THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 4) MONGOLIA

Once we were settled into our ger we assembled for dinner which was presented in a larger, communal ger. All of the food was prepared in the traditional Mongolian way of cast iron pots over flame and hot stones. We were served by local people who dressed in traditional garb. All the while our guide Nemo kept up a running commentary of what we were eating and how it was prepared.



Most Mongolian dishes are centered around meats as vegetables are hard to come by. During our stay we ate beef, yak, horse, camel, goat and sheep, quiet a variety. These meats were usually cooked as a stew, in soups or as dumplings (buuz). Some of the passengers didn’t want to know what they were eating as they had qualms about eating horse or camel.

Pity any poor vegetarian that turns up on the doorstep of a Mongolian ger looking for a meal.

Hospitality is very important to Mongolian people and they go out of their way to make guests feel relaxed and comfortable. You can’t sit down to a meal in Mongolia without being offered airag, fermented mares milk. Now if the thought of drinking fermented mares milk doesn’t turn you off then the smell often will. It smells horrible! It is considered rude not to drink airag when offered to you, though you can escape offending your hosts by taking but a sip. That is what most of us did but some of the die-hards in the group set out to get drunk on the stuff. Later that night they paid the penalty by constant trips to the bathroom.

The highlight of the visit to the village was several group rides on local Mongolian ponies. Now these beasts look docile and weary but underneath their shaggy exterior they have a big motor that will keep running day in and day out. Don’t forget that the ancestors of these horses helped Genghis Khan conquer a large chunk of the world.

 Local horseman rounded up horses for our group and each person chose a horse. As with all things on such a trip the paying passengers got first choice and I was left with whatever was leftover which in this instance was a small and scrawny looking pony, who I doubted could carry me out of sight of the camp let alone on a long ride. As I mounted the horse Nemo came up to me and said I had made a good selection as it was the best horse in the group.

 I looked at him doubtfully.

We set off at a leisurely pace as the horses appeared to know the way. We passed the dinosaur park and headed off to a local landmark to have a picnic lunch. As soon as we hit the flat, unobstructed plain several of the group kicked their horses into a gallop.

I looked at my shabby beast and wondered if it was worth the effort. I thought why the hell not and gave the pony a little bit of heel and a tug on the reins. Be buggered if the pony didn’t take off like Seabiscuit. In no time at all we had passed the three horses in front of us and we were now scorching across the plain at warp speed. I hung on like a limpet expecting at any moment to be thrown off.

I saw the camp area ahead where we were to have lunch and as the pony and I entered the cleared area I pulled back tight on the reins, dug my heels into the horses side and hoped for the best. In reality I expected either the horse wouldn't stop and just keep going until it reached Siberia or I would ignominiously fall off.

To my delight and suprise the pony skidded to a stop rearing a little as it did so.

Nemo rushed forward to greet me.

“See I told you that this was a very good horse.” I could only nod back at him as I was still trying to recover from my fear.

“You ride like a Mongolian,” he said with a broad smile on his face.

I wasn’t sure if he was taking the mickey or not and it didn’t matter a jot as it was the pony who controlled me not the other way around. I just hung on out of fear.

The group was very impressed with my riding prowess, especially when Nemo told them about how hard that particular pony was to ride………if only they knew!

The next few days were spent riding and wandering the hills. We visited a monastery that was set on a hillside where the monks greeted us with warm tea and smiles. On another occasion I topped a hill only to be confronted by a herd of shaggy yaks. I am still not sure who got the biggest fright as we both ran off in different directions.

It was a great four days and the passengers raved about the experience and the friendliness and warmth of the people. We said our heartfelt farewells and headed back to Ulaanbaatar.

SNOW, SNOW AND MORE SNOW

It has been a cold, snowy day here in Toronto today. It appears that the blizzard like conditions that are effecting the north-east coast of the USA are filtering on up into Ontario. The news here is full of adverse weather reports and transport delays.


Tammie had a round of business meetings today so I just chilled in the hotel and caught up with some sleep. One of the bonuses of staying at this particular chain of Hilton hotels is that they provided their guests with a breakfast and a pretty decent dinner.


I spent a fair amount of time on my book, revising and revising again. It is never-ending. It appears it is an author’s lot is to be never happy with what they write. Some passages of the book I have rewritten over and over again.


Tomorrow we move onto Niagara Falls and into a hotel that overlooks the Falls. How that works out will be interesting.


I know that some ex-military members read this blog from time to time and they will be interested to hear about what is the biggest story here in Canada at the moment.


A Canadian Air Force colonel who commands one of the largest bases in Canada has been charged with a double murder. He allegedly killed a Canadian Air Force corporal in her home and a few weeks later murdered another young woman. Before those events he had broken into the houses of two women and sexually assaulted them.


It has been reported that the colonel, a pilot had been earmarked to attain higher rank and one day become a general. He was apprehended when stopped at a local police checkpoint where the tyres of vehicles were being checked. A tyre treads was left in the snow at the scene of one of the crimes and was the only evidence the police had. The tyre tread of the colonel’s vehicle matched that of the suspects vehicle and when questioned the colonel became evasive so he was bought in for questioning.
I find it suprising that a person in such a position of authority could commit such a crime. You just never know.  http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2010/02/08/f-williams-biography.html





Le colonel Russell Williams

TORONTO & SNOWSTORMS

Just arrived in Toronto to be met by a sizeable snowstorm, something we haven't seen at all in the west for most of the winter.

It turned out to be a long day of travel. A 70 minute drive to Kelowna Airport where we were somewhat suprised at the lax check-in procedures as neither of us were asked for photo identification something which I have never encountered at any other airport in the world. That said Kelowna is a modern mid-sized regional airport that services mainly Westjet and Air Canada flights.

