Goodbye!

343 days away from home 1^st September 2010-11^th August 2011

8 new countries visited- 10 including HK and Macao

6 capitals visited

2 continents

14 plane flights

Shanghai biggest city visited

Luang Namtha smallest “city” visited

17 Chinese cities visited- including HK and M

30 cities visited overall, and 1 village and 1 ger camp

1 DMZ

1 Chinese police station

17 train rides- 6 overnight, 1 over 2 nights and 1 over 3 nights…

8 long distance coach rides- 1 overnight

1 electric bike ride

1 near death experience

Plane, coach, bus, minibus, ferry, electric bike, pedal bike, horse, cable car, elephant, car, taxi, metro, train and foot all travelled on

72 hours longest train ride

7 minutes shortest train ride- Maglev at 430kmh

-35C lowest temperature in Harbin

+38C highest temperature in Shanghai

3000m highest altitude

4 dead Communist Mausoleums visited

1 language learnt (sort of)

2 new alphabets learnt

Lots of new friends

5 different currencies in wallet

170 Blog Posts

How do I feel the night before I return to a country I left, and rather relievedly if I’m honest, so many months ago? Perhaps unsurprisingly, I’m tired of moving, of not knowing where things are, of not communicating effortlessly and am looking forward to English fields, my cat and cheese. I want to get back to Edinburgh for university and the library. I long for familiarity. But, again unsurprisingly, I am sad to have left all my Qingdao friends as well as the city and country itself. It offered so many adventures in its commonplace. I’ve enjoyed doing so much travelling, treading so many streets. Being the exotic foreigner, the immigrant. In the UK I’m just another student clutching a textbook and my carefully collected £25,000 worth of debt. But, for now-and probably a very brief now, that’s actually what I can’t wait to get back to.

As for the moral at the end of my story, there’s not much. Except that I think that when travelling, one doesn’t really visit different countries. Rather it is basically the same one but in different periods of history according to their development. I feel like I have seen the 1950s, the 1990s and the 2020s rather than North Korea, SE Asia and (parts of) China.

Oo I did learn something- Vietnamese motorcycles always stop, there’s always room on a Chinese bus, only Westerners can cook Western food, queuing is for the weak, and someone, somewhere, always speaks English. And Earl Grey tea in Chinese is 伯爵红茶…

As for this particular blog, it ends where my journey does, in St Petersburg. This is the last post.  

Last Stop St P

St Petersburg is Mum and mine’s last stop on our rather epic journey (we’ve covered inches on the map!). It was conceived as a seaport for the mostly landlocked Russia and was the baby of Peter the Great. Peter was a devoted Europhile which explains the Germanic name, the Dutch-style canals, the several streets named after European countries, and the blocks and blocks of neo-classical Russian buildings. After my year of mostly skyscraper after skyscraper, it was the feast after the famine for my beauty-starved eyes. I do like Europe…

Our first stop, of course, was the Hermitage. Mum had been looking forward to this for months. We had bought tickets on the internet to save queuing, which were epically long, although I caused a fuss with mine. I’d paid for an internet ticket when actually students get in free so I managed to make them swap my paid ticket for a student one and hopefully I will be able to get the refund back. We shall see.

The Hermitage is one of the world’s best museums housing a rather fantastic collection of art from around the world and through time. The building itself is worth the entrance fee, being the Winter Palace of the Tsars and fantastically decorated. A tad over the top, and parts needed dusting, but it was rather awe-inspiring. As for the collections themselves, well I was left feeling a bit cold. Perhaps I have been museumed out after so much but I suspect it is more that not much of the art was to my taste. I like art that makes a comment on its subject, rather than just being a representation. The gallery after gallery of Greek and Roman statues I felt I’d seen before, as with the Egyptian and Assyrian stuff. Most of the paintings were of aristocrats and no doubt great works, but boring to me. My favourite collections included the temporary exhibition of Anna Leibowitz’s photos. She is my favourite photographer and I loved her pictures, many iconic like the pregnant Demi Moore. I was rather sad to see her Disney pictures were not included. They sound silly and shallow, but are actually great to look at. The photo that left the deepest impression was that of a heavily pregnant woman whose body was rather different to that of Moore’s. It made Hugo very glad he will never be pregnant.

Another of my favourites was the collection of rooms left more or less as they would have been used including a room with lots of deep emerald green malachite, another with a beautiful harp and a room with lots of red. I also liked the ballroom and had a little whirl with Hugo-which was rather difficult as I was wearing trainers… I also liked the room showcasing European arms and had four stuffed horses wearing plate armour.

Each room had a middle-aged woman on watch for improper use of cameras and Touching Things. These are fairly common throughout Russia and it is not an exaggeration to say we have spent quite a lot of time being shouted at by them.

One long room was devoted to those with a hand in defeating Napoleon, including a large portrait of our very own Wellington.

In one of the courtyards some workers were clipping hedges. Somehow a cat had got in and was dozing off in the middle, completely oblivious to the luxury of his surroundings. Or perhaps not. Cats can be choosy.

Otherwise the room after room of priceless paintings got a bit wearing and the tour groups were starting to torment us. A herd of humans, characterized by a bovine slowness, would very slowly move along a corridor, completely blocking it to nippier singles like myself. At their head was the shepherd tour guide who would be waving a flag. They would wander slowly after the person in front, not looking where they were going, mouth slightly open and tour headphones deafening them. They would all cluster around the same exhibit, blocking it to everyone else. Occasionally I would hear a snippet of the boring drama that fills their day, “Joan has accused me of deliberately walking into her!” It got so that I would desperately go down any corridor to get round them, only to turn back as another advanced. They really need limiting, or splitting up as it was their tightly packed mass that caused a problem.

Mum liked it very much as there is a very good collection of Impressionist paintings that she likes. As for me, I am one of the few people to groan, “God, not another Gaugin!”

Today was my last full day in Russia, and of my entire year abroad.

We headed out early for breakfast but I had to return to the hostel to lock the locker as Mum had not… Then Mum and I walked across the Neva to see the rostra, and the bit where all the brides had been having their photos taken. Eventually we headed onto the island of St Peter and Paul fortress to meet up with Hugo who went inside the church. The church houses most of the bodies of the Tsars, including the last one and his family who were reburied there only a few years ago.I stayed outside and made friends with a cat, and glaring at the coach load after coach load vomiting over the square.

Then to the Winter Palace of Peter, which is right next to the Hermitage. It was fairly small as the Tsar preferred small rooms. There was his study as well as the room where he made things out of wood. It was his hobby apparently. There was also a wax figure made from moulds of his face and hands. It was sat on a throne wearing his clothes and looking slightly freaky, and noticeably smaller than the 6 foot 8 he was said to be.

Then we attempted to enter the Staff Building opposite the Hermitage but could not find the entrance….

…so it was off to the Menshikov Palace. Menshikov was a great friend of Peter the Great as well as his general who won several victories. He also happened to be a fan of wood-working too, although whether this was to get in with Peter, I couldn’t say. Peter never seemed to mind when Menshikov was caught with his hand in state funds anyway. After the death of Peter he somehow managed to become de facto ruler of Russia but, after attempting to acquire royal relatives (and we can all guess where that would have led) other nobles ousted him and he ended up in Siberia. Not the first, or last…

His palace was like the others. A lot of gold and marble. Dutch imported blue and white tiles everywhere. There was a Chinese themed room, which did not interest me. None of it did. I had Seen too many Sights.

As for Russia, I think I prefer China. Russia may have similar food, language and looking people but I dislike the bluntness of them. Far too much shouting and not enough manners, at least to my eyes. Part of what I liked about China was the just complete and utter difference to home- which was often comical. It was a far more entertaining place. There’s nothing funny about Russia. No surprise chicken feet here!

As I write this Mum has struck out on her own to revisit the Hermitage and I am parked in the hostel.

Home tomorrow, if it hasn’t burnt down.

More Moscow

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Russian museums have rather unpredictable opening times. On one hand this is a good thing as they are nearly all open on the weekends when most people can see them. However it then means you turn up at one to find it is the 3^rd Monday after a new moon with the wind coming from an Easterly direction that has resulted in it closing. This meant we couldn’t see the Old English Court, the English Embassy in Moscow when there was still such a thing as English embassies, but we did go to the House of the Boyar Romanovs next door. This was where the Romanovs lived before they hit the big time. It was actually fairly modest and consisted of several small rooms in a two storey house. I rather liked the décor, 17^th century red and black, as well as the maze-like layout.

