Lost track of the days (last day in UB): Ulaan Baator - see a large number of poorly stuffed animals, eat gourmet Mongol food and learn all about Mongolia's first (and possibly ast) cosmonaut.
Goomba, Ita, M and I set off after a smoky night in the Ger, and a bread and omelet breakfast. We've never figured out where the showers are, so decide the smoky smell of sleeping in the coal powered ger is probably a good thing. We take a slight detour to drive around the dead carcass of the horse Goomba and the other guide dragged over in the night to see if there are any wolf tracks but luckily there are only foxes. We're not sure what the the vegetarians in the other car (Mark and Julie will make of this) We go a different way out today, and it seems appropiate that our last sight of national park is the lone horseman trotting his shaggy beast across the plain, as his forbearers must have done for the last few centuries.
Today is the city tour, and once back in the hustle and honking of UB we stop first at the buddist temple, a cheerful multicoloured concoction of buildings in the snow on the hill. The temple was restored once communism was quietly done away with, and is now teaching and worshiping again. Scantily clad (for the cold) saffron monks are walking about, along with elderly tribesman from out of town. Everyone walks around and rotate the drums and kisses the building on the corners etc. We make do with admiring the buildings (they are pretty cool really) and trying to avoid the flock of pigeons that are annoyed we haven't brought them food...I hate the damn things...rats with wings.
The shrine at the back has the tallest Buddha in Asia, coated with gold and it's pretty awe inspiring...then it's back out into the cold and back to the car.
In the afternoon we visit the natural and the national museum...not easily confused as one holds a very old and moulting collection of stuffed animals and the other interesting tribal hats, modern history and lots of information about Chiggis Khan(you DON"T say Ghengis in Mongolia...or at least you only say it once before you are politely corrected), and his considerable efforts to rule China...all of which goes a long way towards explaining why the Mongols plumped for Russia over China when push came to shove.
We've run out of stuff to talk to Ita about and run out of historic places to see, so Ita drops us off at a cashmere shop (yes folks...some of you will be luck enough to get cashmere from Mongolia this Christmas) and trudge home, nostrils freezing in the cold to stock up on train food and do once more wash before our last day or so on the train.
November 24, 2004
November 14, 2004
I wonder what wolf really tastes like?
Day X - Terilj National Park: Go hunting for wolves, finally get to see inside a ger, eat frozen clotted cream and learn how to play Mongolian checkers.
It snows in the night and now UB looks clean and lovely...with the outline of factories belching smoke on the horizon somehow rendered more attractive. There are no such things as snow sweepers so various workers are out in the mornings sweeping and chipping the snow of the side of the kerbs to provide markers for the cars to see which lines to stay inside of, used as a loose guideline of course!
Ita and Gomba (the driver) pick us up in a Mitzi 4WD and take us off the the national park. We soon leave the traffic (and occasional car head first in a ditch) and head out through the 'ger burbs' The govt is trying to encourage people into town so you can move your ger in and put a fence around it, and there are lots of area's of this. Ger's are round almost flat roofed tents, on wooden frames, with thick felt and canvas covering them. Basically the height of people standing up, with a wood burning stove in the middle. There are usually animals tied up somewhere near,and as we passed in the morning, the kids were up on top sweeping the snow off, before it melted. The land is flat flat flat, with little vegetation, until we head into the hills and then it still doesn't really get that high. The paved road takes us past a river in the process of freezing, yaks, goats, cows and sturdy little horses. All around are 'Ger Camp's (summer camps) as every one leaves the town to live in the tents or small houses over summer. We embarrass ourselves by asking if the set of ornate temples is a Buddhist monastery to find out it's an elaborate themed Summer Camp. As it's winter very few are open and those that do cater for mad tourists, group bonding sessions or hunters. Mongolians love to hunt and one of their few entries into the Olympics was a highly places shooting team.
The ute leaves the road and heads out along the plain, winding over and round tracks, and there is no road in sight. I think the driver has done this many times before and just points the car towards the hills and drives around anything (rocks/people/houses) he can't be bothered driving over...It's very entertaining and quite bouncy, as by now we are heading up through the hills.
