Friday, June 24, 2005
Into Outer
So, after numerous weeks of just ambling around, it was off on the train and a regimented intinerary for the next two weeks. This fact wasn't completely welcome, but more than compensated for by the fact that I get to lie around on a bed with nothing to do, nowhere to go, not having to ask for a room change, or a discount, or bargaining over a price, or telling some tout to drop dead, or having to plan anything (and he gets to spend every waking hour in a small cabin with me...). And with a lifetime's supply of noodles and water with us I may even not have to ask for a menu in English for a while.
Well we got away on time, having eventually located the right train. It had been standing in the platform for ages while we were hopelessly wandering around the Beijing station waiting for it to mirculously jump out of nowhere and announce its presence. Anyway, once safely on board, (needless to say) the first thing we did was work out what our neighbours were about. It seemed that the only people in our carriage were fellow tourists, suggesting that all the locals were slumming it down in the cheap seats. On one side we had the original odd couple (a monk and a brummie) and on the other we had 'The Train Spotters'. Well, they weren't really but that's what they became known as, though I don't think there was any need for Luce to inform them of this. But more of all that later.
Once safely settled into the first leg of the journey (Beijing to Ulan Baatar; 30 hours) it was down to backgammon and cribbage, with predicatable result I might like to add. (I'm not playing anymore...). In between such excitement, we checked out what nosebag was on offer. Contrary to popular opinion, it was actually quite reasonable - although this may have been more due to its relative merits when compared to a pot noodle rather than it achieving any sort of culinary excellence (and the rice worked out at 6 pence a throw so the budget-keeping accountant was happy). But we made the most of it, especially as we'd been warned that Mongolia's cuisine wouldn't be winning any awards, and that the Russian restaurant car might be a more interesting experience..........
It would seem that the other big talking point about this whole train thing is... does anyone know what time it is? And believe it or not it was true - no one did seem to know what time it was. This is rooted in the fact that trains run on Moscow time, as do the timetables, though this may/may not apply if you are on a Chinese or Mongolian train (still not sure which ours was); added to this was a general misconception of how far in front of GMT is Beijing, and Ulan Baatar, and whether they have a shift for summer time. Not that anyone really cared, (not that this stopped my dearest spending hours trying to work it out) and the reality was we were having more trouble keeping track of which day it was, let alone such niceties as to which particular hour it was.
Anyway, no trans-continent trip would feel complete without some fun at a border crossing. And getting into Mongolian was no exception. On having our passports examined, it seemed that Ms Customs Official had no intention of returning them to us. And a stern looking lady she was too, all boots, suit and make up - Herr Flick would have loved it. Anyway, I decided that it was a good idea not to let the passports out of our view, so followed them off the train.
I interject here to tell my view of events... I sat by the window awaiting Will's reappearance - my eyes trained on a door across the platform I thought he had gone through... which he hadn't. After a while, THE TRAIN STARTED TO MOVE. Cue: slight anxiety. "My husband" I cried to the Mongolian carriage attendant (who knew only four words of English), but she just waved me away in an unconcerned manner, so I decided perhaps I should be unconcerned too. Then the train gathered speed and the panic started to creep in. I sweated for a little longer, then I ventured down to the 'trainspotter's cabin' and asked if they thought we were on our way. "Well, if you fancy heading back to China we are" came the reply, and "I believe we've just gone to pick up the restaurant car." (and how would they know that if they weren't of the train-knowledgeable-club I should like to know?) When I had started breathing again I thanked them and scuttled back to my cabin feeling a bit silly. How was I supposed to know we were going backwards?! I remained at my vigil at the window, with no sign of Will from the door across the platform. Then Will saunters into our cabin looking terribly relaxed - typical.
This meant that I got to hang around the customs hall while watching all these dolled up broads complete all their paperwork. It really was a sight to behold. But enough of such fantasies; eventually Helga summoned me to the desk. Apparently our visas hadn't been stamped on issue. "You should have checked!" Ah yes, because I should have known....... Anyway, the stamp was duly issued, and we were on our way. Well, other than the 2 hours it took to change the wheels on the train to fit Mongolia's gauge.
(If you'd made it this far, well done. Keep going, not far now.)
The rest of the trip to UB (as us trendy travellers have to call it, apparently) was quiet and uneventful, and we were soon off the train to fight it out with the local touts. For some reason that I still haven't fathomed, I'd decided that it would be a good idea not to book anywhere for our one night stop here, and rely on being offered a room on arrival. And I'm pleased to say we hooked up with a nice gentleman called Galaa ('countryside boy' turned city slicker), who fixed us up with some apartment for a bluey. It even had clean sheets.
As for Ulan Baatar itself, there's not exactly much to do, but it was interesting enough to walk around for an afternoon, and visit its only shop. We even got to visit one of it's fine restaurants. The fact that it had mutton on the menu was of no surprise; but the fact that 'chewing gum' featured on the dessert menu, er, was.
After these urban highlights, we enlisted Galaa to take us for a tour around the local countryside. And as the surrounding countryside is predominantly desert dotted with gers, there's not much to report.