Our flight left on time and it was only a 45 minute flight for a quick layover in Calgary to drop off passengers and pick up new ones. Our flight to Toronto was three hours thirty minutes. Westjet like many airlines these days charges for everything, food, movies, pillows and blankets. Evenso the service was good and the flight landed on time into a Toronto snowstorm.

We 'lost' three hours on the flight East arriving just after midnight. We had a hire car booked but it closed at midnight so we had to catch a cab to the hotel.

It was just a short drive but unbeknownest to us the cabbie didn't put the meter on and wanted a ridiculous fee. Tammie in her nice Canadaian way told him no. Then he wanted cash and we said no, credit card and to top it off he demanded a tip. No again.

The hotel is nice enough but we have been put in a smokers room which is rather ordinary as the smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the room. We will make sure we get a room change tomorrow.

It is 0140 here now, that is blog dedication!

BLOG STUFF

Two posts in one day....what's gone wrong! Nothing really just some housekeeping. Generally I try to get a blog out every couple of days. Most times I stick to this, sometimes I don't.

Anyway I am going to try, at least for now to post every day. It may not be as long as the current posts but I will endeavour to get something onto the blog site.

I don't get many comments in regards to the blogs which is just a little frustrating as I don't really know if the blog is being read and if it is, is it being enjoyed.....or not. Even negative comments would be welcome as then would know that someone may be reading.

Tammie and I fly to Toronto tomorrow a few days in taht city and then onto Niagara Falls for four days, which includes Valentines Day (not my idea). That said I am looking to visiting the Falls as it has always been one of my 'must do' trips. I will post pic's.

If you would be interested in beta reading or perhaps just reading a chapter or two of my 85,000 word novel, Tommy Tippett I would love to hear from you to discuss.

See you tomorrow.

akmacca08@live.com.au

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.

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.

THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 1)

Perhaps a downside of writing a blog is the constant need to come up with content. My plan when I first started this blog was to post every other day and I have just about succeeded in doing that though it can be difficult to come up with something that is interesting every time.

This blog is supposed to be about my book Tommy Tippett, but I have veered well off that track. The truth is I know bugger all about writing so it would be silly to write about it. So I have written about everything else that comes to mind. My stay in Canada, road trips to Disneyland and Australian soldiers on UN Peacekeeping training. The list goes on.

So in the spirit of writing about everything but writing here goes another installment.

I had been leading tours all over China for about six months when the opportunity came along to lead a tour on the famed Trans Siberian Express. I worked for a company called Intrepid Travel and they had recently introduced the Trans Siberian to their stable of 'adventure' trips. I jumped at the opportunity.

I met my group at a hotel in Beijing and it was the usual mix of Australian's, Brit's, American's and Canadian's. Oh, and a Kiwi, I always tend to forget them. The first day of the trip is always meet and greet and a get to know you. As the tour leader you give an information briefing to the tour members, collect some dollars as well as information on passports, next of kin, visa's and medical insurance. You then take everyone out to dinner to break the ice.

We have an early morning start and a mini bus picks the group up at the hotel to take the short trip through bustling, early-morning Beijing traffic. On a good day you only have four or five near-miss traffic accidents.

Beijing Central Station is huge. If you have never been to a busy Chinese railway station it is hard to describe the pandemonium and chaos. There are people, livestock and miscellaneous vehicles everywhere. People lie sleeping on the floor of the station, children run in and out of disorderly ques, intinerant workers play cards and argue and you can almost count on an escaped chicken, goat or some other thing with fur or feathers. 

The Chinese Government insists that all luggage has to be x-rayed before you can enter the railway station proper so huge lines of pushing and shoving humanity form bottlenecks at the few operating entrances. 

After learning some hard lessons about Chinese railway stations and their attendant problems I always advised my tour groups to place their pack in front of them and use it as a battering ram. I also told them that they shouldn't be afraid to use their bulk as the smallest and sweetest looking old Chinese lady will happily trample you underfoot if it means getting in line in front of you.

It was always interesting to watch the reactions of some of my passengers when they were first confronted with a Chinese railway station. Some turned to jelly and wanted to run and hide, others had a look of fear on their face and forged forward. Nice Canadian's usually let everyone, including animals go in front of them so much so that I had to place the Canadian's in front of me so I could keep an eye on them.

Once through the crowded x-ray check, we made our way to the international departure platform which was less congested. We found our train which looked as if had been a part of Mao's Great March. I found our carriage and had to show all the tickets and passports to our conductor, a young Chinese woman. I knew from experience that there was no hurrying to be done here so I just said to the passengers to sit on their packs and smile.

Finally we were given the all clear to enter.

There were 12 sleeper compartments to each carriage and in each compartment were four bunk beds. These bunks could be folded up during the day but were usually left down and used as seats. There was storage space under the bottom bunks and in an alcove over the door. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a table that ran between the two beds and for most of the trip it was conjested with everyones junk. 

The group decided where they wanted to go so it took a little while to sort out and to decide who got the top bunk and who got the bottom. The facilities on the train were spartan. There was a toilet down each end of the carriage. One was a European style toilet and the other was a squat toilet. The conductor provided hot water for tea and coffee which you had to supply yourself. There was a dining car that was still living in the fifties but you couldn't beat the price a few dollars for a reasonable meal.

But all said and done this was the Trans Siberian Express and we were all about to embark on a journey that would take us from Beijing in China to St Peterburg in Russia a distance of 9,500 kilometres.

akmacca08@live.com.au