We stop at a prayer rock, made up of a mound of stones with any number of flags attached and they both walk around 3 times as a matter of course. I think the Mongolians have interrogated religion in a very practical way, perhaps to do with having been the second country to declare as Communist( we find out later that going with the Russians was more appealing than going with the Chinese). Gomba has been telling us about all the animals that are in the woods (anything that's not for hunting is either livestock or a plant!) and is interested to know if M is a hunter. M had to confess that he doesn't hunt, but his dad does, and quickly points out this includes ferocious Wisconsin deer...as duck seem a little tame next to hunting for fox, wolf and a wild mountain sheep/goat thing that costs US$10,000 to hunt. Gomba shows us his guns and loads up, apparently he got a wolf 3 days ago and is keen for another. Ita rides shotgun (literally) and we take off again to the camp, I'm concentrating on looking at the wonderful scenery (there's lots of eagles soaring in the sky) and trying not to think of loaded firearms in a bouncy car. All of a sudden Goomba sees a wolf and sure enough, there on the hill side is a lone wolf going from rock to rock. We screech to a halt and he gets out and starts blasting away. He's obviously a good shot as he only misses by about 6-8 m from 500m away in the valley. I'm secretly glad as i quite like wolves and went walking with them in the sanctuary in Reading...M's just glad we don't have a dead wolf draped on the luggage for the rest of the trip. We keep moving, keeping our eyes peeled but only see vultures and eagles (obviously not tasty enough), and make it through the isolated passes to the camp.
We go and say hello to the family and only the kids are home, get served bowls of yoghurt, something that resembles frozen clotted cream and cold donuts...Interesting food..not good for the no dairy or wheat regime but when in Rome...
the family Ger is like being on a long camping holiday, every thing seems to have it's place and we sit at on small stools at a little table, kind of like being at the kids table for Christmas dinner. They have a small shrine that includes a picture of the Dalai Lama. We eat our fill of the yoghurt etc but haven't mastered the art of licking the bowl clean as the driver does...our guide informs us that he hasn't either.
We get to our own ger, with cheery yellow and red curtains around the insides, and a lovely warm wood burning fire. This is attended to by a couple of girls who pop in at unexpected moments to put more wood on, cuts down on the snogging, and we work out a plan that involves getting up every two hours throughout the night to keep the wood on, only to discover they put great big lumps of coal in for the night...glad about that from the 'keeping warm' point of view, but will wake up smelling like a hangi, with a new rattle to the hacking cough I've developed especially to keep M awake.
We get to rest for a little then go for lunch. Mongolians eat 3 courses at lunch and two at dinner and they like to eat dinner early as they think that eating late is bad(v. true to) We get salad (potato with unidentified verges - but good), delicious mushroom soup that even M (A known mushroom hater) likes and delicious stew, very like a stronganoff, all under the watchful eyes of the most enormous stuffed and glaring mountain goat, mounted high on the wall of the dining room above us. This turns out to the be wild prized sheep that all hunters want to bag. It has curly horn and is easily the scariest looking beast I've seen.
We get to go trekking on small sturdy hairy horses in saddles like rocking chairs. Quite comforting to the non rider (me!) and I plan what to tell Carron in her postcard...me actually riding a horse. Still feels like a long way from the ground as the poor thing plods over the snowy hill, huffing and puffing as it drags my yoghurt filled carcass. I concentrate on admiring the view whilst hunching into the saddle as it's absolutely freezing, especially in the wind, easily the coldest we've been so far. I look at the scenery ( wonderful views over the valley), I tell myself how glad I am being in Mongolia, I pretend that I'm a trader going into the village BC (before car) and I console myself that M looks at least as cold and he's from Wisconsin. On the way home I'm so numb I can barely hold on, and I'm trying not to think about how many days until we're in Malaysia and focus on the stove in the Ger...feel the warmth. The horse picks up it's speed as it knows it's going home...it's barely moving in a fast walk, I fall on the saddle in a not very graceful dismount and head of the Ger and HEAT.
It snows in the night and now UB looks clean and lovely...with the outline of factories belching smoke on the horizon somehow rendered more attractive. There are no such things as snow sweepers so various workers are out in the mornings sweeping and chipping the snow of the side of the kerbs to provide markers for the cars to see which lines to stay inside of, used as a loose guideline of course!
