Backpackers diaries: Mongolia here we come!
"This is going to take all day, isn't it?" says Zac, as we wait for the Mongolian embassy to open, 45 minutes later than planned.
"Not necessarily," I say.
And, amazingly, in barely an hour we're out of the embassy with shiny new visas – and, as a bonus, a primer on Mongolian grammar courtesy of an academic linguist.
We call Liu Le, a new grad we met on the sleeper train, who has offered to show us his city, and explore Hohhot's quite ludicrously enormous museum, landed like an astroturfed spacecraft in the middle of some posh apartment blocks.
"Perhaps we could go to the cinema?" Liu Le suggests, after we've had our fill of excellent dinosaurs, various Khans and anti-nationalist propaganda.
And so, in an upscale mall in the land of the Khans, we settle down to Star Trek – in 3D. One character's name prompts audible gasps.
Farewells, six hours on the bus to the border town of Erenhot, a Chinese taxi to the spot where the jeeps leave for Mongolia and it all goes very, well, Mongolian.
I stare, blankly, at the back "seat" of the jeep – two boards arranged on top of a mountain of rice sacks at a 60° angle. They can't really expect us to sit in there, can they?
Oh, they do.
A flurry of Mongolian – which, thanks to the prevalence of -ul, -ag and -zh sounds, reminds me irresistibly of Tolkien's Black Speech – and we're squeezed into the front seat beside the driver, two guys have folded themselves almost double between the boards, a third is sharing the driver's seat, and my backpack is balanced on the bonnet.
"Wow!" says Zac. "Welcome to Mongolia. I wanted to ride in the back, though."
Language barrier notwithstanding, our jeep-mates take us under their substantial wings for the duration of the three-hour border crossing – "margash", Mongolian for mañana, comes up a lot – and escort us through a whirl of red Gobi sand to the shared taxi to the station.
Our train awaits. We're going to make Ulan Bator for Children's Day after all. Result!
Comments
Post a Comment