Train Living
My lack of sleep has finally caught up with me and I am exhausted. I get on the train at 2:30 and take a nap from 4-5. I try not to sleep too much, afraid I won’t sleep tonight. I wake up, chat with Joe a bit, and eat a ton of cookies with some fruit tea I picked up in China. But the rocking and the darkness and the constant hum finally lull me back to sleep at around 7, so I set an alarm for 9 p.m., as the border crossing is at 9:50 and I need to fill out my customs forms. The train is again quite empty. My carriage consists of only myself in a 2-person cabin and 2 Japanese women who seem to be traveling together in the cabin next door. I didn’t even find out where the dining car is.
Customs and border crossing
Holy shit the Russian customs guys are no joke. The train rolls into the station at around 9:45, with camoflage-wearing soldiers standing at attention on the platfor, 2-3 for each train car. The train attendant lays out a cloth runner to protect the train carpets from the combat boots. But first, Mongolian border patrol. A Mongolian officer comes to my room, turns on all the lights, asks for my passport, and commands me to stand. He examines my passport and my face to make sure I am the same person. He then disappears with my passport. Next is a customs officer. She asks for my customs form, asks if I have any alcohol or medicine. I show her the bottle of beer, still unopened. She accepts and then leaves. A third Mongolian person comes in, asks me to stand, lift my bunk (the luggage storage is under the bed), and take out my luggage. I open my suitcase and he goes through it a bit, then tells me to put it away and leaves. I can hear them go to the next room. They are much more thorough checking them. I initially assumed it was because they were Japanese, but overheard one of them explain why she has multiple Russian visas. I guess she goes there often and every time, is asked many questions. Then came the Russian border control. While the Mongolian officers wore uniforms, the Russian officers wore fatigues and combat boots, instantly discomforting and intimidating. They walk in, close the shades on the cabin window so you can’t see outside and no can see inside. Again I was asked for my passport, asked to stand, watched as a military person tried to discern if the person in my passport photo is the same as the tired/frazzled bags-under-the-eyes person before him. He then leaves and 3 others approach. They ask me to stand, then ask me to leave my bunk as they search it. 1 stands in the hallway with me while the other 2 look in all of the storage spaces to see if I have stashed anything. The lady officer touches and moves my red coat, hanging on the wall. They then ask me to take my suitcase back out from under the bunk, open it again, and they again go through it, asking if I have anything hidden. He makes me pull out my Russian language books and flip through them. It is very stressful and intimidating and though I have nothing that I know is illegal, I really want to toss about half of what I have with me…cookies and beer and advil. Anything that looks incriminating. The stop is scheduled for 80 minutes. I’m not sure how they manage if the train is full. Or perhaps they are so thorough because they are bored and there are only 3 of us on the train.
More customs ?!?
So it turns out I was wrong about that. At around midnight, the train started moving, so I curled up and went back to sleep. 30 minutes later, the train stops and another knock at the door: customs and passport control again. I’m not sure what the third country is that I’m passing through here, but somehow there are 3 customs checks. This time, a female officer arrives, asking for my passport and arrival/departure card. There is a space for ‘visa number’ and I have written what is in the line for ‘visa id’ on my visa. She irritatedly hands me my passport and a pen and points to a red number at the top of the visa, not labeled as anything, to write as my visa number. I start writing and she says ‘quickly please’. As if I’m somehow not doing it fast enough. I hand it back to her and she presses it against the wall and bangs the stamp on each one, ‘wham, wham!’. She leaves and another customs agent arrives. She steps into my room and says ‘Get out.’ Ok, done. I’m standing in the hallway as she climbs a ladder to check the overhead luggage storage area (where I do not have anything stored) and she asks ‘Is that correct? ‘get out’?’ She is smilling but also in a uniform and checking to see if I should be sent to prison or executed, so I do not correct her. Yes, ‘get out’ is fine. She asks if it is also correct to say ‘follow me to the corridor’. Yes, that is much nicer. She smiles and leaves without asking me to drag my suitecase out from under my bunk again, for which I am grateful. She leaves and we are at the station until again almost 2 a.m. No one says anything, so I wait, lights on, door open, in case another officer arrives. I fall asleep again, lights on and everything. Once the train starts moving again, I get up, kill the lights, and sleep until morning. I know that you know that if you are reading this, obviously it was written afterwards and I am fine, so you never get the sense of dread that I might have actually been carted off because my Mongolian cookies have some forbidden ingredient.
