Irkutsk to Ulaan Batur

Somehow I managed to sneak early onto the train to Ulaan Batur. An announcement was made and there was a rush from the station to the platform. I followed. It was an announcement for a different train, but my train was just opposite the platform. The carriage attendant let me on but then shut the door behind me so I couldn't get off.

My cabin is empty save for myself. The family in the cabin beside mine takes flash photos of each other. A couple stands outside waving. There is a grinding noise. Then another, as if the train is slow to wake. The train lets out a sigh. Somewhere a whistle blows. And another. A train is arriving. Music plays, but I'm not sure from where. The train passes, unseen on another track. The music is rousing. Just as suddenly it stops. People settles. The train sighs. Moves, almost imperceptibly, stops. And then, 15 minutes late, we are off. I have grown too used to Russian punctuality. We travel south along the river, Irkutsk passes as a string of lights. We gain speed, and once again, I find my excitement for trains.

My last day in Irkutsk, I got off to a late start. It was a grey morning and a slight rain fell. I took the tram to the train station to take some photos and then walked back to the city along the bridge. The rain stopped, then started again. I looked for a place to have lunch and ordered blini with red caviar. It was delicious, the best I had had. I said farewell to Russian cuisine with that meal. I would have a pizza snack before boarding the train.

I toured the museums, first the sub-gallery. A Russian woman on the first floor explained that the exhibit was of children's book illustrations. She apologized for not speaking English. I shook my head. I am in Russia, why should she speak English. She kept explaining the exhibit to me in Russian, pointing at the books, guesturing at the illustrations.

In the afternoon I walked to the river and found myself in a small park. A brass band played in a corner and older couples danced. An MC interrupted the music to chat with the audience. Each time the music stopped, the crowd grew thinner. They played "Blue Moon" with an oompah oompah beat. I found myself walking in time.

I took a shower at the hostel and then bid my hostess goodbye. I took the tram back to the train station. It was crowded and a woman yelled at me about my luggage. She shifted her own bag in order to get a better position. She then helped me check my ticket in with the inspector.

With the compartment doors closed and the lights off, I could see stars. The lights from the train illuminated the nearby trees. I listened to John Coltrane. I listened to Astor Piazolla. Lake Baikul passed as a black mass of earth reflecting the city lights that lined the far shore. The big dipper was perfectly framed in the window.

Two German woman joined me. They had come from Listvyanka, taking the Baikul line to catch up with the Ulaan Batur bound train. They went immediately to sleep. The next morning we sat up and watched Siberia go by. The landscape was ever-changing: mountains, grasslands, lakes. At one point a huge factory commanded our attention. I wandered the train. A Russian man smiled at me and pointed at my camera. I took his photo and we shook hands. His grip was like iron. We stopped at smaller and smaller stations. The towns looked more and more desolate.

At the border we waited. Cars were attached and detached. A small market stood just outside the gate selling food and clothes. No one bought clothes. The food was slight but substantial. I ate a meat filled bread bun. I ate a cabbage filled bread bun. I waited.

Four hours later, they gave us customs forms to fill out in duplicate. A woman took our passports. A man came with a dog to sniff our belongings. A woman searched every nook and cranny of our compartment. Our passports were returned. A man collected our customs forms. We waited.

An engine was attached and we lurched across the border. In the 25km distance between Russia and Mongolia, the no-man's land, we stopped and waited. An hour passed. We moved on.

In Mongolia a woman came and took our passports. We filled out customs forms. An official walked by and said hello, then asked if we wanted to change money. A woman came and stamped them. A man asked if we wanted to change money. Our passports were returned. A woman asked if we wanted to change money. Night fell. We waited.

Nine hours since we arrived at the border we were off. It was dark. We prepared our beds and went to sleep.

At the station a man met me. He held up my name. He spoke on his cell phone. We drove to the guest house and he rang the doorbell. He rang it again. He kept ringing it. He dialed a number on his cell phone and then another. He knocked. He rang. He called. A sleepy voice answered. He spoke some words and waited. He rang. He knocked. A voice answered on the other side of the door and we were let in. He said my room would be ready at nine. It was six thirty in the morning. The sun is now starting to rise.
Posted by eku at September 30, 2008 7:08 AM