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.