THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 5) MONGOLIA

The bus dropped the group at a hotel in central Ulaanbaatar. The room’s décor was a throwback to the early eighties, though it was clean and comfortable like the rest of the hotel.


The room had an old television standing in the corner so I switched it on to see type of shows they had on Mongolian TV. The first few channels had what appeared to be local soap opera’s, another had Mongolia’s national sport wrestling. I watched intrigued for a while as two huge men wrestled in traditional costumes while cheered on by a large outdoor crowd.

I changed the channel again and I stopped and stared at the TV amazed as there on a TV screen in a hotel room in Mongolia was a rugby league football game from Brisbane, Australia, my hometown. I couldn’t believe it. The game was only a day old and was being shown on the Australian Broadcasting Commissions overseas satellite service. It was a little surreal sitting there in a hotel room in Ulaanbaatar watching my favourite team play.

 The group had free time which allowed me to go and explore the city by myself. I walked into the city centre and just wandered around. There were not any true high rise buildings and only a few modern buildings. Most of the buildings appeared to be from the Soviet era, bland blockhouses in a state of disrepair.

A large ceremonial square dominates central Ulaanbaatar with a monument to the national hero Sukhbaatar. The spot was chosen because that was where Sukhbaatar's horse had peed (a good omen) on July 8, 1921 during a gathering of the Red Army. At the other end of the square are government buildings and Sukhbaatar’s granite mausoleum. It reminded me of Red Square, Moscow.

There were few shops that catered to tourists and in these you were able to pick up a variety of Mongolian art and wares at very cheap prices. It appeared that the busiest places were the internet café’s that dotted the city. Inside the café you would see a veritable united nations of travelers pounding away at the ancient computer keyboards keeping in touch with far-away homes.

In all my travels around the world I have only felt unsafe twice and one of those places was in Ulaanbaatar, where I was stalked by a group of you men on the way back to the hotel.
It was late in the afternoon but still light when five young men started to shadow me down the road. There were only a few people about and I had to pass some areas of vacant lots and ramshackle buildings on my way back to the hotel. The five never deviated from the same route as I, sometimes one or two would move ahead whilst the others dropped in behind me.

I was starting to get a little worried.


I was fast approaching the vacant lot area and wondering what I should do when I saw a local taxi approaching down the street. Without hesitation I leapt onto the road in front of the cab which screeched to a stop. I jumped into the back seat and motioned the driver to go. As I drove down the road I looked at the five young men who grinned at me as one drew his finger across his throat, a motion that left me in little doubt about their intent.


When I arrived back at my hotel I reported the incident and a few days later I read in the local paper that a number of westerners had been assaulted and robbed in the area where I had been pursued. I was lucky!

The next day the group reunited and we did a tour of the sites of Ulannbaatar. First stop was the Gandan Monastery which houses a thirty meter high statue of Migjid Janraisig. It is a working monastery and we were able to enter the inner sanctum and watch the monks carry out their chants and rituals.

We next stopped off at the Winter Palace of the Bodg Khan, the last monarch of Mongolia. The palace is now a museum which was in a poor state of repair at the time of our visit. Most of the exhibits in the museum are the personal possessions of the Khan and his wife. The last stop on the day tour was at the lookout at Zaisan. This gives the observer a panoramic view of Ulaanbaatar, but the most interesting part is the mosaic that commemorates the cooperation between the Mongolian people and soviet Russia.

The day was finished off by a hearty Mongolian feast and then a traditional Mongolian concert which presented a group of throat singers which was a very strange experience and we were all amazed that a human could make such a weird noise.


We had an early start the next day and Nemo came to our hotel and escorted us all to the railway station to board the Trans Siberian for the next leg of our journey and after a lot of heartfelt farewells we boarded the train and set off westward.

THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 3) MONGOLIA

One of the great things about working for Intrepid Travel iwas the great local guides and facilitators you have available to you in each place you visit. They made my job as the tour leader so much easier.


We had no sooner alighted from the train when a small, Mongolian man in his mid-thirties approached me and introduced himself as Nemo, our Mongolian guide. Nemo's English was very good and he had a bubbly personality which immediately endeared him to the group.


Nemo was a qualified medical doctor who was trained overseas, but the pay and conditions are so poor in Mongolia that he made far more money running a tour company.

We all hopped on board a decrepit old bus and headed off through the ramshackle streets of Ulaanbaatar. It is always the same when you go to any new place; heads crane this way and that trying to take in all of the sights and sounds of the city.


The first impressions of Ulaanbaatar were that the city was very poor indeed. Many of the thoroughfares were potholed, there was rubbish all over the place and many of the buildings were in a state of disrepair. People thronged the streets and most were dressed shabbily, though every now and again you would be caught by suprise to see a woman or man dressed in modern European style clothing.


Our first stop was at a bank to change some money. This was an experience in itself as Nemo had to do the translating for the bank teller all the while being watch by a guy with an ancient shotgun. The unit of currency in Mongolia is the togrog and we all appeared to be so much wealthier once we cashed our US dollars for togrog. I just wished I had been in Mongolia a few years earlier before they phased out Mongolian coins which were called mongo's.

Togrog's and mongo's you gotta love that.


Next stop was at a Mongolian supermarket. Well, I say supermarket though it was slightly larger than a corner store. Even so the store was well stocked with goods, particularly imported goods. The group loaded up with goodies and headed back to the bus to continue our trip to our camping site.


In short time we were out in the countryside which was bleak and barren. Not a tree to be seen anywhere just sparse, rolling hills. It was early spring so there was still snow on the ground here and there and the rivers we crossed were still frozen. The road out of the city was reasonably good though only a single lane either way. There was very little traffic on the way only the odd car and a few busses but very few trucks.


On the way we made a stop on a hill which gave a great view of the valley below. At this particular spot was a simple Buddhist memorial. As each traveler stops by the memorial they drop a stone in the pile and must circle the cairn seven times (I think). This will then give you good luck and fortune on your trip.

A lone dog stood guard; Nemo said people who stopped at the shrine fed the dog as an act of goodwill.  The guard dog being really smart had quickly figured out that staying at the shrine was a sure way to a free feed.


Back aboard the bus most slept as the terrain barely changed kilometer after kilometer.


"Look, look over there," someone shouted excitedly. "Dinosaurs." And there were. In the middle of nowhere some entrepreneur had tried to start a dinosaur park. Near life-sized dinosaurs stood sentinel over the bare, Mongolian terrain. "Nearly there," said Nemo and this perked everybody up.


We turned off the main road and onto a dirt track and the first thing we noticed were corral's full of sturdy Mongolian ponies. Around a bend the small tourist settlement of ger's ( some call them yurts) stood before us.

Nine ger's stood in line accompanied by toilet blocks and a recreation hall. The site was surrounded by a ring of hillsides which were made up of huge boulders and covered with fir trees.


We were greeted by the camp staff and lead to our ger's. Women to one ger, men to another. A Mongolian ger consist of a circular wooden frame carrying a felt cover. The felt is made from the wool of the flocks of sheep that traditionally accompanied the nomadic Mongolian family. The interior of the ger was surprisingly spacious and the central point was a large cast iron fireplace that did an excellent job of heating the ger. All around the side of the ger were beds and decorated wall-hangings which gave the interior a bright and welcoming atmosphere.

We had no sooner placed our packs away when the call came for dinner. There were a few furrowed brows as the group had heard all about traditional Mongolian fare.