Patamateria

Please ignore the strange numbers and notes at the start of paragraphs; they are to help me identify photos to add when I can get uninterrupted wifi access.

This was the last part of the Trans-Siberian (Trans-Mongolian…Trans-Manchurian) rail journey, from Moscow to Beijing. Having experienced the Russian part of the trip, then the short bit in Mongolia which was considerably friendlier (!) we were looking forward to the last section: from Ulaan Baator to the border with China, then change of staff (and wheels) on the onward journey to Beijing.

After returning from the Ger to the Golden Gobi Hostel, I did some last minute shopping at the State Department Store before going with some others to a very local restaurant, where I had fish and chips, Mongolian style. Very tasty but odd. Don’t know what fish it was…. what do they have in Mongolia, a land with no coast and precious few rivers..? Actually, they don’t have any vegetables either… so where did the chips come from?

The next morning, up bright and early and after hugs and goodbyes to our lovely hostel owners – particularly Ogie (the shower invader) who couldn’t do enough to make our stay perfect – we were off to the station, me lugging my large bag with the wheels too close together, making it tip over all the time, crammed rucksack and a large shopping bag full of food supplies and water for the journey. Assuming (correctly) I wouldn’t find anything to eat on the train I’d travelled from Moscow with nuts, seeds, muesli bars, apples, oranges, cuppa soups, Dairylea triangles (bought in Estonia) and crispbread. Anyway, after the challenge of getting myself and all this baggage on and off buses, and onto the right platform, then onto the train, along a narrow corridor and stowed away under seats in our 4-berth compartments – we were off.

So on Easter Sunday there we were, sitting on the Beijing train on the last lap of this journey. How to describe travelling across the Gobi Desert! It’s just emptiness as far as the eye can see, and at this time of year, utterly barren. For some of the way there was a road running parallel to the train tracks, and to the telegraph poles and wires at the side of the rails. For much of the way there was nothing. Over a few hours we caught sight of a lone motorcyclist on the road, odd handfuls of cattle or sheep and a ger or two. The faintly undulating landscape changed over time to an absolutely ‘flat to the horizon’ scene. Not the sort of place you’d want to be caught out in without water.

Just endless miles and hours of emptiness, save for one or two dwellings or stations with imposing facades where we got off to stretch our legs and buy ice-creams. The trick is to buy anything that is chocolate and looks like a Magnum. Those who bought white ice cream on sticks complained it tasted of goat.

But on the train it was another story! In order to get a bottom bunk I’d changed compartments and was sharing with Tony and Sandra from Austria, and Andy and his guitar. So I lay on my bunk and read, or played cards with Sandra, and listened to the soft strumming from the bunk above me. Lovely! But the big surprise was the Mongolian dining car. After the dire experiences of the Russian one, and the complete absence of a dining car between the Russian border and Ulaan Baator, we just weren’t expecting the grandeur of this one. The décor was beautiful, ornate and quite over the top, with local weaponry dotted about. The menus were fantastic, with colour photos of all the food. Unfortunately they didn’t have everything on the menu – and no prices. So when you went to pay for your coffee and tiny side salad you got a bit of a shock! And it didn’t last long as it was changed at the border to a Chinese car, very restrained décor after the Mongolian one, but they gave us free vouchers for breakfast and lunch.

And then at 7 in the evening we were at the Mongolia border. I’d lost my customs declaration which had been stamped on entry to Mongolia (later found it hidden inside my Kindle..when did I do that?) but it didn’t seem to matter and we moved on through No-Man’s Land to China. The most amazing thing: as we left the last Mongolian station, at intervals the border officials stood to attention and saluted the train as it passed. This happened all the way to the start of No-man’s Land. A few miles down the track we approached the first station on Chinese soil and we were again greeted by officials on the platform, standing to attention. I guess this train is such an institution that it now receives huge respect along its route. Anyway, it made us feel like VIPs. Dirty and grubby ones. Sandra and I bemoaned the fact we couldn’t get our fingernails clean – one look at the train and they attracted filth. I even dug out a spare toothbrush (I took about 6 from the planes) and scrubbed with that – 30 minutes later, filthy again. Sorry, I digress.

So by about 9.30 in the evening, there we were sitting in a stationary train in China, waiting for our passports to be returned. We knew this would be a long stop as the entire wheel systems have to be changed on entry to China, and this can be a lengthy procedure for a train with ten or more carriages. The wheels which took us through Russia and Mongolia run on a very slightly narrower gauge than China – only a few centimetres in it, but enough to make it totally incompatible. They advise you not to get off the train at this point, as it could be a long time before you can get back on. We were shunted up the line – then back to the station but at a different platform. This happened twice – at one stage I saw the faces of two of our group on the platfrom as the train drew slowly away from them. They said they weren’t worried but I don’t believe them. Even when stationary at a platform, you were being violently shunted around as carriages were disconnected and taken off to the wheel-changing shed. We finally got our passports back, customs came and went, checking under our seats and in the roof space between ceiling and outer shell for illegal immigrants. Then were were shunted off again, then back to the station on another platform. No way you can get bored on this train.

And so it continued for about 45 minutes, until our carriage ended up on rails, separated from the rest of the train, in a hangar-like shed. Sets of different gauge wheel systems were stacked at the sides, and in the centre, serving two sets of rails, were red hydraulic lifts. We watched and took photos as another carriage (and its occupants with their noses to the windows) was lifted into the air about 1.5 metres above the rails, and its wheels exchanged. Then they watched and snapped away as we underwent the same process.

I was in my bunk soon after, reading, and fell asleep before the train was back on the new tracks with all its carriages, but according to others we were off again about 1am. I woke up to lovely views of mountains, layer upon layer swathed in cloud – you just know exactly where the inspiration for classical Chinese paintings comes from. And the trees! They may be almond trees, someone said, the tall spindly ones sharing their orchards with cherry trees in blossom. Lovely.

The industrial north: cooling towers and tall smoking chimneys interspersed with villages, rice fields and terraces, vegetable fields and orchards. And then we arrive in Beijing… slowly…as it takes us just over half an hour to reach the station from the outskirts of the city. Someone said it covers the same area as Belgium. It’s absolutely huge and sprawling. We were met by Gary, the Chinese guide who will accompany us for the next few days until we leave China on the ship to Alaska. A lovely man who made our whole trip memorable and who helped change me from a person who was not that fussed about China, to someone who loves it and can’t wait to return!