As Low As You Can Go

Xinjiang is an autonomous region much like Tibet. The population is mostly Muslim and the region has had a few spats with the central government regarding its independence. The Uighr people are decendants of the Mongols and their language sounds very much like Turkish. The province was once called Eastern Turkmenistan and it really feels like it should be a stan country. The architecture, landscape and people remind me of Afghanistan and Pakistan. If ever you want a Central Asian experience akin to the stans without risking to travel there come to northeastern China.

Turpan was one of the major stops on the ancient Silk Road. It is famous for its grapes, wine and raisins. I counted nine varieties of raisins at the market. Each one tastes entirely unique. The city is an oasis surrounded by desert and the second lowest depression in the world (after the Dead Sea). This makes it an extremely hot place to be. Today temperatues rose to 45 degrees. Xinjiang is a couple of time zones removed from Bejing but of course eveything in China is on Bejing time. Most businesses take a break between 2 and 4 in the afternoon and then reopen for the early evening.

There are lots of sights to be seen in the surrounding desert and I, of course, slept in until noon today and missed the organized tour buses. That turned out to be a blessing. Most of the tourists I've seen in those buses were either Chinese or sunburnt senior citizens from the west. The only thing I wish I had seen is Tuyoq, seven pilgrimages to the desert town would have counted as one trip to Mecca. I suppose I'll be going to Mecca some time after I give up all my vices...maybe not.



I took a local bus to Emin Mosque outside downtown Turpan. The mosque is built in an Afghan architectual style and looks like a sandcastle surrounded by grapeyards. The minaret is 33 meters high and tapers at the top. Thanks to the Frenchie (an architect) I met in X'ian I was able to recognize the hovel leading into a dug out structure near the mosque. It was an old Uighr dwelling. Frenchie told me that the people in this region used to live underground to keep cool during the summers. This old architectual style is slowly disappearing and being replaced by a very ugly and depressing Communist architecture.



On the way back I decided to walk which gave me an opportunity to be passed by several donkey carts loaded with grapes. The aroma of drying grapevines filled the air. I shared the load of grapes I had been given by a woman whoms courtyard I had stopped to photograph with the kids I met on the road. Everytime I stopped in front of yet another mosque (there are thousands of them) a man or woman or child would come up to me and start speaking Uighr. Believe it or not, I look Chinese! ...well, maybe just Uighr. Everyone is surprised when I shrug and start speaking in English. This has happened at least ten times today already and I don't think Mayuko believed me until we went for dinner tonight at the bazaar where an elderly man bought us beer and a woman gave us a free bag of raisins and everyone spoke to me in Uighr, thinking I was her guide.

Tomorrow I am off on a 25 hour bus ride to Kashgar.

Getting to Xinjiang

First, let me tell you what it took to get here (Turpan). It took lining up for three hours at X'ian's train station and then finding out that all the tickets to my destination of choice were sold out. I bought a ticket to Lanzhou, the world's most polluted city and the gateway to western China, instead. Then I waited from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. for the next train to Zhangye, site of the largest reclining Buddha in China, located along the Hexi Corridor (once the sole western passage in or out of the Middle Kingdom). Once again not my destination of choice. In the process of waiting an army of farmers build a little fort around my seat. They were lying in a semi-circle around the seat with their feet pointing at me. A few candles and a Chinese dicitonary and I could have had my very own cult experience. These guys looked like they were worshipping me in some strange way. Once on the train, I found out that I could stay on if I was prepared to stand for the next 24 hours after the train passed Zhangye at midnight.