Sleeping in
I had set an alarm for 8 a.m., trying to get my sleep schedule back on track. I roused, killed the alarm, and back to sleep. Then again the alarm went off at 9. I looked at the map, seeing we are nowhere near Irkutsk (our scheduled arrival time is 2:37 this afternoon) and went back to sleep. After a week of 2-5 a.m. writing sessions, waking up at 5 to build a fire in my ger, and endless border crossing sleepless nights, my body needed it. And this is exactly why I needed to have days on the train. If I were in a town, my nervous energy would have propelled me wearily forward out into the snow, tired, perhaps forgetful, probably miserable but pushing through. Days on the train, it’s ok to sleep until noon. And oh my this train bed is way more comfy than the last one. This is a Russian train, and the bed itself is soft, unlike the Chinese train. And the blankets are like a comforter, soft and fluffy. The last train had a very coarse single blanket, which is warm enough because the train is quite warm, but not soft and comforting. And the pillows. 2 giant fluffy pillows awaited me here. These are the nicest pillows on the trip so far, including in all of the hotels. I had one to sink my head into and another to use as a body pillow. With the train being so warm, rocking me to sleep, I still had to push myself to get up at noon. I will be crossing 7 different time zones over the next few days, each one making the hours earlier and earlier, so it’s ok to start sleeping in a bit.
Breakfast and Lunch
As I woke up having had no proper dinner or breakfast, I went out in search of the dining car. But alas, somehow this train lacks a dining car. The carriage attendant has a variety of teas, coffees, sodas, and candy bars for sale, as advertised in the hallway. But the only thing that is actually food is a small cup-of-soup container of mashed potatoes. I first make myself a cup of coffee and sat in my cabin eating more of the cookies I purchased yesterday along with the pastry and my coffee. The pastry was similar to the not-too-sweet Chinese pastries, and had red bean paste inside. After I finished my breakfast, I waited about 10 minutes, then decided it was lunch time. I decided to finally prepare one of the ramen-noodle packs I had purchased in the Beijing train station. I went to the hot water station and filled my travel bowl/mug with hot water, then went back to my cabin. I opened the packet of ramen noodles only to find…. they weren’t ramen noodles. They’re toasts. Little try toasts, with spices on them. They taste good, but are certainly not lunch. At this point, I go order the mashed potatoes and a bottle of water. I add water and make the potatoes, eating them with the spiced toasts. All-in-all, a rather tasty lunch, but I have had nothing but cookies and potatoes and pastries for over 24 hours now. I’m carbo-loading for that marathon I plan to run tomorrow. Mission number 1 for my arrival in Irkutsk is to find some protein.
Final thoughts on Mongolia
I enjoyed my time in Mongolia, but I think that the city of Ulan Bator is not really the most interesting part of Mongolia. I think it would be more more fun and interesting to learn about and visit the nomadic people who live in the dessert. The ger camp I stayed in was obviously just for tourists and not any sort of authentic experience. Even the food in the restaurant was very western. Every experience I had seemed to be completely catered to western tourists, no matter how many times I asked to try other things. My impression of the food is that it was ok, but mostly flavorless, as nothing had any seasoning to it. It is as if you took the lack of flavors found in Russian/European food and combined it with the more Asian cooking styles where all of the animal parts are used. I’m pretty sure that’s completely inaccurate, but this is all I was allowed to try. I really left the country with the sense that everyone had decided that I was either too delicate and couldn’t handle it or too stupid and wouldn’t ‘get it’. And I can’t even be angry…because I know they probably get western tourists all the time who complain about the food and yell loudly about who would ever eat *that*? And they know the taboos of eating horse meat and don’t want to be judged or gawked at for their culture. I get it. Every time I sat down to eat in China, my guide or host would be amazed at my ability to eat with chopsticks. “Wow, you are really good with chopsticks” seems to be the local version of ‘Wow, your English is really good.’ And again, I ponder, there are a million Chinese restaurants everywhere…everyone in the US has access to chopsticks and food to eat with them. And even for me, a person who loves travel, traveling to Asia instead of Europe is more oustide my comfort zone. So who is this person? Who is the person that is so closed off to the world that they don’t bother to learn to eat with chopsticks, but who actually travels to China? I’m curious about you, person. It can’t just be businessmen who get sent to random places, because those rich guys are always into sushi. I’m envisioning the Griswalds showing up in Beijing, having accidentally purchased tickets. In Mongolia, every meal, except the Mongolian BBQ, was served with forks and knives. Even though my guide said he always eats with chopsticks at home. Even though we looked at several exhibits in the history museum of warriors’ personal chopsticks and knives, in little holders they wore on their belts. Chopsticks were so personal that you didn’t share them or use common ones…you always carried your own.
