The amazing Moscow Metro.....
.....and it doesn't smell like piss!
5.7.10
29.6.10
Bony fish and beautiful landscapes - Olkhoum Island
Irkutsk was really just a stopping off point for the main attraction - Lake Baikal and Olkhoum Island. Lake Baikal boasts some pretty impressive statistics; deepest lake in the whole wide world, the biggest reserve of fresh drinking water in the world (outside the frozen ones) and really really cold water throughout the year, freezing during the winter to the point that you drive a car across rather then catch a ferry.
I stayed in Nikita's guesthouse, which provided board and 3 hearty meals a day. Yes, 2 of the meals each day involved bony fish, but just try telling them that you are a vegetarian on your third day (because you can't handle anymore bony fish) and you will find yourself facing an unimpressed Russian woman and will go hungry for the evening. No dinner for you! (No, it wasn't me. I knew better then to try that shit on...anyways, after milk and rice in Mongolia....). Nikita is an ex olympic table tennis champion and provides guests with 'sports room' facilities....which consists of two table tennis tables....and nothing else.
Olkhoum proved a great place to chill out, take in scenery, brave a dip in the 3 degree lake waters (me - never) and sit about in the 'banya' - sauna, or watch the cows do laps through the dusty streets of the sleepy village
Back on the train - onwards to Siberia!
So. I scored myself a cabin of my own again, check this out....
Gold. Pretty swish, hey? "On my own again" proved to be a false assumption, the Mongolians didn't quite play it that way. The door was opened on average every 15 minutes, blank faces peering in at me and disappearing, touts trying to sell me lumber support belts, a kid deciding it would be a good place to hang out and the stewardess' were giving me an unnatural amount of attention. Their attention, I later realised, was them sizing me up as a decoy for smuggling goods through customs into Russia. Which they did. And the penny only dropped for me on this front once we were well over the border. Which was almost touch and go for me- getting over the border that is.
My faultless planning was not so faultless and half way through the night as I filled out the required paperwork for the crossing, I realised that I would be trying to enter the country 2 days before my visa kicked in..... and one thing clearly articulated in the bible for travelling the transmongolian is that you don't give the Russian border officials any reason to hassle you. Oops.
I thought about what I would do if they decided to turf me out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, I thought about explanations and excuses, hell - I even thought about bribing but instead resolved to go with my default in such situations- look dumb and innocent. The official with a big hat came back to my cabin and told me that my documents said '7' whilst it was in fact the 5th and using his thumb and forefinger demonstrated that "we have a lee-tle problem" (think Russian accent) before disappearing with my passport. During this exchange I affected a suitable expression and hoped for the best.
An hour and a half later a soldier fronted up at my door with a stern expression - and handed me my passport.
I didn't open my mouth throughout the whole process! Dumb and innocent - I stand by it. This is the third time I've used it with border officials, with a 100% success rate.
Siberia. In the form of a town called Irktusk. After the sun exposure on the Mongolian steppes, the grey skies and cool temperatures were welcome, even if they did add an air of grimness to my first taste of Russia.
Irkutsk was celebrating its 349th birthday the day after I arrived and I was told the the streets would be "filled with people". I headed out to see how Irktusk partied and found the remnants of a parade.... hare krishnas and a float advertising a local nightclub - doosh doosh DJ and barely clad young ladies dancing erotically.
It seemed that Irkutsk didn't have a population big enough to fill the streets. The streets are wide and empty, the buildings bedraggled yet imposing, collectively giving off a wild west, frontier town vibe. There was something really familiar about it and Glasgow came to mind. It took me awhile to figure this implausible parallel out - ex merchant city, seen better days of grandeur and prosperity, people doing it tough and the same hard ass looks on the faces of the men.
Apparently next year they will restore some of the beautiful old wooden buildings dotted throughout the city. I became fascinated by these buildings, mostly the signs of life in the windows of the seemingly uninhabited structures.
Gold. Pretty swish, hey? "On my own again" proved to be a false assumption, the Mongolians didn't quite play it that way. The door was opened on average every 15 minutes, blank faces peering in at me and disappearing, touts trying to sell me lumber support belts, a kid deciding it would be a good place to hang out and the stewardess' were giving me an unnatural amount of attention. Their attention, I later realised, was them sizing me up as a decoy for smuggling goods through customs into Russia. Which they did. And the penny only dropped for me on this front once we were well over the border. Which was almost touch and go for me- getting over the border that is.My faultless planning was not so faultless and half way through the night as I filled out the required paperwork for the crossing, I realised that I would be trying to enter the country 2 days before my visa kicked in..... and one thing clearly articulated in the bible for travelling the transmongolian is that you don't give the Russian border officials any reason to hassle you. Oops.
