after the shatteringly enormous wide open spaces of the mongolian country, being back in the strangely familiar 6 foot square, 4 bed cabin is pretty odd. but i love the train traveling. there's a sort of a feeling of returning home to it today.
we're on train number 4, the 8.05am from ulan bataar. train number 4 began its journey in moscow 6 days ago. it's one of the chinese trains, very luxurious (as trans-siberian trains go), there's even a fan in the cabin and everything.
we snake south-east towards the border where we will swap mongolia for china, leave newly found forward thinking new-age politics for a long-standing communist regime with a tight grip on public information. i don't know very much about politics if i'm honest, but i'm very curious to see what full-blown communism is like. will it be noticeable or will it have no real impact on day-to-day life? as far as my limited knowledge takes me, the theory is that everybody works for the state, but there must be a difference between rich and poor. and homelessness. right? i really have no idea. i really am intrigued.we may or may not have picked an ideal time to experience central beijing. this week is the 18th anniversary of the tienanmen square massacre, so it could be very interesting to see if there is any reference to it, a memorial ceremony, a heavy police presence, or nothing.
i'm sad to be leaving mongolia. we've had an unforgettable time. everything about it has blown our expectations out of the water, from the night sky over the white lake to the mongol girls singing happy birthday at the tops of their voices in the bar last night, little cardboard hats on their heads and giant toothy smiles.
mongolia is excellent. after this trip i will advise people to go there and tell them that any preconceptions they have are probably not far off, but there is so so much more besides. ulan bataar for example: coverage by british media only focussed on the street kids who have to live in cramped underground caves by steam pipes to survive the winter. it is right that their story is told, it is a horrifying existence and a feeling in pit of your stomach when you see them. the kids are young, frighteningly young and carry an aura with them; a strange mixture of toughness and vulnerability and innocence. you want to help, you feel limp, but half a bottle of coca cola sends them skipping off with their friends looking like kids should look.
but there is more to UB. as a westerner who didn't know how lucky i was in my incredibly rich and stable country it was easy to imagine that the mongolian city would be a backward town with dust and rusty old cars. not so, my pretties. it is healthy and wealthy and good humoured. people drive hummers and land cruisers, they are happy and fashionable and welcoming. the patronising old cliche that people around the world are "just like us" is proven here. there is political corruption, but what country can honestly say they don't have that?some brief things i want to remember:
- traffic cops who whistle and wave their batons like mad, but make absolutely no impact on the traffic situation
- cars with alarms that go off constantly. one had an identical sound to one in my neighbourhood
- the black market circus
- the really hot girls we chatted to in the guesthouse lounge
- the odd french girl who seemed sad to be on holiday
- teh brilliant spanish film we watched, in spanish - having no clue what was happening in it
- discovering the attention bell in the santa fe bar
- monkey balls
No comments:
Post a Comment