Today began with a sleep-in, definitely necessary considering the intestinal maelstrom I've been battling lately.
Finally, the decision was made that enough had been allocated, for now. Trying not to disturb Dom too much, I managed to pack, isolate the stuff that I was planning to post, take my morning dose of antibiotics, shower and chat to Charlotte from back home on the internet for a good hour. As I was finishing up my preparations, Dom appeared to reanimate and made a staggering lurch to the bathroom. Finishing quickly with the lights now on, we discussed the timings for the day and I made a hasty departure for the post-office.
Today would be an interesting exercise of choreography. I'd woken up early enough but had left the room much later than I'd planned. It was about 1030 when I ran into Adam, Katie and Sadat on the street and we agreed to meet at midday to tour the wall. This meeting would coincide with the checkout time, leaving about an hour to send my package home and get a coffee or go to the markets. There might be some time this afternoon, after the wall....
urgh, and I was feeling really wrotten.
The post-office was cloaked behind the facade of a mobile phone shop and two columns of teenagers dancing around with brochures, trying to advertise things to the locals. This appeared to be the only challenge for use, however, as once I got inside I was helped by everyone. One gent took my bag of stuff and packed it into a box (while inspecting it to make sure it was appropriate for postage) and then sealed it. Another girl (who spoke better English than I do, most elegant) gave me the forms to fill out and then processed it, along with selling me stamps to send my post-cards. In all, it cost about $40 to send the 2.9kg of hats, books, dolls and trinkets home via sea-mail.. maybe it would even get home before me!
One oddity was a man who appeared on the upper level of the post-office, screaming and bellowing. Making his way down the escalator at a break-neck speed and out the door, his cries of rage and anguish faded into the street. No one really seemed to notice or even interact, so I got back to my packaging.
Post-cards to my friends and package to parents on its way, it was time for some more sustenance. I'd had some fruit for breakfast and would have murdered for a nice bowl of muesli with yoghurt.. I was feeling far too dodgy for asian food and needed a pick-me up...
Starbucks was the only thing even remotely close to what I needed...
I felt dirty.. like a little piece of me had died while I ordered that coffee.
Technically, the coffee was well executed and fulfilled its purpose, and the Starbucks DID have free WiFi which allowed me to get the various applications on my iPhone to run properly.. but I was sad to once again stray from the “Traveller's way” and resort to that which was familiar.
The walk to the coffee shop had been punctuated by a crowd surrounding some creature screaming bloody-murder. Wandering close to the congregation of people, I saw above the heads and between legs that there was a man of similar appearance to the “expressive” chap that had broken the monotony in the post-office. Two other men were with him, one having put his arm into a lock-hold and the other working in concert to hold him on the ground by putting a foot on his neck. The continued screams and bellows of animal rage had me thinking that either the police with handcuffs or an ambulance with chemical restraints would probably be arriving before too long. Such voiceless expressions spoke of an inner pain, of loss beyond imagine, or of a near overdose of amphetamines.. Quietly slipping past, I continued through the subway towards my promises of coffee. There was nothing that I could possibly do to help here.
A little late on the trip back from the coffee shop to the hotel, I could only hope that I would be able to get to the markets in the Muslim quarter later. Meeting Adam and Andy in the lobby, they had waited for me and continued to wait while I fetched my bag and checked out. They truly are two of the most awesome travelling companions that I could ask for.
After briefly begging a maid to let me in (my key appeared to have stopped working at midday), jamming the last two things into my pack and humping down the hall to Lillian's room before a quick check-out, we were on our way.
The walk to the city wall was longer than I had originally remembered, I think that the last few days of exercises had done wonders to my knee though and I hardly noticed the walk or the pace. Meeting Greg and Alice inside of the wall, we started our little stroll along the battlements.
The Xi'an City Wall is a couple of kilometres along each face and encompasses all of the old city. It is approximately 20 metres high about street level on the interior wall and has a steep drop into a moat for much of the exterior wall that we saw. Wide enough for a dual-carriage way highway, it is an impressive piece of fortification. You could have park two or three mac trucks side by side on it.. or possibly land a plane along it, it is certainly long enough for the average run-way. The top of the wall facing the oncoming enemy was capped with parapets along its length, some with additional steps though the majority had their lower edge at waist height and the finished above my head. About every 200 metres there was either a guardhouse building or the vacancy for such a building, ongoing construction and restoration work was taking place in several locations.
Best traversed on a bicycle in less than “100 minutes”, such a convenience may be hired for 20 Yuan plus a 200 Yuan deposit (or leaving your passport).
Well, hired by anyone but us...
Despite having half a dozen of the two wheeled vehicles in their little yards, none of the bicycle vendors would loan us a machine... leaving us to start a fairly long walk..
Starting at the South Gate and walking about 1.5km to a giant circular outpost. Acting as the junction between the South and West wall, this outcrop worked in concert with the West gate to offer mutual coverage and protection. The view across the old city was much of what we had come to expect from the time we had spent here, a strange interspersed mix of ancient tile roofs with block concrete. Rejuvenated antiquity with decaying contemporary siblings. Looking out over the wall, the outer city was cloaked in the profoundly thick smog.
With visibility at a little over a kilometre, the skyscrapers that we had been unaware of till now were great looming shadows stretching high above the world. The ancient city wall had been shielding us much of the modern progression of this place.
Looking back along our path, the rows of red lanterns on the outer edge of the wall lined the distance. Disappearing into the thick atmosphere, we could not see where we had mounted the wall. Even each of the guard towers would have been beyond visible distance from each other.
We turned around and made our way back when we got to the West Gate, deciding that we would get lunch in what I remembered being introduced as the Academic district. These markets were much slower paced and no where near as packed as the Muslim quarter. Much more sedate and somewhat more refined, the shops sold brushes, ink, calligraphy and carved name-stamps. Stalls full of little curiosities, beads, bracelets and necklaces of carved stones and jade. This section of the city was devoid of the fade watches and sunglasses. There was no cheap-gaudy junk here, plenty of touristy things but certainly a lot more pleasant and refined than elsewhere. The vendors were no where near as busy, but felt no need to hassle or harass the people passing by. Foreigners were smiled at rather than confronted and it took a good minute or two of browsing before the inevitable “good price! what you want?!?!?!”
Working in tag-team with some of the others, I picked up a little fake jade necklace made of a small green disc with a centre hole and suspended on a red cord. Very similar to what I gave Marianne for Christmas a couple of years ago. Adam and Greg paid 5 Yaun to watch a man blow a little chicken out of toffee in the same way as you would from molten glass. Continuing on to lunch, I was still feeling really dodgy but joined the group for vegetarian dumplings. Absolutely delicious and incredibly cheap, we ate all we could for about 2 Yuan each (about 40 cents) and I started to feel a lot better.
We dispersed on the way back to the hotel, stocking up on fruit and food for the train journey tonight, I took off back to the markets in the Muslim quarter to pick up some final cheap junk..
Navigating through the crowd and tight corridors of the marketplace, I irritated a pair of pick-pockets by being a little too vigilant and made off to less dense areas. I picked up a little stamp and watched the older gentleman carve the chinese character translation of my name in the bottom. Incredibly impressive for freehand work, I also got a pack of postcards and a little container of ink thrown into the deal. Working forward, I got some filthy cheap Ray-Ban Aviator glasses knock-offs. I was tempted to get a fake Rolex, he was offering a reasonable price for the Automatic winders... but I resisted.
I was a little disappointed that I couldn't find the day-pack that I'd planned on buying, having to hunt for nearly an hour ot find a suitable substitute. That said, I got a nike knockoff at a lot less than I expected and it was a bit more compact. The girl convinced me to buy a leather wallet as well. She was unimpressed at how much I paid, the filthy look telling me that I wasn't getting ripped off too badly.
Purchases made and my new man-bag filled with the prizes of would-be pick-pockets, I took off back to the hotel feeling a lot safer about my possessions. Stopping only long enough to buy a cheap little combination lock, I noticed the stall with the day-pack I'd been hunting for earlier. Not taking the risk of seeing the bag I'd hunted for, I doubled my pace and told myself that I'd gotten a better case for my laptop at a much better price than I'd expected. Quit whining..
Back in the hotel, we shifted bags from the storage room to the lobby and killed time till the bus arrived. The short ride and little walk after had us sitting in the train station for about an hour. Managing to find free wifi, the technologically gifted amongst us made excellent use of the facilities. Soon enough, and half way through downloads, we bugged-out of our little refugee camp and made our way through the check-points to the platform. Long walk later, we were in our compartments and settling in for the night.
Tomorrow lunchtime would see us in Shanghi.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
021008 – Xi'an
My alarm got me out of bed at a suitably early hour. This morning we would be visiting the Terracotta Warriors, reputed to be the EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD!!! I quickly refreshed myself and went out looking for breakfast and something to carry for lunch.
Having done a little surveillance from the hotel room, I crossed the street and picked up two little fried parcels. The first was filled with a fried egg. Though tasty, I was still a little spent on eggs after the middle east.. The first bite of the second parcel was heavenly, it was filled with a type of chopped and cooked spinach mixed with spring onions, chives and various other leafy greens. However, my exclamation of WOW quickly turned. The first bite was delightful, put the flavour of the morsel quickly became burdensome.
Breakfast partially completed, I reversed the steps of the orientation walk. Heading back towards one of the connecting streets, away from the main strip, I found the part of the city where all of the locals ate. Running into Petra and Anna on the way, we joined forces and chatted while selecting fruit and snacks for lunch. Failing to find any break in the little supermarkets, we each bought banana's and apples, the girls picking some more fruit, from the little trailers on the street. Prices were negotiated in sign language, I'd managed to start being able to hear the sounds of the different numbers but was still an awfully long way off of haggling.
The final victory of the morning was at a hot plate towed behind a bike. Happily paying the 2 or 3 Yuan, I watched with hungry eyes as the gentleman prepared a crepe. Smearing an egg across one side along with some chopped greens and then flipping it as soon as it had hardened, he filled what would become the interior with a crunchy type of deep-fried bread and a dark paste that had been spread across the thin batter. I'd seen these being cooked yesterday and had heard about them from Lillian. Now one of them was mine!
Breakfast was finished with the Swedish girls on the way back to the hotel. We chatted for the length of the little walk and then waited out the front for the rest of the group. Finally everyone had assembled and Lillian introduced the local guide for the day for giving a brief farewell along with instructions for the rest of the day. Boarding the bus, we had at least 1.5 hours each way to the Terracotta warriors.
While heading away from the city centre, our guide gave us some information about the warriors, the area they were in, the history and significance and the option to go to the “government factory”. She had the particular gift to talk no matter what and I could see that it would be a very long ride. The group agreed as a whole to go to the “government factory”, though the amount that the guide elaborated on “.. very good quality, very cheap, you should buy there..” made it sound like a Carpet Tour. At the least, we would learn how the great ceramic warriors were made and it would offer us a toilet break.
Arriving at the factory, we disembarked and waited for our guide to get us on a little tour. Most of us spent the wait by getting silly photos in the partial statues out the front. Missing the heads and hands, we got to “wear” half of the statue in each photo. I got a couple of photos while pulling “angry eyes” at the camera.
Inside the factory, we watches as ladies prepared the miniature figures for firing. The guide talked us through the process as the workers stuffed clay into moulds before pulling them apart and lining up the little brown soldiers to dry. The rate that they were fabricating them was fantastic, combined with the price that they were asking must give this factory a licence to print money!
We saw the kilns and some partially completed full-sized statues, but did not get to see the craftsmen working on them. Instead we were directed past some pretty girls painting figurine. At least the fabrication process was explained to us. The great statues were all made by hand, the body and the head separately, before drying and then being fired at somewhere between 900-1100 degrees. The heads were made separately and then mounted in the cavity that was the neck in the main body. This allowed the gas within the hollow statues to expand during firing, preventing the statues from exploding or sagging. Also assuming, the heads required more detail and were more fragile, the bodies would have been more suitable for mass-production.
Into another section, we watched what I would assume were master-craftsmen creating the detailed and colourful furniture tops. Mother of Pearl and lacquered finishes covered paper and wooden surfaces with impressively detailed stories and scenes of significant characters.
The short tour was finished in the maze of what was the sales room. Starting with a supply of the great statues, everyone stopped for photos with the Emperor, Generals, Officers, Soldiers and Archers. The were horses that were still lacking tails (assumedly they were somewhat fragile and the “tail hole” was necessary for the firing process). The three great chambers required traversing its entire stockpile in order to escape. Getting lost once and requiring directions twice, I was able to find a western toilet and even a cafe within the show-room before fleeing out the exit. They really wanted to sell. All of the prices were extortionate, somewhere between double or ten-fold what I would have been prepared to pay. They still REALLY wanted to sell something.
Waiting out the front for the rest of the group to assemble and go hunting for the bus, I wished that the show-room had been more reasonable in its prices. I would have loved to have bought a little terracotta statue for Mum and Dad, or even myself, but the prices were ten to twenty times more than what was on offer at the markets. I really could not have justified spending $40-60AUD on a 15cm figurine..
Many of us dozed for the rest of the way to the historical site. Mercifully, the local guide had tired of the sound of her own voice and left us undisturbed. With the first day of the National Holiday in full swing, the traffic snarls sprouted, reared and bared teeth while I snoozed. Finally waking within a kilometre of the museum, I stared out the window for the next 20 minutes before it was unanimously decided that we would walk the remaining 700 metres.
Joining the crowds of pedestrians ricochetting between the stationary cars, we quickly made it to the great statue overlooking the museum parking lot. A short but pointless wait later, we followed the guide as she purchased out tickets and began the long walk through the gardens that had once been farmland, all the way to the main complex of buildings.
The story of the Terracotta warriors is that there was an Emperor who, on turning 13 years of age, began to have his tomb constructed. Eventually it was completed and he had all of the surviving workers executed, in order to keep its location a secret. Due to this and other decisions, that particular Emperor was not overly popular. Some years later, soldiers broke into the great pits housing the soldiers, stealing the weapons, smashing the statues and setting fire to the structure. The pits had been dug as rows with columns of dirt supporting the roof. The roof was made of thick logs covered with reed mats and then several layers of soil and rocks. The actions of the looters caused the complete collapse, destruction and burying of the ceramic army.
The legacy of this particular, unpopular, emperor was lost. The few who had known forgot or died. The secret of the builder and the shame of the looters was never passed on.
Time passed. The world above grew and shrank. Life, death, wars and change all took their turn.
For the next 3000 years, farmland grew above. No one knew of the 6000 graves of a Terracotta Army.
One day, three farmers decided to dig a well. Perhaps there was a reason for the particular place in the farmland where they would dig. I'm sure there was no reason for the exact, specific, precise location that they chose.
This place was in the very corner of the Number One pit, the largest feature of the archaeological site. Some metres down from the surface, one of the farmers uncovered a vibrantly painted terracotta head. Several days later, one of the farmers notified the authorities and officials made their way out to investigate. If you pick the day right, you can meet the farmer who called the government. He lost his farm to what is one of the most significant historical finds in China. He will even sign your gift book of the museum.
Had they dug the well even one metre away from where fate had dictated, these planes would be unnoticeable, indistinguishable farmland. What was forgotten would still be lost.
Entering into the museum complex, we were taken to see a movie outlining the history of the place. Unfortunately, our guide either mistimed, or didn't care, and we got to see the 10 minute documentary in Chinese rather than English. Still, we got the salient facts. Taking this time to suck down drinks and ice-creams, we followed on to the No. 1 pit which houses the vast majority of the statues.
I'll take this time to air an observation. Whenever somebody says “the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers”, almost everyone things of long dark trenches, illuminated by wooden torches. Off into the distance, a vast army of thousands upon thousands of dark statues stand a silent guard in the shadows. The only sound in this place is your frightened breathing as you creep along rank and file. If your submissive respect falters for even a second, they might animate, come-at-arms and bring you down for your dishonour to their emperor...
The No. 1 pit of the Terracotta Warriors is instead housed in what appears to be a fair sized hangar (a couple of hundred metres long), you are about 5 metres above the pit at all times and surrounded by about 10,000 of the loudest and most obnoxious Chinese tourists you could ever imagine. You wish that you only had to tolerate the screaming kids, instead your entire experience has the sound-track of the adults bellowing, chattering and screaming at each other. While on the street, the vast and overwhelming majority of Chinese Citizens are pleasant and friendly, here they were rude, pushing and shoving or even walking over or through you. If you have ever heard of the term “Little Emperor Syndrome” imagine a couple of thousand adults that need some manners back-handed into them.
Below you, at the front of the pit, there are a half-dozen rows of assembled and restored statues. There is then a long stretch of smashed pottery to show the discovered state of the site. Behind, for the rest of the dig, is mostly untouched earth. This is a work in progress, there is still a LOT of work to be done.
While I'm sure it must be something like a thousand rebuilt statues on display here, in the scope and size of the place it feels like you are looking at less than a dozen.
Once again, like Egypt, I'm sure that the grandeur and magnitude of this place would hit you if you were able to wander around alone for a couple of hours. Exploring this place in solitude.
Unfortunately, that was NOT my experience.
With everyone a little jaded by the main pit, we were guided on to the site that had been determined to be the “Command Centre” for this silent army. On display around on the walkway at the top of the pit, there were weapons and statues in glass cases. Battling through the crowd, I succeeded in getting some snaps of the main artefacts. The pit itself appeared to be even less established than the main pit. Almost the entire site looked like it was untouched.
Though the stage of development of all of the digs was more than a little disappointing, it is important to remember the state that most of the artefacts were found in. Smashed, stolen and burned. I made the continual point of reminding myself that the archaeologists are taking their time. The restoration process is being done properly, not roughshod. Additionally, exposing the statues to oxygen causes the mineral paints to begin to fade and chip. Originally coming out of the ground in full, vibrant, life-like colour, the pieces quickly lose their colour and appear to be just pottery. When digging to within range of the pits, the release of the soil is meant to result in about a dozen different types of mould to start growing, further damaging the remains. As our guide said several times, we don't have the technology to properly preserve and protect these findings.
Requiring a break from the angry, spoiled, childish crowd, I joined the Swedish girls in stilling under a small monument and having some drinks. We talked about uni while snacking on the various provisions we'd brought for lunch. Feeling better, I left them writing post-cards, steeling myself to enter the “Carriage Museum”.
Fighting through the crowd, I only had about 10-15 minutes to view the main pieces before meeting the others for the walk back to the bus. The crowd was bordering on “Sheep-Yard” density. I've seen rugby scrums that are less packed than this building.