I thought about what I would do if they decided to turf me out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, I thought about explanations and excuses, hell - I even thought about bribing but instead resolved to go with my default in such situations- look dumb and innocent. The official with a big hat came back to my cabin and told me that my documents said '7' whilst it was in fact the 5th and using his thumb and forefinger demonstrated that "we have a lee-tle problem" (think Russian accent) before disappearing with my passport. During this exchange I affected a suitable expression and hoped for the best.
An hour and a half later a soldier fronted up at my door with a stern expression - and handed me my passport.
I didn't open my mouth throughout the whole process! Dumb and innocent - I stand by it. This is the third time I've used it with border officials, with a 100% success rate.
Siberia. In the form of a town called Irktusk. After the sun exposure on the Mongolian steppes, the grey skies and cool temperatures were welcome, even if they did add an air of grimness to my first taste of Russia.
Irkutsk was celebrating its 349th birthday the day after I arrived and I was told the the streets would be "filled with people". I headed out to see how Irktusk partied and found the remnants of a parade.... hare krishnas and a float advertising a local nightclub - doosh doosh DJ and barely clad young ladies dancing erotically.It seemed that Irkutsk didn't have a population big enough to fill the streets. The streets are wide and empty, the buildings bedraggled yet imposing, collectively giving off a wild west, frontier town vibe. There was something really familiar about it and Glasgow came to mind. It took me awhile to figure this implausible parallel out - ex merchant city, seen better days of grandeur and prosperity, people doing it tough and the same hard ass looks on the faces of the men.
Apparently next year they will restore some of the beautiful old wooden buildings dotted throughout the city. I became fascinated by these buildings, mostly the signs of life in the windows of the seemingly uninhabited structures.
5.6.10
The horse champion and his wife
Our next hosts were an older couple and their 19 year old son. They were horse people and owned a whole posse. Bold was a champion rider and trainer in his time and very much a man about the steppes, alpha through and through. His wife was lovely and tried very hard with her english. For the third time in two days I was served milk and boiled white rice as a meal. I had to stop myself from a) gagging b) weeping. I don't eat either of these products. But, as a veggo, they seem to think this was a good option. On top of this, you get a bowl of milk tea (diluted milk, really) every time you enter the ger. Urgh. There are lots of do's and don'ts when it comes to being in a ger, engaging with the locals and we were briefed on them before we left. But. Still managed to transgress now and then.
Here's what the inside of a ger is typically like.
After a spot of archery and a very tense game of ankle bone horse racing, we turned in. The second family was quite prosperous and had a spare ger for us to sleep in. It was substantially warmer then our nights in the tent and a good nights rest was had by all.
The next day we joined in the seasonal ger moving. We were visiting the family in their winter pasture. Summer had ticked over and the ger had to be moved to the summer pastures. Handy having an extra 6 pairs of hands at such a time, eh?
So we helped dismantle it and load up the ox cart and then were transported to the new place ourselves. Putting up a ger is actually quite complicated- the tension of the central structure and the surrounding poles that make up the roof had to be just right. We were more of a hindrance then a help on this front so spent alot of time hanging about in the sun, getting burnt and dehydrated. The nomads use the river as a water source, but, not being nomads ourselves, we could only drink this if it had been boiled. At one point three of us were sent inside the ger to fix up some aesthetics. Finished, we sat down to enjoy the shade. At some point Bold remembered us and with a "hey hey!" flung open the door to find us sitting in a row, immobile. He had great fun recounting our laziness to his wife later that evening.
On a smoko break, Bold uncovered a wrestlers outfit (small "underpants" and vest) and decided one of the guys should try it on. No, not over your clothes. He practically undressed a somewhat distressed young englishman, slapping on the wrestlers garb, tucking in underwear here and there. It is hard to say no to this man. He took great pleasure in demonstrating to the guys that his wrists were the same size as their ankles.
Job done, we returned to winter pastures and had a brilliant feed (no milk!) that ma had prepared for us whilst we were erm, hard at work. A little rest for us and the oxcart was loaded and some horses saddled for our return journey to the Terelj bus stop, where we would catch a crowded ride to Ulan Bataar.
Here's what the inside of a ger is typically like.
After a spot of archery and a very tense game of ankle bone horse racing, we turned in. The second family was quite prosperous and had a spare ger for us to sleep in. It was substantially warmer then our nights in the tent and a good nights rest was had by all.