Ita and Gomba (the driver) pick us up in a Mitzi 4WD and take us off the the national park. We soon leave the traffic (and occasional car head first in a ditch) and head out through the 'ger burbs' The govt is trying to encourage people into town so you can move your ger in and put a fence around it, and there are lots of area's of this. Ger's are round almost flat roofed tents, on wooden frames, with thick felt and canvas covering them. Basically the height of people standing up, with a wood burning stove in the middle. There are usually animals tied up somewhere near,and as we passed in the morning, the kids were up on top sweeping the snow off, before it melted. The land is flat flat flat, with little vegetation, until we head into the hills and then it still doesn't really get that high. The paved road takes us past a river in the process of freezing, yaks, goats, cows and sturdy little horses. All around are 'Ger Camp's (summer camps) as every one leaves the town to live in the tents or small houses over summer. We embarrass ourselves by asking if the set of ornate temples is a Buddhist monastery to find out it's an elaborate themed Summer Camp. As it's winter very few are open and those that do cater for mad tourists, group bonding sessions or hunters. Mongolians love to hunt and one of their few entries into the Olympics was a highly places shooting team.
The ute leaves the road and heads out along the plain, winding over and round tracks, and there is no road in sight. I think the driver has done this many times before and just points the car towards the hills and drives around anything (rocks/people/houses) he can't be bothered driving over...It's very entertaining and quite bouncy, as by now we are heading up through the hills.
We stop at a prayer rock, made up of a mound of stones with any number of flags attached and they both walk around 3 times as a matter of course. I think the Mongolians have interrogated religion in a very practical way, perhaps to do with having been the second country to declare as Communist( we find out later that going with the Russians was more appealing than going with the Chinese). Gomba has been telling us about all the animals that are in the woods (anything that's not for hunting is either livestock or a plant!) and is interested to know if M is a hunter. M had to confess that he doesn't hunt, but his dad does, and quickly points out this includes ferocious Wisconsin deer...as duck seem a little tame next to hunting for fox, wolf and a wild mountain sheep/goat thing that costs US$10,000 to hunt. Gomba shows us his guns and loads up, apparently he got a wolf 3 days ago and is keen for another. Ita rides shotgun (literally) and we take off again to the camp, I'm concentrating on looking at the wonderful scenery (there's lots of eagles soaring in the sky) and trying not to think of loaded firearms in a bouncy car. All of a sudden Goomba sees a wolf and sure enough, there on the hill side is a lone wolf going from rock to rock. We screech to a halt and he gets out and starts blasting away. He's obviously a good shot as he only misses by about 6-8 m from 500m away in the valley. I'm secretly glad as i quite like wolves and went walking with them in the sanctuary in Reading...M's just glad we don't have a dead wolf draped on the luggage for the rest of the trip. We keep moving, keeping our eyes peeled but only see vultures and eagles (obviously not tasty enough), and make it through the isolated passes to the camp.
We go and say hello to the family and only the kids are home, get served bowls of yoghurt, something that resembles frozen clotted cream and cold donuts...Interesting food..not good for the no dairy or wheat regime but when in Rome...
the family Ger is like being on a long camping holiday, every thing seems to have it's place and we sit at on small stools at a little table, kind of like being at the kids table for Christmas dinner. They have a small shrine that includes a picture of the Dalai Lama. We eat our fill of the yoghurt etc but haven't mastered the art of licking the bowl clean as the driver does...our guide informs us that he hasn't either.
We get to our own ger, with cheery yellow and red curtains around the insides, and a lovely warm wood burning fire. This is attended to by a couple of girls who pop in at unexpected moments to put more wood on, cuts down on the snogging, and we work out a plan that involves getting up every two hours throughout the night to keep the wood on, only to discover they put great big lumps of coal in for the night...glad about that from the 'keeping warm' point of view, but will wake up smelling like a hangi, with a new rattle to the hacking cough I've developed especially to keep M awake.