Well we got away on time, having eventually located the right train. It had been standing in the platform for ages while we were hopelessly wandering around the Beijing station waiting for it to mirculously jump out of nowhere and announce its presence. Anyway, once safely on board, (needless to say) the first thing we did was work out what our neighbours were about. It seemed that the only people in our carriage were fellow tourists, suggesting that all the locals were slumming it down in the cheap seats. On one side we had the original odd couple (a monk and a brummie) and on the other we had 'The Train Spotters'. Well, they weren't really but that's what they became known as, though I don't think there was any need for Luce to inform them of this. But more of all that later.
Once safely settled into the first leg of the journey (Beijing to Ulan Baatar; 30 hours) it was down to backgammon and cribbage, with predicatable result I might like to add. (I'm not playing anymore...). In between such excitement, we checked out what nosebag was on offer. Contrary to popular opinion, it was actually quite reasonable - although this may have been more due to its relative merits when compared to a pot noodle rather than it achieving any sort of culinary excellence (and the rice worked out at 6 pence a throw so the budget-keeping accountant was happy). But we made the most of it, especially as we'd been warned that Mongolia's cuisine wouldn't be winning any awards, and that the Russian restaurant car might be a more interesting experience..........
It would seem that the other big talking point about this whole train thing is... does anyone know what time it is? And believe it or not it was true - no one did seem to know what time it was. This is rooted in the fact that trains run on Moscow time, as do the timetables, though this may/may not apply if you are on a Chinese or Mongolian train (still not sure which ours was); added to this was a general misconception of how far in front of GMT is Beijing, and Ulan Baatar, and whether they have a shift for summer time. Not that anyone really cared, (not that this stopped my dearest spending hours trying to work it out) and the reality was we were having more trouble keeping track of which day it was, let alone such niceties as to which particular hour it was.
Anyway, no trans-continent trip would feel complete without some fun at a border crossing. And getting into Mongolian was no exception. On having our passports examined, it seemed that Ms Customs Official had no intention of returning them to us. And a stern looking lady she was too, all boots, suit and make up - Herr Flick would have loved it. Anyway, I decided that it was a good idea not to let the passports out of our view, so followed them off the train.
I interject here to tell my view of events... I sat by the window awaiting Will's reappearance - my eyes trained on a door across the platform I thought he had gone through... which he hadn't. After a while, THE TRAIN STARTED TO MOVE. Cue: slight anxiety. "My husband" I cried to the Mongolian carriage attendant (who knew only four words of English), but she just waved me away in an unconcerned manner, so I decided perhaps I should be unconcerned too. Then the train gathered speed and the panic started to creep in. I sweated for a little longer, then I ventured down to the 'trainspotter's cabin' and asked if they thought we were on our way. "Well, if you fancy heading back to China we are" came the reply, and "I believe we've just gone to pick up the restaurant car." (and how would they know that if they weren't of the train-knowledgeable-club I should like to know?) When I had started breathing again I thanked them and scuttled back to my cabin feeling a bit silly. How was I supposed to know we were going backwards?! I remained at my vigil at the window, with no sign of Will from the door across the platform. Then Will saunters into our cabin looking terribly relaxed - typical.
This meant that I got to hang around the customs hall while watching all these dolled up broads complete all their paperwork. It really was a sight to behold. But enough of such fantasies; eventually Helga summoned me to the desk. Apparently our visas hadn't been stamped on issue. "You should have checked!" Ah yes, because I should have known....... Anyway, the stamp was duly issued, and we were on our way. Well, other than the 2 hours it took to change the wheels on the train to fit Mongolia's gauge.
(If you'd made it this far, well done. Keep going, not far now.)
The rest of the trip to UB (as us trendy travellers have to call it, apparently) was quiet and uneventful, and we were soon off the train to fight it out with the local touts. For some reason that I still haven't fathomed, I'd decided that it would be a good idea not to book anywhere for our one night stop here, and rely on being offered a room on arrival. And I'm pleased to say we hooked up with a nice gentleman called Galaa ('countryside boy' turned city slicker), who fixed us up with some apartment for a bluey. It even had clean sheets.
As for Ulan Baatar itself, there's not exactly much to do, but it was interesting enough to walk around for an afternoon, and visit its only shop. We even got to visit one of it's fine restaurants. The fact that it had mutton on the menu was of no surprise; but the fact that 'chewing gum' featured on the dessert menu, er, was.
After these urban highlights, we enlisted Galaa to take us for a tour around the local countryside. And as the surrounding countryside is predominantly desert dotted with gers, there's not much to report.
# posted by William and Lucinda @ 8:10 pm 
Comments:
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So Renee, find any valuable paintings at the border crossing??
If it makes you feel any better, I know another Lucinda that would have reacted even more hysterically!
Clearly if you'd remembered the ragu to go with pot noodles, they'd be no need for the restaurant car for a month!!
Have fun
Keitho
If it makes you feel any better, I know another Lucinda that would have reacted even more hysterically!
Clearly if you'd remembered the ragu to go with pot noodles, they'd be no need for the restaurant car for a month!!
Have fun
Keitho
# posted by 
: 12:51 pm
: 12:51 pm
We knew about picking up the restaurant car at the border because we had read the Lonely Planet book! ;o)
Hope you're still enjoying the travels!
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Hope you're still enjoying the travels!
# posted by : 9:31 pm
: 9:31 pm << Home
