Into Russia

We’re en route between Ulaanbaatar and Ulan-Ude in another nice car (this one is even nicer than the last one if one can believe that), sharing the 4-bed compartment with a couple we had met a couple days ago on the bus going to Terelj. They live in San Francisco but the woman, Jitka (pronounced ‘Yitka’), is from the Czech Republic, and the man, Martin, is from Ireland.

Jitka just said, “Bye Mongolia. It was short, but sweet,” as she puts on a pair of socks and gets ready for bed. She and Martin were only in Mongolia for three days.

We’ve each received a plastic package containing sheets, a pillow cover, and a washcloth to go with the blanket and pillow we all get, so everyone’s made up their little bed except for me. There’s even a TV in our car although we haven’t figured out how to turn it on. Each bed also has a tiny reading lamp; the bottom bunks get one on each end.

I could get used to traveling this way.

As we boarded car 1 at the station in Ulaanbaatar, the man standing beside the door was white, and it was a bit surprising. Scott and I have never traveled in a country together where the dominant race is Caucasian (except for the States, of course). He’s our provodnitsa – the person in charge of our car. He checked our tickets as we boarded to make sure we were on the right car and shortly after the train pulled out of the station he collected all the tickets. Then he passed out the plastic wrapped bed sheets. A little while later, he came around once more, stood at our doorway and said, “Passports.” He checked them all for our Russian visas and jotted some things down on a clipboard.

Martin’s on the top bunk opposite Scott and I, watching something on his iPhone. Jitka is below Martin on the bottom bunk reading something on her iPad. Scott’s above me reading the big fat book I brought with me for this train trip – Kazuo Ishiguro’s Unconsoled. It’s the first Ishiguro that Scott’s trying out. It’s a brick of a book. Years ago I bought it from the library book store in Juneau, where almost every single book costs $1, and recently unearthed it from one of our totes stored in Scott’s grandmother’s garage. I brought it with me for this trip because of its girth. It was meant for me to read, but I still have another book to read before it, and Scott doesn’t have any books to read, so he’s decided to try the brick.

Supposedly in about five hours, we’ll get woken up, likely by the provodnitsa, to deal with crossing the border into Russia. This whole border crossing is supposed to take several hours, not sure exactly how many. But, unlike the last border crossing, I’m not stressing out. I feel like we’ll be told what to do and when to do it. I can relax for the time being.

A few hours before boarding this train, Scott and I went to see a cultural show, Tumen Ekh, at the park. It was absolutely wonderful – throat singing; beautiful Mongolian string instruments; dancing that took a bit for me to warm up to but when I did, I loved it; and a mind-boggling contortionist. We had debated the whole ten days we were in UB whether or not to spend money on such a touristy thing, but I’m glad we did because it was worth it. It filled our leaving Mongolia with enchantment and wonder. You’d understand if you’ve ever heard the throat singing. It’s a combination of poltergeist and whinnying horses.

Jitka has turned off her iPad, put on an eye mask, and turned in for the night. I can hear the breathing of someone asleep. Scott’s also turned in. The train is at a stop and just lurched as if it’s about to start moving again. I hear laughter coming from another compartment.

I guess there’s nothing left but for me to make my bed, brush my teeth, and fall asleep on the rails.