This was translated to me by a Mongolian lady on the train. The train conductor didn't speak a word of English. Dorna, my translator, was a Chinese language professor in UB who told me about her English teachers, Dave and Charlotte, in Hovt, Mongolia. When her husband pulled out the Canon Wordtank V80 things really got rolling. Thanks to this baby we were able to talk about the cold in Mongolia, her husband studying in Japan, her surprise trip to Bejing to pick him up from his ferry ride across the water and their vacation to visit his mother in Wumunqui. In the bunk next to her a man who looked like some kind of drug kingpin was stretching. He was an army commandor of some sort. I guessed this because the three guys in army uniforms around him were doting on him. They refilled his hot water, washed his fruit and brought kleenex boxes when necessary. He in turn offered us some ginseng fruit and grapes before asking the Mongolian lady to translate for him. I wish he hadn't. He asked if I wanted a Chinese boyfriend while I was in China with a special sort of leer. Of course, then I had to tell him about my 'boyfriend', a computer techie in North America that was coming to meet me in two weeks. Also, I decided a while ago that I was going to be whatever age people guessed. This time I was 24 and a student.

Midnight rolled around and the Kazakh guys next to me were still singing old folk songs, clapping and drinking vodka. I got off the bunk and walked from carriage 14 to 7, the restaurant, paid 30 yuan to sit there until 7 a.m. and then paid 10 yuan (too much) for a bad breakfast that bought me another 2 hours sitting. The Mongolian couple joined me. We talked using the Wordtank. They fed me various foods. Their tickets also ran out at midnight but around 5 they were able to upgrade to sleepers for the remainder of their journey. Around 9 a.m. I was kicked out to carriage 5, the hard seats. Basically, I stood in an aisle with hundreds of other people with my backpack by my feet for five hours. Every 10 minutes a stupid food cart came around and I had to pick up my backpack and hold it over the people crammed onto the seats next to me while trying to push my butt away from the stirfry noodles coming through the carriage. The woman next to me had sliced her finger badly and it was bleeding through the bandaid. A man stood on his chair to stare at me with his mouth wide open. The guy in the seat at the window had his hand between his girlfriend's legs. Everyone pretended not to notice. There were sunflower seed shells everywhere. When one of the women next to me started speaking to me in Chinese I smiled and shrugged. She must have thought I was deaf because she wrote her question down. I don't speak Chinese. I don't read Chinese. Everyone turned to stare some more. Then I was offered food and water. I realized that the women took it upon themselves to look after me when they realized I was alone. Now I had hands on my butt when a food cart came around to prevent me from being clipped and someone always picked up my backpack and held it on their knees until the cart had passed. I loved those ladies.

At 2 p.m. I finally arrived at Daheyan. Now it was only a one hour car ride to Turpan (pronounced Turfuan). My first surprise: the taxi driver didn't rip me off! He quoted me 10 yuan for the ride, drove me to a bus, bought me a ticket and gave me back 2 yuan in change. I was happy. Tired but happy. Sweaty but happy. Thirsty but happy. Hungry but happy. You get the picture.

Tomorrow I'll tell of what it's like here.

Warriors, Muslims & X'ian

X'ian was grey when I arrived after an overnight train a few days ago and it stayed that way until I left on an overnight train the night after. The city is congested and polluted like every other big city in China. However, it does have it's charms. I didn't realize this right away because my first experience in X'ian involved sweating profusely while waiting in line for three hours at the train station. The first thing I noticed then was that queing had come to China. Sure, it wasn't a voluntary act (as it is still being enforced by police officers at the train stations ticket halls) but nonetheless, it has arrived. Something makes me wish they would enforce the no smoking and no spitting laws as well but Rome wasn't built in a day.

Once outside the train station I jumped on a city bus to see the 8th wonder of the world, the Terracotta Warriors. My advice to anyone going to see them is:
1) bring comfy shoes. The parking lot is miles from the museum and pits.
2) bring bug spray. The walk leads through a park with lots of flying thingies.
3) don't see pit number 1 first or else pit 2 and 3 won't hold your attention beyond a quick glance.
4) if you see the old grudgy guy outside the cinema signing books, buy one! That's the farmer who discovered the warriors and by the looks of him, he won't be around much longer. Don't expect him to smile. He ain't happy. The Commies are forcing this job on him. I didn't buy one because I had no clue who he was until I asked someone at the hostel that night.