Making my way down to the level with the two carriages on it, I finally made it around the corner to the first glass case. Trying to see through the reflected camera flashes, I spotted the 150kg of bronze and 10kg of gold that made up the first of the Emperors carriages. Complete with driver, the whole thing was about 1:2 or 1:3 scale and a little bit of a disappointment. I managed to get some photos on an angle that is free of flash and glare, but I had no chance to inspect the workmanship or be impressed by any other feature. In a place about the length of my living room, a good foot taller than anyone around me, I couldn't get within 2 metres of the glass case.
Moving onto the next case, the Emperor's Private Personal Carriage, this vehicle was also miniature. Whereas the first carriage had been the “herald carriage”, featuring bell and notices that “the Emperor is coming!!!”, the private carriage was designed to keep His Worship from public view. Including features such as little windows to regulate the internal temperature without exposing one-self to public view, it was all an effort of dodging attracted attention..
You may as well give a Steer the equipment for breastfeed a calf... you get the idea...
Anyways, I got some more snaps and managed to get close enough to see a little of the detail on this second carriage. I'm sure I'll be suitably impressed when I blow-up the image at full-resolution back in Australia.
Fighting through the Zombie Horde, I made it out the exit and glared my way across to the meeting point. Once arriving at the entrance flag-poles, the group chattered and slouched around until the full number was present. The walk out to the bus felt twice as far as the trip in, our local guide taking the liberty of walking us through the entire length and breadth of the souvenir district that has been built as a satellite suburb to the museum complex.
I don't think any of us bought anything, on principle.
The trip back to the hotel was mercifully silent and most of us snoozed or listened to music. On the way into and out of the museum complex, we all noticed literally hundreds of locals selling pomegranates. Some had stalls, some sat of the floor. Regardless, it was certainly a saturated market. As we got further along the road, I noticed that more of them had stalls operating out of tents. I'd seen similar tents on the road to the Great Wall, here I had the chance to see into the little structures as the bus drove past. Table full of fruit, chair, bed... is this where these people live? competing with hundreds of others to sell their fruit between working in the adjacent fields? I really know nothing of the economy or culture of this part of the world, but I was absolutely astounded by this entire situation. Is it normal to have a bunk there, for a midday nap? I'd noticed that most of the stalls in the alleyways of the Muslim quarter had stairs or back rooms. The tea-house had said much of their complex was not accessible as it was still residential or commercial. Did the people selling cheap bags and watches live above their little store?
Once back in town, the four of us boys went to the 24 hour restaurant for lunch. Being seated fairly promptly, the staff were extremely helpful and got every english speaking waitress in the building to make sure that we had everything that we needed. Opting to order straight away from the menu, we were all a little stung with what came out. Not exactly matching what we expected, the extremely fishy soup and what we thought was custard but actually had crab in it, mostly went untouched.
The actual main dish was nice enough, but unremarkable. Noticing Dim Sum carts being pushed around, I got everyone to grab something off of it. SUCCESS!
Having a handful of the more tasty Dim Sum cuisine, it was agreed that we would have to eat back here again later. NOT ordering off of the menu.
We were all very happy with the service and most definitely with the dishes that we enjoyed.
Feeling pretty average, I joined the others in wandering to the market but branched off by my own not long into the trip. My tummy was definitely getting the gribblies, as Jenny calls it. I'd decided that I would start dosing myself with Norfloxacin again. This would be the fourth time since I left Australia that I'd needed Antibiotic Assistance. I'm suspect that it was a combination of the snake I ate in Beijing mixed with a heavy night out. I'm sure if I was more conservative in what I ate, I'd not have any of these problems, but the local food is what has been the most noticeable and remarkable feature of the trip to me..
Exploring through the markets, I delved deeper and deeper into the alleyways of vendors and stalls. I was trying to do my best to get lost in the crowd and the culture. I found little connecting alleys back to the main square, a girl busking from a wheel-chair, multitudes of stores selling a wealth of items that time was not allowed to forget. Wrist-watches with images of Chairman Mao, mechanical arm waving at your cuff-links, an ancient Engineer's compass with built-in slide-rule computer. Priced far into the excessive, it had been released from service in a time that had been forgotten and it didn't even occur to me to try and haggle it down to a price I might have been prepared to accept. Oceans of polo-shirts neighboured onto small continents of fake Rolex's and walking sticks. Mountain ranges of artwork and calligraphy dividing the forests of handbags, a thin column of silk book-bags offering a pass through the terrain.
I followed one little road of stalls at the back of the market all the way to its end. Here it intersected with another much larger road that had little eateries and restaurants its entire length. The buildings were of the old architecture, houses and hidden courtyards, alleys and eateries, butchers next door to a window that had a chef stirring a giant pot or a Chinese herbalist selling medicine. There were hardware stores selling globes and building supplies and little newsagents with batteries and pens. The eves overhead were shadowed by the branches of the trees that were almost invisible on the street and there was a string of red lanterns flying far above head-height, watching down on the life in the street and the single foreigner who had come to visit.
Finding myself back on the main road between the Bell Tower and the South Gate, I slowly made my way back to the hotel. The local part of the city had been manageable and pleasant while still bustling. Back on the main strip it was once again chaos of tourists and traffic that seemed out for blood and fresh human flesh. I got onto a now-familiar route and headed for the hostel, pausing by an older gentleman who might have been a beggar. He had a box in front of him that was stuffed with notes, a look of pride in his eyes and no right arm below the elbow. Instead of prostrating himself across as much foot-path as possible and looking miserable and pitiful, like almost every other beggar I had seen, he was sitting upright with legs crossed and a great deal of purpose. Strapped to his amputated fore-arm, he had a special little harness that kept a little brush in place. With deliberate and careful intent, this little brush was blossoming the most astounding and delicate calligraphy onto a scroll of rice-paper on the little platform table in front of him. Leaving him with the handful of small denomination notes that I hadn't been able to get rid of, I continued back to the hotel with a bit of a smile. I'd made the rule of not giving money to beggars on my travels, especially after all of the warnings I'd been given before leaving home, I would never have called this gentleman anything less than an artist.
The group met for dinner, almost all of us going to the restaurant for Dim Sum. Having learnt from our previous experience, we only took dishes from the cart and ate like kings. On one of the other tables, some of the girls insisted on ordering from the menu and were a little less than happy before figuring out how to use the carts. Having eaten and drunk our fill, and then some more, we all emerged from the eatery with very full tummies. Once again the staff had been fantastic, I think most of the employees had come out to see the westerners, a rarity in this place that was full of locals.
Outside, we diverged into groups. Seeking cigarettes or phone cards, snacks or drinks. I followed the group up the main commercial mall to a department store where we wandered around Wal-Mart. Realising there wasn't really anything I needed, I excused myself and went back to the hotel the long way. The mall was full of scaffold stalls and vendors selling expensive equivalents of what could be found in the street markets I'd been exploring earlier. Getting back to the hotel having only purchased some water at the entrance, I read and typed a little bit. Finally able to take the antibiotics for my tummy, I got ready for an early night, hoping to feel a bit better in the morning and missing everyone at home a little bit more than I'd care to admit.
Having done a little surveillance from the hotel room, I crossed the street and picked up two little fried parcels. The first was filled with a fried egg. Though tasty, I was still a little spent on eggs after the middle east.. The first bite of the second parcel was heavenly, it was filled with a type of chopped and cooked spinach mixed with spring onions, chives and various other leafy greens. However, my exclamation of WOW quickly turned. The first bite was delightful, put the flavour of the morsel quickly became burdensome.
Breakfast partially completed, I reversed the steps of the orientation walk. Heading back towards one of the connecting streets, away from the main strip, I found the part of the city where all of the locals ate. Running into Petra and Anna on the way, we joined forces and chatted while selecting fruit and snacks for lunch. Failing to find any break in the little supermarkets, we each bought banana's and apples, the girls picking some more fruit, from the little trailers on the street. Prices were negotiated in sign language, I'd managed to start being able to hear the sounds of the different numbers but was still an awfully long way off of haggling.
The final victory of the morning was at a hot plate towed behind a bike. Happily paying the 2 or 3 Yuan, I watched with hungry eyes as the gentleman prepared a crepe. Smearing an egg across one side along with some chopped greens and then flipping it as soon as it had hardened, he filled what would become the interior with a crunchy type of deep-fried bread and a dark paste that had been spread across the thin batter. I'd seen these being cooked yesterday and had heard about them from Lillian. Now one of them was mine!
Breakfast was finished with the Swedish girls on the way back to the hotel. We chatted for the length of the little walk and then waited out the front for the rest of the group. Finally everyone had assembled and Lillian introduced the local guide for the day for giving a brief farewell along with instructions for the rest of the day. Boarding the bus, we had at least 1.5 hours each way to the Terracotta warriors.
While heading away from the city centre, our guide gave us some information about the warriors, the area they were in, the history and significance and the option to go to the “government factory”. She had the particular gift to talk no matter what and I could see that it would be a very long ride. The group agreed as a whole to go to the “government factory”, though the amount that the guide elaborated on “.. very good quality, very cheap, you should buy there..” made it sound like a Carpet Tour. At the least, we would learn how the great ceramic warriors were made and it would offer us a toilet break.
Arriving at the factory, we disembarked and waited for our guide to get us on a little tour. Most of us spent the wait by getting silly photos in the partial statues out the front. Missing the heads and hands, we got to “wear” half of the statue in each photo. I got a couple of photos while pulling “angry eyes” at the camera.
Inside the factory, we watches as ladies prepared the miniature figures for firing. The guide talked us through the process as the workers stuffed clay into moulds before pulling them apart and lining up the little brown soldiers to dry. The rate that they were fabricating them was fantastic, combined with the price that they were asking must give this factory a licence to print money!
We saw the kilns and some partially completed full-sized statues, but did not get to see the craftsmen working on them. Instead we were directed past some pretty girls painting figurine. At least the fabrication process was explained to us. The great statues were all made by hand, the body and the head separately, before drying and then being fired at somewhere between 900-1100 degrees. The heads were made separately and then mounted in the cavity that was the neck in the main body. This allowed the gas within the hollow statues to expand during firing, preventing the statues from exploding or sagging. Also assuming, the heads required more detail and were more fragile, the bodies would have been more suitable for mass-production.
Into another section, we watched what I would assume were master-craftsmen creating the detailed and colourful furniture tops. Mother of Pearl and lacquered finishes covered paper and wooden surfaces with impressively detailed stories and scenes of significant characters.
The short tour was finished in the maze of what was the sales room. Starting with a supply of the great statues, everyone stopped for photos with the Emperor, Generals, Officers, Soldiers and Archers. The were horses that were still lacking tails (assumedly they were somewhat fragile and the “tail hole” was necessary for the firing process). The three great chambers required traversing its entire stockpile in order to escape. Getting lost once and requiring directions twice, I was able to find a western toilet and even a cafe within the show-room before fleeing out the exit. They really wanted to sell. All of the prices were extortionate, somewhere between double or ten-fold what I would have been prepared to pay. They still REALLY wanted to sell something.
Waiting out the front for the rest of the group to assemble and go hunting for the bus, I wished that the show-room had been more reasonable in its prices. I would have loved to have bought a little terracotta statue for Mum and Dad, or even myself, but the prices were ten to twenty times more than what was on offer at the markets. I really could not have justified spending $40-60AUD on a 15cm figurine..
Many of us dozed for the rest of the way to the historical site. Mercifully, the local guide had tired of the sound of her own voice and left us undisturbed. With the first day of the National Holiday in full swing, the traffic snarls sprouted, reared and bared teeth while I snoozed. Finally waking within a kilometre of the museum, I stared out the window for the next 20 minutes before it was unanimously decided that we would walk the remaining 700 metres.
Joining the crowds of pedestrians ricochetting between the stationary cars, we quickly made it to the great statue overlooking the museum parking lot. A short but pointless wait later, we followed the guide as she purchased out tickets and began the long walk through the gardens that had once been farmland, all the way to the main complex of buildings.
The story of the Terracotta warriors is that there was an Emperor who, on turning 13 years of age, began to have his tomb constructed. Eventually it was completed and he had all of the surviving workers executed, in order to keep its location a secret. Due to this and other decisions, that particular Emperor was not overly popular. Some years later, soldiers broke into the great pits housing the soldiers, stealing the weapons, smashing the statues and setting fire to the structure. The pits had been dug as rows with columns of dirt supporting the roof. The roof was made of thick logs covered with reed mats and then several layers of soil and rocks. The actions of the looters caused the complete collapse, destruction and burying of the ceramic army.
The legacy of this particular, unpopular, emperor was lost. The few who had known forgot or died. The secret of the builder and the shame of the looters was never passed on.
Time passed. The world above grew and shrank. Life, death, wars and change all took their turn.
For the next 3000 years, farmland grew above. No one knew of the 6000 graves of a Terracotta Army.
One day, three farmers decided to dig a well. Perhaps there was a reason for the particular place in the farmland where they would dig. I'm sure there was no reason for the exact, specific, precise location that they chose.
This place was in the very corner of the Number One pit, the largest feature of the archaeological site. Some metres down from the surface, one of the farmers uncovered a vibrantly painted terracotta head. Several days later, one of the farmers notified the authorities and officials made their way out to investigate. If you pick the day right, you can meet the farmer who called the government. He lost his farm to what is one of the most significant historical finds in China. He will even sign your gift book of the museum.
Had they dug the well even one metre away from where fate had dictated, these planes would be unnoticeable, indistinguishable farmland. What was forgotten would still be lost.
Entering into the museum complex, we were taken to see a movie outlining the history of the place. Unfortunately, our guide either mistimed, or didn't care, and we got to see the 10 minute documentary in Chinese rather than English. Still, we got the salient facts. Taking this time to suck down drinks and ice-creams, we followed on to the No. 1 pit which houses the vast majority of the statues.
I'll take this time to air an observation. Whenever somebody says “the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers”, almost everyone things of long dark trenches, illuminated by wooden torches. Off into the distance, a vast army of thousands upon thousands of dark statues stand a silent guard in the shadows. The only sound in this place is your frightened breathing as you creep along rank and file. If your submissive respect falters for even a second, they might animate, come-at-arms and bring you down for your dishonour to their emperor...
The No. 1 pit of the Terracotta Warriors is instead housed in what appears to be a fair sized hangar (a couple of hundred metres long), you are about 5 metres above the pit at all times and surrounded by about 10,000 of the loudest and most obnoxious Chinese tourists you could ever imagine. You wish that you only had to tolerate the screaming kids, instead your entire experience has the sound-track of the adults bellowing, chattering and screaming at each other. While on the street, the vast and overwhelming majority of Chinese Citizens are pleasant and friendly, here they were rude, pushing and shoving or even walking over or through you. If you have ever heard of the term “Little Emperor Syndrome” imagine a couple of thousand adults that need some manners back-handed into them.
Below you, at the front of the pit, there are a half-dozen rows of assembled and restored statues. There is then a long stretch of smashed pottery to show the discovered state of the site. Behind, for the rest of the dig, is mostly untouched earth. This is a work in progress, there is still a LOT of work to be done.
While I'm sure it must be something like a thousand rebuilt statues on display here, in the scope and size of the place it feels like you are looking at less than a dozen.
Once again, like Egypt, I'm sure that the grandeur and magnitude of this place would hit you if you were able to wander around alone for a couple of hours. Exploring this place in solitude.
Unfortunately, that was NOT my experience.
With everyone a little jaded by the main pit, we were guided on to the site that had been determined to be the “Command Centre” for this silent army. On display around on the walkway at the top of the pit, there were weapons and statues in glass cases. Battling through the crowd, I succeeded in getting some snaps of the main artefacts. The pit itself appeared to be even less established than the main pit. Almost the entire site looked like it was untouched.
Though the stage of development of all of the digs was more than a little disappointing, it is important to remember the state that most of the artefacts were found in. Smashed, stolen and burned. I made the continual point of reminding myself that the archaeologists are taking their time. The restoration process is being done properly, not roughshod. Additionally, exposing the statues to oxygen causes the mineral paints to begin to fade and chip. Originally coming out of the ground in full, vibrant, life-like colour, the pieces quickly lose their colour and appear to be just pottery. When digging to within range of the pits, the release of the soil is meant to result in about a dozen different types of mould to start growing, further damaging the remains. As our guide said several times, we don't have the technology to properly preserve and protect these findings.
Requiring a break from the angry, spoiled, childish crowd, I joined the Swedish girls in stilling under a small monument and having some drinks. We talked about uni while snacking on the various provisions we'd brought for lunch. Feeling better, I left them writing post-cards, steeling myself to enter the “Carriage Museum”.
Fighting through the crowd, I only had about 10-15 minutes to view the main pieces before meeting the others for the walk back to the bus. The crowd was bordering on “Sheep-Yard” density. I've seen rugby scrums that are less packed than this building.
Making my way down to the level with the two carriages on it, I finally made it around the corner to the first glass case. Trying to see through the reflected camera flashes, I spotted the 150kg of bronze and 10kg of gold that made up the first of the Emperors carriages. Complete with driver, the whole thing was about 1:2 or 1:3 scale and a little bit of a disappointment. I managed to get some photos on an angle that is free of flash and glare, but I had no chance to inspect the workmanship or be impressed by any other feature. In a place about the length of my living room, a good foot taller than anyone around me, I couldn't get within 2 metres of the glass case.
Moving onto the next case, the Emperor's Private Personal Carriage, this vehicle was also miniature. Whereas the first carriage had been the “herald carriage”, featuring bell and notices that “the Emperor is coming!!!”, the private carriage was designed to keep His Worship from public view. Including features such as little windows to regulate the internal temperature without exposing one-self to public view, it was all an effort of dodging attracted attention..
You may as well give a Steer the equipment for breastfeed a calf... you get the idea...
Anyways, I got some more snaps and managed to get close enough to see a little of the detail on this second carriage. I'm sure I'll be suitably impressed when I blow-up the image at full-resolution back in Australia.
Fighting through the Zombie Horde, I made it out the exit and glared my way across to the meeting point. Once arriving at the entrance flag-poles, the group chattered and slouched around until the full number was present. The walk out to the bus felt twice as far as the trip in, our local guide taking the liberty of walking us through the entire length and breadth of the souvenir district that has been built as a satellite suburb to the museum complex.
I don't think any of us bought anything, on principle.