So here is a great story. Just so you know.
My driver arrived on time at the train station and we were off to Listvyanka. We made the hour-long drive with ease, all as she explained the different things to do in Listvyanka and how to arrange them. She recommended 2 restaurants, ‘New Centuries’, which she pointed at as having a red roof, and ‘Listvyanka Club’, which she said isn’t as good. I arrived at my adorable bed-&-breakfast hotel and checked in. Everything is wood, looks like a dry sauna. I have a very nice room with a little balcony that looks out at the mountain, but is covered in snow. It was about 4 p.m., and the sun sets at 5, so I decided to drop off my things and immediately head out for a walk.
The restaurant was to the right, so I started out by exploring a bit to the left, as the road dead ends to the left and that is the edge of town. There are some mini marts, a fancy lighthouse hotel, and souvenir shops, but not a lot going on. So I turned around and started walking the other way. There are no sidewalks, and all of the snow is pushed to the edge of the road, so you have to walk in the road. Otherwise, walking through the snow is like trudging through sand. So slow and heavy. It’s exhausting. So I’m walking in the road, stepping to the side any time there’s a car, back into the road. Walking. And walking. As it gets darker and darker. No way to see the red roof.
The lake is on one side of the road, no business or buildings, just drop-off into the not-yet-frozen lake. The side where I am walking has many buildings, several under construction or repair, and most of them guest houses. I eventually get to the Listvyanka club, but decide I can keep walking and find the better restaurant. As I continue walking, I no longer have cell signal, so I can’t google on the map where this restaurant is. And I’m not sure the Russian word for century, but the word for ‘new’ is ‘novaya’, so I keep looking. There is 1 restaurant that I pass, named Shaman, with loud music playing. I pass another guest house with a cafe/bar. I’m getting tired and a little concerned that I’m not even going the right way or that I’ve already passed it, so I decide to stop in at whatever the next open place is.
I see a little mini mart and a restaurant, so I step into the restaurant. For the first time, I observe myself…it has been snowing during my entire walk and I am covered in snow. my hat, my coat, my boots. I try to shake it off outside and come back in. The waitress asks in English if I want to sit down and eat. I try to tell her I am lost, looking for a restaurant called “new” something. She doesn’t understand. I finally give up and just say yes, I am here to eat. I sit at a little table by the window, and order a beer. They have good German beers on tap and Baltica only in bottles, so I have an Affligem. I am starving, so I order an appitizer of tomato and onion dip, and a ‘Siberian style’ steak. The dip arrives and, foolishly I had expected it to be a cheese or cream dip, but no. It’s literally pureed tomatoes and chopped raw garlic…and it is delicious. Then my steak came and it’s a layered dish of steak, topped with onions in cream sauce, then more steak, then more onions and cream, then melted cheese on top. I really feel like this is my food home. Slavic/Eastern European food, just heavy in cheese and garlic and horseradish. Mmmmm. Full and tired, I ask the waitress to call me a taxi back to my room.
Back home
I arrive back in my room and immediately start to search for the restaurant. I want to see how I missed it…did I not walk far enough? Did I pass it? How far exactly did I walk? Well….as it turns out, the restaurant I was in was called ‘Proshli Vek’ (I haven’t installed a Cyrillic keyboard on this chromebook yet…). So I google it and it turns out ‘Vek’ means century….and I already knew that Proshli means ‘next’….so the whole time, I had been in the restaurant I was looking for! Yay me 😛
