out how).

After our Sunday night performance of throat singing, we headed to a Mongolian/German pub for a quick bite to eat – stopping on the way to do a little shopping….because the stores are open at 8pm on a Sunday! The pub was lively that night with locals and foreigners, excitedly anticipating the rock concert that was set to take place that evening. I being the elder of the group, not my music quotient was full from the throat singers, bailed before the Mongolian rock group took the stage. Pete and Fiona stuck it out and I reported back later. Apparently I missed quite a show as heavy metal music played on an electrified version of traditional instruments wowed the crowd.

One thing that I did note on my stroll back to the hotel was the lack of major chains…no Starbucks or McDonalds…just a Louis Vuitton and a Kenny Rogers Roasters ( I actually thought the latter was a fictional chain from Seinfeld). But I predict in the near future, when Ulaanbaatar is viewed on the same level as a Paris, Dubai or Hong Kong – there will be a Starbucks…trust me this will be the city of the future. If I haven't convinced you yet...the clear sign of an up and coming city...IKEA - coming soon.

Ready, set, eat...(posting from the road)

Our train slowly crept over the Mongolian border and then stopped. It seemed like an odd place to stop as there was nothing around us...except for...soldiers hiding in the bushes! Out of the dense scrub bushes Monoglian soldies appeared and crawled around and under our lone carriage...looking for stowaways or bombs…(NB Pete was nervous the entire time…)


After our impromtu search we proceeded a short distance further down the tracks to the Mongolian equivalent of Naushki - Sukhbaatar. Here another thorough search of our cabin was conducted while our passports were heavily scrutinized by a woman who literally looked like she could be a Mongolian Barbie Doll. After getting the official okay we eagerly disembarked the train for a chance to explore this teeny, desolate boarder town.
We are still on the train with no hot water with which to prepare our instant mashed potatoes or noodles, and with the cake a distant memory, our first priority was on food. Across from the station, on what suspect is the main (or only) street we found a "karaoke/pub" sign and eagerly followed it into a small room with a few tables. I am not sure if it was the successful attempt at charades or the desperately thirsty looks on our faces but within seconds we had cold beers in front of us.

Knowing that we cannot be the first tourists to be utilizing this establishment, we requested a picture menu so we could rapidly order something to eat - this is generally a much faster way to get the dish you are looking for and with less than 60 minutes to our train departing...every second counts. Of course I had never used this tactic in Mongolia…the picture menu here was pages of dishes listed in Mongolian Cyrillic letters interspersed with photos of scantily clad women, panda bears and penguins. WTF - who has a picture menu with an endangered animal on it?? So I pulled out my trusty notebook and started sketching. I drew a chicken - the waitress shook her head no. I drew a cow - again and negative nod. I drew a pig - negative. That left...sheep. Since I hate mutton, I decided to try and draw some vegetables...again no.

Frustrated, running short on time and starving we just pointed to random dishes on the menu and decided just to dig in. While we were waiting a Dutch pair of travellers joined us. Side note - that is the neat thing on a trip like this...you get to meet, and occasionally meet up again with other travellers. We had seen the Dutch couple when we were at Lake Baikal as well, they seemed to be replacing our American trio that we hadn't seen since Moscow.

So while the eight of us patiently waited, watching the clock tick by, the waitress would occasionally emerge to tell us, via charades of course, that a dish was no longer available. She would then point to another line of scribble on the menu. You understand the absurdity of this situation...we are in a desolate Mongolian town desperately trying to eat something, our train will depart and certainly leave us behind and our waitress is trying to tell us that this squiggly dish is not available but we should try this other squiggly dish. WE HAVE NO IDEA - JUST BRING US SOME PLATES OF FOOD - WE WILL NEVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE is all I can think (maybe I did say a little something). Anyway...IT's ALL MUTTON!

With less than 20 minutes dishes of food start to arrive...and it was fantastic. All eight of us just shoveled it in as fast as we would, threw some Tugriks down on the table and bolted back for the train...only to find it gone.

Panic set in until we realized that it was only gone from where we left it...it had been relocated to a different track in order to be repositioned with another train. So we all hopped down onto the track and ran across a few sets of tracks to clamper onto our carriage just before we set off for Ulannbaatar!