The trip back to the hotel was mercifully silent and most of us snoozed or listened to music. On the way into and out of the museum complex, we all noticed literally hundreds of locals selling pomegranates. Some had stalls, some sat of the floor. Regardless, it was certainly a saturated market. As we got further along the road, I noticed that more of them had stalls operating out of tents. I'd seen similar tents on the road to the Great Wall, here I had the chance to see into the little structures as the bus drove past. Table full of fruit, chair, bed... is this where these people live? competing with hundreds of others to sell their fruit between working in the adjacent fields? I really know nothing of the economy or culture of this part of the world, but I was absolutely astounded by this entire situation. Is it normal to have a bunk there, for a midday nap? I'd noticed that most of the stalls in the alleyways of the Muslim quarter had stairs or back rooms. The tea-house had said much of their complex was not accessible as it was still residential or commercial. Did the people selling cheap bags and watches live above their little store?
Once back in town, the four of us boys went to the 24 hour restaurant for lunch. Being seated fairly promptly, the staff were extremely helpful and got every english speaking waitress in the building to make sure that we had everything that we needed. Opting to order straight away from the menu, we were all a little stung with what came out. Not exactly matching what we expected, the extremely fishy soup and what we thought was custard but actually had crab in it, mostly went untouched.
The actual main dish was nice enough, but unremarkable. Noticing Dim Sum carts being pushed around, I got everyone to grab something off of it. SUCCESS!
Having a handful of the more tasty Dim Sum cuisine, it was agreed that we would have to eat back here again later. NOT ordering off of the menu.
We were all very happy with the service and most definitely with the dishes that we enjoyed.
Feeling pretty average, I joined the others in wandering to the market but branched off by my own not long into the trip. My tummy was definitely getting the gribblies, as Jenny calls it. I'd decided that I would start dosing myself with Norfloxacin again. This would be the fourth time since I left Australia that I'd needed Antibiotic Assistance. I'm suspect that it was a combination of the snake I ate in Beijing mixed with a heavy night out. I'm sure if I was more conservative in what I ate, I'd not have any of these problems, but the local food is what has been the most noticeable and remarkable feature of the trip to me..
Exploring through the markets, I delved deeper and deeper into the alleyways of vendors and stalls. I was trying to do my best to get lost in the crowd and the culture. I found little connecting alleys back to the main square, a girl busking from a wheel-chair, multitudes of stores selling a wealth of items that time was not allowed to forget. Wrist-watches with images of Chairman Mao, mechanical arm waving at your cuff-links, an ancient Engineer's compass with built-in slide-rule computer. Priced far into the excessive, it had been released from service in a time that had been forgotten and it didn't even occur to me to try and haggle it down to a price I might have been prepared to accept. Oceans of polo-shirts neighboured onto small continents of fake Rolex's and walking sticks. Mountain ranges of artwork and calligraphy dividing the forests of handbags, a thin column of silk book-bags offering a pass through the terrain.
I followed one little road of stalls at the back of the market all the way to its end. Here it intersected with another much larger road that had little eateries and restaurants its entire length. The buildings were of the old architecture, houses and hidden courtyards, alleys and eateries, butchers next door to a window that had a chef stirring a giant pot or a Chinese herbalist selling medicine. There were hardware stores selling globes and building supplies and little newsagents with batteries and pens. The eves overhead were shadowed by the branches of the trees that were almost invisible on the street and there was a string of red lanterns flying far above head-height, watching down on the life in the street and the single foreigner who had come to visit.
Finding myself back on the main road between the Bell Tower and the South Gate, I slowly made my way back to the hotel. The local part of the city had been manageable and pleasant while still bustling. Back on the main strip it was once again chaos of tourists and traffic that seemed out for blood and fresh human flesh. I got onto a now-familiar route and headed for the hostel, pausing by an older gentleman who might have been a beggar. He had a box in front of him that was stuffed with notes, a look of pride in his eyes and no right arm below the elbow. Instead of prostrating himself across as much foot-path as possible and looking miserable and pitiful, like almost every other beggar I had seen, he was sitting upright with legs crossed and a great deal of purpose. Strapped to his amputated fore-arm, he had a special little harness that kept a little brush in place. With deliberate and careful intent, this little brush was blossoming the most astounding and delicate calligraphy onto a scroll of rice-paper on the little platform table in front of him. Leaving him with the handful of small denomination notes that I hadn't been able to get rid of, I continued back to the hotel with a bit of a smile. I'd made the rule of not giving money to beggars on my travels, especially after all of the warnings I'd been given before leaving home, I would never have called this gentleman anything less than an artist.
The group met for dinner, almost all of us going to the restaurant for Dim Sum. Having learnt from our previous experience, we only took dishes from the cart and ate like kings. On one of the other tables, some of the girls insisted on ordering from the menu and were a little less than happy before figuring out how to use the carts. Having eaten and drunk our fill, and then some more, we all emerged from the eatery with very full tummies. Once again the staff had been fantastic, I think most of the employees had come out to see the westerners, a rarity in this place that was full of locals.
Outside, we diverged into groups. Seeking cigarettes or phone cards, snacks or drinks. I followed the group up the main commercial mall to a department store where we wandered around Wal-Mart. Realising there wasn't really anything I needed, I excused myself and went back to the hotel the long way. The mall was full of scaffold stalls and vendors selling expensive equivalents of what could be found in the street markets I'd been exploring earlier. Getting back to the hotel having only purchased some water at the entrance, I read and typed a little bit. Finally able to take the antibiotics for my tummy, I got ready for an early night, hoping to feel a bit better in the morning and missing everyone at home a little bit more than I'd care to admit.
011008 – Xi'an
The lights came on and we were woken sometime before 5. The train attendant and then Lillian did the rounds of making sure that everyone was up and getting ready to depart. With pain in our eyes, we clambered down and heaved our packs on. It was still dark as we left the station.
Meeting at an Intrepid flag out the front, a local contact lead the march to the bus. Walking through the cool pre-dawn, we passed street sweepers and store-owners preparing for their day. Though the streets were almost deserted, there were still these gentle signs of life. The bus took us on a very convoluted route that lead across express ways and through the great arches of the city wall, barely noticed by its passengers through their exhausted haze.
Reaching the hotel, Lillian informed us that our rooms were not ready. Check-out was at midday and it would not be till late morning before any rooms would be available for us. Dumping our gear in the one room that was free for us, a handful stayed behind to snooze or shower while the rest of us followed Lillian's lead to a MacDonalds breakfast.
As we walked into the city, a handful of features were pointed out to us. A 24 hour restaurant that had reasonable prices and a good reputation, the vague direction to the shopping district, so on. The MacDonalds was painfully cheerful, the 10 or 12 of us glaring darkly at the bright décor as we munched our hotcakes and McMuffins. After being fed, coffee'd and tired of being stared at by the locals, most of us ventured outside in the growing grey light. Locals had begun to congregate, greeting the friends that they were waiting for or hoping onto busses as they pulled in. A great truck pulled past with a water cannon, locals diving out of the way as the aquatic weapon fired on each of the trees and shrubberies in turn, rationing out sustenance for the day. While waiting out the front for Lillian to make something happen, we discovered that we'd merely replaced the loud décor for loud theme music underpinning importance of the restaurant advertisements to the deserted street. With each painfully cheerful tone, a little piece in each of us died...
Finally, everyone had finished their greasy breakfast and the smokers had consumed as many nicotine-beverages (as they now called them) as their lungs could cope with. Lillian disappeared for half an hour to fetch the snoozing girls, returning to take us on the orientation tour.
Guiding us from the MacDonalds and the Bell Tower in the very centre of the city, we made our way to the South Gate and veered off into the Academic or University district. A great many of the stores displayed sales of brushes, inks and paper. There were more than a few vendors that had signs of selling jade or carved name-stamps. The string work and hanging ornaments were of impressive quality and the feel of the place was a certain level of refinement and restraint that the Silk Road had been lacking. A very small handful of stalls had been populated with vendors and wares, more store-owners were watching the westerners stumble past as they smoked or finished breakfast. Turning up another street, we were shown the different restaurants and eateries, the super-market and how to purchase food from the street vendors.
The vibrancy and life of Xi'an was painfully apparent to our sleep-deprived senses. The colours and smells, even in the early dawn was striking. Here, away from the main street, the locals lived and operated their little businesses. Passing little restaurants that were not much more than a hole in a window and a set of crowded collapsible chairs and tables, the citizens of this city had filled the seats and were being fed. Side alleys boasted the trappings of a particular speciality be it food, tea or trinkets. Signs in Chinese and English advertised “CHEAP TEA” “FAMOUS JADE” “YOUR NAME – ENGLISH CHINESE”. On the street, the smog above compressed down the flavours and fragrances, be it perfume or a narrow column of air from the open sewer grate. My only one dislike of the metropolis was the unmistakable and utterly undisguised scent of the public conveniences.
Again passing the hotel, the group continued on as a whole, we made our way back past the Bell-Tower and navigated the crowds in the underpass. Coming out the other side, past the post-office and across the street, Lillian seated us outside a closed restaurant for a little rest. Her phone rang while she was telling us about the great reputation of this particular eatery and the dumplings it was famous for, another two rooms were free for anyone who was desperate for a shower and sleep. Charlotte and one of the other girls volunteered and made a hasty departure for sanitation and snoozing.
Venturing on, we passed into the Muslim quarter. The street market was mostly assembled and staffed, we first wandered the street on both sides, making faces at the various cuisines. Lillian then took us to a near by historical residence were we had a tour and then a very hard-sell of the various types of tea, under the disguise of a traditional tea ceremony. The group drank the teas that had been paid for in the entrance fee but purchased a pitiful amount of their over-priced products. Refreshed despite the capitalist intents, we continued on through the markets as the frenzied activity of the vendors increased. Taking a side road, we went through stalls of fake glasses, watches and bags. Bargaining until the sellers smiles turned to frowns and they glared at us as we changed small notes for goods, it was definite that we would be returning here several times for the cheap merchandise.
The morning stretched on, Adam had purchased a polo-shirt for a price that almost reduced the sales-girl to tears. I picked up the singly most creepy sunglasses I could find. Perfect circles on light frames, I selected them according to how uncomfortable the look of me wearing them made Andy and got them for about $3AUD. Dom got an Automatic winding Genuine Fake Rolex at the impressive price of 180Yuan, down from 800.
Finally we tired of the “Welcome, come in, you want bag, watch, t-shirt” “good-price, me sell you, friend” any time we even glanced at a stall. Leaving the markets, we made our way back to the hotel and finally checked in. Dom and I shared a room just down the hall from Adam and Andy. Packing was undone and showers were had. We agreed to meet again for lunch after a short break.
The afternoon was filled by more browsing at the markets in the Muslim quarter. Perusing stalls of nick-nacks that had no necessary purpose, a lot of us stocked up on gifts for when we got home or simply haggled to see how low we could get the price on an item that we were only vaguely interested in buying. Hanging back from the group after a while, I ventured out on my own and explored the more deep and convoluted streets. I didn't really have much of an interest in buying anything and made a point of moving on as soon as the stall owner appeared and began the hard-sell. I did find a little bag that might suit my laptop and save me carrying my day-pack everywhere. There were a pair of Aviator sunglasses that I might also buy, if I could find a cheap pair that didn't make my eyes sore. Wandering was the only purpose of the afternoon.
Finally tiring and desiring a toilet that didn't smell of death, I made my way back through the impressively dense crowd. The national holiday would start tomorrow and this was only a precursor... the next few days would be interesting.
I was starting to feel pretty ordinary. Thankfully the smog appeared to have cloaked the mystical powers of my belt, hopefully the intestinal maelstrom would pass before clear-sky could break through and be controlled by my Nasty-Butt.
Returning to the hotel brought on instant relief. It was fairly late in the afternoon and there was meant to be a group dinner tonight. I settled in for a nap, I would make a decision on dinner closer to the time. Dom appeared a couple of hours later in a similar state. Several hours after the group must have made their way to dinner, I woke up again and entertained myself with some issues of Transmetropolitan before drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night.
Meeting at an Intrepid flag out the front, a local contact lead the march to the bus. Walking through the cool pre-dawn, we passed street sweepers and store-owners preparing for their day. Though the streets were almost deserted, there were still these gentle signs of life. The bus took us on a very convoluted route that lead across express ways and through the great arches of the city wall, barely noticed by its passengers through their exhausted haze.
Reaching the hotel, Lillian informed us that our rooms were not ready. Check-out was at midday and it would not be till late morning before any rooms would be available for us. Dumping our gear in the one room that was free for us, a handful stayed behind to snooze or shower while the rest of us followed Lillian's lead to a MacDonalds breakfast.
As we walked into the city, a handful of features were pointed out to us. A 24 hour restaurant that had reasonable prices and a good reputation, the vague direction to the shopping district, so on. The MacDonalds was painfully cheerful, the 10 or 12 of us glaring darkly at the bright décor as we munched our hotcakes and McMuffins. After being fed, coffee'd and tired of being stared at by the locals, most of us ventured outside in the growing grey light. Locals had begun to congregate, greeting the friends that they were waiting for or hoping onto busses as they pulled in. A great truck pulled past with a water cannon, locals diving out of the way as the aquatic weapon fired on each of the trees and shrubberies in turn, rationing out sustenance for the day. While waiting out the front for Lillian to make something happen, we discovered that we'd merely replaced the loud décor for loud theme music underpinning importance of the restaurant advertisements to the deserted street. With each painfully cheerful tone, a little piece in each of us died...
Finally, everyone had finished their greasy breakfast and the smokers had consumed as many nicotine-beverages (as they now called them) as their lungs could cope with. Lillian disappeared for half an hour to fetch the snoozing girls, returning to take us on the orientation tour.
Guiding us from the MacDonalds and the Bell Tower in the very centre of the city, we made our way to the South Gate and veered off into the Academic or University district. A great many of the stores displayed sales of brushes, inks and paper. There were more than a few vendors that had signs of selling jade or carved name-stamps. The string work and hanging ornaments were of impressive quality and the feel of the place was a certain level of refinement and restraint that the Silk Road had been lacking. A very small handful of stalls had been populated with vendors and wares, more store-owners were watching the westerners stumble past as they smoked or finished breakfast. Turning up another street, we were shown the different restaurants and eateries, the super-market and how to purchase food from the street vendors.
The vibrancy and life of Xi'an was painfully apparent to our sleep-deprived senses. The colours and smells, even in the early dawn was striking. Here, away from the main street, the locals lived and operated their little businesses. Passing little restaurants that were not much more than a hole in a window and a set of crowded collapsible chairs and tables, the citizens of this city had filled the seats and were being fed. Side alleys boasted the trappings of a particular speciality be it food, tea or trinkets. Signs in Chinese and English advertised “CHEAP TEA” “FAMOUS JADE” “YOUR NAME – ENGLISH CHINESE”. On the street, the smog above compressed down the flavours and fragrances, be it perfume or a narrow column of air from the open sewer grate. My only one dislike of the metropolis was the unmistakable and utterly undisguised scent of the public conveniences.
Again passing the hotel, the group continued on as a whole, we made our way back past the Bell-Tower and navigated the crowds in the underpass. Coming out the other side, past the post-office and across the street, Lillian seated us outside a closed restaurant for a little rest. Her phone rang while she was telling us about the great reputation of this particular eatery and the dumplings it was famous for, another two rooms were free for anyone who was desperate for a shower and sleep. Charlotte and one of the other girls volunteered and made a hasty departure for sanitation and snoozing.
Venturing on, we passed into the Muslim quarter. The street market was mostly assembled and staffed, we first wandered the street on both sides, making faces at the various cuisines. Lillian then took us to a near by historical residence were we had a tour and then a very hard-sell of the various types of tea, under the disguise of a traditional tea ceremony. The group drank the teas that had been paid for in the entrance fee but purchased a pitiful amount of their over-priced products. Refreshed despite the capitalist intents, we continued on through the markets as the frenzied activity of the vendors increased. Taking a side road, we went through stalls of fake glasses, watches and bags. Bargaining until the sellers smiles turned to frowns and they glared at us as we changed small notes for goods, it was definite that we would be returning here several times for the cheap merchandise.
The morning stretched on, Adam had purchased a polo-shirt for a price that almost reduced the sales-girl to tears. I picked up the singly most creepy sunglasses I could find. Perfect circles on light frames, I selected them according to how uncomfortable the look of me wearing them made Andy and got them for about $3AUD. Dom got an Automatic winding Genuine Fake Rolex at the impressive price of 180Yuan, down from 800.
Finally we tired of the “Welcome, come in, you want bag, watch, t-shirt” “good-price, me sell you, friend” any time we even glanced at a stall. Leaving the markets, we made our way back to the hotel and finally checked in. Dom and I shared a room just down the hall from Adam and Andy. Packing was undone and showers were had. We agreed to meet again for lunch after a short break.
The afternoon was filled by more browsing at the markets in the Muslim quarter. Perusing stalls of nick-nacks that had no necessary purpose, a lot of us stocked up on gifts for when we got home or simply haggled to see how low we could get the price on an item that we were only vaguely interested in buying. Hanging back from the group after a while, I ventured out on my own and explored the more deep and convoluted streets. I didn't really have much of an interest in buying anything and made a point of moving on as soon as the stall owner appeared and began the hard-sell. I did find a little bag that might suit my laptop and save me carrying my day-pack everywhere. There were a pair of Aviator sunglasses that I might also buy, if I could find a cheap pair that didn't make my eyes sore. Wandering was the only purpose of the afternoon.
Finally tiring and desiring a toilet that didn't smell of death, I made my way back through the impressively dense crowd. The national holiday would start tomorrow and this was only a precursor... the next few days would be interesting.
I was starting to feel pretty ordinary. Thankfully the smog appeared to have cloaked the mystical powers of my belt, hopefully the intestinal maelstrom would pass before clear-sky could break through and be controlled by my Nasty-Butt.
Returning to the hotel brought on instant relief. It was fairly late in the afternoon and there was meant to be a group dinner tonight. I settled in for a nap, I would make a decision on dinner closer to the time. Dom appeared a couple of hours later in a similar state. Several hours after the group must have made their way to dinner, I woke up again and entertained myself with some issues of Transmetropolitan before drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night.
300908 – Great Wall to Beijing
My knee had ached a bit throughout the night, but I managed to sleep in until Adam started banging on the door.
“Guys! We leave in 20 minutes!”
Dom and I executed a rapid exit and managed to be in the first group to check-out. Breakfast had been skipped but I managed to snack on an apple and banana left over from yesterday. Snoozing for much of the journey, the trip back to Beijing was mostly unremarkable.
We no longer had any rooms at the original accommodation, so were dropped in the car-park of a nearby hotel/tourism complex and told to meet back here at 3pm. We four boys went hunting for lunch, deciding that Mr Lee's would suffice for today.
Walking up the street and past our previous hotel, we turned the corner and went into the local restaurant chain. Bundled upstairs, there was no attempt to find us an English speaking waitress or even a menu. Working from memory, we felt brave enough to order from the card provided and were delivered cuisine exactly opposite to what we had been anticipating.
