If I were young, I'd flee this town

Having arrived in Mongolia in the early hours of the morning I was not very surprised to have been greeted by some pretty unwelcoming weather - I imagined it to be an unforgiving place, the weather confirmed this. The locals however were quite friendly and representatives from each of the local guests houses were there to pick up their clients..that is, all the guest houses except mine. Not to worry though, I plodded on through the rain( in my cool new allweather sandles I may add.) After multiple misdirections I eventually came across my hostel, one by the name of Mr. Gomez ( not exactly a Mongolian name is it?) I took a quick stock of the situation and realised that Mr. Gomez wasn't my kind of place. It was so shitty not even the stray hell-hounds( of which there are many here) would even take shelter under its canopy. I flagged a cab and thought myself lucky until this 'decent' fellow clocked the situation for what it was and read my indecision on a destination as a big green Go sign to fleece me. Eventually we agreed on a location and a price. I wasn't exactly happy with either. The guest house was in a location not too different from how i imagine the Ballymun flats would look after a nuclear war. Anyway, to cut to the chase, the guest house was infact an apartment. (Which unknown to me is the norm here.) Initially I was going to bail but figured I'd check it out atleast. I'm glad I did because no sooner had I knocked on the door than I was given a nice pair of slippers, promptly offered breakfast and given a chance to freshen up. Score! Thank you fuckhead taxi driver, you may have won the battle, but i won the war! ( btw, those dollars are not legal tender anymore - according to my Russian border guard colleague that is ) Mwahahaha!


Not long after I'd finished breakfast I met one of the fellow guests. A Scottish guy named Hugh who was(given the time of day) surprisingly full of beans. He spoke about his time in UB and also described a place he'd visited which sounded pretty interesting. Based on my intial impressions of Ulan Bator( its a massive shithole) I decided I wasn't going to stay put for long. I spent the next 2 days ducking and diving through traffic shopping for various wares. The cars seem to adhere only to the Mad Max rules of the road. To be honest it was kind of fun nursing my balls in my throat each time I crossed the road. So having stocked up on camping gear and having gotten over my 5 days on a train I set about spending 12 hours on a bus. Had I known it was going to take that long in advance I can't say I'd have gone ahead with this folly.


I'm still not sure how I managed to get a ticket for the bus as the ticketing system seems to have been masterminded by the safety planner for Aeroflot, his mate Jeb who has a ferocious case of tourettes and possibly one of the criminal kids from Mad Max ( there'll be lots of Mad Max references in here - tough shit if you haven't seen the movies. But its the closest approximation I can find.)

···So the wheels were set in motion at the cost of maybe 6 of the seven gears the poor bus had available. Not far out of UB the 'road' turns into a dirt track, "wow, this is quant I thought", for the first 10km. Another 100km and I was beginning to grasp the enormity of my own stupidity. -- Actually, let me put this trip into context, although it sounded cool the idea of it scared the shit out of me. Hugh had mentioned that he had encountered wolves face to face on one of his trips out into the wilds. I also had my own fears, greater than the mere fear of wolves - I was worried about the locals :) Couple this information with the time lines involved, I had 3 days to play with, 2 of which were going to be eaten up with bus journeys. All in all I calculated I'd have 2:1 hours of funtime to shit time. Oh how those figures were grossly under estimated :) -- So now you have context. About 2 hours into the journey the bus took on another load of passengers. The girl I was sitting beside recognised one of them and in true Asian neglect for human personal space invited her to join us. I say that as if its a bad thing, this girl had a smile that left a person feeling as if the first ray of morning sun had just washed over their face. They chatted and I thought about how much more comfortable I would be if I'd ignored all those prompts to eat more food and allowed myself to dwindle into a 5 stone willow tree. swiiiishhhhhhh.... So we took turns dozing, on the seats in front, the window, each other. Eventually the new girl started chatting to me. By chatting I mean we managed to establish in 20 minutes what would normally be written on a nameplate in Starbucks. Nevertheless we persevered. It was a worthwhile endeavour and while we couldn't really discuss our own feverent opinions on the Chavez regime(for example) we did manage to pass the time.