Back at the hostel I watched a British girl cut her flu medication into a fine powder, form it into lines and snort it with a one yuan bill. Right after that, thankfully, I ran into the Dutch guys again. Apparently my love of street food left it's mark on these two in the form of a foot infection (Marcel cut his feet on his sandals walking) and diarreah (Marc couldn't handle the spice). That's the last time I'm going out with two whities for dinner. Marcel clearly didn't learn his lesson (and neither did I) because when I suggested a late night walk down the street for spicy noodles he was all over it. We took Batman (a Spanish guy that studies bats) and the Frenchie with us. It was warm out but really, those guys were drenched in sweat, guzzling back those beers as fast as they could after each bite. When I asked the French guy if he wanted to continue traveling he said "I don't know. I would like to own a plasma and maybe have some children." Batman hadn't heard a single word. He was busy identifying the species of bat he was hearing in the trees covering the sidewalk. I turned to the Dutch guy and he just started telling me a story of how he got Hepititis B.... It wasn't from contaminated food. I asked.

The following day I took my last leisurely walk through X'ian's Muslim quarter. It's filled with mosques, lanes crammed with souvenirs and tons of food options. Tim and I met some kids in a park and played around on the slides with them for a while before trying to find our way back to the main street. Stringy bearded men with white caps watched us kick up mud from the wet streets onto the back of our legs as we strolled past their stores. The lights came on just as we turned the corner and were surrounded once more by the familiar smells of kebabs.

Happy 30th to my favourite crotch!

This crotch just turned the big 3-0.

Sure, she tries to make out with me any chance she gets but her story goes way beyond those drunken attempts. For starters, she has the art of 'meditation' down pat (I saw this for myself at temple on Lao New Year) and there's nothing like being awoken by her sing song voice at 8 on a weekend yelling "chirp, chirp, chirp" in your ear. Lulu sure is one of the smartest women I know but don't ask her to read an analogue clock. The little hand and the big hand confuse her and may lead her to command you to 'pour mummy a little drink' to take the edge off that experience. However, that one drink can turn into many and before you know it she is sporting autographs on her chest, yelling "I'm drrrrunk, bitch!" moments before she decides to take a snooze on the dance floor. Her drunken debauchery is contagious. My first week in Toronto I was pretty much plastered on champagne every night thanks to this lady. I had to take a short break from the festivities on day 4 but Lulu was a trooper... she was in various stages of drunkeness pretty much that entire year.

Smart. Beautiful. Generous. Unique. She eats with great passion. She laughs with complete abandon. She cares without limitation. Here's to the hot chick in the green t-shirt!

Red Lanterns in Pingyao

Pingyao is an old Han Chinese city with its original Ming dynasty era wall intact. This is the place to come if you want a glimpse into imperial China. The streets and many of the original buildings remain unchanged, making the experience of stepping through the west gate akin to time travelling. Red lanterns hang at every door. Many of the buildings are now guesthouses and restaurants catering to tourists. It was at the Qiao family courtyard house near this city that Zhang Yimou's film Raise the Red Lantern was shot.

I arrived yesterday morning to a grey and damp Pingyao. The clouds were three feet from the top of my head. It was like walking through a black and white movie with the occassional red lantern providing a spark of colour. The city that sprawls around the walls reminds me of Jodhpur. It is dirty, overcrowded and the air is thick with exhaust fumes. The taxis in this part of China are golf carts covered in plastic tarps. For some strange reason they closed some of the gates to the town when it really started pouring down, making the golf cart ride back to the walled city unnecessarily long. The cart couldn't take me to my guesthouse and I stood for a few minutes under a roof looking lost. A woman from a store across the street came over and gave me an umbrella. Realising I was completely lost, I randomly ran into a guesthouse to avoid being swept away by the torrent of muddy water that was cascading down the streets (literally). I wasn't the only one taking shelter here. Turns out the German Volkswagen rally team I came across in UB was also there. One of the guys must have been really bored with his teammates. He offered me a ride to X'ian within 30 seconds of a conversation that went something like this:

