Trans-siberian, Stage 1

June 18, 8:05am. 

The K3 train pulls out of Beijing Railway Station, shuddering to a start and officially beginning a 9000km adventure on the rails.

The sole inhabitants of Car #5 are two uniformed provodniks, 1 Russian tour leader named Bob, and six travelers who are now, for better or for worse, in this together.

The sky is blue behind the dusty haze, and we stand at the open hallway windows, glad for the cool breeze after abandoning our attempts to open our own window. (Luckily, we soon discover that the fan in our cabin is not just any fan, but an oscillating wonder that hits all corners of the cabin). 

The city sprawl is soon behind us, and the green train winds into a range of sandstone mountains, craggy, covered in a carpet of vivid green shrubs. Rivers wind in steep valleys, a lake spreads out under the railway bridge.

Tunnels keep suddenly plunging us into whirring darkness, cutting conversations in mid-sentence, before we burst back into warm sunlight and a new view.

Once through the mountains we emerge at the foot of a dammed lake, windmills turning on the other shore. Ranges of hills spread along the horizon. We move through surprisingly green fields – corn, fruit trees, even vineyards. Poplar trees bend in the wind, and though I can’t hear them, I know they are whispering.

Blocks of small houses, identical terra-cotta tiles.

Sun hats dot the fields.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

Lunchtime brings our first encounter with the dining car – veggies and rice and a little mystery meat - not bad for a free meal. The other diners are mostly westerners, other adventure-seekers heading into the unknown. 

Standing at the window, face to the breeze; clouds feather against clear blue sky, hills and fields slide by, somehow barren and verdant all at once. I feel a sense of freedom as it’s all falling behind, nothing to do now but take it all in and fall back into the rhythm of the road… as unpredictable as it may be.

More gleaming rows of young corn, just about knee-high and right on schedule. Occasional villages and ugly industrial moments marred with smokestacks and broken windows.

A gradual flattening. Now windmills spin, cows graze on meager grass, and the sky fades out to the horizon, where a line of clouds billows and climbs… so much beautiful space.

June 19 

We pulled into Erlian, the last Chinese outpost, around 8:30pm last night. Six hours later, we pulled away from from the Mongolian side....

We gave our passports to the uniformed officers, then loitered on the platform in the deepening twilight as classical music danced through the cool air.

We reboarded to witness the changing of the ‘bogies’ – the wheels and undercarriage. It was quite the process: jacks were used to hoist the entire train, before the wheels were slid out and the new wheels slid and connected.

We watched from inside our car, sticking heads out the windows, as much for the ‘fresh’ air as a view of the process. 

It was 11pm as we left the shed, rejoined our engine, and headed across no-man’s land. I dozed in and out, hot and restless, as the process continued – passports given back, forms to fill out, passports handed over to a different set of uniforms, passports returned yet again. Each step seemed to take longer than the last, and underneath it all was the growing awareness that I really, really needed to pee. 

Finally, after 2am, we were on the move in Mongolia. Drunk with exhaustion, we were relieved when the toilets were at last unlocked and we were allowed to sleep. 

 We must have passed through the Gobi desert in the night, waking to a wide expanse - the Mongolian landscape sliding by – wide-open plains stretching away to the horizon, a carpet of short stubby grass. Rain falling in deep purple curtains behind us, blue sky showing in patches between layers of clouds.

Herds of sheep.

Two-humped camels.

Stout and sturdy horses.

Round white gers.

Occasional lonely houses. 

It was beautifully bleak, even as the landscape began to have more texture: low hills in the distance, the ground undulating softly, patches of yellow grass.

The low gray skies and spattering rain added to the bleak impression that UlanBator immediately gave. The roofs of houses were colored in bright shades, but around them were crooked fences, white gers, and dirt roads. As we drove from the station into the city center, we passed a wide array of buildings – crumbling to stately, gray to colorful. And kapaoke (karaoke) bars everywhere. It is a city that seems to be trying very, very hard.

As was our hotel. Unfortunately the water was off when we arrived. Apparently this is not entirely uncommon, as we learned from our guide, Niema, as he calmly discussed how he dealt with a month without hot water in his apartment while the pipes were being repaired.

Thus denied our chance to get cleaned up, we set off again in our tour van, splashing through puddles and getting the lay of the land, driving past the main square with its requisite horse statue.

We devoured a much-needed meal at a local cafeteria, where various combinations of meat and vegetables sizzled on animal-shaped metal plates and the local beer was surprisingly delicious.

Sitting on rug-covered steps, we enjoyed a cultural show, which was a perfect introduction to traditional Mongolian music and dancing….
Wild haunting tunes that made me think of wide-open spaces, 2-stringed instruments played with a bow or plucked like a guitar, horns and flutes, dances with a cheeky and flirtatious vibe. Fur boots, colorful costumes, ornate headdresses.  A limber contortionist, bending hot-pink and sparkles into unbelievable shapes; and throat singing, which was weird and wonderful all at the same time. Masked figures ended the show with a colorful parade.

In the next installment: an inside look at a ger, monasteries, bows and arrows.
More photos from this stage and beyond can be found at http://wicky.smugmug.com/.