Namely, our cups of Coke had be substituted with a type of chilled barley tea that most of the guys couldn't choke down. Dom ordered a picture of a chicken dish with seasoning that came out chilled. None of us were brave enough to even try it. We were provided with one serve of noodles too many, so Dom still had something to eat, but none of what we received was anywhere near as nice as it had been the day before.
Giving up on the meal and warning the group of girls that ha decided to follow us, we retreated to the MacDonalds next door. We were all feeling poorly and didn't want to risk getting sick. I was still feeling pretty average but hopeful that I'd feel better with a couple of days of safe food and sleep.
Following Adams suggestion and the reported success of Greg and Alice, we set out for the Silk Road markets. A couple of metro stops delivered us at our assumed destination. Two small subterranean streets with vendors on both sides trying to sell us all manners of cheap touristy junk left us a little unimpressed. I was still certain that we weren't actually there yet and convinced the others to at least try and find the street-level. Following a corridor, past a beggar and up some stairs we found a supermarket that was noted for later. We would need to buy supplies for the train.
Suddenly, we were surrounded by an ocean of shoes.
WOW.. lots of them.. even more girls trying to sell each of us a dozen different types of footware.
We had arrived.
The next hour was spent on 3 of the 5 floors of the Silk Road building. There was an entire floor dedicated to shoes, another to bags and a third for clothes. We didn't go to the top two floors for fear of time or ambush. Making our way through the markets was a tag-team effort of avoiding the vendors, making and breaking eye-contact long enough to be evasive, telling the seller blocking your path that the guy BEHIND you needs said shoes... We managed to avoid buying anything. Most of the stalls were simply variations of each other.
Retreating to the lower levels, we stocked up on drinks and snacks for the train. Departing with a little time to spare, we caught the metro back to the centre of Beijing and stocked up on MacDonalds. I was starting to feel VERY ordinary and kept repeating to myself that “the safe food will make you feel better in an hour or two.. it always does..”
Munching my burger through the nausea and pedestrians, we walked the major road back to where the bus would be waiting. Passing through the deserted underpasses and along the side-walks, we made good time. Sitting in the shade by the massive hotel, we waited under the glare of two security guards until Lillian appeared. Suitcase in hand and bus not far behind, we were ready to leave Beijing. It had been a great start to the trip and I would happily come back here for a couple of weeks again in the future.
By 3pm, the entire group was on the bus and we were pulling out of the carpark. The traffic had started to thicken and congeal, but we got to the train station with a good hour to spare. Getting dropped on the opposite side of the road, we had to walk about 500 metres along footpath and across overpasses to get to the entrance. Barricades had been positioned to narrow the flow of people two about 4 people wide. Only two double doors out of the massive articulated window were open to receive passengers and pass them through the two metal detectors and X-Ray machines. We regrouped directly inside the building and moved through what I would have described as a major Airport Terminal to our waiting lounge. The next hour was filled with hunting down snacks, bottled water and toilets as we waited for our train.
When our time had been called, we humped our packs and lined up to get our tickets clipped. Smiling back at the other western tourists, we made our way through the network of corridors and down onto the platform. Passing dozens of carriages, we walked the stretching distance of the train to our carriage. The platform seemed to go on forever, but finally we were there.
Negotiating the interior of the the car, it was hard to remember that most of our travelling companions would be new to the concept of railway transport. Biting my tongue with patience, I finally tossed my hand luggage onto the top bunk and heaved my main pack onto my head before navigating it onto the wide ledge running just below the roof.
When in a multi-person compartment, you never want to be on the bottom bunk. Used as seating during the day, you can only sleep when no-one else wants to sit up. In Russia and Mongolia, I'd always opted for the top bunk. This seemed to keep everyone happy as I slept the most and they all liked having the bottom bunk. Whereas Russian trains had two levels, Chinese trains have three. By being on any bunk about seating-level means you can seek out privacy whenever you see fit. You can choose when you want to sleep versus having your waking hours dictated to you.
We had finally settled in and the train had departed. Our gear had been stowed and some snacks had appeared. It was Charlotte's birthday today and appropriate drinks appeared in short order. I felt a little sorry for her, the new group had not had the chance to really bond well yet and she certainly was having an average time compared to if it was at the end of the trip. Some drinks were laid on, but in a week or two there would have been a cake and probably gifts. Just bad luck and worse timing. Still, drinks were plentiful and stretched into the night. She seemed to have a good time.
For the beginning of the train journey and the rest of the daylight hours, I took the opportunity to sit in the little seat at the window and try and *see* this country. What I saw astonished me.
The smog and haze of Beijing had been significant, looking at nearby buildings gave a white haze that made you want to blink, as though your glasses were fogged or smeared. At times, visibility would have been about 2 kilometres or maybe a little better. Now that we were out of the city, it really hit me.
Directly overhead, you could just make out some blue of the sky. The distance was concealed behind the white and grey screen of smog and the sun was an angry orange and red ball, fighting with the pollution but still safe to look directly at. It was currently 4pm. As the afternoon and the train drew on, the sun dropped a little and dimmed to the brightness of the moon at midday. Eventually, by a little after 5, it had been completely swallowed by the smog. The sky was just a glare of grey and white light.
Escaping through the endless outskirts of the megatropolis, we passed the rapid staccato of various industrial districts divided by low-lying housing and tall residential blocks. The continual march of industrialisation was almost angry. Its fingers, straining and crooked, tearing out into the countryside as fields and little corpses of trees met an abrupt, concrete interface. Like water to sand, the high-density blocks and industrialised zones punctured the farmland.
Our train pounding on, as though it were a river, dragging this development into the outskirts and then the surrounding rural regions. Great torrents of vehicles, fences and construction pouring into the region, splashing out and running together into to pools of activity. This onslaught of progress and industry tore through the hillsides with such velocity, its entourage of smog being dragged along like a vapour trail.
Such is the cost of our world.
Such is the cost of Industry and Progress.
This was our choice.
Finally, the sky grew dark. Escaping the bitter atmosphere, the sun would appear in the morning with new strength. Such was its courage to do battle with the sweat of Global Economics.
The night drew on and more drinks appeared. Charlotte was suitably made a fuss of and was particularly drunk by the time I quietly put the bottle of vodka I got for my birthday back into my main pack. It was about an hour after I went to bed that she realised it had disappeared, complaining that she wanted more to drink. Though it was a fun night, a couple of the girls bared teeth and drew claws, I made myself scarce as soon as the pleasantness started to drop from the conversation.
Just before sleep, I peeked out the window and shone my new laser into the sky. For its entire length, it was a brilliant green beam. There was still so much smog and pollution in the air that you couldn't just see it, you could almost cut it.
“Guys! We leave in 20 minutes!”
Dom and I executed a rapid exit and managed to be in the first group to check-out. Breakfast had been skipped but I managed to snack on an apple and banana left over from yesterday. Snoozing for much of the journey, the trip back to Beijing was mostly unremarkable.
We no longer had any rooms at the original accommodation, so were dropped in the car-park of a nearby hotel/tourism complex and told to meet back here at 3pm. We four boys went hunting for lunch, deciding that Mr Lee's would suffice for today.
Walking up the street and past our previous hotel, we turned the corner and went into the local restaurant chain. Bundled upstairs, there was no attempt to find us an English speaking waitress or even a menu. Working from memory, we felt brave enough to order from the card provided and were delivered cuisine exactly opposite to what we had been anticipating.
Namely, our cups of Coke had be substituted with a type of chilled barley tea that most of the guys couldn't choke down. Dom ordered a picture of a chicken dish with seasoning that came out chilled. None of us were brave enough to even try it. We were provided with one serve of noodles too many, so Dom still had something to eat, but none of what we received was anywhere near as nice as it had been the day before.
Giving up on the meal and warning the group of girls that ha decided to follow us, we retreated to the MacDonalds next door. We were all feeling poorly and didn't want to risk getting sick. I was still feeling pretty average but hopeful that I'd feel better with a couple of days of safe food and sleep.
Following Adams suggestion and the reported success of Greg and Alice, we set out for the Silk Road markets. A couple of metro stops delivered us at our assumed destination. Two small subterranean streets with vendors on both sides trying to sell us all manners of cheap touristy junk left us a little unimpressed. I was still certain that we weren't actually there yet and convinced the others to at least try and find the street-level. Following a corridor, past a beggar and up some stairs we found a supermarket that was noted for later. We would need to buy supplies for the train.
Suddenly, we were surrounded by an ocean of shoes.
WOW.. lots of them.. even more girls trying to sell each of us a dozen different types of footware.
We had arrived.
The next hour was spent on 3 of the 5 floors of the Silk Road building. There was an entire floor dedicated to shoes, another to bags and a third for clothes. We didn't go to the top two floors for fear of time or ambush. Making our way through the markets was a tag-team effort of avoiding the vendors, making and breaking eye-contact long enough to be evasive, telling the seller blocking your path that the guy BEHIND you needs said shoes... We managed to avoid buying anything. Most of the stalls were simply variations of each other.
Retreating to the lower levels, we stocked up on drinks and snacks for the train. Departing with a little time to spare, we caught the metro back to the centre of Beijing and stocked up on MacDonalds. I was starting to feel VERY ordinary and kept repeating to myself that “the safe food will make you feel better in an hour or two.. it always does..”
Munching my burger through the nausea and pedestrians, we walked the major road back to where the bus would be waiting. Passing through the deserted underpasses and along the side-walks, we made good time. Sitting in the shade by the massive hotel, we waited under the glare of two security guards until Lillian appeared. Suitcase in hand and bus not far behind, we were ready to leave Beijing. It had been a great start to the trip and I would happily come back here for a couple of weeks again in the future.
By 3pm, the entire group was on the bus and we were pulling out of the carpark. The traffic had started to thicken and congeal, but we got to the train station with a good hour to spare. Getting dropped on the opposite side of the road, we had to walk about 500 metres along footpath and across overpasses to get to the entrance. Barricades had been positioned to narrow the flow of people two about 4 people wide. Only two double doors out of the massive articulated window were open to receive passengers and pass them through the two metal detectors and X-Ray machines. We regrouped directly inside the building and moved through what I would have described as a major Airport Terminal to our waiting lounge. The next hour was filled with hunting down snacks, bottled water and toilets as we waited for our train.
When our time had been called, we humped our packs and lined up to get our tickets clipped. Smiling back at the other western tourists, we made our way through the network of corridors and down onto the platform. Passing dozens of carriages, we walked the stretching distance of the train to our carriage. The platform seemed to go on forever, but finally we were there.
Negotiating the interior of the the car, it was hard to remember that most of our travelling companions would be new to the concept of railway transport. Biting my tongue with patience, I finally tossed my hand luggage onto the top bunk and heaved my main pack onto my head before navigating it onto the wide ledge running just below the roof.
When in a multi-person compartment, you never want to be on the bottom bunk. Used as seating during the day, you can only sleep when no-one else wants to sit up. In Russia and Mongolia, I'd always opted for the top bunk. This seemed to keep everyone happy as I slept the most and they all liked having the bottom bunk. Whereas Russian trains had two levels, Chinese trains have three. By being on any bunk about seating-level means you can seek out privacy whenever you see fit. You can choose when you want to sleep versus having your waking hours dictated to you.
We had finally settled in and the train had departed. Our gear had been stowed and some snacks had appeared. It was Charlotte's birthday today and appropriate drinks appeared in short order. I felt a little sorry for her, the new group had not had the chance to really bond well yet and she certainly was having an average time compared to if it was at the end of the trip. Some drinks were laid on, but in a week or two there would have been a cake and probably gifts. Just bad luck and worse timing. Still, drinks were plentiful and stretched into the night. She seemed to have a good time.
For the beginning of the train journey and the rest of the daylight hours, I took the opportunity to sit in the little seat at the window and try and *see* this country. What I saw astonished me.
The smog and haze of Beijing had been significant, looking at nearby buildings gave a white haze that made you want to blink, as though your glasses were fogged or smeared. At times, visibility would have been about 2 kilometres or maybe a little better. Now that we were out of the city, it really hit me.
Directly overhead, you could just make out some blue of the sky. The distance was concealed behind the white and grey screen of smog and the sun was an angry orange and red ball, fighting with the pollution but still safe to look directly at. It was currently 4pm. As the afternoon and the train drew on, the sun dropped a little and dimmed to the brightness of the moon at midday. Eventually, by a little after 5, it had been completely swallowed by the smog. The sky was just a glare of grey and white light.
Escaping through the endless outskirts of the megatropolis, we passed the rapid staccato of various industrial districts divided by low-lying housing and tall residential blocks. The continual march of industrialisation was almost angry. Its fingers, straining and crooked, tearing out into the countryside as fields and little corpses of trees met an abrupt, concrete interface. Like water to sand, the high-density blocks and industrialised zones punctured the farmland.
Our train pounding on, as though it were a river, dragging this development into the outskirts and then the surrounding rural regions. Great torrents of vehicles, fences and construction pouring into the region, splashing out and running together into to pools of activity. This onslaught of progress and industry tore through the hillsides with such velocity, its entourage of smog being dragged along like a vapour trail.
Such is the cost of our world.
Such is the cost of Industry and Progress.
This was our choice.
Finally, the sky grew dark. Escaping the bitter atmosphere, the sun would appear in the morning with new strength. Such was its courage to do battle with the sweat of Global Economics.
The night drew on and more drinks appeared. Charlotte was suitably made a fuss of and was particularly drunk by the time I quietly put the bottle of vodka I got for my birthday back into my main pack. It was about an hour after I went to bed that she realised it had disappeared, complaining that she wanted more to drink. Though it was a fun night, a couple of the girls bared teeth and drew claws, I made myself scarce as soon as the pleasantness started to drop from the conversation.
Just before sleep, I peeked out the window and shone my new laser into the sky. For its entire length, it was a brilliant green beam. There was still so much smog and pollution in the air that you couldn't just see it, you could almost cut it.
290908 – Beijing to Great Wall
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Packing and prepare to leave
Breakfast at Maccas and supermarket
Walk to bus
Trip out to Great wall
Great Wall – walk and cable-car
Bus to hostel
drink and snooze
drinks with the others
dinner
Chill out and early night
Packing and prepare to leave
Breakfast at Maccas and supermarket
Walk to bus
Trip out to Great wall
Great Wall – walk and cable-car
Bus to hostel
drink and snooze
drinks with the others
dinner
Chill out and early night
280908 – Beijing
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Lama Temple
Winter Palace
Kung Fu show
Finishing Dinner with the other group
Lama Temple
Winter Palace
Kung Fu show
Finishing Dinner with the other group
270908 – Beijing
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Change rooms
Forbidden city
Mr Lee's for lunch
Changing money
Night Market for Dinner - Snake
Change rooms
Forbidden city
Mr Lee's for lunch
Changing money
Night Market for Dinner - Snake
260908 – Beijing
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Arrive and head to hostel about 330
Maccas
shower & refresh
New group meeting
Leaving Dinner/Welcome dinner
Last night
Arrive and head to hostel about 330
Maccas
shower & refresh
New group meeting
Leaving Dinner/Welcome dinner
Last night
250908 – Mongolia, Ulaan Batar to Train. Birthday
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Clubbing, drinks
Alcohol hunting and going to Temor's
Chilling out at Temor's
Back to hotel and packing,
Getting ready and getting Andy up.
Breakfast and preparing to depart,
Denesh's drama
Boarding train and settling in for the day.
Mongolian plane's and scenery,
Birthday Cake, song and card.
Border crossing.
Changing gauge on the trains.
Sleep
Clubbing, drinks
Alcohol hunting and going to Temor's
Chilling out at Temor's
Back to hotel and packing,
Getting ready and getting Andy up.
Breakfast and preparing to depart,
Denesh's drama
Boarding train and settling in for the day.
Mongolian plane's and scenery,
Birthday Cake, song and card.
Border crossing.
Changing gauge on the trains.
Sleep
240908 – Mongolia, Ger Camp to Ulaan Batar
**SUMMARY** PLACEHOLDER
Bus ride back,
Orientation walk through the city,
Lunch,
State department store,
meeting for Cultural Show, trip there.
Cultural Show and walking to dinner,
Dinner, drinks. 2L beers
Meeting other group and heading out,
Clubbing, drinks
Bus ride back,
Orientation walk through the city,
Lunch,
State department store,
meeting for Cultural Show, trip there.
Cultural Show and walking to dinner,
Dinner, drinks. 2L beers
Meeting other group and heading out,
Clubbing, drinks
230908 – Mongolia, Ulaan Batar to Ger Camp
230908 – Mongolia, Ulaan Batar to Ger Camp
We woke up and collected our bags long before dawn. The group was still somewhat subdued from the length and tedium of the day before. Anne was still a shamed face when she appeared at our door.
Arriving in Ulaan Batar, a local intrepid guide rounded up the group. Anne appeared with the last member and discussed the upcoming day at length with the local. It was a little chilly here, but tolerable. The hung-over and tired hazed clouded us all the way through being positioned on the bus, the stop at the bank to change currency and the drive to the hotel. These were the only duties of the local guide, she pointed out a handful of features and then bid farewell.
We were only using this hotel for a couple of hours, particularly to shower and have breakfast. Liam and I shared once again, alternating between toilet, naps and showers. The power was out for the hotel, sanitation was conducted by candle-light.
Breakfast was a delicate affair, strangely fried potatoe, eggs, noodles, an odd definition of fries, cordial like juice and instant coffee. Everyone was suffering and there was still a long bus ride to be had.
Day-packs had been assembled for the Ger camp and main packs were stored. We boarded the bus with our essentials and small bags of dirty laundry. There would be a stop at the supermarket for hang-over cures after depositing dirty clothes for cleaning.
We had entered the hotel at dawn, when the streets had been deserted. It was now about 8AM and peak-hour. At least, I HOPE this was peak hour.. Mongolians have a strange definition of Right of Way, three were NO traffic lights anywhere, a fender bender we witness degenerated into clawing at each other´s throats and punches. Getting anywhere in the bus was a challenge, I later realised that we managed to get to the laundrette strangely easily..
Driving through the city, the world of this people began to intrigue me. For a western mind, it can be a little difficult to find some norms by which you can form an opinion of a society. The more alien the culture, the more different the drives and ambitions of the people, the more intricate the assessment. It is a sad convinience that the globalisation of the American market can so carefully insert, with surgical precision, little grafts of western culture. The Big-Mac exchange rate, for example, combined with the local pay rate and the desire for fashion/accessories, can allow a forienger a normalised spectrum for comparing their home patch of grass to the current surroundings. Its amazing how much we all like to compare fortunes..