Me: "Man, it's really coming down. It's pretty depressing."
He: "Yes, we are here from Germany driving to Lhasa through X'ian."
Me: "Oh, that's where I am heading tomorrow."
He: "Do you want a ride? There is more than enough room in the car."
Me: "Are you sure that's okay? Who is your driver?"

Needless to say that the leader of his team did not want to take on an extra person (insurance reasons). He did take me along to a temple nearby though to meet the remainder of his rally mates.

Back at the hostel I was drenched. The entertainment for the day turned out to be two Dutch guys telling me stories about going to parties near their home and subsequently waking up without wallets and money in various parts of Europe. Around 5pm I started sneezing and feeling that little tickle in my nose. The Dutch cure was a non-descript pill washed down with beer. That was followed by an American couple feeding me firew water with a 53% alcohol content. None of it did any good. I hardly remember going to sleep and today I have a cold.

Mongolia Pictures

Valerie emailed me these. There should be more soon.

Our driver and I are pictured here relaxing on some of the largest sand dunes in the Gobi. Little did I know then that this man was completely plastered.
Playing cards in the ger with the Italian couple, the aloof French guy and the beautiful Mongolian lady.
This would be the baby I played with the second day in the desert. We couldn't figure out if it was a boy or a girl for the entire day until he wet his pants.

Si Ma Tai

"He who has not climbed the Great Wall is not a true man."

Mao would have been proud. I clambered and huffed my way up the wall in flipflops all the while cursing myself for not taking the cable car. The rocks are sharp and the ascend steep. Simatai is 110 km north of Beijing and the spot I chose to have my Great Wall experience. It's stunning, exhilarating and raw. Up here they built obstacle walls, walls-within-walls, to defend against troops that had already scaled the Great Wall. Yang Liwei, China's first astronaut, confirmed in 2003 what many had suspected all along. He was not able to see the Great Wall from space. Now the Chinese government has to re-edit all their textbooks. I suppose the West should do the same.

There were more then a few moments of complete solitude to be had atop the watchtowers. It was great to look up toward the next watchtower along the wall and not see a soul. Even better to turn around and see the wall snake its way across the jagged hills into the smog and not hear anyone...except for the guy that somehow got an icebox up here and was trying to sell me a cold beer. Okay, so he wasn't trying. He actually sold me a cold beer but I deserved it for nearly spraining my ankle whilst gasping for air on the way up. People appeared in little clusters but then dissapeared within a few seconds.

One short cable car ride down and I was surrounded by minibus drivers. The prices to catch a ride back into Beijing were horrendous and I started walking along the highway. Met some really nice locals along the way and eventually the driver that had been shouting prices at us (I convinced six other people to walk away and try to hitch a ride further down the road) lowered the fare. Then, for the next two hours, I listened to the British girls discussing their absolute desire to eat testicles for dinner....

Lucky me, I got to meet a kid that looked like a young Bruce Lee over dinner. He was adorable and had some serious muscle definition going on. Pedro and Alfonso tried to convince him to go to Portugal to open a martial arts school. I had several types of meat on a stick. No testicles for me.

Down South

I am no longer worried about my little brother being sodomized by 350 pound guys on his football team. The hazing is over and he has settled into his new home (an all male dormitory) down south. It's his first time away from home and he has finally been able to take some time out to let me know how things are going for him at school.

