Yaktastic!

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Ah yes, I'm in Outer Mongolia in a much more cheery mood than previously. I guess this is going to be characteristically long so for those who can't tolerate the featureless text I'll say at the beginning: thanks to everyone who's been getting in touch. Even if I can't reply to all straight away it's very much appreciated.

Went off to Olkhon Island by bus (funny how an 8 hour bus journey seems like a bargain after 2 days on a train). Stopped halfway at a strange little cafe in the middle of nowhere and there was a brief 'Hostel' / 'Wolf Creek' moment when the bus buggered off with everyone's stuff on board. However, it only went as far as the petrol station so that was a very minor drama indeed. Arriving at the ferry I was intrigued to notice the large calibre bullet holes in the stop sign but chose to ignore them (in the film this would be the moment when the audience starts telling the idiot tourists to turn back). Olkhon Island was anything but horrifying as it turned out. Slightly scarred by the pylons that connected them to the mains only in 2005 but who am I to say who can have a power supply? Followed some random people to a hostel type place which turned out to be a bit Butlinsesque but otherwise fine. Was pottering about after dinner having a look at the nearby 'Shaman Rock' on the shoreline, when I was hailed by my comrades from the train. What a pleasure to see some friendly faces.

Spent the next few days stomping around in the woods and along the coast. Had to walk a good 2 hours into the woods before it was possible to get away from the piles of rubbish everywere. Shame really. Got to the top of a hill and sat still for such a long time that butterflies were landing on me. My antisocial tendencies really are reaching epic proportions! Braved it on one excursion with other human beings. The scenery was truly stunning and some fine fish stew was cooked up for us over a campfire. The strange thing that day was that we passed the site of a gulag prison without any mention whatsoever. People were sent to this island to build, supply and man a fish factory. Despite the fact that we stopped there en-route, nothing was said. As it turned out we had also driven past the two mass graves of the many who didn't survive the experience. I have to say it left me with the feeling that the (even quite recent) past is being glossed over to some extent. In Irkutsk where so much has been modernised, the block paving in the streets is already deteriorating under the force of feet, vehicles and water. What looks like a solid covering is only a couple of centimetres thick. How long before the forces of the past break through the veneer of the modern here I wonder? Finished the day by taking a dip in Lake Baikal, renowned for it's icy temperatures regardless of the weather. Well, I have a reputation for swimming in pretty much anything but I think I lasted less than a minute on both ocasions I braved it into the water. Toasted the lake with a beer and concluded that in the battle of me vs Baikal there was no contest and at the end of the day, swimming was not the winner.

Excellent sunny afternoon spent back in Irkutsk before getting back on the train. Everyone was out by the river and you could start to see why it's called the Paris of Siberia. With a band playing and people dancing, playing chess and drinking in the sunshine there was certainly something of the Rive Gauche about it. Short (ish) overnight hop to Ulan-Ude, the capital of Buryatia spent talking with a Russian chap (a military computer engineer for the Russian space programme!!!!) about allsorts including the friendliness of second cities, the untranslatability of Russian poetry and some attempts at joke telling. For my part all I could remember was one Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman joke (and the award for furthering the cause of cross-cultural humour goes to....). In my defence it was in the context of Russian jokes about magic goldfish, I think you had to be there!

Ulan-Ude was very chilled and I enjoyed a couple of days there including not one but two meals in restaurants, incredible but true. OK so there were English versions of the menus but I didn't know that when I walked in so it still counts. Highlight of this stop was seeing the military parade ground dominated by the largest Lenin head statue in Russia (and believe me there's a fair few to choose from) with 'Buryatia FM' blaring out 'Perfect Exceeder' over the city PA system. For those who aren't familiar with the Radio 1 playlist the chorus of this goes, 'wooh, one, two, three, four let me hear you scream if you want some more like aah push it push it, watch me work it, I'm perfect'. Now please take a moment to imagine the military parade that might have that soundtrack. I could hear Lenin's mummy spinning all the way from Moscow. Class!

Unfortunately, it was in Ulan-Ude that I began to succumb to a nasty cold and spent a miserable day on the train at the Russian /Mongolian border. Not going anywhere you understand, just 10 hours spent at the border uurgghh! The Taiwanese guys I was sharing a cabin with gave me some magic Chinese medicine which did the trick quite well and prevented the premature resorting to antibiotics. I was supposed to have been in Mongolia for the Naadam festival that day but helpfully my ticket agent had buggered it up a bit. Nevermind, better to be ill on a day that would have been wasted anyway. Despite my insistence on using public transport at every opportunity I have to say I was pitifully grateful that I was picked up in a car to go out to my camp in the Terelj national park. More jaw dropping scenery ensued (together with the incongruous 'Ghengis Khan country club and golf course) and I was shown to my own little ger complete with comfy bed and wood burning stove. Rather than embarking on my planned hiking exploits I promptly went to bed and stayed there for some while. Don't know if it was the head cold or the altitude (is 1400m that high?) but I wasn't up to doing much apart from admiring the resident yak and staring at the mountains. Polished off Kafka's 'The Trial', which had been chucked my way by a guy at a hostel who was trying to lighten his load before heading to Khazakstan. Generally can't abide people reading heavyweight literature in public as if they're saying, 'Both I and my experiences of this place are, like my book, very intellectually deep and meaningful'. Therefore, Kafka stayed in my ger where in a delicious irony my candle guttered out the moment I finished the book and tried to leaf back to the introduction to find out more about what it all meant.

Back to Ulaanbaatar today. The capital city, again similar to other cities except that the suburbs consist of ger tents and the people appear halfway friendly. The language has stumped me of course. It's quite attractively middle eastern sounding and you can imagine that someone got angry it would sould superb. Thanks to Soviet intrusions the Mongolian people were made to use the Cyrillic alphabet but it's a totally different language so any grip I may have had on Russian (i.e. pretty much none) is obsolete once more. I'm trying to make good use of what little time I have here today as tomorrow I head for China and must wrench myself away from my Trans-Siberian/Trans-Mongolian odyssey. What wonders await?

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