We get to rest for a little then go for lunch. Mongolians eat 3 courses at lunch and two at dinner and they like to eat dinner early as they think that eating late is bad(v. true to) We get salad (potato with unidentified verges - but good), delicious mushroom soup that even M (A known mushroom hater) likes and delicious stew, very like a stronganoff, all under the watchful eyes of the most enormous stuffed and glaring mountain goat, mounted high on the wall of the dining room above us. This turns out to the be wild prized sheep that all hunters want to bag. It has curly horn and is easily the scariest looking beast I've seen.
We get to go trekking on small sturdy hairy horses in saddles like rocking chairs. Quite comforting to the non rider (me!) and I plan what to tell Carron in her postcard...me actually riding a horse. Still feels like a long way from the ground as the poor thing plods over the snowy hill, huffing and puffing as it drags my yoghurt filled carcass. I concentrate on admiring the view whilst hunching into the saddle as it's absolutely freezing, especially in the wind, easily the coldest we've been so far. I look at the scenery ( wonderful views over the valley), I tell myself how glad I am being in Mongolia, I pretend that I'm a trader going into the village BC (before car) and I console myself that M looks at least as cold and he's from Wisconsin. On the way home I'm so numb I can barely hold on, and I'm trying not to think about how many days until we're in Malaysia and focus on the stove in the Ger...feel the warmth. The horse picks up it's speed as it knows it's going home...it's barely moving in a fast walk, I fall on the saddle in a not very graceful dismount and head of the Ger and HEAT.
Managing Mongolia
I'm in China writing about Mongolia, hopefully I'll get caught up today...I can't read the blog (I think it might be trying to translate it into Chinese!) so if anyone put any responses, thanks heaps, hopefully I'll get to read them in Hong Kong tomorrow sometime.
Day X - Ulaan Baatar Recover from train in UB's poshest hotel, stroll the streets smiling at everyone cos they smile back, eat mutton dumplings, provide background noise for Mongolian National TV, and do the washing.
UB is a very small capital city and a very cold one, there is not much green around but the buildings are varied and many are brightly painted, the Mongolians love colour, especially on the children...to match their rosy cheeks (something to do with the cold I think). WE saw purple buildings, green buildings red buildings and lots of marble inbetween, not a great idea walking on marble steps when it gets icy.
We spread our stuff around the hotel room and sent the big stuff off the the laundry. Our room looks into town, and over the Mongolian Olympic offical building (apparently they're big at shooting...more about that later). We walked into town to the main square (Suhkbataar)over the bridge, about 15 minutes to get to the centre. The wind is freezing and the non goretex bits soon get a bit cold so we speed up. Everyone is a lot more smiley than Russia, and there is a real entreprenurial spirit to doing things, though a lot of things seems to be held together with string and good luck. People stand on street corners with wireless push button phones so others can dial home (for a fee)...we kept looking for the wire to see if they had just taken the phone out of the house. Traffic is of the 'more you hoot, the better you drive' variety and you take your life in your hands when you step out on the road. We fall back on our usual trick of 'drafting' the locals...hoping that the red jackets are seen as a warning, not a target.
Lots of older people still wear native dress, and in winter this consists of heavy padded coat with silk outer and a yellow/gold/orange sash tied low on the waist, and heavy leather boots with the toes pointing up. All quite sensible and warm. Everyone else favours the black leather or woolen coat look, and big hairy hats with dangling animals bits (tails or testicles usually) are almost as popular here as in Russia. Pointy highheeled boots again feature for the fasionable lady.
We look around the square and set off the find the english book store as I've almost run out. We end up in the old state store, now private, and stock up on a couple of christmas gifts (don't worry Mands, wouldn't dream of buying you a Christmas pressie from Mongolia), postcards and a old (about 30 years) appliqued hanging from inside a ger. M refuses to let me buy the one with authentic water stain(or maybe it's yoghurt) so I settle for the faded look. Those of you that visit, look out for it appearing in a Weaver room someday soon. We go down a floor and buy a lovely cashmere blanket at a price we keep pinching ourselves over and finally set off for lunch. Very unsuccessful at finding the reccomended resturant (if anyone can tell us where Be Pou is - we're still looking) we end up in something called 'Silk Road', surprisingly good and they start filming some business discussion at the table next to us. We end up having to slurp our coffee and remove ourselves and our crackly plastic bags very quietly, the waiter delighting in the comedy value of this...but hey - it's not often you can say you've almost been on Mongolian National TV.