Our biggest worry was the hazing. Here, in his own words, is what the hazing process involved:

1) The first hazing thing we had to do was karaoke. I had to go up and sing O Canada and that song that i dont know the name to now... it goes "its not unusual to be loved by somebody else" I went up for an encore and sang ordinary people by john legend. it was fun and nobody was drunk or wasted because all the coaches were there and it was 1:00pm.
2)The second thing we did for hazing was a skit night. All the freshman (about 30 of us) had to seperate into groups of 5 and do skits about seniors and coaches on the team. Again nobody was drunk and the coaches were there again. this time it took place in the locker room though.
3) There was another part of the hazing though that coach wouldn't allow. We were supposed to get mandatory hair cuts and keep them for a week. basically they were going to shave things like bulls-eyes and penis' on our head.

Life's not all peachy for this freshman. He has to partake in many a mandatory activities that take a chunk out of his week including: practice four times a week, weight training twice a day (four days a week), curfew at 11 pm and 18 credits of university classes. That's not all though:

What really sucks is that i have mandatorry study hall/tutoring. I have to go in for tutoring a minimum of 6 hours and they check to make sure if i have been doing homework and going to class and everythig. They also have mandatory meal schedules... i get three planned meals a day. The food here is amazingly good because of my special meal schedule. we get things like lasagne, dirty rice with chicken, rice and shrimp, and we even had steak one day (but everyone says thats the one and only time we'll get steak) then on the side we have a salad and a bowl of 3 fruits that we have to eat (again they check if we ate everything and if we're still hungry we're only allowed to have more fruits and veggies... So far i went from 270 to 259... they also check our weight 6 times a day and make sure our fluid levels are high.

There we have it. He's not using spell-checker but he's singing Tom Jones covers and having his fluid levels checked six times a day. Our 259 pound baby is doing okay. Phew.

Pablo & Pedro & Beijing

Motor-mouth didn't make it out for drinks last night. I think she was still on UB time. However, Pablo & Pedro (really Alfonso and Pedro) did make it out. Alfonso would be Mr. Californication from the night before. The three of us took a saunter through the hutongs (alleyways) of Beijing and found a cozy little outdoor restaurant among the locals. Dinner cost something like five dollars for the three of us (including four large beers). Ordering off the all Chinese menu was a challenge that could only be overcome by taking a little look into the kitchen and pointing out the vegetables we wanted cooked up with our meat.

The experience was so nice that I missed the last subway back to Jishuitan. This led to my first taxi experience immediately followed by my first being locked out of the house experience. The only thing between me and that couch was one giant padlock on the courtyard's gate. Phones here are about as common as a good hair day is for Donald Trump. I walked through the alleys and found a group of two young couples waiting for their barbecued meat to cook. It only took thirty minutes of communicating with various hand gestures before one of them disappeared to get a cell phone. I was offered meat on a stick while I waited. Greg (my host) was very gracious about letting me into the house.

Turns out Greg's 'girlfriend' has rabies...okay, so she does not really have rabies but she's somewhere in the midst of getting the four hundred shots you have to get after a dog bites you. He also explained that she is in fact not his girlfriend but 'likes to sleep in his bed'. Then I saw pictures of a girl he wants to be his girlfriend and I must say that after seeing those shots I want her to be my girlfriend too. She's hot! Luckily I did not have to invent a "boyfriend".


Aside from the various male middriffs on display here, the Summer Palace made it onto the must-see list. It is THE sight to see in Bejing. Better than the Forbidden City by far. Once again I must mention how amazing the people in this city are. Very friendly. Some dude just walked up to me to help me find the subway back. According to him everyone is on their best behaviour in preparation for the 2008 Olympics. I can't believe they're faking it!

Now I go to meet Alfonso and Pedro to take them back to Greg's place for drinks.

718 days to go

It seems that the Peoples Republic of China does not like bloggers. I can't log on so this will have to be an email update. I will post these things later online when I can get on.

