THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 2)

The trains departure is announced by a constant shunting and banging together of carriages. My passengers look at one another doubtfully. Finally with much groaning and screeching the train slowly pulls away from the platform. Indeed, slowly enough for an old woman to keep pace with the train whilst she tries to sell her wares to passengers who hang out of the train's windows.

Eventually the Trans Siberian gathers enough speed to out-distance the old woman who stares forlonly at the departing carriages.

We are on our way!

The passengers start to rearrange their bunk beds whilst keeping up a constant chatter as we pass through the metropolis of Beijing. Shabby abodes line the track, every now and again you are suprised to see a new high rise or an advertisment hoarding for McDonalds or Omega Watches. The train rumbles on and we pass into the dry countryside where both people and houses start to thin. 

The passengers know that somewhere ahead The Great Wall of China runs alongside the train tracks and there is a competition to see who can  spot the Wall first. Someone cries out, "there it is," and everyone looks in the pointed direction. 

The Great Wall of China looms tall above the railway, this section has been rebuilt and is well preserved as it is a major tourist attraction as it is not all that far from Beijing. I tell the group if they want to see the real Great Wall of China they need to travel more than 100 kilometres from Beijing. This is where the Wall is unaltered and it is a place where few tourists travel to. You are able to walk a 13 kilometre stretch of the Great Wall that would be banned in any other part of the world due to safety concerns as in many places the Wall is a crumbling jumble of brickwork and masonary. 

We leave the Great Wall behind us and after several hours of bleak landscapes we enter the Gobi Desert where bleakness takes on a whole new meaning. There is nothing here but stark, bare plains that run off forever into the distance. Every now and again you may see a shack or a camel but nothing more.

There are fences criss-crossing the Gobi. Where they lead or what they are meant to keep out is anyones guess. What these fences are good for is capturing plastic bags and we see thousands caught and torn up on the never ending fenceline. Where do all these bags come from?

Soon people drift off to sleep, read, play cards or talk. The conductor brings tea and Chinese biscuits. At dinner time some sample the dining car which is swathed in cigarette smoke. It's not about the food, it is more about the experience.  

I have told the passengers that they have to be prepared for the border crossing into Mongolia. There we will undergo customs and immigration checks whilst the wheel gauge is changed on the train.

Well after midnight the train slowly stumbles into the border crossing where anyone asleep is awoken by shouting and the banging of carriages as the train slowly shunts toward the gear change. Before this occurrs we are confronted by Mongolian border police and immigration officials who look surly and unwelcoming. They ask for passports and visa and do a rudimentary search of the cabin for contraband. We are told to stay in the cabin and not move.

The worst part of the border crossing is the time it takes and you can't use the toilets for 3-4 hours. I had awoken the passengers who were alseep to inform them that the border was approaching and they should go to the bathroom. Some did and some didn't. Those that didn't suffered and a few coke bottles were put to good use by the men. The women suffered.

There is no reason to keep people ,on the train but they do. You would have to be crazy to want to wander off in this part of the world.

Eventually the train moves into a long covered building where a crane picks up the carriage. While the carriage is in the air the wheels are removed and replaced with the wheels that are the correct gauge for Mongolia. This is all accompanied by banging, shouting and screeching. There is no way in the world anyone could sleep through this racket.

After forever the train slowly pulls away from the border, dawn is knocking on the horizon. The ride is the same, still clunky. We now have a new crew of Mongolian sevice personnel who have a look that dares you to ask for anything. 

The train rattles on as the landscape barely changes. Many passengers long for green hills and trees, anything but the sombre and monotonous desert. We sleep, we talk we play games and read. Some go to the end of the carriage, the designated smoking area and others visit other carriages to make new friends. The Trans Siberian is one long united nation's.

We sleep again with thoughts of waking up in the Mongolian capital of Ulaanbaatar (The Red Hero). Everyone is excited by the prospect and the windows are filled with gawping tourists as we move slowly through the outskirts of the city and into the city heart.

It would not be unkind or inaccurate to call Ulaanbaatar a large, sprawling shanty town. All the buildings appear to be slapped together with bits and pieces of wood and corregated iron. Gurrs, the traditional Mongolian abodes are sprinkled throughout suburbia as it appears many Mongolian's do not want to give up their old nomadic ways just yet.

I tell everyone to gather their belongings as we will leave the Trans Siberian here and spend five days in and around Ulaanbaatar. As the train pulls into the main station a horde of local women rush the train to sell all types of foodstuffs, though the predominant saleable item was fermented mare's milk, a traditional Mongolian alcoholic drink. More on that later. 

Like a mother hen I gather up the chicks and lead them off the train and onto the great unknown.