The next day we joined in the seasonal ger moving. We were visiting the family in their winter pasture. Summer had ticked over and the ger had to be moved to the summer pastures. Handy having an extra 6 pairs of hands at such a time, eh?So we helped dismantle it and load up the ox cart and then were transported to the new place ourselves. Putting up a ger is actually quite complicated- the tension of the central structure and the surrounding poles that make up the roof had to be just right. We were more of a hindrance then a help on this front so spent alot of time hanging about in the sun, getting burnt and dehydrated. The nomads use the river as a water source, but, not being nomads ourselves, we could only drink this if it had been boiled. At one point three of us were sent inside the ger to fix up some aesthetics. Finished, we sat down to enjoy the shade. At some point Bold remembered us and with a "hey hey!" flung open the door to find us sitting in a row, immobile. He had great fun recounting our laziness to his wife later that evening.
On a smoko break, Bold uncovered a wrestlers outfit (small "underpants" and vest) and decided one of the guys should try it on. No, not over your clothes. He practically undressed a somewhat distressed young englishman, slapping on the wrestlers garb, tucking in underwear here and there. It is hard to say no to this man. He took great pleasure in demonstrating to the guys that his wrists were the same size as their ankles.
Job done, we returned to winter pastures and had a brilliant feed (no milk!) that ma had prepared for us whilst we were erm, hard at work. A little rest for us and the oxcart was loaded and some horses saddled for our return journey to the Terelj bus stop, where we would catch a crowded ride to Ulan Bataar.
Heading further into the vastness
We didn't have alot of Mongolian, they didn't have alot of English, so the next day we were able to decipher that we were going on a trip, 10km away in truck. Why was a bit ambiguous. There was cutting involved and the number five and grandma. Were we going to shear sheep? No. Someone's turning 5. Is grandma shearing sheep? Everyone got into there Sunday best and we piled into the back of a big blue truck - 13 adults and 5 children. More blue skies, blaring sun and vastness.
Lots of dust...... and a flat tyre.
We arrived at another few white dots in the landscape and a celebration. It transpires, a little guy had just turned five and as was tradition, his mane had to be chopped off. We sat about inside the ger with an assortment of friends and family. He wept uncontrollably at the indignanty, eyes firmly fixed on the roof of the ger, too proud to look at anyone. The scissors were passed around, he was moved along and each individual chopped a piece of his hair which was then placed in a bag around his neck. In exchange, he received gifts and money. As he went along, these proved to be of interest and the wailing lessened. There was food and fermented milk, which strangely tasted like wine and then we whitey's decided to make room for the steady stream of newcomers and left the ger. Did I mention the sun? We desperately found some shade - in the pitiful shadow of a ger.
We also went for a walk up the hill
And found that birthday boy was a likely direct descendant of Chingis Khan. The terror had no problems hitting with a stick, kicking and battering anything in sight. Including us... The other kids were still cute and surprisingly did more disciplining of him then any of the adults.
When our hosts were done, we piled back into the back of the truck for the journey home. Along the way we stopped so that a lamb could be singled out and captured from within a herd of sheep, as well as to pick up a motorcycle. Somehow we all fit.
It was mental. But, you just had to roll with it. And reapply the sunscreen. On returning, we were told to clean ourselves up as we neededto be taken to our next family. Down to the river for a wash!
Lots of dust...... and a flat tyre.
We arrived at another few white dots in the landscape and a celebration. It transpires, a little guy had just turned five and as was tradition, his mane had to be chopped off. We sat about inside the ger with an assortment of friends and family. He wept uncontrollably at the indignanty, eyes firmly fixed on the roof of the ger, too proud to look at anyone. The scissors were passed around, he was moved along and each individual chopped a piece of his hair which was then placed in a bag around his neck. In exchange, he received gifts and money. As he went along, these proved to be of interest and the wailing lessened. There was food and fermented milk, which strangely tasted like wine and then we whitey's decided to make room for the steady stream of newcomers and left the ger. Did I mention the sun? We desperately found some shade - in the pitiful shadow of a ger.
We also went for a walk up the hill
And found that birthday boy was a likely direct descendant of Chingis Khan. The terror had no problems hitting with a stick, kicking and battering anything in sight. Including us... The other kids were still cute and surprisingly did more disciplining of him then any of the adults.
When our hosts were done, we piled back into the back of the truck for the journey home. Along the way we stopped so that a lamb could be singled out and captured from within a herd of sheep, as well as to pick up a motorcycle. Somehow we all fit.
It was mental. But, you just had to roll with it. And reapply the sunscreen. On returning, we were told to clean ourselves up as we neededto be taken to our next family. Down to the river for a wash!
Mongolia and the nomads
Joining a gang with similar interests, a trip was booked in the nearby countryside with view to getting into it ASAP and experiencing nomadic life. This was done through a group called Ger-to-Ger (who are a bunch of %*@*$!) and the next 5 days proved to be a roller coaster of disappointment, frustration and wonderful experiences.