Spending the last two nights on the train from Mongolia was a nice little bonding experience for all the people in carriage 3 of train 034. Most of us were backpackers on our way to Bejing. The train was incredibly clean. Every surface was regularly wiped down by attendants and our cabin was vaccumed in the morning. We got food, we got sheets, we got tea. Aside from watching the landscape for 24 hours I also watched the mechanics of changing the wheels on our train once we reached the Chinese border. Seems that Mongolia has a slightly different way of approaching train tracks..... Also, I took part in a "documentary" this woman in my compartment was shooting. I think it'll turn out to be a glorified home video but maybe I am being harsh. I am sure she has great cinematic talent.

Once we arrived in Jining we had to get off the train and board a bus to Datong to catch our connection to Bejing. Apparently I was not the only person delirious from the travels. One of the Spanish guys on the train (and there were many) ended up sitting behind me on the bus. He proceeded to serenade my right ear with his version of Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He didn't just sing the lyrics but also mimicked the instruments. His riveting performance made the motor-mouth sitting next to me shut up. She was a nice girl but really, I didn't care that her boyfriend got thrown out of the apartment she was homestaying at in UB. It's Asia for God's sake. You don't invite strange men into the apartment for a night if you are staying with a mother and her two daughters! I thought this was common sense.

Before we parted ways in Bejing motor-mouth (I forget her name) invited everyone to join her for a drink tonight. So, in a few hours I will be meeting Pablo and Pedro and Stephanie and Motor-mouth for a juice (these are all made up names, I don't remember any of them).

So, I am trying a little somethin' new here in China. I am staying in an apartment located in an alley with someone that lives here. I am crashing his couch. All I know is that I have to turn left into the alley at the blue restaurant, then right at the parrot cage and then left and then left again into the first courtyard and then get to the back of the courtyard. That would be were my host lives. The toilets are out and around the corner by the lake. The man has corn-rows and a tatoo of a dragon that covers the space between his shoulder and his lower back. He's got player written all over him. Judging from his girlfriend he may be a rice king. Also, he lived about 500 feet away from me in the Annex. We never met in TO. He is really friendly and warm in a platonic sort of way and hopefully it'll stay that way. ...okay, so I think he may be all over me like maple syrup on pancakes once his 'girlfriend' leaves (which I hope she doesn't because that would be scary). It's just a hunch and I really hope I am wrong.

Once I settled in and took a shower I was off to explore the city. First stop: the Forbidden City. It's huge and magnificent. There were lots of tourists. Tiananmen Square was impressive in scale and the line-up to view pickled Mao was bigger than any Disneyland lineup I had ever seen. The countdown to the Olympics in 2008 is on. 718 days to go. In Jingshan park, north of the Forbidden City, I discovered that the Chinese are a musical people. There were a dozen little groups of people singing all over the park. Hundreds of couples were shaking it to an ochestra playing by the west gate. This is clearly the place to dance if you are over 60 in Bejing.

Mongolia was the re-introduction to Asia for me. I took it somewhat easy there and plan on hitting the ground running here. China is less stressful than India. I was warned by many a traveller about this place and overall I must say it has been a pleasant experience on my first day. People are nice and the food is good. It's more expensive than India and cheaper than Mongolia. The level of harrassment by touts is also about 10% of what it was in India. So far, so good.

My Buying Price

The way I saw it I really only had two choices:
A) I don't nap and have Tom stand over me in the hostel room chatting about life or
B) I don't nap, drink a beer and have Tom sitting across from me chatting about life.

Tom's interesting. He laughs a lot which endears him to almost anyone instantly. Then we had a weird conversation that went from his little sister becoming a woman, to his ex-girlfriend to viagra to what our buying price would be. According to him we all have a price at which we can be bought.... I'm still skeptical. Then he challenged me to take a married Mongolian man to the bathroom. Let me just tell you that it's going to take a lot more than one dollar to make that challenge even remotely enticing.*

Before we got to the bar I asked him to stop me after two drinks (at least, I think I did). Well, he was about as successful as I was from stopping Curtis after two beers. I think I started encouraging Curtis to drink.... What are you gonna do? I had no where to be the following day...and we all know I would have done it even if I had somewhere to be.