I wished we were staying at the Romanov house as out hostel gets thumbs down. Our room was tiny, and barely fit in the 6 beds, and people outside talked all night. Sleep was not forthcoming. Then the most unattractive specimens of the male form insisted on walking around only in towels. We were glad to leave…

We visited the Convent which was mostly lost on me. It was basically a collection of churches and at best I have a marked disinterest in these, and at worst an active dislike and thus end up in a bad mood.

We went to the Cemetery next door which cheered me up. We had gone with the intent on finding the graves of Shostakovich, Chekhov and Krushchev but as there were a great deal many graves, were only successful in finding Chekhov, although I believe we were mere metres away from Shostakovich…

We left Moscow that evening on the Grand Express. Mum and I had a VIP cabin which was very swish. The beds were huge and soft, which was nice, nice, nice after the hostel. We were served breakfast in our cabin early the next day and finally at 8:35 arrived in our last stop: St Petersburg.

Moscow Treasure

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oday was rather extraordinary, to say the least.

We started off checking out Russia’s version of McDonald’s for breakfast- which of course had pancakes which made me happy. And what looked like non-sweet potato pie. Halleluiah, civilisation.

Then Hugo and I queued up, a tad jumpingly, to see Lenin. After a brief queue (“the end of the queue is back there!””Is it? Oh.”) and a kerfuffle over Hugo’s phone being denied entrance, we walked past some plaques to dead Communists and into Lenin’s mausoleum. The Asians (possibly Japanese) in front kept talking so the visit was to a soundtrack of “tssh!” from the soldiers. We wandered down marble steps, around the glass coffin and back out again. Hugo and I disagree as to whether it is him, but I can’t believe we can preserve a body for 80 years like that. That and he looks like Lenin- not like a Lenin close to death. I was rather chuffed at seeing him as I now have the full house of Communist leaders- Ho, Kim, Mao and Lenin. Points for me.

Then we headed to the Kremlin. We wandered in and out of churches although they are to me like temples, all the same and not particularly interesting. I miss the familiar Anglican tradition.

Then to the Armoury. I can say without hesitation the Armoury is the most impressive place I have ever been. It is crammed with case after case of the most expensive, fantastic, unique objects. Even something tucked away in the corner of a case would be the star of another museum’s show. There were cases of silver given to the Tsars that were priceless. Gem encrusted silver gospel covers-tens of them. Silver jugs, plates, imperial dinner sets, ornaments. Gold, silver, diamonds everywhere. Faberge eggs (Mum’s favourite). Collections of the most ornate guns and swords- all inlaid with pearl and diamond. Suits of armour- both of man and horse. Another of ornate horse tack and a room of huge, opulent, almost god-like carriages. A room showing dresses the Tsarinas wore (my favourite). It was like a dragon’s horde. I cannot stress how filled with awe I was to wander through those rooms filled with such treasure- both in terms of sheer raw material as well as supreme craftsmanship and historical value. It got to the point where my eyes were exhausted from seeing all those wondrous things. It just blew me away.

Every object was priceless. I can’t possibly list the particularly amazing ones but there was a gospel cover with huge carved emeralds, large silver snow leopards (gifts from England), huge gold covered carriages needing 23 horses to draw it, thrones of ivory, dresses of gold and silver thread, silver dinner sets, huge silver models of castles on rocks, I could go on.

Mum rather liked the Faberge eggs. They all have surprises inside and one had a train with gold carriages that Mum liked. I liked a crystal one with a horse. The display of horse tack was fantastic- such intricate work.

It was just jaw-dropping. When we got outside we sat there, slightly stunned.

Eventually we roused ourselves and had lunch- I had borsch-which was rather tasty. There was a surprisingly cheap bottle of champagne we ordered and sat in the sun watching the world go by. Nice.

Then to Tretyakov art museum which houses a collection of art by exclusively Russian artists. Some of it was very good- although there were endless forested landscapes. Some of my favourites included a painting of a street in Paris using very indistinct brush strokes. Another was a woman combing her hair with a confident smile of one going to pull on her night out. Another was one of three people on ponies, of course.

I still can’t get over the Armoury.  

Moscow Treasure

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oday was rather extraordinary, to say the least.

We started off checking out Russia’s version of McDonald’s for breakfast- which of course had pancakes which made me happy. And what looked like non-sweet potato pie. Halleluiah, civilisation.

Then Hugo and I queued up, a tad jumpingly, to see Lenin. After a brief queue (“the end of the queue is back there!””Is it? Oh.”) and a kerfuffle over Hugo’s phone being denied entrance, we walked past some plaques to dead Communists and into Lenin’s mausoleum. The Asians (possibly Japanese) in front kept talking so the visit was to a soundtrack of “tssh!” from the soldiers. We wandered down marble steps, around the glass coffin and back out again. Hugo and I disagree as to whether it is him, but I can’t believe we can preserve a body for 80 years like that. That and he looks like Lenin- not like a Lenin close to death. I was rather chuffed at seeing him as I now have the full house of Communist leaders- Ho, Kim, Mao and Lenin. Points for me.

Then we headed to the Kremlin. We wandered in and out of churches although they are to me like temples, all the same and not particularly interesting. I miss the familiar Anglican tradition.

Then to the Armoury. I can say without hesitation the Armoury is the most impressive place I have ever been. It is crammed with case after case of the most expensive, fantastic, unique objects. Even something tucked away in the corner of a case would be the star of another museum’s show. There were cases of silver given to the Tsars that were priceless. Gem encrusted silver gospel covers-tens of them. Silver jugs, plates, imperial dinner sets, ornaments. Gold, silver, diamonds everywhere. Faberge eggs (Mum’s favourite). Collections of the most ornate guns and swords- all inlaid with pearl and diamond. Suits of armour- both of man and horse. Another of ornate horse tack and a room of huge, opulent, almost god-like carriages. A room showing dresses the Tsarinas wore (my favourite). It was like a dragon’s horde. I cannot stress how filled with awe I was to wander through those rooms filled with such treasure- both in terms of sheer raw material as well as supreme craftsmanship and historical value. It got to the point where my eyes were exhausted from seeing all those wondrous things. It just blew me away.

Every object was priceless. I can’t possibly list the particularly amazing ones but there was a gospel cover with huge carved emeralds, large silver snow leopards (gifts from England), huge gold covered carriages needing 23 horses to draw it, thrones of ivory, dresses of gold and silver thread, silver dinner sets, huge silver models of castles on rocks, I could go on.

Mum rather liked the Faberge eggs. They all have surprises inside and one had a train with gold carriages that Mum liked. I liked a crystal one with a horse. The display of horse tack was fantastic- such intricate work.

It was just jaw-dropping. When we got outside we sat there, slightly stunned.

Eventually we roused ourselves and had lunch- I had borsch-which was rather tasty. There was a surprisingly cheap bottle of champagne we ordered and sat in the sun watching the world go by. Nice.

Then to Tretyakov art museum which houses a collection of art by exclusively Russian artists. Some of it was very good- although there were endless forested landscapes. Some of my favourites included a painting of a street in Paris using very indistinct brush strokes. Another was a woman combing her hair with a confident smile of one going to pull on her night out. Another was one of three people on ponies, of course.

I still can’t get over the Armoury.  

Vladimir

After 70 long, long, long hours on the train we arrived in Vladimir. Vladimir is a former capital of Russia but, after meeting with the Mongols, lost out to Moscow eventually. It seems to be composed of older buildings brightly painted and the odd concrete district lurking in the background. Cars range from comically old Soviet types to BMWs. No McDonalds.

One thing about Russia I should mention are the minibuses. They act like normal buses, with routes and numbers, but are faster. Their drivers never speak English but now I have mastered the Russian for Lenin Square/Street (which seems to always be our destination) we get along fine. I think they should introduce these minibuses in the UK- they'd be great for rural routes.

I am confused by the non existent level of English skills here. If they speak it in Laos, why not Russia??

Luckily my ipod speaks Russian so we can scrape by... Although Russians are rather bewildered by what I'm doing.

Our hostel is called Pilgrim Hostel. It has a rule that un-married couples can't share a room. None of this rang warning bells until I looked at the directions to the hostel today and saw it was near an Evangelical Church. And, lo and behold, there is a distinct Christian theme here. Jesus is everywhere. The wifi password is "bethlehem". Thank god it's only for one night.

Bizarrely we are rather jetlagged- even though we spent the train journey trying to adjust. 4 hours is enough to make a difference I guess.

As I was starving we traipsed around trying to find food while I got crosser and crosser, not helped by hitting my head for the millionth time on a random metal pole. Eventually we found a nice place and planted. With the cafe's most English fluent waitress and my ipod we ordered a pizza, red wine and sprite followed by cherry pie. After 3 days of jam sandwich and dreams, it was grrreat.