We waddle home...freezing wind spuring us on...tears on the eyelashes freezing, and me trying to work out how to blow my nose without taking my gloves off!
Do some laundry and make use of the extensive radiator (just like being in England again) then catch up on BBC World, write some postcards. Tomorrow we're off the the ger!
Day X - Ulaan Baatar Recover from train in UB's poshest hotel, stroll the streets smiling at everyone cos they smile back, eat mutton dumplings, provide background noise for Mongolian National TV, and do the washing.
UB is a very small capital city and a very cold one, there is not much green around but the buildings are varied and many are brightly painted, the Mongolians love colour, especially on the children...to match their rosy cheeks (something to do with the cold I think). WE saw purple buildings, green buildings red buildings and lots of marble inbetween, not a great idea walking on marble steps when it gets icy.
We spread our stuff around the hotel room and sent the big stuff off the the laundry. Our room looks into town, and over the Mongolian Olympic offical building (apparently they're big at shooting...more about that later). We walked into town to the main square (Suhkbataar)over the bridge, about 15 minutes to get to the centre. The wind is freezing and the non goretex bits soon get a bit cold so we speed up. Everyone is a lot more smiley than Russia, and there is a real entreprenurial spirit to doing things, though a lot of things seems to be held together with string and good luck. People stand on street corners with wireless push button phones so others can dial home (for a fee)...we kept looking for the wire to see if they had just taken the phone out of the house. Traffic is of the 'more you hoot, the better you drive' variety and you take your life in your hands when you step out on the road. We fall back on our usual trick of 'drafting' the locals...hoping that the red jackets are seen as a warning, not a target.
Lots of older people still wear native dress, and in winter this consists of heavy padded coat with silk outer and a yellow/gold/orange sash tied low on the waist, and heavy leather boots with the toes pointing up. All quite sensible and warm. Everyone else favours the black leather or woolen coat look, and big hairy hats with dangling animals bits (tails or testicles usually) are almost as popular here as in Russia. Pointy highheeled boots again feature for the fasionable lady.
We look around the square and set off the find the english book store as I've almost run out. We end up in the old state store, now private, and stock up on a couple of christmas gifts (don't worry Mands, wouldn't dream of buying you a Christmas pressie from Mongolia), postcards and a old (about 30 years) appliqued hanging from inside a ger. M refuses to let me buy the one with authentic water stain(or maybe it's yoghurt) so I settle for the faded look. Those of you that visit, look out for it appearing in a Weaver room someday soon. We go down a floor and buy a lovely cashmere blanket at a price we keep pinching ourselves over and finally set off for lunch. Very unsuccessful at finding the reccomended resturant (if anyone can tell us where Be Pou is - we're still looking) we end up in something called 'Silk Road', surprisingly good and they start filming some business discussion at the table next to us. We end up having to slurp our coffee and remove ourselves and our crackly plastic bags very quietly, the waiter delighting in the comedy value of this...but hey - it's not often you can say you've almost been on Mongolian National TV.
We waddle home...freezing wind spuring us on...tears on the eyelashes freezing, and me trying to work out how to blow my nose without taking my gloves off!
Do some laundry and make use of the extensive radiator (just like being in England again) then catch up on BBC World, write some postcards. Tomorrow we're off the the ger!
November 10, 2004
Walking in the dark
Day 6 - Irktusk to Lake Baikal: get up at 5:00 to get off train, nice Alexander the driver takes us to Hotel Baikal at Lake Baikal, catch up on sleep in bed that's not moving(happy about that), walk to town, learn to walk home in dark coldness and eat pancakes.
It's -15 degrees when we get off the train and apparently unseasonably warm for this time of year...ouch - M says it's good practice for Chicago...I say I'm not sure I'm ready for Chicago...I want to go back to little old soggy England at this point. We take a long drive out to the lake through valleys of skinny feathery pines and snow, with little peeps of the lake along the way. The hotel is a scary concrete monolith from the soviet era perched on top of the cliff with wonderful views of the lake. I covet the 'retro' red and white plastic light fixture and red rotary phone.