Through all of this, I did notice that the class divide seemed to be closer in Mongolia than many of the other countries I had visited. It was certainly still noticable, but the contrasts within each strata were impressively striking. It appeared to be entirely acceptable to live in a Ger in the suburbs, the traditional circular tent of the nomads. In the suburbs, there were houses and appartment blocks seperated by blocks of Gers. It was more than a little surreal.
Days later, on our return to Ulaan Batar, I noticed very beatifully groomed and extremely fashionable women walking down dirt tracks from the lower-middle class outer suburbs. Between Gers and rickety wooden fences that surrounded houses that ranged from dingy to afluent. The image was strangely balanced, I imagine that she had a very good job and that everyone lived in similar circumstances.
Back to the present, the Supermarket had been a worry, everyone had been told that Mongolia was VERY expensive.. NOPE!!! Cheaper than Australian prices for most things, chocolate, caffeine and icecream were procured, along with a strange selection of bottled water.. There was a brand called ¨Sweat¨... it was a local brand..
A couple of the lads had picked up beer, possibly for Hair of the Dog. On returning to the bus, they also found out how cheap the plastic bags are here.. a broken bottle had the front of the bus smelling like beer for the trip out out to the Ger camp.
Rubbing deodourant under my nose to save my now delicate stomach from the smell of warm beer.. M&Ms and ice-cream had me feeling much better. Stowing the box of tissues in key locations for the next few days (no toilet paper in Mongolia), I settled in for a snooze between glimpses at the Mongolian country side.
Once we were out of the city, the traffic settled into its own pace. Our driver had said very little and was overtaking with a ferocity that expressed his displeasure of the smell of warm beer..
A bit over an hour out of the city, we had passed through multiple road-checkpoints. There were signs of lost industry every few minutes. Old complexes with rusting roofs and guardhouses, once imposing gates were patched with planks of wood. Chain-link had long since dissolved and the metal bar fences were noticably gap-toothed. Nice and modern cars pulled out of near-abandoned factory compounds, more than likely little more than storage space and salvage. There had once been chimney stacks burning in this countryside, rolling progress out the door and fueling the machine. Change had come and the works of long retired hands had now dwindled from disrepair and neglect into dereliction.
Pulling over to the side of the road near a pony tethered to a power pole and a post with a big eagle on top, the driver beeped his horn to draw a pair of men out of a nearby hut. We pilled off the bus and walked over.
The eagle was massive.
The driver negotiated and announced we could get photos holding the eagle for the equivalent of about $1AUD. The first person tentatively stepped forward and, when it was obvious that the great hunting bird would not be tearing our eyes out, thee vast majority of the group followed.
The bird wasnt just massive, it was also impressively heavy. As I held the 5kg eagle above head hight, the local tugged on the cord teathering its feet. The resultant bobbing made it open its wings to retain balance. About a 1.2m wingspan.
And this was a baby.. only 18-24 months old. They can live past 24 years and the locals take them hunt wolves.
WOLVES.. a bird.. hunting MONGOLIAN AND SIBERIAN WOLVES...
We were all a little more than just impressed.
Back on the bus, we continued on. We stopped about half an hour later at the top of a hill. Anne told us that this was a significant shaman monument associated with the spirit of the sky. Consisting of a large pile of stones and rocks, about 2 metres high and at least 3m in diameter, with several sticks or branches piercing upwards from the centre. Many of the small rocks had cloth tied around it, the sticks that acted as the pinical of the monument also had brightly coloured cloth tied to them. Diligently following the instructions to show respect to the monument, we each threw three small stones onto the pile and walked the circumference three times in a counter-clockwise direction. Promises of good-fortune were long-standing for such signs of respect to the local customs. Another bus arrived with its payload of tourists, we got photos out of the way before inundation. The smokers smoked and we all made sounds of disgust at the nearby sign advertising a golf-resort.
There wasnt much more dozing to be had on this trip before arriving at the Ger camp. We dismounted and were escorted to out accommodation.
A Ger is a circular tent with vertical walls reaching approximately 2m high, the roof is on about a 30 degree angle from here. The roof is supported by wooden spokes, as is the wall, appearing to be of an intricate arrangement and requiring thick cord to run around the perimiter like a haybale. Tension of the cords and the particular pattern of the spokes in the roof appear to be crucial for this free-standing structure. The walls and ceiling consisted of a thick felt material and an assortment of dark or transparent sheet-plastic. Dubious of the comfort of these great tents, I had forgotten that the Mongolian winter can reach -40 degrees and this was the traditional shelter. At the moment it was cold, but the wood burning heater was not currently in use.
Adam and Andy were both bitterly disappointed that the floor was raised concrete covered with lino and that each Ger had mains-sockets and electric lights. They had been hoping for an authentic experience, these had clearly been constructed with tourists in mind..
Depositing our gear, the boys tent went for a walk up the hill. I was quite concious of my knee after the long andd hard travel of the past day. I was still a bit hung-over and exhausted and hadnt done any real exercise in weeks.. I was determined to keep up with the others.
At the top of the hill, the view was quite impressive of the valley stretching away in three directions from our camp. Scaling the great rock at the top of the hill, the view improved apart from some pitiful and pathetic graffeti. Sitting in the quite, we decended and headed for lunch.
Lunch was a delicious assortment of hot-dishes. Filled pancakes and buns, hot vegetables and a great deal of lamb. Greg was a little let-down with the minimal vegetarian options, but I was delighted. By the third attempt, the vegie-filled alternatives had made their way to his plate and his meaty morsels found their way to mine. My stomach was still a little sensitive, complaining a the pungent lamb, but was shortly settled with a third dish. Our driver spoke english that appeared to improve with each hour, his humour was a great deal better than on the drive. He seemed to be forgetting Andys effort with the beer bottle.
I went for a nap after lunch, the rest of the group heading out for a horse-ride. I would have dearly loved to have ridden the legendary sprinting horses of Mongolia, but was still under strick orders not to, plus I was exhausted and feeling pretty rotten. One of the more notable stories I heard about these horses was that the local heroe had ridden a 12km sprint in 24 minutes.. they were even faster for shorter distances.
As my snooze finished, the group returned. They were excited from their ride and it was soon obvious that I would have to return here to try it for myself one-day. We all just hung-out and walked or talked for the rest of the afternoon. There was not really much to do at the camp, there wasnt really time to set out for a longer walk or to arrange a game of anything. It was only a little time till dinner.
Dinner featured similar cuisine to lunch-time. It a great deal of meat and was remarkably delicious. I had only eaten Mongolian BBQ back home, so this home-cooked style was new and exciting. Yoghurt and milk followed the meal and our driver started to talk in ernest.
Our Driver, Mei-an was very old, by Mongolian standards, aged at about 60 while looking less than 50 in a country where the male life-expectancy was somewhere in between. He had lead an impressive and interesting life. He mentioned a former trade profession and was appeared mostly self educated. Previously a union head and involved in politics, he was now just a bus-driver and devoted Grandfather, I cant remember the exact number of descendants but it deserved a high-5 by many of the guys. Double digits at least.
Having spent a great deal of time in the country, and having a lot of family from rural regions, Mei-an had been an avid hunter. Still venturing out in winter with an ancient Soviet sniper rifle, he particularly hunted wolves and the occassional bear. He told stories of the changes in nature and how the different men hunt, that wolf packs had grown from pairs, to several, now to dozens. Walking over a hill-top tracking an unwary wolf he had come across a dozen of its mates lazing under some trees further upwind, he kept it that way and beat a hasty retreat. He spoke of the cunning of the wolves, how they were now more bold, forcing their way into homesteads and liberating them of all the livestock.
A brother of his had spotted a wolf and pursued it in a truck or tractor. Summitting a small hill, the wolf had completely vanished. A second look revealed just a corner of a tail poking out from behind a power-pole. The quadraped had stood up on its hind-legs, placing its fore-paws high on the pole. Standing as such, it was trying to hide from its pursuer. Noticing his quarry, the man began to drive around, attempting to get a good shot at the beast. Not to be outsmarted, the wolf walked its way around the far-side of the power-pole, relying only on its hearing to track the moving vehicle. Realising this, the driver began to close the distance to the pole while continueing to circle. Spiralling in, the wolf eventually lost its nerve and made a break for the next cover.
I would like to say that such a smart animal made it, but these men appear to be legendary sharp-shooters.
Plus, what was a wolf doing in the deep midst of this grazing region..
We continued to talk into the night, slowly the others drifted away until it was just me and the driver. Discussing hunting and other stories, I had been invited to go hunting wolves if I ever came back to Mongolia.
This country is AWESOME!!!
I took my time on the way back to the Ger, soaking in the starlit sky. It was as full of twinkling lights as it had been blue earlier today. It is something that I have missed from home, blue skies and stars at night.
Back in the Ger, the boys had worked their way through a few cans. One had already been spilt and the emergency measures had come out to try and stop the place smelling. The fire had been lit and extra wood was soon delivered. Mei-An appeared after a while and growled at the ladies carrying the wood, no-one was sure why.
The night dragged on for a bit and I rearranged my gear. Adam and Liam had started to play tag with a pair of wet socks while Andy was partially passed out. For some reason, Liam had started to become more aggressive from this point in the trip. I wasnt too phased by his blustering and before long the light was out and sleep was on the horizon.
We woke up and collected our bags long before dawn. The group was still somewhat subdued from the length and tedium of the day before. Anne was still a shamed face when she appeared at our door.
Arriving in Ulaan Batar, a local intrepid guide rounded up the group. Anne appeared with the last member and discussed the upcoming day at length with the local. It was a little chilly here, but tolerable. The hung-over and tired hazed clouded us all the way through being positioned on the bus, the stop at the bank to change currency and the drive to the hotel. These were the only duties of the local guide, she pointed out a handful of features and then bid farewell.
We were only using this hotel for a couple of hours, particularly to shower and have breakfast. Liam and I shared once again, alternating between toilet, naps and showers. The power was out for the hotel, sanitation was conducted by candle-light.
Breakfast was a delicate affair, strangely fried potatoe, eggs, noodles, an odd definition of fries, cordial like juice and instant coffee. Everyone was suffering and there was still a long bus ride to be had.
Day-packs had been assembled for the Ger camp and main packs were stored. We boarded the bus with our essentials and small bags of dirty laundry. There would be a stop at the supermarket for hang-over cures after depositing dirty clothes for cleaning.
We had entered the hotel at dawn, when the streets had been deserted. It was now about 8AM and peak-hour. At least, I HOPE this was peak hour.. Mongolians have a strange definition of Right of Way, three were NO traffic lights anywhere, a fender bender we witness degenerated into clawing at each other´s throats and punches. Getting anywhere in the bus was a challenge, I later realised that we managed to get to the laundrette strangely easily..
Driving through the city, the world of this people began to intrigue me. For a western mind, it can be a little difficult to find some norms by which you can form an opinion of a society. The more alien the culture, the more different the drives and ambitions of the people, the more intricate the assessment. It is a sad convinience that the globalisation of the American market can so carefully insert, with surgical precision, little grafts of western culture. The Big-Mac exchange rate, for example, combined with the local pay rate and the desire for fashion/accessories, can allow a forienger a normalised spectrum for comparing their home patch of grass to the current surroundings. Its amazing how much we all like to compare fortunes..
Through all of this, I did notice that the class divide seemed to be closer in Mongolia than many of the other countries I had visited. It was certainly still noticable, but the contrasts within each strata were impressively striking. It appeared to be entirely acceptable to live in a Ger in the suburbs, the traditional circular tent of the nomads. In the suburbs, there were houses and appartment blocks seperated by blocks of Gers. It was more than a little surreal.
Days later, on our return to Ulaan Batar, I noticed very beatifully groomed and extremely fashionable women walking down dirt tracks from the lower-middle class outer suburbs. Between Gers and rickety wooden fences that surrounded houses that ranged from dingy to afluent. The image was strangely balanced, I imagine that she had a very good job and that everyone lived in similar circumstances.
Back to the present, the Supermarket had been a worry, everyone had been told that Mongolia was VERY expensive.. NOPE!!! Cheaper than Australian prices for most things, chocolate, caffeine and icecream were procured, along with a strange selection of bottled water.. There was a brand called ¨Sweat¨... it was a local brand..
A couple of the lads had picked up beer, possibly for Hair of the Dog. On returning to the bus, they also found out how cheap the plastic bags are here.. a broken bottle had the front of the bus smelling like beer for the trip out out to the Ger camp.
Rubbing deodourant under my nose to save my now delicate stomach from the smell of warm beer.. M&Ms and ice-cream had me feeling much better. Stowing the box of tissues in key locations for the next few days (no toilet paper in Mongolia), I settled in for a snooze between glimpses at the Mongolian country side.
Once we were out of the city, the traffic settled into its own pace. Our driver had said very little and was overtaking with a ferocity that expressed his displeasure of the smell of warm beer..
A bit over an hour out of the city, we had passed through multiple road-checkpoints. There were signs of lost industry every few minutes. Old complexes with rusting roofs and guardhouses, once imposing gates were patched with planks of wood. Chain-link had long since dissolved and the metal bar fences were noticably gap-toothed. Nice and modern cars pulled out of near-abandoned factory compounds, more than likely little more than storage space and salvage. There had once been chimney stacks burning in this countryside, rolling progress out the door and fueling the machine. Change had come and the works of long retired hands had now dwindled from disrepair and neglect into dereliction.
Pulling over to the side of the road near a pony tethered to a power pole and a post with a big eagle on top, the driver beeped his horn to draw a pair of men out of a nearby hut. We pilled off the bus and walked over.
The eagle was massive.
The driver negotiated and announced we could get photos holding the eagle for the equivalent of about $1AUD. The first person tentatively stepped forward and, when it was obvious that the great hunting bird would not be tearing our eyes out, thee vast majority of the group followed.
The bird wasnt just massive, it was also impressively heavy. As I held the 5kg eagle above head hight, the local tugged on the cord teathering its feet. The resultant bobbing made it open its wings to retain balance. About a 1.2m wingspan.
And this was a baby.. only 18-24 months old. They can live past 24 years and the locals take them hunt wolves.
WOLVES.. a bird.. hunting MONGOLIAN AND SIBERIAN WOLVES...
We were all a little more than just impressed.
Back on the bus, we continued on. We stopped about half an hour later at the top of a hill. Anne told us that this was a significant shaman monument associated with the spirit of the sky. Consisting of a large pile of stones and rocks, about 2 metres high and at least 3m in diameter, with several sticks or branches piercing upwards from the centre. Many of the small rocks had cloth tied around it, the sticks that acted as the pinical of the monument also had brightly coloured cloth tied to them. Diligently following the instructions to show respect to the monument, we each threw three small stones onto the pile and walked the circumference three times in a counter-clockwise direction. Promises of good-fortune were long-standing for such signs of respect to the local customs. Another bus arrived with its payload of tourists, we got photos out of the way before inundation. The smokers smoked and we all made sounds of disgust at the nearby sign advertising a golf-resort.
There wasnt much more dozing to be had on this trip before arriving at the Ger camp. We dismounted and were escorted to out accommodation.
A Ger is a circular tent with vertical walls reaching approximately 2m high, the roof is on about a 30 degree angle from here. The roof is supported by wooden spokes, as is the wall, appearing to be of an intricate arrangement and requiring thick cord to run around the perimiter like a haybale. Tension of the cords and the particular pattern of the spokes in the roof appear to be crucial for this free-standing structure. The walls and ceiling consisted of a thick felt material and an assortment of dark or transparent sheet-plastic. Dubious of the comfort of these great tents, I had forgotten that the Mongolian winter can reach -40 degrees and this was the traditional shelter. At the moment it was cold, but the wood burning heater was not currently in use.
Adam and Andy were both bitterly disappointed that the floor was raised concrete covered with lino and that each Ger had mains-sockets and electric lights. They had been hoping for an authentic experience, these had clearly been constructed with tourists in mind..
Depositing our gear, the boys tent went for a walk up the hill. I was quite concious of my knee after the long andd hard travel of the past day. I was still a bit hung-over and exhausted and hadnt done any real exercise in weeks.. I was determined to keep up with the others.
At the top of the hill, the view was quite impressive of the valley stretching away in three directions from our camp. Scaling the great rock at the top of the hill, the view improved apart from some pitiful and pathetic graffeti. Sitting in the quite, we decended and headed for lunch.
Lunch was a delicious assortment of hot-dishes. Filled pancakes and buns, hot vegetables and a great deal of lamb. Greg was a little let-down with the minimal vegetarian options, but I was delighted. By the third attempt, the vegie-filled alternatives had made their way to his plate and his meaty morsels found their way to mine. My stomach was still a little sensitive, complaining a the pungent lamb, but was shortly settled with a third dish. Our driver spoke english that appeared to improve with each hour, his humour was a great deal better than on the drive. He seemed to be forgetting Andys effort with the beer bottle.
I went for a nap after lunch, the rest of the group heading out for a horse-ride. I would have dearly loved to have ridden the legendary sprinting horses of Mongolia, but was still under strick orders not to, plus I was exhausted and feeling pretty rotten. One of the more notable stories I heard about these horses was that the local heroe had ridden a 12km sprint in 24 minutes.. they were even faster for shorter distances.
As my snooze finished, the group returned. They were excited from their ride and it was soon obvious that I would have to return here to try it for myself one-day. We all just hung-out and walked or talked for the rest of the afternoon. There was not really much to do at the camp, there wasnt really time to set out for a longer walk or to arrange a game of anything. It was only a little time till dinner.
Dinner featured similar cuisine to lunch-time. It a great deal of meat and was remarkably delicious. I had only eaten Mongolian BBQ back home, so this home-cooked style was new and exciting. Yoghurt and milk followed the meal and our driver started to talk in ernest.
Our Driver, Mei-an was very old, by Mongolian standards, aged at about 60 while looking less than 50 in a country where the male life-expectancy was somewhere in between. He had lead an impressive and interesting life. He mentioned a former trade profession and was appeared mostly self educated. Previously a union head and involved in politics, he was now just a bus-driver and devoted Grandfather, I cant remember the exact number of descendants but it deserved a high-5 by many of the guys. Double digits at least.
Having spent a great deal of time in the country, and having a lot of family from rural regions, Mei-an had been an avid hunter. Still venturing out in winter with an ancient Soviet sniper rifle, he particularly hunted wolves and the occassional bear. He told stories of the changes in nature and how the different men hunt, that wolf packs had grown from pairs, to several, now to dozens. Walking over a hill-top tracking an unwary wolf he had come across a dozen of its mates lazing under some trees further upwind, he kept it that way and beat a hasty retreat. He spoke of the cunning of the wolves, how they were now more bold, forcing their way into homesteads and liberating them of all the livestock.