On the way back we went past Vladimir's Golden Gate, which had brides queuing up to have pictures taken with it. Reminded me of Qingdao. I miss Qingdao. Mostly the teppanyaki restaurant in Qingdao, but the rest as well.

P.s. I go offline for 3 days and world markets are crashing- did I miss something?

70 Hour Train

Our last day in Irkutsk we spent trying to see the sights. However we turned left instead of right out of the hostel and the sights consisted of one church and a box of kittens. Which was enough for me. The church was Orthodox and was the first Orthodox one I’ve been in. The walls were stuffed with paintings that looked like they used to belong to other churches that got destroyed and the paintings were saved and kept in this one. There was a service going on or something. A woman asked me a question in Russian and I was so surprised at not being recognised as obviously foreign, I gawped back. She took this as a yes and seemed content.

That was something to get used to- to being asked questions by Russians about if I knew where such and such was. For the past year, I have been obviously a foreigner and therefore dumb.

The kittens were very cute. Their mum looked a bit stressed but the church seemed to be feeding her. I picked one kitten up and it was adorable. I’m a sucker for baby animals.

Eventually we had another go at sight seeing and wandered down

Karl Marx street

which was rather nice. We found a square to sit in and I read a book by Christopher Hitchens called “Letters to a Young Contrarian” which I’d found in the hostel. I am a great admirer of Hitchens, and indeed have a not insubstantial amount of respect for his younger brother Peter Hitchens, so I rather enjoyed it.

A fat Russian woman came over and tried to sit in the small gap between me and someone else which involved sitting on me. Which annoyed me.

Russian women are very tall, slim and beautiful until they marry and then they turn into short, fat crones. An interesting phenomenon.

The main conundrum of Irkutsk was in fact the time. We were west of Beijing but oddly the local time was one hour ahead, as if we were to the east. Eventually we discovered that Russia is now on permanent summer time.

We found a café and sat outside. I was very taken with the Europeaness of it all. I had Siberian tea which was basically tea with cranberry juice. I like tea and I like cranberry juice but I wasn’t sure they went well together. At one point the local Navy regiment passed by. It was around 2pm but they were already rather drunk and caroused past waving bottles and shouting. They were all wearing sailor berets and stripy vests. If this hadn’t been Irkutsk, I’d have thought it was a Gay Pride march.

Getting to the train station was a tad hairy but my coolheadedness combined with some inventive miming by Mum meant we got there. We pulled away in the Siberian dusk.

I’m writing this on the train as we pull out of Yekaterinburg, after 2 days on the train. Mum has just braved nipping off the train to buy peanuts and twixes. I’m not going to lie; food has occupied the vast majority of my thoughts recently. Our rations consist of jam sandwiches and some eeked out snacks, as well as an excellent supply of teabags. After 2 days of stale jam sandwiches, I crave pretty much anything else.

We had a foray to the restaurant cart which did not disappoint our expectations of expensive prices. We had some weird chopped ham and tomato mixed into fried egg on a hot plate thing. Not bad. In fact, positively ambrosia at this point. But expensive.

Our berth is rather snazzy. There are two beds either side which fold up to form the back of a cabin length chair. There are several handy compartments and even coat hangers. The toilets, at the end of the carriage, are rather scary and when they flush, make my ears pop. They are slightly better than the last train’s one though- you could see the track under the train every time you flushed the contents out…

This train ride is a rather meaningless existence. The landscape has consisted of mostly trees. We have watched the two films on my computer and are listening to Around the World in 100 Objects, which can be a bit wearying when heard all at once. I have played many games of chess against the computer on the easiest setting and won once, drawn once. (The last one I had two knights and the computer had nothing but the king and I still managed to draw…)

We keep seeing the Beijing-Moscow train and alternate being ahead and behind. Our train originally came from Vladivostok, on the Pacific coast.

I came across some pictures on my ipod of tuna sashimi and teppanyaki. Tasty steak and onions. I can’t stop thinking of pork crackling, with roast pork, carrots, peas, roast potatoes, mash potato, Yorkshire pudding, gravy and apple sauce. Or chicken and mushroom pie. Or ploughman’s sandwiches. Or Korean BBQ. Or, sweet Jesus, a McChicken sandwich and fries.

24 hours to go.

Lake Baikal

Lake Baikal is the deepest lake in the world, at over 1600m deep. Two thirds of its flora and fauna are found nowhere else on Earth, including a freshwater seal. It was formed in a rift and so is not particularly wide and only has one island, which we did not visit. The water is famed for its purity and I can say that it was very clear. The water was a strange deep blue-green that hinted at its normal occupation as being ice several feet thick. The vegetation I could see was rather sparse, and again looked like it spent a large part of its time being very very cold. The water, even now, is exceptionally chilly. I dipped a toe in, which was enough, and some brave Russian went for a brief swim, although he had the several layers of blubber I lack.

The lake is surrounded by steep hills covered in coniferous woods and the odd house of wood. There are a few boats ferrying people around. In winter you can just drive across the lake but in the summer, you need a boat.

Mum and I wandered up and down the thin stretch of pebble beach. We looked at the lake. Then we wondered what to do for the next 4 hours. The lake was very pretty but, as with the Great Wall being just a big wall, this was, really, just a big lake. I was only wearing a t-shirt and although it was warm, when there was a breeze it was a tad chilly. I lay down on the beach under the breeze and had a snooze. After a bit we wandered around and found a war memorial. Using my Ipod, which speaks Russian as well as Chinese, I tried to find out which war. One bit was definitely WW1 and another WW2 but one was dated 2010 and was about the Fatherland War. I couldn’t remember a war in Russia in 2010 so was, and remain, a bit confused.

We had dinner overlooking the lake before catching the bus back. It was very pretty.

Nihao Russia

We arrived in Irkutsk 30 hours after we started, although a large amount seemed to have been spent stationary. Geographically we were still in Asia but culturally this was definitely Europe. The people were mostly white, although had those rather indefinable features that are definitely Slavic. The frenetic energy of Asia had dissipated- no more endless neon signs or street stalls. No KTV. The architecture was now either composed of rather cute wooden buildings with carved liniments, or European influenced brick buildings with facades coloured in pale greens and yellows. Irkutsk is around 350 years old and the concrete monsters have mostly been kept out of the centre.

We emerged out of the station at around 8:30. Early mornings in Siberia are fairly cold and there was mist and dew everywhere. I led Mum to a minibus and we got on. I hesitantly said “

Lenin Street

?” to the bus driver and he replied in Russian. I picked out “Lenina” and was reassured. We trundled over a bridge and into the city and got off at the 3^rd stop. Following my instructions, we wandered around the back of a building and I found a small sign for our hostel. Success.

After checking in we caught another minibus to the main bus station. At least that had been the plan but when it came to a halt not near a bus station it was evident something had gone wrong. The driver didn’t speak a word of English and my Russian is about the same standard so I pointed at our map. After jabbering at us he waved at someone who came over and led us to another bus. It turned out we’d got the bus in the wrong direction and eventually arrived at the bus station in time to see the bus to Listvyanka fill up and leave. We went inside and bought tickets which involved the seller writing 12.00 on a piece of paper and me trying to pay 12 roubles, which wasn’t right, and then 1200, which comically wasn’t right either and then realised 12 was the time.

We waited in a fast food restaurant across the road before it was time for our bus and we were off to Listvyanka. Which is where the deepest lake in the world, Lake Baikal, is.

30 hour Train

A mate of our hostel’s owner drove us to the station and happily spent the journey telling us how we’d picked the slow train which wasn’t as fast as the fast train which was therefore worse than the fast train. He refused to take a fare and then Mum and I were left on a long platform in the dying light of a Mongolian sunset. We had a slight problem in that I had several thousand tugrugs left so had to wander around trying to spend it. I bought some twixes.

           Then we hopped on and found our berth. We were sharing with two Australians, a man with Dutch ancestry, and a woman, originally from Brazil, who was trying to collect her third passport from Portugal. They made for acceptable travel companions, although like all Australians they were obsessed with talking about the economy. Cos theirs is doing rather well.

            We arrived at the border around 6 in the morning but weren’t prodded to hand over passports until around 9 am, which pleased me very much. International border crossings are always at some ungodly hour. For some reason the train was staying at that station for around two more hours so I got off and wandered up and down. At this point every muscle in my body was aching because of the riding so I hobbled slowly from one end to the other. There was a little puppy also hobbling around, calling for its mother who was distressingly not there. I went over and cooed at it for a bit and it decided to snuggle into my trousers. Heart melted. A guard gave it something to eat and I tore myself away.