We took a public bus to Terelj National Park and had a very 'snug' journey- wedged between bags and locals. One elderly fellow was using me as a standing post and I had to firmly anchor myself to keep both of us upright. No, it's not that he's losing his balance with the ageing process - he was able to communicate through mime that vodka had been consumed. Not a selfish character, he did also pull out the bottle and shot glass, attempting to share with the rest of the bus. On arriving at the last bus stop we came across a local and let him know that we wanted to camp. He was kind enough to walk us to a beautiful spot.
Waking bright and early and excited at the prospect of meeting the first nomadic family we were going to stay with. We then waited 6 hours in the dust and sun, waiting to get picked up. We didn't get picked up. We couldn't figure out why. Back we went to our spot and camp was set up again. We were despondent and running out of food and water. Maybe we would just have to free camp on our own.....
The next day we rang the *@#&*!! and, I won't bore you with details, but we eventually found ourselves on the back of an ox cart, crossing vast open spaces "little house on the prairies" style.
Eighteen kms and I don't know how many hours in the blaring sun, we found ourselves with our first family. The man of the ger was 31, his wife 28 and they had two kids. Grandma was in another ger up the hill and friend's with kids were also about. We set up our tents and were sat down to a traditional Mongolian craft lesson. Whilst ma then cooked up dinner, we hung out with and corrupted the kids. It all seemed pretty innocent, kicking a ball around, teaching ring-a-rosie, hand clapping games and a bit of picking them up and spinning them about. All good until they picked up by the hands their 1 year old little brother and spun him about violently in an unrestrained manner. What brilliant fun we had shown them! We all jumped in with a no! put him down! and managed to wrestle him off them. The poor fella looked bewildered and dazed and on placing him on his feet, found that he was unable to stand. We then had to lay him down on his back and all peered down at him in concern - a spinning mass of white faces, no doubt.
We took a public bus to Terelj National Park and had a very 'snug' journey- wedged between bags and locals. One elderly fellow was using me as a standing post and I had to firmly anchor myself to keep both of us upright. No, it's not that he's losing his balance with the ageing process - he was able to communicate through mime that vodka had been consumed. Not a selfish character, he did also pull out the bottle and shot glass, attempting to share with the rest of the bus. On arriving at the last bus stop we came across a local and let him know that we wanted to camp. He was kind enough to walk us to a beautiful spot.
Waking bright and early and excited at the prospect of meeting the first nomadic family we were going to stay with. We then waited 6 hours in the dust and sun, waiting to get picked up. We didn't get picked up. We couldn't figure out why. Back we went to our spot and camp was set up again. We were despondent and running out of food and water. Maybe we would just have to free camp on our own.....The next day we rang the *@#&*!! and, I won't bore you with details, but we eventually found ourselves on the back of an ox cart, crossing vast open spaces "little house on the prairies" style.
Eighteen kms and I don't know how many hours in the blaring sun, we found ourselves with our first family. The man of the ger was 31, his wife 28 and they had two kids. Grandma was in another ger up the hill and friend's with kids were also about. We set up our tents and were sat down to a traditional Mongolian craft lesson. Whilst ma then cooked up dinner, we hung out with and corrupted the kids. It all seemed pretty innocent, kicking a ball around, teaching ring-a-rosie, hand clapping games and a bit of picking them up and spinning them about. All good until they picked up by the hands their 1 year old little brother and spun him about violently in an unrestrained manner. What brilliant fun we had shown them! We all jumped in with a no! put him down! and managed to wrestle him off them. The poor fella looked bewildered and dazed and on placing him on his feet, found that he was unable to stand. We then had to lay him down on his back and all peered down at him in concern - a spinning mass of white faces, no doubt.
The Train Journey begins!
An early start and a bit of effort found me on the train. My friends in second class, me feeling slightly guilty in first class - slightly - AND I had the cabin all to myself!
Much sleep, knitting and reading was had in the 36 hours to Ulan Bataar.
And much gazing out the window.....
There was a bit of desert, alot of vast green steppe and the obligatory middle of the night customs/border patrol processes. Hate them, hate them. In the middle of the night! It's 2:30-3:00 before you can sleep. Plus they changed the "wheels".
And then finally - Ulan Bataar
Much sleep, knitting and reading was had in the 36 hours to Ulan Bataar.
And much gazing out the window.....
There was a bit of desert, alot of vast green steppe and the obligatory middle of the night customs/border patrol processes. Hate them, hate them. In the middle of the night! It's 2:30-3:00 before you can sleep. Plus they changed the "wheels".
And then finally - Ulan Bataar
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