The Top of a Hill

Around 5:40 am, the train pulls into a small Mongolian train station and doesn’t have plans to move for a long time, for about five hours. At first I don’t realize how long we’ve been there. Some amount of time earlier, I had looked outside the window and saw an old white building that, I could tell from the shading, once bore the letters for “Duty Free Shop” and I figured we must be somewhere near the border, but fell back asleep quite suddenly.

Next thing I know, Scott’s by the cabin door ready to go out. He whispers the words, “I’m going for a walk.” In my sleepiness, I tell him to wait, that I’ll come along. He finds out from the provodnitsa that we’re going to be at that stop from another two hours. Still not fully woken up, we’re walking away from the train and I wrap my scarf around my neck and pull on my fleece to protect myself from the cold wind. I ask what time it is. “A little after 6,” Scott replies. I’m a bit confused because I recall hours earlier the digital clocks on the train reading past 7 am (later I come to find out that all the clocks on these international trains – this is the first international train Scott and I have taken on this journey – are always set to Moscow time). Scott says that we’re going to climb a hill. I questioningly point to one in the distance and am relieved when he gives a negative response. We’re to climb a closer one. Most summits, no matter how close they may be, are daunting to me, especially so early in the morning, especially when I have a hidden fear that the train will leave without us (despite the fact that our train car is absolutely autonomous, attached to no other cars or engine). But I keep following Scott, as I normally do on such adventures, as we weave our way around town blocks until we find a path that goes right up to where Scott wants to go, where an ovoo has been erected.

The cold wind gives way to warmth as I put one foot in front of the other up and up the small hill. I reveal my fear of the train leaving and Scott points out that we’ve only been walking for 20 minutes (remember, the train will be standing there for at least two hours) and he brings up the obvious question – how would it leave?

I tell Scott, “Feel free to run ahead to the top. I’ll meet you on your way down,” to which he says, “No one is running up to the top. We’ll both walk to the top.” I tell him, “I just don’t want to slow you down.” He replies, “I’ve grown used to you slowing me down and I’ve grown to love it.”

Big rocks mix with smaller rocks on the way to the top and before I know it, we’re there. The ovoo is made of wood and wrapped mainly in blue kadars (scarves) with some prayer flags mixed in. The strong wind whips the scarves around as well as a plastic ‘I(heart)NY’ bag that’s stuck to the bottom of the ovoo. Below us are the town, green trees and rolling hills, and the river Selenga, which will eventually flow into Lake Baikal. Below is northern Mongolia. We’re almost in Russia.

*

As I had anticipated, the border crossing process was quite painless. The provodnitsa handed out departure and arrival forms to each compartment in our train with plenty of time to fill them out. With both the Mongolian departure and the Russian arrival, there were a series of passport checking and collecting, and superficial searches of our bags as we all waited outside the cabin. Eventually we’d be given our passports back with the appropriate stamps. With the Russians, there were the additions of a German Shepherd sniff dog and the photographing of our bags. During the Mongolian departure process, one of the immigration officials told us to shush after we laughed too loud. Indeed, the process is not meant to be fun. At least on this go around, there weren’t any lines to wait on or crowds to push through. We just sat comfortably in our train cabin for the officials to come to us. What a novel idea.

In total, the train waited five hours for the Mongolian departure process and another five hours for the Russian entry process. Ten hours of train stillness. In Russia, we didn’t climb any nearby hills. We just wandered around the small town wondering what people did there, bought two slices of delicious ham from a nice Russian woman at a store, read, and sat out in the sun.

The train is in motion now, thankfully, on our way to our first real stop in Russia – Ulan Ude, a town on the eastern side of Lake Baikal. We’ll arrive after 9 pm. Despite all the time we had in UB, we still didn’t manage to successfully arrange any accommodations for our first night in Russia. Oh well. Perhaps, by some small chance of luck or magic, when we get off the train, there will be someone there waiting with a sign bearing our names on it.