            The train moved away to change tracks or something and Mum, who had got off, thought it was leaving and got back on pretty sharpish.

            Eventually we chugged away for real, and we left Mongolia.

            At the Russian border there were no puppies, only rather large guard dogs patrolling, drool hanging from their enormous teeth. Mum reckoned they used the puppy to feed the guard dogs. The Russian guards got on and looked around. One was a female, rather tall, with long blond hair in a plait. She wore enough make-up to work at Harrods and a uniform of black jacket and leather jackboots. She looked like a Bond girl.

            Occasionally a dog ran up and down the corridor. We stayed in our berths.

            After a few hours we moved on.

            The landscape itself did not change so much but there were no more gers. There were rather ramshackle houses of wood with corrugated iron roofs. Each tended to have a vegetable plot, with mostly potatoes planted, surrounded by a wooden fence. There was not much livestock, although we saw chickens for the first time. As we carried on it became obvious we were no longer on the steppes, rather the wooded hills and valleys stretching away from us were now Siberia.

Ache Ache

I'm rather taken with Mongolian gers. Actually I'm rather taken with Mongolian steppes, Mongolian ponies and Mongolian everything although this is probably not a surprise. Gers are tents made of wood and felt and are rather cosy although I kept hitting my head on the way in. In the middle was a stove that Mum used to fill the ger with smoke. I want one.

Mongolia is rather beautiful. Just rolling hills of grass in every direction. Clear blue skies. Every now and then we passed through wild thyme and could smell it. There were bazillions of bugs making a huge racket. Here and there were white gers, often with some ponies and a hairy dog barking frantically. These days there are also solar panels outside.

Mongolians are not early risers. Breakfast was not until 9 and consisted of "gumbra"- which was a fried bread with jam. Then around 11 ponies would appear, saddled, at the washing line. The first morning was spent hoisting public school girls up and so Mum and I did not leave for our day ride until after lunch. I was rather peeved-particularly as we didn't seem to have a guide yet. Basically noone was really in charge and you had to keep pointing out what you wanted to do. I dislike disorganisation.

The first ride was great though. As my nervousness evaporated I tried a trot, and then a canter. Flower was very obedient and everything was great. It has always been my life ambition to gallop across a steppe and I'm rather chuffed it has happened :)

The thing about the ponies was that they weren't used to always following the pony in front and as it's all grassland, you can ride anywhere. It was great to be able to wander away from the main group and then pottle back, or ride ahead, or wait and catch up, without my pony constantly disagreeing. The Exmoors have a route and they stick to it. The saddle was a little hard but great for keeping you in the saddle and I appreciated having something to hang onto.

We stopped off for some Airag, which is fermented mare's milk and not as bad as it sounds.

The next morning we set off again and Flower and I had a great gallop. I had now graduated onto making him go as fast as possible. Mum and Basil were still happily trotting along, neither in the mood to accelerate.

In the afternoon, however, Mum decided things hurt too much and stayed behind. Over lunch Flower perked up.

When we came to a bit where the guide suggested a canter I agreed. In Mongolia, you say "chu" to go faster and "ush" to slow down.

"Chu" I whispered. Flower shot off at full speed and I went "wheeee fun fun!". However I figured we'd better wait for the others so I hauled back on the reins. No effect. Lol Flower enjoying galloping.

"Ush!" I declared, giving another haul. If anything he went faster.

We raced past a guy peeing, who looked rather surprised.

"Ush?" faster still. I stopped saying ush. Normally it doesn't matter if you can't stop in Mongolia as there is nothing but grass in your way however in my way was a road. Still a long way off, but fast approaching. I discovered I could steer and we weaved left and right to give me some time to think of a plan. Eventually I couldn't and settled for combining Flower's growing breathlessness with pulling on the reins as much as possible. We eventually skidded to a halt, next to the road. Lol Flower.

I tried to do a calm walk but this left us behind the others and so we galloped to catch up but Flower seemed content to stop that time. The next time I went for the Hill manouevre, which involves directing the pony up a steep hill. Eventually he gets tired and stops.

We stopped off at a ger and got invited in for some airag. The ger was kitted out in rugs and brightly painted wooden beds. There was an ancient TV in the corner with a huge pair of ram's horns on top. Several photos lay around of what must have been great-grandparents and the grandpa himself in miltary days, as well as the father getting married. The son was outside bouncing around on his pony. They really can ride well.

The grandpa said I looked good galloping around. I didn't mention I had no control.

The nearest gers were home to some orphan toddlers and an Australian girl with us was working in the orphanage and so we popped over to say hello. There were about 10 kids running around in various states of undress. I had seen them earlier and wondered why there had been so many kids. One girl seemed rather knowing and took my hat and put it on her head, laughed at me and then put it back on my head. Another boy was rather pale and apparently there is some Communist exchange with Cuba and it's not just Communism that gets exchanged.

Then we set off again. I was determined Flower would calm down but as he didn't seem able to confine himself to a trot we walked. This meant we fell behind. Eventually we re-crossed the road and I gave up and boy he can accelerate! In a split second we were whizzing over the ground in a cloud of dust. We soon caught up with the others leisurely cantering and flashed by. We caught up with a guide and whizzed by. I at this point decided to get my own back and made Flower go faster as we turned up the hill to camp. He started to blow and I told him in no uncertain terms he wanted to gallop so we were carrying on galloping. Eventually we arrived in a cloud of dust, sweat and tiredness. I got off, walked him round a bit and then gave him a pat. He ignored me. Aw Flower.

So that's why everything hurts now.

Ger-eat!

My legs hurt, my back hurts, my bum hurts, my kneecaps hurt (there's a muscle there I didn't know I had) and my hands hurt. And I didn't even fall off.

I'd persuaded Mum to spend two days in Mongolia horse-riding. After all, that is what Mongolia is for. Mum wasn't so keen and my original plans of days and days racing across steppes had to be modified. We got collected on Wednesday by a Mongolian in a minibus. Neither were in particularly good condition with the man looking rather battered from years of sun, wind and cold and the car looking pretty much the same. It smelt of horse.

We bumped and bounced to collect a couple of other guys before heading out on what counts as a motorway here before turning off up a dirt track and ending up in a collection of gers on a hillside.

The population of the ger camp was thus: me and Mum, who has taken to saying "mother and daughter" everytime we meet someone new so they don't think we are a lesbian couple as we don't look related, some guys with beards planning solo treks, a tough Australian, Mongol women who stayed pretty much all the time in one ger cooking, Mongol children who spent their time either wrestling or hanging off ponies, Mongol men wandering around, a group of public school girls out "developing their personalities" and their no nonsense teachers and "safety" guy.

The last group annoyed me intensely. The girls kept saying OMIGOD and the guy, as always with facial hair, was full of bullshit about what his job was. The teachers twittered on about the girls being independent and making decisions and having responsibilty and working as a team. They seemed to think their school holiday to Mongolia and China was some sort of gruelling expedition/humanitarian aid mission. They'd taught English for an afternoon and apparently sometimes similar groups paint classrooms and build climbing frames. As though Mongolians can't do that themselves or the UK has no classrooms that need painting. I can guarantee those girls going to Braunstone to build climbing frames would get a bigger culture shock. I'm not convinced you need an extra guy to tell you about "safety". This ain't Mogadishu.

When I was 17 I got a job in a summer camp in Spain looking after oodles of spoilt brats. That bloody well developed my personality I can tell you-and I didn't pay £3000 for the privelege.

That night there weren't very many clouds and I saw so many stars it was like a different sky. Thousands and thousands. I could see the Milky Way and shooting stars. It was like God had knocked over his glitter box.

Mongolian ponies and Mongolian humans have a different relationship to that of me and the Exmoors I normally ride. We spend ages and pots of money on hoof care, dental work, tack, hay in winter, grooming etc. The Mongolian horse gets none of that. He wanders around on his steppe with his mates and is occasionally lassooed, bits of string tied around his face, a wooden saddle plonked on his back, shortly followed by a Mongolian kid who gallops him around whilst hanging off the side waving things. When the kid has finished, he gets tied to a washing line, still with saddle, and left overnight until needed again. No pats or polos for him. He doesn't even get a name. This makes them rather contemptuous of humans.

Mine was a sandy coloured pony with a clipped ear. When I nervously approached, him he watched me out of the corner of his eye. I clambered aboard and a Mongol led me around while I got used to it all. Then the Mongol let me go and Mum, an American with huge eyes called Madeleine and some Mongols set off over the hill. Mum's pony was dark brown and and of the plodding kind. I called him Basil, after an Exmoor of a similar character. Mine I called Flower and he has resented me ever since.

