Irkutsk - Ulan Bator, 1113 Km

The journey continues from Lake Baikal. Transfer by minibus to Irkutsk took a bit less than six hours, so we had time to go into town and have a meal which consisted almost entirely of piles of grilled meat. Carol got groped by the taxi driver on the way back to the station. He used one hand to fondle her breasts and the other to exert occasional control over the steering wheel. I was in the following taxi and videoed the crazy driving.

We were rather dreading Train 362, the slow daily train on the Irkutsk – Ulan Bator route, because it stops every 10 minutes at stations some of which are just a kilometre marker post. But the slow progress of the train meant less jolting and so I slept better than before. We were squashed into one 4-bed compartment (this will be the norm from now on) but it was OK as long as we occasionally took walks up the train. There were some Buryat lads drinking beer in a hard class carriage; we joined them for a bit and tried to talk Russian.

The border with Mongolia took 8 hours. The “foreigner” carriages were detached from the rest of the train and just stood in the little border station. We were free to walk into town, even to have showers in a new station building. The remaining carriages were, I think, searched for smuggled goods for the whole afternoon. We larked about, and the Mongolian driver allowed us into his cab in the huge T3 loco to pretend we were driving it etc. It was our first experience of what turns out to be a trait in Mongolia – the people are lovely, friendly, and never hassle you. I knew little about the place, but what I have seen in the last few days makes me want to come back for longer. In the night, the train stopped at a remote station to allow another to pass (the track in Mongolia is single-line working). A young boy was asking if we had plastic bottles – he must have been collecting them for their (minimal) recycling value. We gave him a few from the train bin, and he indicated that he was hungry and did we have any food? We threw him a Russian sausage from our provisions bag. He sat down, opened the packet carefully, sniffed it to check that it was not off, and then ate some of it in silence. He saved the rest, beamed a thank-you at us, and shuffled off. I realised that we were no longer in Europe –the poverty here is great. However, there was something dignified about the whole interaction which moved me. The Mongols are proud, dignified, and unfailingly polite, even if their circumstances are harsh.

We checked into our hotel in Ulan Bator and made off to the opening ceremony of Naadam, on foot across town. There was lots of traffic and cops with shrill whistles. We reached the stadium and I easily found a ticket tout who sold me 4 tickets at a huge markup, but even then they only cost a fiver each. We found our seats, and the ceremony began – how lucky we were with our random timing! It was fun – processions of horsemen, Miss Mongolia, but also motorbikers and kids. Many banners had the swastika symbol. It was explained to us that this was the symbol of Ghenghis Khan, and Hitler was a great fan of his so he copied the symbol. Ghenghis is a great hero here – every main street is named after him, as is a popular beer.

We watched some wrestling and then headed back to the hotel. Needed to catch up with sleep. Dinner in hotel – good food, crap service. They still operate on the Soviet model of catering.

Next morning, we were up bright’n’early for our “tour” to the Hustain Nature Reserve to try to see Przewalski’s horse. This is the only wild horse in the world (yes?) and went extinct here in the 1960’s. It began to be reintroduced from European zoos, and the numbers are now above 400 (with around 80 having been introduced). Our guide, Mungo, explained about all this and about Mongolia generally. 4 million people of which 3 million are still nomads, living in “gers” (round tents from wood, felt, and canvas. The Russian word is “yurt”). Mongolia became a satellite of USSR in 1921, and this persisted until 1991. The Russians were disliked, but they had a big effect on the infrastructure, and even the language – the alphabet used is the Russian one and many words are similar. This is because there was effectively no schooling before 1921. The country’s mineral wealth is now being exploited by western companies. George Bush stayed in our hotel…

We saw the end of one of the famous horse races. Small children aged 4-10 are the riders (boys and girls) and they hurtle across 30 km of steppe on amazing horses. There are many injuries both to horses and riders. Winning is a huge honour, but all participants get medals and the “wooden spoon” is delivered in the form of a song to the last finisher, to make him/her feel better and to suggest that “Next year, you will be the leader of 10,000 horses”.

We arrived in the Prewalski Horse area, and immediately saw camels. The vegetation was interesting – sandy soil, with wild rhubarb everywhere! Lots of marmots, some mice, fine butterflies. We checked into our “gers” (Martin and Sue got a real one; Carol and I got an imperial concrete one). Each was laid out traditionally, with a central stove. The door on each faces due south, so that anyone seeing a ger immediately knows where south is. The top has a round window which acts as a sundial – you immediately know what time of day it is from the direction of illumination. The kitchen is on the southwest side, the mother’s bed on the west, the man’s on the east, with visitors/medals/mementoes on the north side.

We travelled in the van for about half an hour just before dusk, and were rewarded with several sightings of the wild horses. They were lovely, and were used to humans (the older ones are still the ones moved from the zoos). I particularly liked an old stallion who was now a bachelor as he lost his harem after losing a fight. He received an injury on his nose and was thought to be in danger of dying; but he recovered and now grazes alone, with a white scar visible on his nose.

We met some English people even more mad than us – they had run across the Gobi Desert!

Next day, we returned to UB via a real ger settlement. The people were not warned of our arrival but the code of hospitality is strongly observed and we received a warm welcome. They had lots of horses, and were busy hauling out the foals from the corral so that the mares could be led to the same, separate, place, for the daily milking to take place. Mare’s milk is a delicacy here. It is never cooked or processed, but left to ferment. It becomes mildly alcoholic and is surprisingly delicious, sour like lemon-flavoured yoghurt. Martin and Carol helped to move the resistant (and hugely strong) foals to be tethered 100 yards away. It began to rain and we were invited into the ger for tea/fermented milk/other treats. The family were happy to show us around. We did not stay too long as we were aware of their need to get on with the jobs. It was a glimpse into a wholly different life from ours. Winters are severe, with temperatures dropping to -50 degrees C. Life is harsh, and it is this which apparently leads to the very strong code of cooperation and politeness.
Back to UB, to a factory producing Cashmere products to buy some presents. The others then went to an evening of music, while I rested with a somewhat fragile tummy (mare’s milk?) and to do emails and the blog.

Tomorrow, we board the train to Beijing!