Baikal is the oldest lake in the world(how can a lake be the oldest - answers from all the FESC's I know please) It's deep, it's freshwater and has lots of species that don't live anywhere else, including a freshwater seal, they call them Nerpa's. I'm still recovering from my cold and a poor nights sleep as the train was running late and seemed to be trying to make up time by cantering along the lines at a jolting pace. So much so that at one point we were both convinced our carriage had gone careering off on it's own.
The hotel is in it's out of season time and there are very few guests and the main restaurant is closed...so it's pancakes (and saveloys/hotdogs, eggs, a cheese like tofu and yoghurt for breakfast). We walk down to the town along the lake front, and the view is spectacular, it seems very big with lots of mountains surrounding it. The water hasn't frozen yet, though the guide tells us later that the water is so clear you can see beneath the ice. The houses along the water are either small cottages that the locals live in, that seem to be made up of any piece of wood around at the time, or log cabins with the corners chopped off. Despite the ramshackle appearance, I think they seem well cared for, something proven later when we get invited in. It's getting dark when we get to the fish market in the middle of Listvyanka (the main town on the lake where we are) but I get to taste smoked omul, which the the local delicacy, and a wonderful (hot) slightly salmony fish. I've only got tissues to wipe my hands so my gloves smell slightly fishy for a couple of days and dogs seem strangely attracted to me.
street lighting is a foreign concept so we make our way home in the dark up the icy hill to more pancakes for dinner.
- if you dip your hand in Lake Baikal waters you gain a year extra, 5 for a foot and 25 for your whole body...if you live through the cold that is!
Day 7 - Lake Baikal: see many dead fish, inside of a Siberian house and go on mammoth trek in wood. Eat more pancakes.
Liana meets us at 9 and takes us to the Baikal Natural museum which is actually quite interesting, and small so you're not overwhelmed. She whispers to us what each dead fish in a jar is as they don't like the private guards to speak too loudly. We learn about the deepness and the cleanness and get to see some cute sea lions in a very small tank. Apparently they've been rescued from an illegal hunter (he just wounded the mother, a good hunter would kill instantly!) and never lived outside. They're very fat cos its winter.
She walks down to Listvanka with us to meet the trekking guide and as her English is very good, we ask lots of annoying tourist type questions. She's just completed a 4 year child psychology degree but didn't like it so is now doing journalism for the next 3 years, whilst guiding is paying the way. Pizza is her favorite food and has become very popular in Siberia over the last 15 years. She has a fatalism I expected to see in Russian, ie 'we don't complain cos we don't expect any better' She doesn't remember much about being under communist rule (she's only 23) but her parents both work in a factory and I got the sense that it didn't affect them.
She takes us to the small orthodox church in Listvanka that has only recently been turned back into a church. It's interior is light and airy(quite unusual for a Russian church), with wonderful icons on every way. It's not much bigger than a meeting room(with high ceilings) but seems to rejoice in being allowed to be a church again.
We go to Rita's house and she makes us tea before we set out on the trek with Sacha. Very few houses (apart from the large ones being built as holiday homes) have indoor water and plumbing. They have microwaves and DVD player...but still use the outhouse/longdrop down the back of the garden. Water comes from the nearby well or sometimes the lake. I can imagine the arguments in our house if the water ran out...no you get it, no it's your turn, I can't be bothered..can we dial a drop?
We've asked the guide for a shorter walk (only 3 hours) as I'm still having problems with the cold and I'm not very fit. He agrees to take us in for an hour, hour for lunch, and then out again. We pick up his neighbor's dog (the adorable Mischa - bear in Russian) and walking sticks and set off. It soon appears that Sacha operates at Russian speed (about twice as fast - we get passed by old ladies up a hill later). He ends up waiting a lot, but is very patient about it. We start up hill and it's slightly warmer in the trees and the snows about 4 inches deep. I'm puffing and blowing like a steam train, with frequent nose wiping included, but it's beutiful in the trees. Sacha points out sable tracks and the hunter that is tracking it. We keep going over hill and dale, pausing on ridge lines to admire the view and stop me from going into cardiac arrest. After about 2 hours Sacha tells us he is going on ahead to light the fire for lunch and we can follow his tracks. He soon speeds of and we trudge uphill with cold wet boots. We jokingly come up with a plan if we get lost (IN THE SIBERIAN WOODS IN WINTER) which involves ring Intourist in the first instance and the UK police in the second...Luckily my girl guide skills M being the son of a hunter must have paid off as we soon spotted Mischa's dog pee in the snow and figured out we were still on the right track.