A Nomads' City

Ulaan Baatar is rather surreal. There are about two modern glass skyscrapers of which the Chinese are so proud and then it fades away to haphazard Russian style buildings and then it fades away again to shanty huts and then to gers. You can tell this is a nation without an architectural heritage. They're not quite sure how to do town-planning so they reckon they'll just stay in their gers.

There is a square in the middle, Sukhbaatar square. Sukhbaatar led the revolution for independence from China so applause all around. I often wonder what Mongolians think of their brethren in Inner Mongolia- which is Chinese owned. The square has the government building at the head which is actually rather nicely designed and consists of a honey coloured stone and blue glass to give a rather nice colouring. In the middle, up some large steps, sits a huge statue of Ghenghis Khan. There are other statues of his son Ogedai and his nephew Kublai Khan.

From our hotel you can see the ger district on the hills. Ulaan Baatar contains around half of Mongolia's population of 2.7 million and the newcomers bring their gers with them. I've never seen a city which turns into wilderness quite so quickly. One minute it is buses and buildings, the next white gers and rolling steppe. There are huge hills all around covered in pines. It reminds me of Scotland.

A dude on his horse rode past our cafe which made my day. The roads are choked with cars so he had to use the pavement and his horse didn't seem bothered at all. So cool.

Mongolians are also slightly punk ass. There is a hint of the mohican in some of the men's hairstyles and they like black leather. A couple of lads had some heavy beats blaring from a sound system and were convulsing appreciatively to it. In the square last night some were whizzing around on roller blades doing some neat tricks and dripping in coolness. The females have high heels, shades and tight jeans and look pretty fierce.

All the white males here have facial hair.

We went to Gandan monastery this morning which was slightly odd for me as it was actually a working monastery, unlike the Chinese ones. There was a service that we peeked into but seemed to be several old men chanting. One answered his phone half way through. Outside there were hundreds of pigeons flapping about.

We also went to the Natural Museum which had rocks in it and Mum likes rocks so that kept her happy. Mongolia is quite famous for fossil finds as they are well preserved in the Gobi desert.

At the station the bloke sent to get us had his piece of paper the wrong way round so we spent a while sat there like Paddington Bear before the problem was sorted and we were collected.

Mum was disappointed to find there was no McDonalds' here;)

Goodby China, Hello Mongolia

Mum and I are travelling in our own compartment which comes with a chair and a bathroom shared with next door- who seem to be constantly in it. The attendants are all Mongolians and I am a teeny bit scared of them. They are all very muscled, which their skirts and make-up fail to hide. The whole effect is a tad trans-sexual. They don’t speak much and just glare and their main preoccupation is bagsiing a compartment for themselves which resulted in us being placed in a different one to our ticket which meant that everyone else has had to be shunted around too. They spend their time cooking dinner which I wouldn’t mind, except it smells a lot better than what I’ve got. Namely pot noodle and gently staling bread.

As we travelled away from Beijing the skies cleared and gradually the familiar Chinese landscape of skyscrapers and maize fields turned into wide valleys and then steppe. Steppe! Very exciting. This meant we were in Inner Mongolia, which is a province of China much like Tibet. As we journeyed we saw horses, cattle, sheep and even two dinosaurs standing near a road. The sunset was fantastic- deep pink and red. My last in China. At around 8:30 we arrived at Erlian, the border town. This is where they had to change the train’s bogies so it can run on the different tracks of Mongolia. This involved a lot of banging and bumping of the train that was quite violent at times. Each carriage was detached and raised before the bogies were slid out from underneath and new ones added. It took a while.

We are now in the Republic of Mongolia and travelling over endless steppes. Occasionally there are gers (gers!) and herds of ponies or sheep. There is also the odd brick or wood building and we even passed a collection of about 15 that must pass for a town around here. Mongolia has the lowest population density in the world- barely 2 people per square kilometre. Of a total population of 2.8 million, 1 million live in the capital Ulaan Baatar, with a sizeable proportion in other cities. 30%  continue life as nomads, although I suspect with the addition of motorcycles and mobile phones.

At the border, guards came and took our passports, stamped them and then gave them back. With a jolt we rolled on and my year in China came to an end at roughly midnight on 25^th July, 10 months and 23 days after I first landed in Qingdao on a humid summer’s day.  

Ghenghis Didn't Need a Visa

And so, having last seen my adoring parents on September 1^st, they were with me in Beijing. Sara and I rushed to the airport from the train station as we only had an hour until they landed. Beijing has three terminals, with 1 and 2 being together and 3 being a way away. I thought it was 1 but it wasn’t it was 3 so we spent ages getting there with me stressing and snapping about missing them and when we got there the parents were nowhere to be seen worry worry worry. Turns out their plane was delayed 2 hours so we went to Starbucks and I slowly calmed down. Starbucks has saved my sanity countless times.

Sara and I had a sign saying “Aged Parents” and they spotted it.

So we caught a taxi to the hotel which involved me arguing with the driver that we did fit in his taxi. Grumpy git.

We walked to Tiananmen Square and Mum fell over and sprained her ankle which was not an auspicious start. Luckily she could still walk and we had a wander.

I’ll just summarise over our stay in Beijing as I am now on a train to Ulaan Baatar and don’t want to fall too far behind…

I hated the Forbidden Palace because it was exactly like all the other temples I’ve seen and was full of Chinese crowds and was hot. Mum and Dad loved it because they hadn’t been somewhere like that before. The Palace is rather large and is a basically a collection of Palaces of Harmony. Not much of the interior is left and as you can’t go inside buildings anyway you are left wandering through endless courtyards. Sara came down with food poisoning.

I had a barney at a taxi driver wanting to charge 80 RMB and not use the meter. I was a bit stressed that day.

The Great Wall is, er, basically a big wall. It was very humid when we went so you could not see very far and a bit hot to walk along but one section was much like another. I feel that the wall was rather superfluous as if you’ve managed to walk up the ridge on which it sits, which is no mean feat, then you are either so determined that a wall won’t stop you or so knackered you could be easily defeated.

I bought some souvenirs for Mum and it was interesting to see the difference between the price they asked for (say 200RMB) and what I paid. (Say 30RMB). Some tourists must get so ripped off.

We also visited the Ming Tombs that Mum insisted on going to. They consisted of various temples as well as some large carved animal statues that Mum rather liked. I was not convinced. The way that the place is developed also took away from what must have been a rather awe inspiring place- a long slow road up to great temples. Today the souvenir stalls take away from it.

We attempted to visit the Summer Palace but it was chucking it down with rain and so we abandoned that…

The main drama of Beijing was me trying to get a Mongolian visa which involved the following steps:

1. Go to Embassy, arrive 40 minutes before closing time, realise that queue is too long and will never make it
2. Go to Embassy an hour before it opens. See a new sign saying the Embassy has changed its opening times, come back this afternoon… Walk back to hotel in pouring rain and startling Americans on return
3. Go in afternoon 1.5 hours early but being FIRST in line.
4. Wait with stomach cramps from stomach bug acquired from sister
5. Have a Brit worry you by saying you might need an invitation letter which you haven’t got and haven’t time to get
6. Worry a lot
7. Hand in application with a bright smile and get away with it RELIEF
8. Go back following day 1 hour early and collect visa with no days to spare. Phew.

We were staying at a rather nice hotel in Beijing and as Dad is an executive member or something this meant using the executive lounge, which was rather swanky. I could get used to hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. It was also nice to go swimming in the pool. I could get used to luxury…

As I write Mum and I are in our compartment somewhere in Inner Mongolia on the way to Ulaan Baatar. Going from Beijing, where visibility was horrendous, to now, where I can see forever, is a nice change.

Last Post On NK I Promise

After the Mausoleum we had to rush at full speed south to go and see the De-Militarised Zone before “it shut” at 12. As always when one is in a hurry there are unexpected delays and ours came in the form of being stopped by the traffic police as they wanted to see if our minibus was licensed to take foreigners. Ri huffed a little and said that as there were obviously foreigners in the car obviously they were allowed to have foreigners. At one point the driver and Mr Kim wandered off to a corner with the policeman and Ri followed leaving Sara and I alone in the car. We had a temptation to jump in the driver’s seat and see how far we would get…

However it was soon sorted out and we were making full speed along the highway. The highway is as straight as a Roman road and a little cracked. As it had been raining there were huge puddles that caused a rather entertaining splash when we whizzed through. North Korean countryside is very beautiful with green fields, rushing rivers, mountains in the distance, clear skies… Occasionally we’d see villages of stone houses looking rather pretty in the valleys. There lots of people around walking through fields and working even though Sunday is supposed to be the Koreans’ day off. I’d love to go back and trek through NK. When that’s allowed. There were virtually no other cars on the road throughout our 2 hour journey.