A brother of his had spotted a wolf and pursued it in a truck or tractor. Summitting a small hill, the wolf had completely vanished. A second look revealed just a corner of a tail poking out from behind a power-pole. The quadraped had stood up on its hind-legs, placing its fore-paws high on the pole. Standing as such, it was trying to hide from its pursuer. Noticing his quarry, the man began to drive around, attempting to get a good shot at the beast. Not to be outsmarted, the wolf walked its way around the far-side of the power-pole, relying only on its hearing to track the moving vehicle. Realising this, the driver began to close the distance to the pole while continueing to circle. Spiralling in, the wolf eventually lost its nerve and made a break for the next cover.
I would like to say that such a smart animal made it, but these men appear to be legendary sharp-shooters.
Plus, what was a wolf doing in the deep midst of this grazing region..
We continued to talk into the night, slowly the others drifted away until it was just me and the driver. Discussing hunting and other stories, I had been invited to go hunting wolves if I ever came back to Mongolia.
This country is AWESOME!!!
I took my time on the way back to the Ger, soaking in the starlit sky. It was as full of twinkling lights as it had been blue earlier today. It is something that I have missed from home, blue skies and stars at night.
Back in the Ger, the boys had worked their way through a few cans. One had already been spilt and the emergency measures had come out to try and stop the place smelling. The fire had been lit and extra wood was soon delivered. Mei-An appeared after a while and growled at the ladies carrying the wood, no-one was sure why.
The night dragged on for a bit and I rearranged my gear. Adam and Liam had started to play tag with a pair of wet socks while Andy was partially passed out. For some reason, Liam had started to become more aggressive from this point in the trip. I wasnt too phased by his blustering and before long the light was out and sleep was on the horizon.
220908 – Russia, Ulaan Ude and Train trip.
220908 – Russia, Ulaan Ude and Train trip.
Everyone woke up hanging.. badly.. there was some serious pain in the cars on the way to the trainstation.
Nat had woken up early to have a shower. She´d done her workout the night before and again this morning, offering some inspiration for me to do a rehab workout. Most of us were dragged back into the living world, working our best zombie impressions until we were on the train.
We snuck out of the group, trying our best not to disturb our hosts. All of the meals today would consist of the provisions we had purchased late last night.. Pot-noodles and vodka..
At the train station, Adam found some Lenin brand cigarettes at one of the little kiosks that are everywhere and never seem to close. Reputed to be the favourite Nicotine-Beverage of Pickle himself, they could only be described as ¨Unfiltered, Russian Black cigarettes¨. There is a comic-book two-headed cat that would like them, I doubt that anyone else who had more blood than formalin could choke them down though... Of course I wanted a pack to take home as a souvenier! After his first taste, I bought the rest of the pack off of Adam.
Nasty
Our Local-Guide, Andre, said his goodbyes at the train-station. The tip was passed on to him, undoubtedly he was disappointed at the fibre of that thin bundle of fabric. He simply had not done anything outstanding, he´d not done his job and not much else. He was pleasant enough, but...
We set up a refugee camp in the train station. Everyone took various steps to find caffeine, nicotine or whatever their prefered hang-over cure could be. The wait dragged on, bags were shifted to make room for the locals who were rotated through sleeping on the floor by the local cops. Some old Russian men made a point of eyeing out the girls in the group. Much scowling in every direction took place.
Getting onto the train, it was an identical series of carriages to the last Russian train. The regular arrangement of bunks, stowing of gear in familiar places, taking our places in the great machine...
First, many of us snoozed.
This was going to be a long day of travel.
Finally, we couldn´t sleep any more.
People read books and wrote journals. Someone put some music on.
People, one by one, grew bored of their book. Sore hands put journals down. The batteries ran out on the laptop.
A couple of people tried to snooze by the time the made its first real stop. The provonista on this train was actually really nice. The Trans-Siberian would have been wonderful if we had of been cared for by her.
Attempts to return to books and journals failed. We sat glaring at the air infront of our noses as the first two hours dragged by, the scene framed by the window boring and unchanging.
Cards came out. Trash-talk followed the games of Hearts, A-hole and S-head, Cheat and poker. Russian officials came past to collect passports and exit forms. This had marked somewhere in the third hour.
Vodka and dirty-jokes tried to help. Everyone grew bored of the cards as tempers deteriorated. My iPhone tried to break the tension with some music, but failed desperately.
About four or five hours had passed. We still hadn´t moved.
The Russian officials returned, searching the compartments for contraband and stow-aways. We had been warned of this well in advance by Anne.
It was well into the afternoon and closer to evening by the time word had come back from the next cabin.. Anne´s entry into Russia had been through the Thai 30-day visa free period. Intrepid had booked her flight in a ~liiiittle~ early, she was now at day 31.
Anne told us, after disappearing for a time, that they had seized her passport.. something about it not being a Breach of Visa, which would have just been a fine. Because she had not needed a visa to get in, this was now Entry Without a Visa, or some such thing. She might need to stay in the border zone until Red Square opened and she could sort it out.
¨Don´t worry, the local guide in Mongolia can look after you till I can catch up with you...¨
The cabin-fever plaguing us boys was now in addition to our concern for Anne. What would happen to her? Should one of us stay with her to try and help out, or even just escort her so that she would be safe?
We all received our passports back, Anne mumbling that they had held onto it.. The train started to roll forwards towards the Mongolian check-point, about 40km away by my guess. What would happen there?
By this point, we had been waiting at the Russian border for 9 hours. Stationary for almost the entire time, meaning that the toilets were off-limits.
Just under an hour passed..
A very beautiful Mongolian lady collected our passports, Anne took a little walk with her.. Coming back she said she would have to stay at the border here until the issues with her passport were resolved.
About an hour and a half passed.. Anne was looking awefully concerned.. scared and might have been crying.
My cabin had passed around a hat to get Anne´s tip. There was a chance that she would not be able to catch up with us before we changed tours, and she might have problems with funding at this little border town.
It was now that she was definitely crying..
Our passports were returned about an hour before the train departed. The cabins were strangely keeping to themselves and the atmosphere was depressed. Anne was visibly upset the whole time.
After about 3-4 hours waiting at the mongolian border, after entry forms and customs forms were filled and compartments had been searched, the train made noises of moving..
The train started to roll forward and Anne slipped a little Purple document out of her pocket..
It was a passport..
A Thai passport..
earlier, the strong emotions we had seen as we had given her the tip-money and little home-made card, it had been her laughing so hard she was crying.
The other cabins had been in on it.. including Greg (as one of the Guys, he would pay for this later...).
None of us were impressed, to say the least.. More than a few words were uttered, generalised at the entire rest of the group, by all four of us.
We made a tactical retreat to our cabin and shut the door, before anything was said that couldn´t be undone later. We calmed down somewhat over the next half-hour or so.. there were a couple of sheepish appearances by key members of the group.. mostly ignored or rapidly departing..
It was decided, there would be a reckonning...
The four of us fumed over a new set of card games, drinks were produced. We transplanted to the shamed cabin that housed the rest of the group, they had finally cottoned on that the little prank had gone on for a little too long and had been about something perhaps a little too serious..
The frosty card-games and beverages had a little bit of humour by the end of the night. It had been a very very very long day and we were all drained. Things had perhaps been a little too much.
Our cabin drifted off to sleep, quietly discussing possible responses to Annes inappropriate behaviour..
Everyone woke up hanging.. badly.. there was some serious pain in the cars on the way to the trainstation.
Nat had woken up early to have a shower. She´d done her workout the night before and again this morning, offering some inspiration for me to do a rehab workout. Most of us were dragged back into the living world, working our best zombie impressions until we were on the train.
We snuck out of the group, trying our best not to disturb our hosts. All of the meals today would consist of the provisions we had purchased late last night.. Pot-noodles and vodka..
At the train station, Adam found some Lenin brand cigarettes at one of the little kiosks that are everywhere and never seem to close. Reputed to be the favourite Nicotine-Beverage of Pickle himself, they could only be described as ¨Unfiltered, Russian Black cigarettes¨. There is a comic-book two-headed cat that would like them, I doubt that anyone else who had more blood than formalin could choke them down though... Of course I wanted a pack to take home as a souvenier! After his first taste, I bought the rest of the pack off of Adam.
Nasty
Our Local-Guide, Andre, said his goodbyes at the train-station. The tip was passed on to him, undoubtedly he was disappointed at the fibre of that thin bundle of fabric. He simply had not done anything outstanding, he´d not done his job and not much else. He was pleasant enough, but...
We set up a refugee camp in the train station. Everyone took various steps to find caffeine, nicotine or whatever their prefered hang-over cure could be. The wait dragged on, bags were shifted to make room for the locals who were rotated through sleeping on the floor by the local cops. Some old Russian men made a point of eyeing out the girls in the group. Much scowling in every direction took place.
Getting onto the train, it was an identical series of carriages to the last Russian train. The regular arrangement of bunks, stowing of gear in familiar places, taking our places in the great machine...
First, many of us snoozed.
This was going to be a long day of travel.
Finally, we couldn´t sleep any more.
People read books and wrote journals. Someone put some music on.
People, one by one, grew bored of their book. Sore hands put journals down. The batteries ran out on the laptop.
A couple of people tried to snooze by the time the made its first real stop. The provonista on this train was actually really nice. The Trans-Siberian would have been wonderful if we had of been cared for by her.
Attempts to return to books and journals failed. We sat glaring at the air infront of our noses as the first two hours dragged by, the scene framed by the window boring and unchanging.
Cards came out. Trash-talk followed the games of Hearts, A-hole and S-head, Cheat and poker. Russian officials came past to collect passports and exit forms. This had marked somewhere in the third hour.
Vodka and dirty-jokes tried to help. Everyone grew bored of the cards as tempers deteriorated. My iPhone tried to break the tension with some music, but failed desperately.
About four or five hours had passed. We still hadn´t moved.
The Russian officials returned, searching the compartments for contraband and stow-aways. We had been warned of this well in advance by Anne.
It was well into the afternoon and closer to evening by the time word had come back from the next cabin.. Anne´s entry into Russia had been through the Thai 30-day visa free period. Intrepid had booked her flight in a ~liiiittle~ early, she was now at day 31.
Anne told us, after disappearing for a time, that they had seized her passport.. something about it not being a Breach of Visa, which would have just been a fine. Because she had not needed a visa to get in, this was now Entry Without a Visa, or some such thing. She might need to stay in the border zone until Red Square opened and she could sort it out.
¨Don´t worry, the local guide in Mongolia can look after you till I can catch up with you...¨
The cabin-fever plaguing us boys was now in addition to our concern for Anne. What would happen to her? Should one of us stay with her to try and help out, or even just escort her so that she would be safe?
We all received our passports back, Anne mumbling that they had held onto it.. The train started to roll forwards towards the Mongolian check-point, about 40km away by my guess. What would happen there?
By this point, we had been waiting at the Russian border for 9 hours. Stationary for almost the entire time, meaning that the toilets were off-limits.
Just under an hour passed..
A very beautiful Mongolian lady collected our passports, Anne took a little walk with her.. Coming back she said she would have to stay at the border here until the issues with her passport were resolved.
About an hour and a half passed.. Anne was looking awefully concerned.. scared and might have been crying.
My cabin had passed around a hat to get Anne´s tip. There was a chance that she would not be able to catch up with us before we changed tours, and she might have problems with funding at this little border town.
It was now that she was definitely crying..
Our passports were returned about an hour before the train departed. The cabins were strangely keeping to themselves and the atmosphere was depressed. Anne was visibly upset the whole time.
After about 3-4 hours waiting at the mongolian border, after entry forms and customs forms were filled and compartments had been searched, the train made noises of moving..
The train started to roll forward and Anne slipped a little Purple document out of her pocket..
It was a passport..
A Thai passport..
earlier, the strong emotions we had seen as we had given her the tip-money and little home-made card, it had been her laughing so hard she was crying.
The other cabins had been in on it.. including Greg (as one of the Guys, he would pay for this later...).
None of us were impressed, to say the least.. More than a few words were uttered, generalised at the entire rest of the group, by all four of us.
We made a tactical retreat to our cabin and shut the door, before anything was said that couldn´t be undone later. We calmed down somewhat over the next half-hour or so.. there were a couple of sheepish appearances by key members of the group.. mostly ignored or rapidly departing..
It was decided, there would be a reckonning...
The four of us fumed over a new set of card games, drinks were produced. We transplanted to the shamed cabin that housed the rest of the group, they had finally cottoned on that the little prank had gone on for a little too long and had been about something perhaps a little too serious..
The frosty card-games and beverages had a little bit of humour by the end of the night. It had been a very very very long day and we were all drained. Things had perhaps been a little too much.
Our cabin drifted off to sleep, quietly discussing possible responses to Annes inappropriate behaviour..
210908 – Russia, Train Trip to Ulaan Ude
210908 – Russia, Train Trip to Ulaan Ude
The train arrived a suitable time before dawn. This was still a source of grumbling within the group, tiredness made everybody cranky, along with having to wait for our local guide to finish his cigarette before looking for our transport. Unfortunately, Andre wasnt winning any favours. Once vehicles had been sought out and acquired, the little convoy made its way out to the family home-stay. On arrival, a breakfast of breads and some odd kind of porrige cheered the group up immensly.
The next few hours were occupied by sleeping and showers, Liam and I shared a room again. The beds must have been an artifact of Soviet interigation. Featuring a matress and frame made of some kind of chain-link spring, only our exhaustion was all that made it tolerable. You litterally FELL into the bed until the tension in the ancient coiled wired was sufficient to halt the effects of gravity..
Later in the day, the group recondenced and we were lead down into the city. The walk was longer than we were used to, it took us past the usual assortment of shops and under an impressive highway overpass. Finishing in the city-square, a fun-run had been scheduled for the weekend. It was under the giant and impressive disembodied statue of Lenins head that we watched the runners pass over the finish line. It was here that I first got a feel for Russian community spirit, I had not come across it until this stage of the trip.
Maybe it was the pride of these people, of the great bronze testiment to their Socialist Fore-father, that brought them together.. or maybe wed just spent too much time in lousy Russian cities.
Leaving Lenin, the fun-runners and the town-square behind, we walked down the hill and through the pedestrian mall to have lunch at a russian-food chain restaurant. The buffet style offered a wide range of choices, though none of them were particularly familiar. Going on chance, and the nods of the locals, I seemed to get a reasonable assortment. The price wasnt too bad, but there was no Borsh and it still wasnt as cheap as I needed it to be. I sat and chatted with Greg and Alice until the group was ready to go.
After lunch had finished, it was unanimously agreed upon to go to the Budhist monastery located about an hour away. Anne and Andre negotiated for us to get a private van rather than using the public bus. This worked out a great deal cheaper for the group, though Andre seemed a little put-out at having to do the negotiations. The van was fairly old, though the ride was pleasant enough.
I was very impressed with the Monastery. It was quite a large complex and construction was continuing. We started by walking the perimeter, in a clock-wise direction, stopping at the prayer wheels and taking photos. This was the first monastery for the trip, so it was all new and fresh for the group. Monks passed us at an impressive rate, spinning the wheels as they went.
I was amazed at how much money was strewn about the ground. This was mimiced inside the buildings and temples. Bottles of vodka, other alcohol, food-types and numerous vices were represented. Exmplifying that The key to happiness is the absence of desire..
The trees outside one of the perimeter walls were covered with hundreds of prayer flags, within the complex the architecture was a little eclectic. Numerous buildings were characteristic of the standard homes for this part of the world, others were more typical of eastern temples. In the centre of the complex there was a seperate building featuring great glass windows, protecting the tree that features in budhist monasteries. There would have been at least a dozen temple buildings, all free standing from each other.
Entering many of the temples, we followed the instructions by walking clock-wise about the room three times. I was impressed with what was on display and wish that I had a better understanding of this faith. I purchased a couple of sets of pretty beads and a small booklet, better to support the monks directly rather than just the gift-shop people at the enterance.
Half-way through the walking tour, we came across a panel of monks surrounded by a crowd. Chanting and occasionaly ringing a bell, 4 of them seemed to have a lot to say while their 5th member threw handfuls of grain into a fire at timed intervals.
Satisfied with the walk and successfully avoiding buying anything from the shops, we filled the van and drove back. Stopping only to drop-off an extra fare that the driver had found, we made it back to the city in good time.
Back in the city, a handful of us sought out internet while the others made a direct attack on the Irish pub that they had spotted. It wasnt long before we were all there, flirting with the waitressess and lamenting the lack of Guiness. Though most of us were ready to settle in there for the night, we ended out walking back up the hill to the prearranged meeting point. The two older asian ladies on the tour were waiting for us there and quickly departed, a handful of us went into the restaurant. We had been told that the food was good and reasonably priced. Regardless, this was our last dinner in Russia! Ordering our respective favourites, the food was exceptional. Cake and more than a few drinks were liberated before we collected our jackets from the cloak room and went looking for adventure.
It was now that the inner pragmatist kicked in. Instead of returning to the Irish Pub, we entered the super-market. Noodles and other supplies were bought, in our defence there was also a liberal amount of Vodka in each basket. We had been warned about the long border crossing into Mongolia, now we would be prepared.
Congregating on the curb in front of the supermarket, the smokers smoked, one person polished off a couple of beers and we all watched the unfolding car accident at the intersection. By the time the entire group had finished shopping, the drivers had worked through the script of argument, pointing at fenders, more argueing and driving off in a huff. We ambushed a couple of taxis and did our best to negotiate the side-streets back to the home-stay.
It still was reasonably early. Despite the early start in the morning, we all chilled out in the rear accommodation. The group had been split between two buildings, by the sounds of it the guys in the front house had gotten the raw end of this deal. Vodka and beers came out, promptly spilled by some of the more ¨liberated¨ members of the group. Jokes were told and those with the necessary skill were recruited to work the knots out of the backs of those in suffering. Music appeared from at least one laptop and it was progressing into quite the little saure.
Just as it was starting to wind up, our Russian hostess stormed up the stairs and announced that ¨If you want to make noise, find another house!¨. This had been without warning and I´m still not sure if she just meant to go into the front building.. Unfortunately a couple of the boys, who were well smashed at this point, took exception to the comment. I found out over the next few days that they had been somewhat ~creative~ in their strategic placement of some left-over sliced cheese.. I think that was going a little too far.
Everyone wandered off to bed, it was pretty much going to be a certainty that the majority of the group would either have a hang-over or still be drunk when they got up in 5 hours.