Sacha had a fire going (I think he regards his day job of teaching maths secondary to his outdoor skills) and made us soup of potato, onion and mackerel...very good when you're freezing your butt of in the Siberian forest. After lunch we heaved ourselves up to the top of the ridge and then began the long walk/slip/slide all the way home. Down hill was definitely better than uphill, though we could have done with a sled to go faster. Sacha kept going ahead then checking that we were still in sight and Mischa gave up entirely and went home, don't blame him, we definitely weren't fast. Eventually came out at the other side of Listvyanka and started the long walk home. Somehow the 3 hour walk turned into a 7 hour journey from the museum back to the hotel...and once again we were trudging home in the dark...and before you ask...not a taxi to be found.
More pancakes, a nicely frosted bottle of champagne and bit of repacking and we're ready for a 4am pick-up to get the train to Mongolia.
- UK's poor reputation for snow survival is mocked by Siberians...Liana asked 'Is is true that in Enlgand it stops when it snow'...to which we had to shamefacely reply 'YES'
- Thanks Pam and Nick for the possum fur knitted scarf you gave me for for christmas...its the best...and now Russian proof
ps - if anyone is reading this, can they pop a reply in, cos it gets awfully lonely on the road (even when travelling with your nearest and dearest) and now that's I've spent an hour writing this in Mongolia (I'll tell you about Mongolia when I get to China - promise) I'd like to know that at least one person was reading it.
November 08, 2004
"how do you say thank you in Russian again?"
Spa sea bar
We've made it as far as Ulan Bator and the trip has been pretty interesting so far. Although I could write for hours (when was the last time an Internet cafe charged $3.00 per hour) I'll give you a brief synopsis of the days and tell you about any interesting observations (well at least interestingly me) I've found along the the way.
Day 2 - Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod: Spend day schelping around Moscow avoiding the rain and furry hat sellers, then had last grand dinner (caviar...mmmnnnnnnn) and set off for train. Wait in one station and then tour guide takes us around the back to get on Train 2 - Moscow to Irkutsk. It's dark and cold and but we have a nice 'provanitska' (train attendant) and follow rule number one in our bible - the TranSib guide and tip her well.
The train is very new and clean, and by British standards...tall! There's not much room between the beds on either side (about a metre if that), but at least we're not sharing with anyone.
With a big clatter and sudden lurch we're off!
There is a Tyanet (vague attempt at spelling the Russian word for toilet) at each end...and after a few thwarted attempts, the kindly Russian lady at the cabin at the end points out that the red light goes on in the corridor when someone's in there or it's locked cos we're stopping at a station...duhhhhh -how many planes have you really been on Hazel!
The toilet is about as cold and smelly as you would imagine a railway toilet that does not have a holding tank to be...but at least the paper does not run out until day 4.
We've made it as far as Ulan Bator and the trip has been pretty interesting so far. Although I could write for hours (when was the last time an Internet cafe charged $3.00 per hour) I'll give you a brief synopsis of the days and tell you about any interesting observations (well at least interestingly me) I've found along the the way.
Day 2 - Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod: Spend day schelping around Moscow avoiding the rain and furry hat sellers, then had last grand dinner (caviar...mmmnnnnnnn) and set off for train. Wait in one station and then tour guide takes us around the back to get on Train 2 - Moscow to Irkutsk. It's dark and cold and but we have a nice 'provanitska' (train attendant) and follow rule number one in our bible - the TranSib guide and tip her well.
The train is very new and clean, and by British standards...tall! There's not much room between the beds on either side (about a metre if that), but at least we're not sharing with anyone.
With a big clatter and sudden lurch we're off!
There is a Tyanet (vague attempt at spelling the Russian word for toilet) at each end...and after a few thwarted attempts, the kindly Russian lady at the cabin at the end points out that the red light goes on in the corridor when someone's in there or it's locked cos we're stopping at a station...duhhhhh -how many planes have you really been on Hazel!