We arrived at the DMZ around 1 o’clock but they let us in anyway. As the highway reached the start of the DMZ there was a sign saying “Seoul 70km”. So near and yet so far…

There were a couple of small buildings with soldiers and our guides had various ID checked while I nearly fell over on one of the slippery surfaces doing one of those giraffe impressions Korean soldiers find so entertaining…

Then we and three officers climbed back into the van and we entered the DMZ. The DMZ runs the entire length of the border with South Korea and is 4 km wide- each side getting 2 km each. Some Koreans do live in the DMZ, about 300 or something, and they live a rather strange existence tending crops while thousands of soldiers and military hardware wait for Armageddon. The DMZ, as so few humans enter it, is actually a haven for wildlife these days and there is hope expressed that, after reunification, it might be left as a natural park. It is really rather beautiful too, rolling wooded hills etc.

The first place we went was the 6 huts where they have negotiations. The blue ones are American run (Ri kept saying American but I think she meant South Korean but was reluctant to admit it) and the white ones are North Korean run. Through the middle of the huts runs a concrete ridge-the border. We went into a blue one which was filled with tables. The table in the middle had microphones placed exactly along the border apparently. On the wall was a picture showing the flags of those who fought with the South Koreans including a British flag which caused an awkward moment when the guard pointed it out. Outside on our side there were North Korean soldiers standing right by this. Unfortunately there were no South Korean soldiers to be seen and when I inquired where they were the NKorean Major we had with us looked at his watch and seemed to imply it was lunchtime. I had wanted to see the different Korean soldiers next to each other as I’d heard there was a good 6 inches height difference between the two so poor show Republic of Korea.

As well as the huts there are two larger buildings glaring at each other. We went to the top and stared at the South Koreans and waved. As the windows were blacked out, I don’t know if they waved back, but we can be certain they were watching…

Then to some other buildings that had housed negotiations. In one our guides and officers wandered off so we seized our opportunity and Sara planked on the floor. I think planking in the DMZ gets internet points.

Then to lunch cooked by the army chefs but unfortunately we didn’t like very much of it. Small portions of things were served in small brass pots with lids and after we’d eaten what we liked we put the lids back on but the major came back and proceeded to lift off all the lids to judge how well we’d done.

The Major was quite a character and really rather sweet. I’d been lavishing cigarettes on the soldiers so we were best mates. I felt a bit guilty about giving cigarettes as they are poisonous but they are all hooked so it’s what they like. The Major gave me a toffee and we had a good laugh. It’s rather sad that such great people are in the position they are in.

Then it was off to Kaesong, the town nearest the DMZ. The buildings were all rather old and mouldy and there were no cars. There were some tanks/swimming pools that had lots of kids playing in them. Near the town was the only traditional Korean thing we saw- an old university/temple. It was very nice, but I’m not a temple person…

Then along a very long dirt track to another DMZ post. We’d pass lots of people on bicycles and flowing streams and children up to something. All very rural. The post itself was a small building on a hill looking at the Americans in a small building on a hill a few kilometres away looking at us looking at them looking at us. The Koreans had some powerful binoculars and we had a good peer. The Americans had cleared vegetation from their building and I couldn’t see much inside. We waved and I feel like I saw movement through a blacked out window but who knows. Then I looked at the bits of SK you could see and there were cars and things. It was a very peaceful place.

Our officer for that part was a Captain and he was great too. We were the first foreign twins he’d seen. We had a chat, using Ri as an interpreter, about twins and triplets and Octomum in the US. He said that when we were pregnant we could use Pyongyang Maternity Hospital as it’s really good.

Then we left and steamed up the highway back to Pyongyang. We paused briefly at a statue of two women in traditional Korean dress reaching towards each other holding a disc with the map of the Korean peninsula. It symbolises reunification.

Then to a meal of Pyongyang BBQ duck, which was very nice but again I couldn’t eat all the food they were giving me. The last thing we did was go for a brief walk. Technically foreigners are supposed to go everywhere by car but Ri figured we weren’t spies and as it was such a lovely evening we had a little pootle near the hotel.

The next day we posted some postcards and caught our train back to Beijing. There were no delays and we reached Beijing in time to go to the airport, go to the wrong terminal, go to the right terminal and finally meet our parents who had just arrived.

In conclusion about North Korea… The Koreans are fantastic- really friendly people who like a laugh. It was very sad to see how thin they were. The whole country was just so behind and yet so stable. Most poor countries have weak government and recent war damage but this one was a full functioning state. I have never seen such a controlled spiral into starvation. Which is the only outcome of Korea’s current path.

It’s a shame that they are pariahs which brings me to the political problem. Someone somewhere has to work out a way to deal with people who are effectively living in one giant cult. If Modernity comes knocking I fear that they will not be able to cope. North Korean refugees who make it to South Korea (they have to go via Bangkok so you can imagine that’s quite an undertaking) have to spend a few weeks being shown how to pay bills and work phones. They are like children. And if Korea is ever to be reunified they have to respect that the North Koreans worship Kim Il Sung and work around that. They wouldn’t be able to process it if you said that actually he’d caused untold misery on their country. Ri said that the Koreans were one people but she didn’t realise how different SK is now. The North Koreans’ dearest hope is reunification… Ri asked me when I thought “things were going to get better-5 years? 10 years?” I wasn’t sure how to reply. The only thing I do know is that the current diplomatic strategy is not working. Confrontation does not help anyone-it just backs NK into a corner where of course it’s going to be aggressive. If I was in charge I’d remove all the American soldiers from SK, laughably obvious NK won’t attack, so that NK can’t pretend they are facing American Imperialism. Then I’d remove all sanctions and discuss giving NK the light water reactors the Americans promised but never gave. I can guarantee NK would take the offering of peace. No one wants to be a pariah. Then I’d wait for Kim Jong Il to die and with China’s pressure, NK would start economic reform similar to what China did. And then as modernity seeps in NK can catch up with SK and voila, reunification.

But nobody listens to me.

Kim: It's Really Him

They have a Children's Palace in Pyongyang, the site personally chosen by Kim Jong Il. Or Kim Il Sung. Inside kiddies do things in unison. I'm not convinced as many people need training in the accordian as Pyongyang seems to be doing but if France ever runs out, I would say that North Korean children are pretty good at it.

I disliked the children's palace because there were lots of Chinese tourists wandering around being rude and loud and annoying.

There was a performance in the afternoon and was mostly brightly coloured children dancing and singing. Our guide fell asleep. The Chinese tourists loved it. Around 25 000 visit NK each year, compared to 3500 westerners. At the end the performers lined up and the Chinese rushed to get photos with their favourite one. As they pushed and prodded the children, I noticed their smiles become slightly fixed. Chinese bluntness offends North Koreans as well as South Koreans it seems.

Then to see their Arch of Triumph, which is larger than France's. Medals all around.

Then the Juche Tower. There were soldiers practising being in unison as next year is the 100 year anniversary of Kim Il Sung's birth. The Juche Tower was decorated with plaques of Juche societies from around the world.

That night we had Korean hotpot. I spent a while looking out of the window at a playground where children were messing around after school. Cute.

That evening we went to Yanggakdo Hotel which is a "posh" hotel in Pyongyang. It has a bowling alley which Sara and I used for a bit. It also has the world's saddest turtle existing in a tank a couple of metres cubed.

That morning we forgot the pancake part of our marathonly long breakfast and as we left our lovely waitress hurried after us to remind us but her English wasn't so good so we did not understand and only realised later. Oops.

The next day we went to Kim Il Sung's memorial to stare at his dead body. We had to wear our Sunday best. The Mausoleum is rather large, as it used to be his offices. On arrival we went over a shoe duster and through a large hairdryer. Instead of walking we were conveyed everwhere on escalators and travelators. As well as us there were a handful of tourists and some people from UNESCO as well as Koreans visiting. It took a rather long time, through many corridors and marble lined rooms before we reached one with carvings in it. Here we were handed a recording of someone explaining what it was like when he died. I had heard about this recording beforehand. It was described as "hysterical" and my god it was. There was a man intoning in a shuddering voice about all the lamentations and weeping and how tears were so hot they melted the floor and became fossilized.

Difficult to keep a straight face. In a place where it was quite important not to laugh.

