an Ecdemic Cat. Asia 2011.

Mongol Uls 14 July - 20 July, 2011

Director's Cut for 20/07/2011:

Been a while since I last wrote. We’re still in Ulaanbataar. We’re staying in a hostel that’s nice enough, though there’s only one bathroom for 2 floors. The day we got in we met up with a bunch of people from Stepperiders and had really nice Indian food. Unfortunately I threw it all up a few hours later; all that night and the next day I was terrifically sick. I was still weak the next couple days, but am better now. I suspect it was the marmot.

Despite all this, we at least now have a good idea where we want to go, and will (hopefully) be on our way tomorrow. We will go East, first to Ondorkhaan, then north to Batshireet near the Russian border. From there we will trek to Khan Khentii Strictly Protected Area, in the hopes of seeing the insides of some of the bathhouses apparently in the area. We hope the trek will take about a week, all told, and then we will make our way back to Ulaanbataar, and from there to Beijing, Shanghai, and, eventually, Korea, where PB will stay and I will leave.


Storytime:

Getting out of Ulaanbataar was not, in itself, particularly difficult. Certainly it was not the ordeal that getting into it from China had been; however, because we had decided to go to the Khan Khentii Strictly Protected Area, we thought we needed some sort of authorisation. The guide books and tour resources we found had conflicting information, and no one in the various hostels we talked to seemed to know much about it either. But, one rainy morning after I had recovered sufficient strength, we ventured out to the building we hoped would contain both information about the adventure we had planned as well as permission to do it.

At the time, as I stated above, the plan was to go east to a decent sized town called Ondorkhaan by bus (that being the only way to get there), then north to a smallish town called Batshireet on the Russian border, again by bus. From Batshireet we hoped to hire horses or a car to the Strictly Protected Area. At the time, however, the information we had indicated that a permit was needed to both get into the protected area, and, potentially, even to stay in a town so close to the Russian border. But reliable information on either subject was sparse and contradictory with next to no information available online (I'm told it's different now), so at last we figured the most efficient method was to head to the government office responsible for such permits and get it sorted out there.

It took at least one urban bus and a fair bit of walking to get to the government office, and so we were treated to the spectacle of Ulaanbataar without its habitual cloak of blue skies and brilliant sunshine. The city is built in a sort of valley-like hollow around the junction of two rivers, the Selbe, which flows into the city from the direct north, and the much larger Tuul, which flows through the southern edge of the city from east to west. The geography means that the centre of the city is fairly flat, but if you head to the south you run into the city's most recognizable geographic feature, the mountain Bogd Khan Uul, and if you head to the north you hit the edge of the hollow and face a steep climb upwards until you find the lip of the plateau again. Our destination was to the north of the city centre, and so we found ourselves slogging a fair way uphill over sporadically incomplete sidewalks. The rain was steady but not torrential, and did nothing to improve the look of the several grimy-looking gers (again, the Mongolian yurt) that huddled within the edges of the city limits. Still after much walking, and much walking around construction that had spilled over onto sidewalks, we found the building.

It was a sleek glass and metallic affair, low to the ground and dark blue in colour. The parking lot in front of it was in disarray, of course, but the vehicles parked on the soggy, uneven dirt patch were modern and shiny and dark. Overall, the building gave the distinct impression of having money and being very serious indeed... As did the guardbox and 10 foot high, razor-wire topped, chainlink fence surrounding the entire affair. Daunted but unwilling to be put off, we approached the guardbox.

A good hour and a half later, we walked away. Not only did we not have permits, we hadn't even been let inside. No information was available - at least, no information in English - and the greatest achievement of our quest had been to serve as entertainment for some bemused looking army officials as they walked through the yard of the building, cozily on the other side of the fence.

Frustrated and soggy, we wandered away, eventually finding a main street to take us back to the city centre. As we wandered south and downwards, dodging around loose paving stones and open pits now cheerily lit by fresh sunlight, we wondered how to proceed. The address we had been given was pretty unambiguous, and matched exactly the numbers on the unreachable blue steel building we'd been barred from entering. On the other hand, the book that gave the address was about 4 years old; perhaps it was out of date? Did that mean there was a different office we needed to go to, or simply that permits were no longer required? Were we willing to take that risk? If Mongolia deported us, would we be sent back to China or to Canada?

Pondering these and other questions, we wandered into a two-level restaurant for lunch. Decorated exclusively in unrelieved dark wood panelling, it was dimly lit and offered traditional Mongolian fare. The lower level was occupied by smoking Mongolians who looked askance at us as we entered. Being already mentally exhausted with the days efforts and unwilling to face further scrutiny without at least a hot meal to lift our low spirits, we retreated to the unoccupied benches upstairs. The obviously startled waitress handed us menus that were low on pictures (a Chinese affectation we agreed made food purchase exponentially easier) and had English transcriptions, rather than translations, of the menu items, although each section (Entrees, Vegetables, Soup, Meat, etc) was labelled in several different languages. We both decided on soup as the best remedy for the chill of the day and ordered at random.

Waiting for our mystery soups, we huddled over the ubiquitous Mongolian tea, heavy with the traditional milk and salt. As the warmth seeped into us, we began to draw a sort of stubborn courage. If the address had changed, and no new one supplied, wasn't it possible that the policy had been changed as well, we argued? Surely if the policy was still in affect, someone at the hostel, either staff or fellow guest, would have known about it, and none had. Besides, we were not going for very long; besides that, if we found out at the entrance that permits were necessary, we could turn back, or perhaps even purchase them at some office there. We mullishly decided that if we were unable to apply for permits, we would assume none were necessary and would depart, as planned, for Ondorkhaan in 4 days time. Bolstered by these arguments, not even the lackluster nature of the soup could bring us low again, despite the fact that PB's consisted literally of 2 tablespoons worth of shredded mutton in what appeared to be unseasoned water, rather than broth. Mine, at least, had some shreds of noodle and onion.

The rest of our time in the capital was spent pursuing traditionally tourist excursions. We visited the Museum of Natural History, which was ok, the National Museum of Mongolia, which was very good, and the Winter Palace of the Bogd Khan, which was small and somehow sad but also very enjoyable in its slight dilapidation and faded glory. We also went to the Chojin Lama Temple Museum and caught a performance of Tuvan throat singing, which I would absolutely recommend. And, 4 days later, we packed our bags and headed to the eastern bus terminus of the city, where, despite the delay caused while disputing the fare of an unscrupulous "taxi" driver, we caught a simple long haul bus east to Ondorkhaan.