The train arrived a suitable time before dawn. This was still a source of grumbling within the group, tiredness made everybody cranky, along with having to wait for our local guide to finish his cigarette before looking for our transport. Unfortunately, Andre wasnt winning any favours. Once vehicles had been sought out and acquired, the little convoy made its way out to the family home-stay. On arrival, a breakfast of breads and some odd kind of porrige cheered the group up immensly.
The next few hours were occupied by sleeping and showers, Liam and I shared a room again. The beds must have been an artifact of Soviet interigation. Featuring a matress and frame made of some kind of chain-link spring, only our exhaustion was all that made it tolerable. You litterally FELL into the bed until the tension in the ancient coiled wired was sufficient to halt the effects of gravity..
Later in the day, the group recondenced and we were lead down into the city. The walk was longer than we were used to, it took us past the usual assortment of shops and under an impressive highway overpass. Finishing in the city-square, a fun-run had been scheduled for the weekend. It was under the giant and impressive disembodied statue of Lenins head that we watched the runners pass over the finish line. It was here that I first got a feel for Russian community spirit, I had not come across it until this stage of the trip.
Maybe it was the pride of these people, of the great bronze testiment to their Socialist Fore-father, that brought them together.. or maybe wed just spent too much time in lousy Russian cities.
Leaving Lenin, the fun-runners and the town-square behind, we walked down the hill and through the pedestrian mall to have lunch at a russian-food chain restaurant. The buffet style offered a wide range of choices, though none of them were particularly familiar. Going on chance, and the nods of the locals, I seemed to get a reasonable assortment. The price wasnt too bad, but there was no Borsh and it still wasnt as cheap as I needed it to be. I sat and chatted with Greg and Alice until the group was ready to go.
After lunch had finished, it was unanimously agreed upon to go to the Budhist monastery located about an hour away. Anne and Andre negotiated for us to get a private van rather than using the public bus. This worked out a great deal cheaper for the group, though Andre seemed a little put-out at having to do the negotiations. The van was fairly old, though the ride was pleasant enough.
I was very impressed with the Monastery. It was quite a large complex and construction was continuing. We started by walking the perimeter, in a clock-wise direction, stopping at the prayer wheels and taking photos. This was the first monastery for the trip, so it was all new and fresh for the group. Monks passed us at an impressive rate, spinning the wheels as they went.
I was amazed at how much money was strewn about the ground. This was mimiced inside the buildings and temples. Bottles of vodka, other alcohol, food-types and numerous vices were represented. Exmplifying that The key to happiness is the absence of desire..
The trees outside one of the perimeter walls were covered with hundreds of prayer flags, within the complex the architecture was a little eclectic. Numerous buildings were characteristic of the standard homes for this part of the world, others were more typical of eastern temples. In the centre of the complex there was a seperate building featuring great glass windows, protecting the tree that features in budhist monasteries. There would have been at least a dozen temple buildings, all free standing from each other.
Entering many of the temples, we followed the instructions by walking clock-wise about the room three times. I was impressed with what was on display and wish that I had a better understanding of this faith. I purchased a couple of sets of pretty beads and a small booklet, better to support the monks directly rather than just the gift-shop people at the enterance.
Half-way through the walking tour, we came across a panel of monks surrounded by a crowd. Chanting and occasionaly ringing a bell, 4 of them seemed to have a lot to say while their 5th member threw handfuls of grain into a fire at timed intervals.
Satisfied with the walk and successfully avoiding buying anything from the shops, we filled the van and drove back. Stopping only to drop-off an extra fare that the driver had found, we made it back to the city in good time.
Back in the city, a handful of us sought out internet while the others made a direct attack on the Irish pub that they had spotted. It wasnt long before we were all there, flirting with the waitressess and lamenting the lack of Guiness. Though most of us were ready to settle in there for the night, we ended out walking back up the hill to the prearranged meeting point. The two older asian ladies on the tour were waiting for us there and quickly departed, a handful of us went into the restaurant. We had been told that the food was good and reasonably priced. Regardless, this was our last dinner in Russia! Ordering our respective favourites, the food was exceptional. Cake and more than a few drinks were liberated before we collected our jackets from the cloak room and went looking for adventure.
It was now that the inner pragmatist kicked in. Instead of returning to the Irish Pub, we entered the super-market. Noodles and other supplies were bought, in our defence there was also a liberal amount of Vodka in each basket. We had been warned about the long border crossing into Mongolia, now we would be prepared.
Congregating on the curb in front of the supermarket, the smokers smoked, one person polished off a couple of beers and we all watched the unfolding car accident at the intersection. By the time the entire group had finished shopping, the drivers had worked through the script of argument, pointing at fenders, more argueing and driving off in a huff. We ambushed a couple of taxis and did our best to negotiate the side-streets back to the home-stay.
It still was reasonably early. Despite the early start in the morning, we all chilled out in the rear accommodation. The group had been split between two buildings, by the sounds of it the guys in the front house had gotten the raw end of this deal. Vodka and beers came out, promptly spilled by some of the more ¨liberated¨ members of the group. Jokes were told and those with the necessary skill were recruited to work the knots out of the backs of those in suffering. Music appeared from at least one laptop and it was progressing into quite the little saure.
Just as it was starting to wind up, our Russian hostess stormed up the stairs and announced that ¨If you want to make noise, find another house!¨. This had been without warning and I´m still not sure if she just meant to go into the front building.. Unfortunately a couple of the boys, who were well smashed at this point, took exception to the comment. I found out over the next few days that they had been somewhat ~creative~ in their strategic placement of some left-over sliced cheese.. I think that was going a little too far.
Everyone wandered off to bed, it was pretty much going to be a certainty that the majority of the group would either have a hang-over or still be drunk when they got up in 5 hours.
200908 – Lake Baikal to Irkustk to Train
200908 – Lake Baikal to Irkustk to Train
Still feeling rotten and wishing that I had of ended Denesh, I looked about as cheerful as my mood at breakfast. I think that my cold was starting to break but I was still taking the Glass Half Empty approach. The light meal of pancakes and porrige was pleasant, but I think everyone would have liked something a little more hearty.
Id already finished packing before breakfast and was pretty much ready to go. Ann was quietly chewing Adam out for not coming back to talk to the pretty Russian girl last night. Evidently, she had stayed up chatting to Ann for several hours in the hope he would reappear. Phone numbers were still exchanged, Im sure there were more than a few rolled-eyes.
Goodbyes said and photos taken, we squeezed into the minibus and made for the ferry. There was another long wait here, the wind was driving and bitterly cold. Shelter was in the form of a great brick bus-stop, its orientation allowed for some warm sunshine to enter along with at least half of the wind. We glared at the world as a whole until the boat arrived. Boarding and waiting on the boat was much less eventful than the other day, leaving the island seemed to be a sedating action. Maybe it was simply too early in the morning?
On the other side, we disembarked and approached the minibus to take back to Irkustk. Ann issued a paniced look and a hunt around before announcing that she had left her little bag on the mini-bus. The next 40 minutes was spent trying to get in touch with the driver via the hostel. By that point he announced that he was on the other side of the island and had no intention of driving back to the ferry. A suitable lack of ammusement ensued.
More phonecalls had negotiated the driver into returning it to the homestay. A friend of Anns, or the next group, would collect it and pass it on to her in a couple of days.
It had been about an hour by the time that Ann had given up on the bag. This seemed to have angered our new minibus driver.
Typically, a Russian that you had angered, or even percieved to have angered, would blow up. The greater the explosion, the more the chance of them getting what they want. We had witnessed many instances of throwing up of the hands, using vehicles to get ones way, or the one count of resorting to a knife. This was especially the case with Russian men, either polite and well mannered with a icy-cool approach or arrogant and loud with a mullet and the opion that they were the greatest entity in all of creation. Our driver appeared to be of the later category but in the predicament that we would be paying him. If he got fed up with the wait and took of (teach us a lesson by stranding us) then his trip from and to Irkustk would be unpaid.. that would not do.. Yet we had held up his world-changing agenda and were only paying him for his troubles, this could not go unpunished..
Choosing the middle ground, the driver departed for the Russian city with a speed that could only be measured using theoretical physics and fractions of the speed of light. We did stop once for a toilet break (different toilet, less evil) the rest of the time we were all too tired to care. I was trying to doze against the window in the cramped little van. Ann had decided that my jacket made for a comfortable pillow and was dangerously close to dribbling on my right shoulder. Music players we the opiate of the masses.
Noticing that we were not noticing him, the driver decided to pull out the stops as we approached the outskirts of Irkustk. Speed went up and overtakings became more daring the closer we got. It got to the point that we had hit suburbia at about 40km above the limit, in a crowded mini-van on a densely packed street. The swerving into and out of traffic had alerted the rest of the group to our situation. Finally resulting in a van-load of angry yelling and screaming, we chastised Andre for not keeping better control of the driver. One particularly vicious attempt at jumping traffic had resulted in a savage swerve and slamming on the breaks to prevent the van from slamming into another vehicle. Something took place up front and the driver suddenly decided it was time to be a little more calm. After all, he still had not been paid.
Having arrived back in less than half the time of the original trip, we reinflated outside of the mini-bus. We were towards the middle of the town and lunch felt well and truly overdue. Receiving instructions for meeting and getting to the train, Andre departed to make sure our main-packs would find us. We crossed the road and established ourselves in the Pizza restaurant. Confussion ensued and far too much pizza was ordered, I did my best to be a team-player by helping to rectify the situation.
Having been fed, but still feeling exhausted, most of us set off towards the subterranian internet cafe and the supermarket. Emails were checked and Im pretty sure I updated my Blog. Not game to check my banking on a public terminal, it was a brief session. The plan had been to meet up out front, someone found a bar and most of the guys dissappeared there before the rest of us returned to the surface. Not overly concerned about beer, we couldnt find the others.
Navigating the main street, the masses of students with banners and matching white t-shirts smiled as we passed. There had been a motor-bike group roar through and fire-crackers had been let-off. As far as we could tell, this was a Start of Semester event. Posters on the walls and flyers on the floor told of the parties over the next few days. No matter where you are in the world, students are all the same! Thank God for that!!!
We passed the masses of cheering academ-o-philes and slumped into the supermarket. Supplies in the form of noodles, chocolate snacks, biscuits and drinks were acquired. I tried to keep costs to a minimum and got the bare essentials. On exiting the store, I promptly undid my exercise of budgetting by calling Jenny to discuss the upcoming plans for January, also I hadnt spoken to here for a while and was missing her voice. I called Mum and Dad as well. I talked to everyone for too long, but was feeling the pinch of missing home, desperately.
Time in Irkustk was drawing to a close. Shoppers had done their dash and it was time to head to the RV point. The group grew as we approached the water-fountain meeting point, everyone was soon there. Ann was waiting for us to get our act together before we crossed the road and rounded the corner to the trolley stop.
The trolley-bus lines run down the centre of the street. The main roads of this city are particularly wide, about double what you would expect in Perth. If the latitude was lower, I would have said it would have been to allow Camel-trains to turn around, here I have no idea. The Trolley came by after a couple of minutes and we boarded as Ann purchased tickets for us. We were all quite anxious to see our big-bags. So much so that none of the boys really flirted back with the two pretty girls sitting at the back, giggling and smiling at us while pretending not to notice. The trolley ride went through a part of the city that I hadnt seen before and we passed the 20 or so minutes chatting to some local guys who were test-driving their english. Seeing the train station, the trolley stopped at the first stop. Hearing someone announce This Is It!! I dove off in an attempt to get out of the way of the people behind me, I think Denesh made it half-way out before the paniced NO NO!! NEXT ONE!! had me performing an about-turn and pouncing through the doors. The remaining passengers seemed to appreciate my ballet-theatrics, laughter welcoming me back.
About 100m further on was the actual stop for us, we had passed the long row of little stalls and kiosks much the same as when we arrived. Setting up a refugee camp on the side-walk, we all cast our gaze out for Andre and our orphaned main-packs. Adam and one of the other smokers crossed the road to buy cigarettes as we waited. Returning with a grin and a pack of LENIN brand, we decided that it must have been the unfiltered flavour of choice for the preserved leader rather than dried and rolled Pickle himself. I think Adam managed one of the little cancer sticks before going wide-eyed and carefully putting the pack away. Thinking it would make a funny gift for Yannik, or for dusting off at the next Communist Party back home, I was about to cross over and buy a souvenier pack when Andre appeared.
Our main-packs had travelled fair enough, in much the same condition as we had seen them a few days ago. Locks were in place and there was no noticable damage. A couple of the group had been led to believe that they could do their washing at our home-stays, having washed and rinsed their gear before finding no drier. Hanging or draping the garnments over bags and furniture, they had thought they would be returning to the home-stay to collect and pack their slightly less fragrant coverings. Wrong again, all of the loose possessions had been collected and bagged, one giant blue plastic bag had mixed everything that had not been locked away.
Universal grumbling had us collecting our big-bags as it began to rain lightly. Those of who only had one or two items in the laundry bag, in my case a towel and its little mesh cover, dug through it. Leaving only the possessions of those who had washed almost all of their clothes, the group finished sorting and stuffing before relocating.
Moving into the station, we set up one camp, shifted and established ourselves in a temporary humanitarian residency where there was a little more room. The first departure hall had been standing room only, with a great electronic billboard and a significant crowd of people. Our resting place was a narrower room with banks of seating, windows to the outside rain on one side and glassed offices on the other.
Older local gentlemen, who I suspect smelt strongly of vodka, worked hard to engage the girls in conversation. Intentions clear, the group folded around and doubled up, offering an easy-out for the girls. Local guys played a careful game with the guards of patrol and dodge, in an effort to sleep in the warm-spot behind rows of seating versus booting the vagrants out. It struck me as more of a token effort on the part of the officials, making them move on when they had spent a little too much time, rather than a concerted system of homeless eviction.
I got to the point of wanting to write my journal, but there was no available power-points in easy reach. A bit of a difference to Australian public stations, where there are typically an abundance of power-points for various appliances or simply to allow the cleaners to use vaccuums or buffers. The only visible power was for an ATM and several at the limit of arms-reach, assumedly for signs or lights.
A friend of Anns appeared. An intrepid leader herself, she had settled her group upstairs. They chatted and shared complaints before returning to their respective groups. Time for departure was steadily drawing close.
Ann rose at one announcement in Russian and informed us that it was time. I believe there was a walk and stairs that decended below one line in order to reach our platform. We followed typical protocol and the boys carriage was quickly established. There were no particularly memorable features about the rest of the night, possibly cards, probably pot-noodles. I could safely say that sleep would have been lovingly welcomed without Deneshs unholy nasal symphony to scare off its silky embrace.
Outside, the rain accompanied the darkness as we crashed on through Russia. Siberia was travesed in a great metal malestrom.
Still feeling rotten and wishing that I had of ended Denesh, I looked about as cheerful as my mood at breakfast. I think that my cold was starting to break but I was still taking the Glass Half Empty approach. The light meal of pancakes and porrige was pleasant, but I think everyone would have liked something a little more hearty.
Id already finished packing before breakfast and was pretty much ready to go. Ann was quietly chewing Adam out for not coming back to talk to the pretty Russian girl last night. Evidently, she had stayed up chatting to Ann for several hours in the hope he would reappear. Phone numbers were still exchanged, Im sure there were more than a few rolled-eyes.
Goodbyes said and photos taken, we squeezed into the minibus and made for the ferry. There was another long wait here, the wind was driving and bitterly cold. Shelter was in the form of a great brick bus-stop, its orientation allowed for some warm sunshine to enter along with at least half of the wind. We glared at the world as a whole until the boat arrived. Boarding and waiting on the boat was much less eventful than the other day, leaving the island seemed to be a sedating action. Maybe it was simply too early in the morning?
On the other side, we disembarked and approached the minibus to take back to Irkustk. Ann issued a paniced look and a hunt around before announcing that she had left her little bag on the mini-bus. The next 40 minutes was spent trying to get in touch with the driver via the hostel. By that point he announced that he was on the other side of the island and had no intention of driving back to the ferry. A suitable lack of ammusement ensued.
More phonecalls had negotiated the driver into returning it to the homestay. A friend of Anns, or the next group, would collect it and pass it on to her in a couple of days.
It had been about an hour by the time that Ann had given up on the bag. This seemed to have angered our new minibus driver.
Typically, a Russian that you had angered, or even percieved to have angered, would blow up. The greater the explosion, the more the chance of them getting what they want. We had witnessed many instances of throwing up of the hands, using vehicles to get ones way, or the one count of resorting to a knife. This was especially the case with Russian men, either polite and well mannered with a icy-cool approach or arrogant and loud with a mullet and the opion that they were the greatest entity in all of creation. Our driver appeared to be of the later category but in the predicament that we would be paying him. If he got fed up with the wait and took of (teach us a lesson by stranding us) then his trip from and to Irkustk would be unpaid.. that would not do.. Yet we had held up his world-changing agenda and were only paying him for his troubles, this could not go unpunished..
Choosing the middle ground, the driver departed for the Russian city with a speed that could only be measured using theoretical physics and fractions of the speed of light. We did stop once for a toilet break (different toilet, less evil) the rest of the time we were all too tired to care. I was trying to doze against the window in the cramped little van. Ann had decided that my jacket made for a comfortable pillow and was dangerously close to dribbling on my right shoulder. Music players we the opiate of the masses.
Noticing that we were not noticing him, the driver decided to pull out the stops as we approached the outskirts of Irkustk. Speed went up and overtakings became more daring the closer we got. It got to the point that we had hit suburbia at about 40km above the limit, in a crowded mini-van on a densely packed street. The swerving into and out of traffic had alerted the rest of the group to our situation. Finally resulting in a van-load of angry yelling and screaming, we chastised Andre for not keeping better control of the driver. One particularly vicious attempt at jumping traffic had resulted in a savage swerve and slamming on the breaks to prevent the van from slamming into another vehicle. Something took place up front and the driver suddenly decided it was time to be a little more calm. After all, he still had not been paid.
Having arrived back in less than half the time of the original trip, we reinflated outside of the mini-bus. We were towards the middle of the town and lunch felt well and truly overdue. Receiving instructions for meeting and getting to the train, Andre departed to make sure our main-packs would find us. We crossed the road and established ourselves in the Pizza restaurant. Confussion ensued and far too much pizza was ordered, I did my best to be a team-player by helping to rectify the situation.
Having been fed, but still feeling exhausted, most of us set off towards the subterranian internet cafe and the supermarket. Emails were checked and Im pretty sure I updated my Blog. Not game to check my banking on a public terminal, it was a brief session. The plan had been to meet up out front, someone found a bar and most of the guys dissappeared there before the rest of us returned to the surface. Not overly concerned about beer, we couldnt find the others.