We went into a large hall with a large statue of the guy. Then finally entered the room where he was. While I reckon Mao was a fake I think it was probably him this time. We bowed in three different places and then left and were slowly conveyored out.

I talked to Ri about how it was when he died. She had been at university then and she and her students had noticed something had happened but didn't know what. At first they thought that maybe reunification had happened, revealing what a heart-held dream that is, but that dream quickly dissolved as they found out. She said they thought they were going to die without him and that they couldn't believe he had died- she said that they hadn't thought he was quite as human as that. She then told us what an amazing humble guy he was. He's quite important there.

WHO STARTED THE WAR

Foreigners in NK use euros or RMB (none of those Imperialist dollars) but Ri sold us some notes and coins in a way that made me suspicious it was a side line of hers. She came up to our room with brown paper envelopes and we swapped currencies. She casually mentioned not putting it in our purses, just you know because people might see it, so I stuffed it in my rucksack.

Kim Il Sung is not on the money, as one would imagine. This is because money is used and crumpled etc and his mug is too good for that so they use scenes of industry and things. Sara and I got copies of the Pyongyang Times (English language newspaper) and you aren't allowed to bend it where there's a picture of him or Kim 2. Similarly you can't take a picture of just part of his statue. The Pyongyang Times mostly focuses on what the "South Korean Puppets" are up to, problems in the south and how well China is doing. Oh and Kim giving "on-the-spot field guidance". "On-the-stop field guidance" is a special NK thing where he goes and looks at things and gives advice on subjects he doesn't really know anything about to people who do.

Examples here: http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/

There is, of course, a War Museum. Or rather the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum. This refers to the Korean War. This we went to after another square with statues of groups of people symbolising bits of the war. In NK statues there is always a man at the front surging forwards heroically, a man carrying an injured comrade, and another man looking back urging the followers on.

The NK version of the Korean War holds that the Americans attacked first unprovoked blah blah and after 3 days were driven back and NK proceeded to liberate Seoul happy times celebration and then to gradually liberate more and more of the south until only a corner was left. Success hurrah. Most of the museum is dedicated to this part of the war and glosses over the next. The American Imperialists struck back and cowardly took everthing including Pyongyang itself and then they were so scared of the North Koreans they signed an armistice. No mention was really made of the Chinese volunteers.

I don't really know much about the Korean War and I suspect it is one of those things that a lot needs to be known about. However it is odd for an invading force to launch a surprise attack that they have been preparing for a long time and then be driven back in 3 days and proceed to lose a lot of territory. So maybe North Korea attacked first which tallies with other evidence- particularly that Kim Il Sung had been looking for Stalin and Mao's support for an invasion. The Americans, not wanting a hostile Korea in their little Cold War (how much damage have they caused fighting Communism? And still cause fighting Socialism?) then came in and with their help the South Koreans regrouped and retook ground. The Chinese then got involved and basically saved Kim Il Sung by fighting his war. North Koreans say it was they who avoided defeat, well it was the Chinese. So ranks of Chinese versus ranks of Americans in a country neither was that bothered about caused them to sign an armistice. This armistice NK calls a victory. Which I would quibble with. In their museum they had a letter from a US commander lamenting leaving Korea without a victory and they use this as proof that the Americans admit they lost.

Throughout the tour of the museum I had this urge to point out that the War was not Victorious and the Fatherland was not Liberated. But wasn't sure it would have much effect.

Our guide was a rather cute girl from the army in her vintage uniform. As we progressed through each room her pointing cane got longer and longer.

We watched an introductory video about the war which began with someone declaring in a sonorous tone "WHO STARTED THE WAR?". This then made it rather difficult to keep a straight, respectful face.

Most of the displays are photos and include letters from some moron in Utah writing to Kim to give support as thought he represents the US. The basement is where they keep all the scrap from the war and is full of planes, tanks, weapons and helicopters from the 50s. No jokes about it being state-of-the-art in NK please...

One plane was supposed to be a training plane but the North Koreans used it to drop planes. It was mostly flown by females apparently, which was an interesting tidbit. Another 50s plane seemed to have wet paint.

There's also a tree trunk from a "Hero Tree" which was so big it could shelter Korean supply trucks from bombers.

The odd American spy plane was shot down and they have copies of the pilot's confessions about being very contrite and promising never to do it again and they have wife and children sowwy.

The last exhibit was a 360 degree panorama that has been very cleverly painted. It shows the battle in Dajong from the Korean War, including the capture of the US commander of the 21st Division William Dean. This event was mentioned several times. In the panorama he is depicted as a big nosed ugly git hiding under a tree in an ordinary soldiers uniform cowardly hiding.

Someone asked where the Great Leader Kim Il Sung was in the battle. "There's a picture of him on one of the houses" said the guide brightly.

More DPRK

Kim Jong Il was born near Mt Paekdu, to the accompaniment of lightening flashes, but Kim Il Sung is a true Pyongyang boy and was born in a hovel in the suburbs, to which we were taken. The hovel, or "native house", looked a little....rebuilt. It consisted of three small rooms of one building facing a workshop type building opposite, with a bamboo platform at the end for sleeping in in summer. In each of the rooms were various pictures and artefacts. The pictures showed his grandparents, uncles and brothers. The 2nd generation, rather sadly, died fighting the Japanese but the grandparents lived long enough to see their grandson In Charge. Officials suggested moving them to comfy houses in the city but they nobly declined special priveleges. Communist, you know.

It was all a little bit "this is the real sleeping mat he used!" but there was a touching moment when the house guide seemed a bit teary when discussing Kim's death. She wore traditional Korean clothes as well as slapped on white powder which did not succeed in making her skin look paler at all...she was also considerably smaller than Sara and I. Afterwards she took us to the well He used to use and scooped up some water for us to drink. We parted, best mates.

Then we went for a walk through neighbouring trees to a hill overlooking the city.

Lunch was in a restaurant. To get there we walked through a clothes shop. "These are normal prices" said Ri. Yeah right, if they were there'd be people looking at stuff...

Apart from the above, I have to say very little of our trip seemed staged. We had a good snigger beforehand about our train not actually moving but was a succession of boards of views of prosperous farms carried past by Koreans-and when we stopped unexpectedly for over an hour that they were having a rest :P I had heard that the metro was not really used and that the two stops foreigners can see are stuffed with actors, but it didn't feel like that at all. For a start, people were annoyed when they arrived just as doors closed. The stations we did see were over 100m below the ground, I believe the lowest in the world (doubles as a bunker apparently) and the walls featured carvings of Communist scenes. The candeliers were tacky coloured glass supposed to represent fireworks. The trains were leftovers from East Germany and looked it. There was a double portrait of everyone's favourite leaders in each carriage. Rather quaint.

More to come, including the Children's Palace (UNISON) and the War Museum. WHO REALLY STARTED THE WAR.

Day 1 Morning 1 of Communist Sight Seeing

They have white dots marking straight lines across their main square. This is so on lovely Communist parades everyone can stand in perfect Communist lines. Their main square, which is the "perfect centre of Pyongyang" whatever that means, is surrounded by various buildings that are something to do with Communism. I lost track of precisely what-there were rather many. I do remember the Study Hall of the People-which is their library. Kim Jong-Il apparently said he didn't need to study abroad as everything he needed was there.

NK apparently has three political parties- the Workers' Party of Korea (which is the main one) and then a token religious one and a token democratic one. Nothing is known about the last one- only the name of its leader and that it still exists. Maybe.

We also visited the Square of Fountains, which was mostly half dry ponds with dribbles. The constant drizzle was more impressive.

Then off to the Foreign Language Bookshop, which was conspicuously closed to Koreans and only opened for us. Inside were translations of various works explaining the Juche idea (NK's philosophy) and just how really amazing Kim Il Sung is. And the odd book explaining how the IMPERIALIST AMERICANS STARTED IT FIRST. I bought a book about Kim Jong Il which contained various touching stories including my favourite one about how he waited in line for petrol and didn't queue-jump. Such humility. I also bought a Korean phrase book which contained amusingly different phrases to my South Korean one. And some postcards which a few Chosen may or may not receive- depending on how good NK censors are at spotting sarcasm.

Favourite quote from Ri- "unlike other countries, we have a close relationship between the leader and the people". So close, she's never seen him.

Juche is the philosophy expounded by Kim Il Sung and is based on Marxism. A link explains more here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juche but in short, it means what Kim Jong Il says it means.

"Are there any horses in North Korea. I like horses."
"Um, there's two in the zoo I think".

Not just the French who like horse obviously...