The toilet is about as cold and smelly as you would imagine a railway toilet that does not have a holding tank to be...but at least the paper does not run out until day 4.
- The benefits of sitting on a toilet that is not moving are not to be disregarded lightly
Day 3 - Vyatka to Yekaterinburg: gaze at scenery, start eating contents of coolie bag, Hazel has a cold and the train is kept really hot, with no windows to open, M learns to point for food.
It's clear and bright and there is lots of snow around. People look cold when we pass them, and most favor the black coat and high furry hat look, quite sensible too.
We master the use of the water boiler down the end and get stuck into the soup. M makes several successful forays out onto the station and brings back salami (venison and almost as good as Paul's home made variety), diet coke, cough lozenges, cheese and a yummy bread. People sell very interesting stuff at the smaller stations, wizened little grandmothers with what looks like beetroot or cabbage in sourcream in little tubs, fish on a stick, newspapers and Russian romance novels. Each area we pass through seems to have a different specialty...we never did find the really great gingerbread we bought one one station...though we manfully sampled several other types of cake along the way.
- the window is the coldest place in the train and ties for the curtain make an excellent cheese holder
- fur is worn guilt free in Russia, and women have the amazing ability to walk on slippery ice with the skinniest stiletto boots
Day 4 - Tyumen to Bogotol: Hazel coughs a lot, M almost gets left behind, more soup gets eaten and we see some interesting factories.
Although I'm getting very used to lying around, eating, reading and gazing out the window inbetween coughing and blowing my nose, I make the effort to go out onto one of the stations to purchase some provisions, including orange to drink with our vodka (not quite up to the neat stuff yet). I manage to bring back two lots of yoghurt instead(well it did have fruit on the front and come in a carton), but rather than make a new and possibly quite interesting cocktail, we eat it as desert..though meal separation has become somewhat neglected in favor of grazing anytime we're bored. M discovers a new breakfast alternative and eats large plain cookies covered with peanut butter, whilst I plump for the ever popular marmite and cheese.
The countryside has hills and water and trees and we're still laughing at the fact that it looks like Wisconsin woods, given that we've spent all this money and time to get here...I think this could be more of a novelty to me than M. The silver birch and pine seem especially gloomy in the twilight, but we haven't gone through as much forest as flat plains and small hills, with lots of clumps of Dacha everywhere. Sergei (the Moscow guide) explained that this is what every Russian wants, a small place (and some of them are very small - no bigger than garden sheds) with a patch of land for gardening around. They are not quite allotments as the garden only forms part of the land, more like the back garden to a house...with the front being an apartment somewhere else in another town or city. Not very many are in use, as you can't do much digging this time of year, but they must be nice little communities, with the dacha being passed down between family member. They seem quite lonely, here next to the tracks waiting for spring.
- climbing UNDER a stationary train to get to the platform to sell stuff is quite safe as long as you are over 60 and short, it's just a little scary to watch
- never say the words chicken and soup too far apart in a sentence or you'll end up with the soup and the roast chicken...both very tasty, but not conducive to fitting back through the skinny doors between the carriages on the walk back to the cabin.
Day 5 - aching 1 to Irkutsk: cold reduced to coughing and less frequent nose blowing, Siberia gets progressively cold and more beautiful, M beats Hazel at scrabble again and we prepare to leave the train.
The towns have been less frequent and the tiny villages more so, with the odd huge messy city (Omsk etc), full of looming factories (well the train was never going to go thorough the nice part of town was it!) and peeling apartment blocks. There are less old ladies and a few more Mongolian and Chinese (I can just about tell the difference) selling things on the platform. Most stuff is sold out of little stores and Coke fridges (I bet Coke doesn't know their brand covers smoked fish and cigarettes - yes folks, I think you keep the cigarettes warm in fridges in Siberia). We're glad to be getting off the train and dying to stretch our legs.
- remember when you learnt to use the abacus as school? some of the storekeepers still use an abacus to work out the total, then type it into a calculator for us to understand. There's something ironic about someone using an abacus to calcuate something for someone with a wireless PDA in his pocket....more so when you consider the blackberry doesn't get a signal to transmit!
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