Off to Mongolia

From Susan 10/11/08

We’re barreling north on the K23, the start of the TransMongolian express, a 30 hour train ride from Beijing. I am disappointed that no tour operator will take us to Lake Khovosul at a decent rate. We are arriving too late, out of season. No flight to Moron to meet Morons. No reindeer Tsaan people, no deer stones, no rift system or exotic wildlife. I sent emails to smaller day trip operators before leaving Beijing. Perhaps we will have something by UB.

Mongolian folk music is playing. Our adjacent passengers are two Aussie lasses in their early 30s on the way to Moscow and Prague, an American expat from Colorado who sells modern art to galleries in Aspen, an Irishman who confessed to having been born in the Bronx, and a retired social worker from Boston in her late 60s out for a year long tour. This is the Mongolian version of the train that the Chinese government allows in the summer months. We have the basics: table, chair, two bunks, shared toilet, flat screen, sink, rudimentary shower. Our carriage attendants are Mongolian. The elder, a stern task mistress who will whip the younger into shape. She gives us linens with the receipt that all must be returned to her or purchased. She shook each cabin down for a 1000T tip (about 90 cents US). I offer to return the tea bags. I eye the Gobi camel wool blankets. As the OZ girls said, “We don’t fancy her”. I agree. We investigated the dining car and viewed the landscape, twisting through tunnels, forging chasms, catching glimpses of the Great Wall. An excellent national train magazine, a primer of Mongolian culture, was taken as a souvenir. Little did I know how valuable the dairy section would be to us. We make a quick stop at Datong, where we will disembark next Saturday.

The border crossing is near Erlain. This is the station where the undercarriage of the train is replaced to accommodate the change in width of the tracks. It’s called boggie changing. We got off the train with the abovementioned folks. Double rails are laid here with the more narrow Mongolian Russian inside the Chinese. The guide books said it was a lively station. Some orange-red neon and an Olympic statue with the Pokemon type characters. Right. One door was open to the station and the train attendants have our passports. The train pulled away and we were left at the station with an oversized convenience store. Our Mongolian travelers were buying sacks of Tide and bananas. We decided on pistachios, milk, and instant noodles. I resisted the politically incorrect Darklie toothpaste. Yes, I checked the date on the milk pouch. After falling asleep in the station, our train returned. Pulling out of the station, the train stopped. Passports were returned after they matched our faces with our photos. The compartment was surveyed. And we waited, and waited. The train lurched into Mongolia and stopped again. Mongolian passport officials boarded the train and took our passports again.. It’s now 1 AM. I dropped off in the upper berth.

Looking out the next morning the terrain was slightly sandy to scrubby vegetation, with camels. It appears lunar, except for the camels. I could be in Arizona, but this is the Gobi desert. Absolutely fascinating to see loping herds of camels. Camels fade to horses, sheep and goats are herded by dogs and teens on motorcycle. We stop at Choir for 15 minutes and young boys rush the train to sell rocks. I see fluorite, apatite, chalcedony, amethyst, and some of the blue CaSO4 minerals. They scrap on the platform for my attention. Young girls sell soda and milk. The stern mistress does not approve of my buying rocks, especially barefoot. Some of the crystals are well formed rhomboids, none of the clear are of optical quality. I purchase six different specimens, unloading a two dollar bill.

The landforms become gentle swales, then hills. Exposed rock cuts line the tracks. More freight trains pass with coal, some ten times the length of our 16 car train. The engine seems to shift gears. The track curves such that the engine is visible from our compartment. Carriages with logs become the more commonly observed freight as we near UB.

Gers pop on the horizon, they‘re felt yurts. Some grouping of animals are near the gers, I can‘t tell which. It’s Sunday afternoon and we are in UB. Our hostel owner meets us at the station.