Then to the Martyr cemetery which contains the copper busts of various martyrs in the fight against Japanese occupation and during the Korean War. As well as soldiers there was one of a woman who sent her entire family off to war, sons, daughters, in-laws etc, and none came back. Kim Il Sung's wife is there too- she died aged 31 from illness, possibly picked up from living rough while being a guerilla. Kim Il Sung's uncle is there too.

Ri was curiously reluctant to say the Kim Il Sung had died-rather she referred to when "his heart stopped beating".

When Sara and I laid some flowers at the cemetery, there was a hush from the Korean schoolkids there at the foreigners paying respect and bowing.

Ri had a Louis Vuitton patterned umbrella. I wonder where she acquired this and if she knows. She said she had never left the country but that might have not been entirely true.

Lunch. We didn't finish.

NK 2

We headed to our hotel from the train station.

"This is rush hour" announced our female guide, Ri. I could see about 10 other cars on the road.

Our hotel, Changwangsan, was a 3star hotel near the ice rink and a conference building. Not convinced the ice rink is open. The first thing we saw in the hotel was a picture of Kim Il-Sung, the President whose heart has sadly stopped beating, along with his son, Kim Jong-Il, who is the Dear Leader. They were standing by Mount Paekdu, which is in the north of the country and was the base for Kim Il-Sung's guerrilla action against the Japanese who had occupied the country. Pictures of those two are everywhere and every (loyal) North Korean wears a badge with Kim 1's face on to show their love- like Christians wear a cross.

We were ushered to a small room with a table laid out with cutlery they haven't been able to replace in decades. Our waitress happily bounced in and proceed to give us a succession of dishes one by one. I'll say now that the Koreans seemed determined to prove how much food was around and always gave us far too much. At first I resolutely ate everything, concious that people really were starving here, but eventually I gave up and just ate until I was full. The food itself was not great- something stale about it. I suspect a lot of what we ate, especially the meat, was imported from China. NK, according to Ri, has 2 beef and milk farms. 2.

Our waitress, Kim Sung-hui, was fantastic. We could only communicate in bad english/chinese but she was so sweet. I wrote my name in Korean, about the only thing I can write, and she wrote hers in English and we had a connection.

Then to bed- our rooms, predictably, were very old-fashioned and age was slowly killing everything off. We never had hot water in the shower. The tap hiccoughed every time we wanted water. The decrepit tv only showed one channel of N koreans crying over something. There was shampoo in bottles which I stuffed in my suitcase. Even shampoo gets exciting when it's from NK.

Our guides for the first day were Ri and Mr Kim. Ri is a very sophisticated older woman whose platform shoes didn't quite hide how short she was. She spoke English very well and often wrote down phrases we used she hadn't heard before. Mr Kim was 61 and a bit stern until he asked how many hours separated Sara and I. "Ten minutes", I replied, to which he burst out laughing. Unfortunately he had back pain and was replaced by another Mr Kim who was younger and and rather sweet.

Pyongyang is the capital of NK and is cut in half by the river Taedong. It was mercifully cool and clear after a hot and smoggy Beijing. No cars or industry do keep a city clean. The buildings are mostly skyscrapers that look pretty awful. I suspect that they don't have lifts. Contrary to reports, there were lights on at night. It has two metro lines. Which may or may not be working.

Shall write more later- not much in this post somehow!

DPRK

I have always regretted (or should that be lamented?) never visiting China in the 70s and 80s. In my defence I hadn't been born. It must have been a fascinating place- and genuinely different to what I've already seen. So I cast around for the 2nd best thing and that's how Sara and I ended up on an overnight train to Pyongyang on Thursday 14th July.

North Korea is technically called the Democratic People's Republic of Korea because saying North Korea implies there are two Koreas and THERE AREN'T THERE'S ONLY ONE, BASTARD AMERICANS. The capital is Pyongyang, 平壤, Ping'rang(Chinese pronunciation-Korean can be written with Chinese characters) or 평양 with their characters. Pyongyang is actually a very ancient capital but as it was bombed to tiny tiny kimchee sized pieces by the AMERICAN AGGRESSORS it was rebuilt after the war in the 1950s. And has resolutely stayed in that decade. The trolleybuses are similar to what I've seen in museums and the train is like that in a heritage railway that Mum makes us go to on rainy afternoons and men in anoraks like riding. On the way in our train never lumbered above 35mph and had to have a rest every now and then. The cars, of which there are pitifully few, are mostly vintage mercedes, Soviet cast offs and shiny 4x4s probably belonging to the international aid workers. The metro trains are from East Germany from the 70s. Sara thinks she saw a coal fired truck. The decor of our hotel reminded me of classic sitcoms like Porridge. Even the hairstyles are straight from the past-all set waves in the 40s housewife style and combed for the men.

Politically they have not moved on either. Kim Il-Sung is still the president, the small problem of his death over a decade ago not a resignation matter obviously. They have not moved on from the Korean War. At all.

My first reaction to NK is that the Koreans are tragically thin. The first ones I saw, soldiers at the border, were short (although all Asians are) and their overlarge uniforms were cinched with leather belts round supermodel-esque waists. The faces were pinched, even on the young ones. Made all the more obvious by the huge hats they wear. The children are all sticks. And don't forget we were kept in the cushy parts of NK and I can well believe that they are, if not starving, then slowly sucumbing to malnutrition in areas where we are not welcome.

Getting a visa is fairly straightforward process- you just pay a lot of money. The rules are that you get two guides/minders who follow you everywhere and you can only take pictures when they say. You can't say North Korea. And you have to respect "that you may have been taught a version of history different to theirs". We pootled off to get the visas from the embassy in Beijing. Despite it being 35 outside, it felt rather chilly... Then we hopped on a train, first to Dandong on the border. The two countries are split by the Yalu river. On one side, Dandong, there are skyscrapers, tv towers and the smog of industry. As one travels across the bridge you see the road bridge stop halfway across. NK got rid of their half. Then to the Korean side where there is...trees. And a ferris wheel from a rather tragic park, built to show how much fun they are having. It never moves.

Then to Sinuiju for a 3 hour stop while visas are checked. And our first interaction with a bona fide North Korean. Ooo. I'd heard a lot about NKoreans. They are brainwashed. Aggressive. Warmongering. A bit nuts. And maybe they are but they are also very human. Like a geriatric rottweiler they might have teeth, but they are actually kinda cute. The border guards soon dropped the stern face and were happily joking around. There was another western tour group on our train (why wherever I go are there westerners) and when they checked their cameras, 3 produced big, black proper cameras and one guy got his tiny point and shoot out which caused the guard to fall around laughing. Then they came and stared at Sara and I to judge how similar we were and then finally I gave one some twix, which he liked. Then an Australian offered him oreos and he pulled a face, which made us laugh. He doesn't like oreos. Then he nabbed some more twix, slapped the Australian on the inner thigh, and sauntered off. I waved at a soldier passing the train and he stared fixedly in front before shyly waving back. He sneaked a glance at me and broke into a grin at his shyness and then I laughed and he laughed and we shared a moment.

Another rule is that mobile phones have to be left at the border, along with anything with GPS. Cue a long conversation with completely un-techie people where I tried to explain that the phone shaped thing with a button marked maps was in fact a music player and only worked when connected the internet.

So Ipod stayed at the border. Sniff. To add insult to injury they wrote "ipad" on the envelope.

Eventually we headed off. North Korean countryside is actually very pretty. There are fields everywhere. Habitation consists of stone houses with traditional roofs. Roads were mud tracks with the odd 50s bus, 50s tractor and many many ox carts and bicycles. (I asked our guide if they had horses in NK. "Not really-there are some in the zoo"). And men with obedient geese. One thing we noticed was that every square inch of land has something edible being grown on it. That's not a sign of a food-secure nation.

Our train had a rest halfway. We stopped by a gate in a wall, which was locked. However there was a steady stream of Koreans wanting to get through. It was interesting to see whether they went for option A, climbing over the top, B, squeezing their emaciated bodies through the bars or C, crawling through a hole in the mud. Noone went for D, getting it unlocked. A boy wandered past and foraged in a pile of rubbish. There was the obligatory man squatting doing nothing (wherever you are in Asia there will be a man squatting by the road doing nothing). Soldiers walked past the train.

Their guns were fake. Quite obviously fake.

We pulled into Pyongyang late at night, 3 hours behind schedule. A westerner asked why the delay and their Chinese guide chuckled and said you can't ask "why" in Korea. We emerged into a crowd of Koreans pouring from the ancient train, to the sound of rather ghostly, eerily communist, revolutionary music. Our guide hurried forward in the gloom and we had arrived...