Navigating the main street, the masses of students with banners and matching white t-shirts smiled as we passed. There had been a motor-bike group roar through and fire-crackers had been let-off. As far as we could tell, this was a Start of Semester event. Posters on the walls and flyers on the floor told of the parties over the next few days. No matter where you are in the world, students are all the same! Thank God for that!!!
We passed the masses of cheering academ-o-philes and slumped into the supermarket. Supplies in the form of noodles, chocolate snacks, biscuits and drinks were acquired. I tried to keep costs to a minimum and got the bare essentials. On exiting the store, I promptly undid my exercise of budgetting by calling Jenny to discuss the upcoming plans for January, also I hadnt spoken to here for a while and was missing her voice. I called Mum and Dad as well. I talked to everyone for too long, but was feeling the pinch of missing home, desperately.
Time in Irkustk was drawing to a close. Shoppers had done their dash and it was time to head to the RV point. The group grew as we approached the water-fountain meeting point, everyone was soon there. Ann was waiting for us to get our act together before we crossed the road and rounded the corner to the trolley stop.
The trolley-bus lines run down the centre of the street. The main roads of this city are particularly wide, about double what you would expect in Perth. If the latitude was lower, I would have said it would have been to allow Camel-trains to turn around, here I have no idea. The Trolley came by after a couple of minutes and we boarded as Ann purchased tickets for us. We were all quite anxious to see our big-bags. So much so that none of the boys really flirted back with the two pretty girls sitting at the back, giggling and smiling at us while pretending not to notice. The trolley ride went through a part of the city that I hadnt seen before and we passed the 20 or so minutes chatting to some local guys who were test-driving their english. Seeing the train station, the trolley stopped at the first stop. Hearing someone announce This Is It!! I dove off in an attempt to get out of the way of the people behind me, I think Denesh made it half-way out before the paniced NO NO!! NEXT ONE!! had me performing an about-turn and pouncing through the doors. The remaining passengers seemed to appreciate my ballet-theatrics, laughter welcoming me back.
About 100m further on was the actual stop for us, we had passed the long row of little stalls and kiosks much the same as when we arrived. Setting up a refugee camp on the side-walk, we all cast our gaze out for Andre and our orphaned main-packs. Adam and one of the other smokers crossed the road to buy cigarettes as we waited. Returning with a grin and a pack of LENIN brand, we decided that it must have been the unfiltered flavour of choice for the preserved leader rather than dried and rolled Pickle himself. I think Adam managed one of the little cancer sticks before going wide-eyed and carefully putting the pack away. Thinking it would make a funny gift for Yannik, or for dusting off at the next Communist Party back home, I was about to cross over and buy a souvenier pack when Andre appeared.
Our main-packs had travelled fair enough, in much the same condition as we had seen them a few days ago. Locks were in place and there was no noticable damage. A couple of the group had been led to believe that they could do their washing at our home-stays, having washed and rinsed their gear before finding no drier. Hanging or draping the garnments over bags and furniture, they had thought they would be returning to the home-stay to collect and pack their slightly less fragrant coverings. Wrong again, all of the loose possessions had been collected and bagged, one giant blue plastic bag had mixed everything that had not been locked away.
Universal grumbling had us collecting our big-bags as it began to rain lightly. Those of who only had one or two items in the laundry bag, in my case a towel and its little mesh cover, dug through it. Leaving only the possessions of those who had washed almost all of their clothes, the group finished sorting and stuffing before relocating.
Moving into the station, we set up one camp, shifted and established ourselves in a temporary humanitarian residency where there was a little more room. The first departure hall had been standing room only, with a great electronic billboard and a significant crowd of people. Our resting place was a narrower room with banks of seating, windows to the outside rain on one side and glassed offices on the other.
Older local gentlemen, who I suspect smelt strongly of vodka, worked hard to engage the girls in conversation. Intentions clear, the group folded around and doubled up, offering an easy-out for the girls. Local guys played a careful game with the guards of patrol and dodge, in an effort to sleep in the warm-spot behind rows of seating versus booting the vagrants out. It struck me as more of a token effort on the part of the officials, making them move on when they had spent a little too much time, rather than a concerted system of homeless eviction.
I got to the point of wanting to write my journal, but there was no available power-points in easy reach. A bit of a difference to Australian public stations, where there are typically an abundance of power-points for various appliances or simply to allow the cleaners to use vaccuums or buffers. The only visible power was for an ATM and several at the limit of arms-reach, assumedly for signs or lights.
A friend of Anns appeared. An intrepid leader herself, she had settled her group upstairs. They chatted and shared complaints before returning to their respective groups. Time for departure was steadily drawing close.
Ann rose at one announcement in Russian and informed us that it was time. I believe there was a walk and stairs that decended below one line in order to reach our platform. We followed typical protocol and the boys carriage was quickly established. There were no particularly memorable features about the rest of the night, possibly cards, probably pot-noodles. I could safely say that sleep would have been lovingly welcomed without Deneshs unholy nasal symphony to scare off its silky embrace.
Outside, the rain accompanied the darkness as we crashed on through Russia. Siberia was travesed in a great metal malestrom.
190908 – Lake Baikal
190908 – Lake Baikal
Finally getting some sleep as daylight appeared and Deneshs snoring became marginally more managable, I was still suffering badly from my cold. I held off as late as I could until going for breakfast, I think I was the last one for the day. Nat and one or two of the others were finishing their porridge and pancakes just as I walked in, providing some company until my food arrived. Eat, straight back to bed for a bit.
When I finally got up properly, I joined Greg and Alice for their little walk through the town.
The construction of the town is all wood, badly weathered in most places. Predominantly single or dual story houses, the style was very similar to that in Irkurtsk just more rural. Throughout the village, all of the roads were particularly wide and made of gravel, undoubtedly converting to mud with a heavy rain. Apart from the obvious main road, each street was lined with wooden fences or house-fronts with no particularly discernable features. There were ancient vehicles and a handful of new, manufactured by extinct soviet factories or imported. We came across one soviet motorbike with side-car and more than a few tanks or trailers that were simply the back-half of a vehicle.
Having been into the little local craft shop, I had some postcards, beads and pendants for taking home. The lady dealt with us in the usual Russian manner of Cranky, almost angry when we gave her money. Still, we emerged victorious. Wandering the side-streets, we stopped in a little local store. The lady here served us smiling and trying very hard to communicate. She kindly produced soft-drinks and ice-creams on request, shifting trays of fruit to accommodate us. I managed to negotiate some cheap Russian pens, partly out of novelty of using them at home. Travelling seems to eat pens and pencils, I was hopeful that these cheap Ruskies would last a bit longer than the last set I got in Egypt. We moved on.
The main street was simply wider than any of the others, with worse ruts and guttering in places. There were a handful of shop-fronts, what looked like a local pub, a school and more non-descript fences and houses, and no particularly noticable footpath anywhere. One clothing store was open in the form of a long kiosk that looked more suited for serving fish and chips. The pub had stairs rising from street level to about shoulder-hieght, it had a porch that was acceptably wide and long. The doors looked like they could be easily barricaded, though Im not sure why that thought struck me, they were a little low and squat from where I stood. We didnt bother the locals who were waiting on the stairs or passing through the pub, choosing to move down the street rather than risk adventuring a little too far. The building in question could easily have been something other than a pub, a building of local government perhaps. The clothing store and pub were part of the same little building complex, surrounded by narrower side-streets that were littered with rubbish and plastic bags.
A little further along and on the other side of the street, the local school was ancient and eclectic in design. A mix of local wooden buildings and deteriorating concrete, it had rusting iron fencing with a turnstyle that looked more like a torture device. There were a series of quadrangles, one containing a handful of nightmarish climbing frames and playground equipment, the second had a small stage area and was obviously used for assemblies (hopefully not in winter...). A bright mural was painted on one flat surface, the colours starting to fade and appearing a little lonely in the stark surroundings. Seeing all of this, I thought of my old primary school back home and how it might appear to an outsider. I like to think that it is no where near as bleak.
Having seen this half of the town and exhausted our snacks, we set back to the home-stay. I found a table in the common-room and started to write post-cards. I was missing a heap of addresses and would have to get stamps at some point back in Irkustk. Being thoroughly ignored by the Russian girls who appeared to work here, I moved on from postcards to journal writing. I was desperately behind in my blog and persevered until the battery gave out. Im sure that there was lunch at some point.
Leaving behind the staff who were working so hard at ignoring my existance, I shut myself in the room and slept for almost the whole afternoon.
Others clattered in the room or my alarm got me up, it was time for dinner and then promises of a local cultural concert. Dinner was much the same as the other meals, a fish dish and a small bland soup with bits of chicken. We chatted and played cards until 3 local women and a gentleman with a piano-accordian appeared and sang songs from various regions of the former soviet union. The man playing was quite charismatic and talented, the women might not have wanted to be there. Not overly confident in their voice and taking some time to warm to each song, the audience was enthusiastic and supportive. I left about half-way through to have a bath.
Liam and I had booked the free Bayunya for late sessions that night. We had one session each, though it could accomidate two at a time. The plan was to enjoy the bath and give any left-over time to others in the group.
A Bayunya is a building and an activity. The building revolves around a small sauna with the stove located in the room adjoining the sauna. The stove has a large pot of water on top of it that is close to boiling, there is a large vat of cold water somewhere else in the room. Outside of these heated rooms is a changing room with stacks of towels and small stools. There is an antechamber to the outside world, assumedly for boots and jackets.
One will enter the antechamber after inspecting the roster, remove boots and jackets, before stepping into the changing room. Curtains drawn and the lights not working, it is up to ones flashlight to strip and adorn a towel (preferably from the dry pile). Entering the stove room, there is a large pan for each participant. The most pressing duty at this time is to place water in the pan, typically one will start with the cold water in order to make the pan cool enough to handle. Great ladels or small cooking pots are utilised for transporting water, hot from the stove and cold from the vat, into the pan in such a proportion that one might tolerate.
Preparations done, one will then step into their small sauna. Courage may result in a small ladel of water onto the rocks, prudence may dictate otherwise. Having been baked, steamed and roasted, it is time to exit the sauna. It is assumed that you will be in there for 10-15 minutes, though Im sure the average forienger will only last for about 3-5. Having spent some time transferring ones internal fluids out of the skin, it is now time to wash down. Provided one has adequately judge the volume and temperature mix of the pan of water, it is now time for splashing, washing, rinsing and dousing. The last of the pan is hoisted up and dumped over ones head.
Beginning to dry down with a series of dry towels, this process is begun in the stove room and completed in the changing room. Though not exposed to the outside world, the changing room is only just warm enough to be comfortable while drying oneself. It is best to be mostly free of surface water before you get to this stage.
Now dry and supposedly clean, it is back to using the flashlight to dress. Exiting the Buyanya is best done without catching your clothes on a loose nail.
An option that might be employed during the Bayunya, particularly the sauna stage, is to pugulate oneself with a swatch of birch-branches. Supposedly therapeutic rather than masacistic, it is reported to bring the blood to the surface of the skin. One can only suppose at the Russian thought process that added the idea of beatings to someone while also roasting them alive, basting the body to maintain moistness of the flesh while tenderising the meat... One did not indulge the activity.
Feeling suprisingly cleaner, and not at all like a roast seasoned with birch, I dropped gear off and met the others back in the common room. The concert had finished and most of the group had gotten down to playing cards. I got hand after hand of wrotten cards while a pretty russian girl made eyes with most of the boys in the group. Settling on Adam, she chatted with Anne and Andre. Anne had dominated in the afternoon ping-pong championship and had been flirting a great deal with a friend who worked in this part of the world.
People slowly left the game and headed to bed, the Russian girl seeming disappointed that Adam did not reappear. I called it a night when I finally got a good hand and won a round (well, didnt lose). I made a hasty retreat, in the hope that I would be asleep before Deneshs nocturnal act of summoning the voices of great dark and fell beings.
I was unsuccessful.
Finally getting some sleep as daylight appeared and Deneshs snoring became marginally more managable, I was still suffering badly from my cold. I held off as late as I could until going for breakfast, I think I was the last one for the day. Nat and one or two of the others were finishing their porridge and pancakes just as I walked in, providing some company until my food arrived. Eat, straight back to bed for a bit.
When I finally got up properly, I joined Greg and Alice for their little walk through the town.
The construction of the town is all wood, badly weathered in most places. Predominantly single or dual story houses, the style was very similar to that in Irkurtsk just more rural. Throughout the village, all of the roads were particularly wide and made of gravel, undoubtedly converting to mud with a heavy rain. Apart from the obvious main road, each street was lined with wooden fences or house-fronts with no particularly discernable features. There were ancient vehicles and a handful of new, manufactured by extinct soviet factories or imported. We came across one soviet motorbike with side-car and more than a few tanks or trailers that were simply the back-half of a vehicle.
Having been into the little local craft shop, I had some postcards, beads and pendants for taking home. The lady dealt with us in the usual Russian manner of Cranky, almost angry when we gave her money. Still, we emerged victorious. Wandering the side-streets, we stopped in a little local store. The lady here served us smiling and trying very hard to communicate. She kindly produced soft-drinks and ice-creams on request, shifting trays of fruit to accommodate us. I managed to negotiate some cheap Russian pens, partly out of novelty of using them at home. Travelling seems to eat pens and pencils, I was hopeful that these cheap Ruskies would last a bit longer than the last set I got in Egypt. We moved on.
The main street was simply wider than any of the others, with worse ruts and guttering in places. There were a handful of shop-fronts, what looked like a local pub, a school and more non-descript fences and houses, and no particularly noticable footpath anywhere. One clothing store was open in the form of a long kiosk that looked more suited for serving fish and chips. The pub had stairs rising from street level to about shoulder-hieght, it had a porch that was acceptably wide and long. The doors looked like they could be easily barricaded, though Im not sure why that thought struck me, they were a little low and squat from where I stood. We didnt bother the locals who were waiting on the stairs or passing through the pub, choosing to move down the street rather than risk adventuring a little too far. The building in question could easily have been something other than a pub, a building of local government perhaps. The clothing store and pub were part of the same little building complex, surrounded by narrower side-streets that were littered with rubbish and plastic bags.
A little further along and on the other side of the street, the local school was ancient and eclectic in design. A mix of local wooden buildings and deteriorating concrete, it had rusting iron fencing with a turnstyle that looked more like a torture device. There were a series of quadrangles, one containing a handful of nightmarish climbing frames and playground equipment, the second had a small stage area and was obviously used for assemblies (hopefully not in winter...). A bright mural was painted on one flat surface, the colours starting to fade and appearing a little lonely in the stark surroundings. Seeing all of this, I thought of my old primary school back home and how it might appear to an outsider. I like to think that it is no where near as bleak.
Having seen this half of the town and exhausted our snacks, we set back to the home-stay. I found a table in the common-room and started to write post-cards. I was missing a heap of addresses and would have to get stamps at some point back in Irkustk. Being thoroughly ignored by the Russian girls who appeared to work here, I moved on from postcards to journal writing. I was desperately behind in my blog and persevered until the battery gave out. Im sure that there was lunch at some point.
Leaving behind the staff who were working so hard at ignoring my existance, I shut myself in the room and slept for almost the whole afternoon.
Others clattered in the room or my alarm got me up, it was time for dinner and then promises of a local cultural concert. Dinner was much the same as the other meals, a fish dish and a small bland soup with bits of chicken. We chatted and played cards until 3 local women and a gentleman with a piano-accordian appeared and sang songs from various regions of the former soviet union. The man playing was quite charismatic and talented, the women might not have wanted to be there. Not overly confident in their voice and taking some time to warm to each song, the audience was enthusiastic and supportive. I left about half-way through to have a bath.
Liam and I had booked the free Bayunya for late sessions that night. We had one session each, though it could accomidate two at a time. The plan was to enjoy the bath and give any left-over time to others in the group.
A Bayunya is a building and an activity. The building revolves around a small sauna with the stove located in the room adjoining the sauna. The stove has a large pot of water on top of it that is close to boiling, there is a large vat of cold water somewhere else in the room. Outside of these heated rooms is a changing room with stacks of towels and small stools. There is an antechamber to the outside world, assumedly for boots and jackets.
One will enter the antechamber after inspecting the roster, remove boots and jackets, before stepping into the changing room. Curtains drawn and the lights not working, it is up to ones flashlight to strip and adorn a towel (preferably from the dry pile). Entering the stove room, there is a large pan for each participant. The most pressing duty at this time is to place water in the pan, typically one will start with the cold water in order to make the pan cool enough to handle. Great ladels or small cooking pots are utilised for transporting water, hot from the stove and cold from the vat, into the pan in such a proportion that one might tolerate.
Preparations done, one will then step into their small sauna. Courage may result in a small ladel of water onto the rocks, prudence may dictate otherwise. Having been baked, steamed and roasted, it is time to exit the sauna. It is assumed that you will be in there for 10-15 minutes, though Im sure the average forienger will only last for about 3-5. Having spent some time transferring ones internal fluids out of the skin, it is now time to wash down. Provided one has adequately judge the volume and temperature mix of the pan of water, it is now time for splashing, washing, rinsing and dousing. The last of the pan is hoisted up and dumped over ones head.
Beginning to dry down with a series of dry towels, this process is begun in the stove room and completed in the changing room. Though not exposed to the outside world, the changing room is only just warm enough to be comfortable while drying oneself. It is best to be mostly free of surface water before you get to this stage.
Now dry and supposedly clean, it is back to using the flashlight to dress. Exiting the Buyanya is best done without catching your clothes on a loose nail.
An option that might be employed during the Bayunya, particularly the sauna stage, is to pugulate oneself with a swatch of birch-branches. Supposedly therapeutic rather than masacistic, it is reported to bring the blood to the surface of the skin. One can only suppose at the Russian thought process that added the idea of beatings to someone while also roasting them alive, basting the body to maintain moistness of the flesh while tenderising the meat... One did not indulge the activity.
Feeling suprisingly cleaner, and not at all like a roast seasoned with birch, I dropped gear off and met the others back in the common room. The concert had finished and most of the group had gotten down to playing cards. I got hand after hand of wrotten cards while a pretty russian girl made eyes with most of the boys in the group. Settling on Adam, she chatted with Anne and Andre. Anne had dominated in the afternoon ping-pong championship and had been flirting a great deal with a friend who worked in this part of the world.
People slowly left the game and headed to bed, the Russian girl seeming disappointed that Adam did not reappear. I called it a night when I finally got a good hand and won a round (well, didnt lose). I made a hasty retreat, in the hope that I would be asleep before Deneshs nocturnal act of summoning the voices of great dark and fell beings.
I was unsuccessful.
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