So time passed, 8 hours more to be precise. ( by the way - the bus stopped only once throughout this entire journey) I arrive in Tsetserleg and find my guesthouse. A place called Fairfield, run by two expat brits. A decent place with a strict set of rules for its customers. " Rule 8. Rooms shall not be rented by the hour" - just as well, sitting on my arse for 12 hours had left me jaded, I had a wee stroll and then slept until morning.

Tseterleg is a truly beautiful place. It reminded me of the Black Forest, but then again it's a world apart. Ovoos( piles of stones placed by shamans as offerings to the gods) scattered the landscape, trees had lengths of silk tied to them (more offerings), blowing lazily in the wind. Wild marauding dogs carrying with them a menace usually reserved for serial killers or angry primary school teachers. Gers( typical Mongolian nomadic circular homes) mixed in with more permanent structures - the latter a definite sign of the changing of ways here in Mongolia. Anyway - my first morning in Tsetserleg I set about exploring the place, meeting some locals and trying to get a grasp on what life there must be like. It's odd, people sit around as if they have nothing to do, however all the while its looks as if they are doing something - small trades of goods, waiting for a pickup to bring them to the next town or even eyeballing the latest westener to happen into their village. I had a plan for the day. To scout around in the mountains surrounding the village in search of a good place to camp that evening. I spent most of the day in the north of the village following dirt tracks that led me to herds of yaks. At about 5pm I decided I'd faffed around enough and went east, ignoring all my earlier days work :) As I walked up through the village (no matter where you go you always have to walk a hill. Thats what happens when locals thoughtlessly settle in a valley) I was chased by a few of the aforementioned hounds of hell. I recalled my rabies jabs from earlier in the year and drew upon them as if they gave me some sort of magical forcefield. My simplistic denial of the dogs potential human shredding ability seemed to have worked and after one or two staring matches I was left to go on my way. Grrrrrreat!



As i walked with intent the clouds above me also made their own intentions clear. With a force I've never witnessed before they sucked themselves upwards into one dark ominous bastard of a cloud. Lightening flashed and I thought to myself whether it was such a good idea to have paid homage to so many shamanistic and buddhist shrines in one day. I hoped whichever side I had most appeased was in control of the weather dial. I climbed onwards, determined that my personal journey was not going to be cut short by some a trifle such as poor weather. As the rain grew in intensity I decided to hedge my bets and set camp under a rock face in order to gain some wind protection. I set up camp, digging a trench around my tent in preparation for the imminent doomsday rain and lit a tidy little campfire. By this time it was 7pm and the weather looked a if it was easing off. The sun came out and I gave thanks to Buddha, by eating a snickers. 9pm rolled by and I decided to call it a night. Cimbing into my tent my total lack of camping experience came into play. I had bought a nice new mattress to protect me from the permafrost lying wait beneath the soil, thinking all the while, "what a clever clogs I am". Little did I realise that when I lay in my sleeping bag inside my tent( which was pitched on a 45 degree incline) I would take on the attributes of a snooker ball in a sock. I tried to convince myself that this was a tolerable way to sleep and held space for about 10 minutes. Eventually I decided that enough was enough and went about relocating my camp. I guess in my own way I was staying true to the nomads, moving camp no matter what the time, in response to the weather or the movement of their animals.

Camp number 2 was further up the mountain on a cliff face. Perfectly flat but close to the edge of the mountain. I relocated my fire too as I figured it would provide a nice background noise for me to focus on as I slept. (Better than the imagined howling of wolves or stomping of bears). All went well and I was asleep in no time. However about 2am I woke to see little airy lights flying by my tent. Like glowworms only lighter in movement and more orange than green. Once the noise of my beating heart subsided I figured out that the wind was picking up again and that it was whipping embers from my 'extinguished' fire. My first fear was that the tent might get burned and thus break my impenetrable barrier, my only protection from any potential rain. This fear was soon overtaken by the fact that the wind was now pressing my tent to the gound like a giant finger trying to pop bubblewrap. Never fully going ahead with the motion but seemingly enjoying the interim pleasure just as much. For about an hour I tried to doze through this storm. Thanking every kilo of my body weight for keeping this desperate kite grounded. Once again this test of my will eventually subsided and I managed to doze off. Sweet blissfull sleep.


I woke to the sounds of birds I'd never heard before. ( imagine, not a single starling to be heard!!) I packed up camp and set off back down the mountain. Secretly delighted that I'd gone ahead with this challenge, also freezing my knackers off because Mongolian weather doesn't favour westerner fashion folly. Shorts?? Honestly Richard, what were you thinking?

the return to UB

I woke early in order to get to the bus stop in time. Arriving there like some smelly campfire hound the locals seemed to be amused to see my skinny white legs at such an early hour of the day. Atleast thats how I interpreted their grins. They might all have also shared a joke just before I stepped into view - markedly less likely...

So I hopped on the bus and nestled in for the long trip ahead. 12 hours and counting. I dozed for a short period once we set off, but the bumpy route quickly had me sitting upright. I was looking around the bus and I noticed the guy sitting opposite me gesturing to move over one seat. I presumed he was being friendly but declined as I didn't want to lose my window seat. He seemed to understand and left it at that. Then a few miles down the road he hopped over and sat in the seat next to mine.

We started off with the usual exchange of pigeon English/Mongolian. Hitting the limits of our abilities in a pretty short space of time. Although pretty wrecked from a rather sleepless night I decide this is a nice opportunity to flavour my experience Mongolia ( oh how right I was there!). I produce my Mongolian phrasebook and we start rattling through the small talk section. I now recall thinking how nice it was to encounter someone with such an interest in a foreigner.( I've become increasingly disillusioned with my 'fellow' westerners - ignoring one another seems to be the norm on the road. Even despite my winning smile:)) Once we'd finished the small talk section I let him loose on the book to see if he could come up with any other conversational pieces. I remember he pointed to the phrase "I have been raped", and wondering what the hell kind of sense of humour he had. Putting it down to that of an adolescent I let it drop.

I started to doze as we journeyed on, waking every now and then for a drink or a snack. We chat again and he has found the relationships section of his new bible. He quizzes me about my situation and I mention that I'm single ( although point out that I had a girlfriend before I left..just to be safe.) He holds on that page for a bit and I figure I know whats coming next. He eventually points the the word "Gomeks" which is, yup you guessed it...homosexual!! Huzzah, we'd broken through the linguistic barrier and figured out I'm straight and he's gay. That was that, so I thought.

Further down the road he asks me if I want to visit his home. I assumed (as the message was pretty clear) that he knew I was straight and that this was an innocent expression of hospitality. An invitation to a Ger I thought,"cool", but not willing to mix things up and given that I had to get the train in the morning I declined. He "casually" persisted with the invitation until I eventually looudly and clearly said, "NO!!!".

"Great", I though , now I've offended him. But he didn't seem phased. In fact not long after he quite openly offered to let me bum him. "Fucking nightmare!!" I thought. He also made some other gestures, which I won't describe - but suffice to say my freak out factor was now at maximum. I wholeheartedly declined and tried to visually display my dissatisfaction, as the language barrier was far too great to explain how I was really feeling. Bloody offended, if you are wondering. I have no problem with homosexuality, in fact some of my best friends are gay( ok I'm kidding here, I just love to throw this bullshit statement into conversations. Such as on being called a racist you retort with "why some of my best friends are black"..but thats not the point...) Sooo...anyway, I'm rattling my brain for an escape plan. Making a point of avoiding eye contact with Captain Lewd of the Mongolian Hospitality Brigade.

Whilst sitting there thinking about the situation a thought occurred to me, (as I didn't either have the inclination nor the physical presence to smack him upside the head) I wondered if this is how girls feel when they are the focus of unwanted sexual attention. I lament the aggressive nature of man. If I had the option of either speaking Mongolian or being built like Stallone in Rocky, I'd gladly opt for the former as I would love to have had the chance to explain to this tool exactly how badly he'd offended me. I guess it was my own naivety that left me open on this one.

Once we arrived at UB I quickly found a taxi and threw a few dollars at him to get me the hell out of there before our friend caught the scent. I do regret one thing though. Early in the trip, as a gesture of good faith I offered him my phrasebook - (What the hell, Mongolian isn't going to be on the junior cert curriculum anytime soon)..I've equipped this tool with the ability to hassle other tourists in future. Maybe I should have eaten those pages from the book...

My night ended beautifully, me with a double bed to myself - bed bugs don't count do they? Soooo loooong Ulan Bator.

Labels: travel