I spent the entire week pretty much either hung over or drunk. It's been hard to keep track of the days. It wasn't my fault though. It all started when Valerie and I started making spaghetti in the hostel's kitchen. We met Curtis. We chatted. Curtis invited me out with him and his buddies. He is in the Peace Corps and so are his friends. I went out for "one drink" and before I knew it I was in someone's home drinking their booze, listening to these guys yelling out their political opinions. A nice bunch. Here's what I've learned about them: John has a Mongolian girlfriend, Curtis and Danny don't listen to each other, Lizzy has a cornfed ass and Owen gets rockstar drunk as much as he can. We all didn't like the Finnish guy at the hostel. I think that cemented the bond.

Tom's out there buying toilet paper for me. Don't ask. I get on a train to China in less than two hours.


*Not because he was Mongolian. No, Mongol guys can be very hot. You see, he was married. I don't do married. ...and this particular man was not hot.

Crotches I know...

Today I looked at some of the crotch shots from various parties. I know a lot of crotches and I miss all of you! Send me crotch shots for the site. It's a tradition that needs to continue and once I have batteries for my digital camera I will send you some crotch shots from the road.

More Sand

Mare's milk icecream. Don't try it. Not good. I picked it up accidentally because it was a white icecream bar and I thought it would taste like milk. I took a huge bite and then threw it away. The only thing that could possibly take away the taste of that crap was vodka. Vodka took away a lot of other tastes as well, like marmot (which would be the plague infested animal) and camel milk cookie. It even washes away the sand caught between your teeth I discovered but you have to swirl it around just right. Then there is the nastiness that is airag, fermented mare's milk. I love a lot of cuisines but Mongolian is definitely not among them. The diet consists of dried goat, horse, mutton, noodles, airag and camel. If you're lucky you'll come across a potato or a carrot. Thank goodness for canned German sausage. I know what you're thinking: how did these incredibly efficient people find a way to can a superior quality wurst product? Well, that will be a mistery forever.

The Gobi was exhausting. Driving on a bumpy road for hours on end is very taxing on the body. The beauty of the scenery and the sky make up for all the pain. The highlights of the trip included the 350 camels that appeared on the road and the lone horseman that was herding them. Very National Geographic. Then there was the drunk man that appeared in our ger at 4am and plopped down at Valerie's feet. My response to the incident was: "Just let him sleep it off." Of course that was not so cool with her. I guess it never occured to me that he could throw up on her while she was sleeping. He was escorted out of the ger and set free on the family that lived in the one next to ours.

This was not to be our last drunken encounter. The following day our driver got pissed out of his mind and then proceeded to drive us to our next camp. It took us nine hours instead of five because he couldn't keep on the path. He was swerving all over the place and then the 'engine heated up'and we had to stop and wait for it to 'cool down'. He fell asleep at the wheel. The next few swerves I asked him to pull over so we could take a 'walk'. We walked fifty feet away and then stood there staring at him from across a field. He must have thought we were crazy.

Night five I discovered that the sound of 'rain'was not actually water dripping onto the roof of the yurt but the symphony that is beetles falling from the ceiling onto my face and the floor around me. Oh yeah. I freaked out. I jumped. I made the aloof French guy sit very closely to me and discovered that I didn't like the immature American dude who, by the way, hadn't washed his hands or brushed his teeth in the time we had been out on this trip. Plus, he started killing beetles with his bare hands and then stuck them into the flame of the candle, creating a distinct hair-burning sort of smell for the rest of us to enjoy. Jackass.

The sights of the Mongolian desert included the Yolyn Am ice canyon (there were two six foot tall, 12 feet long pieces of ice melting in the canyon), the massive sand dunes at Khongoryn Els (180 metres tall) and the flaming cliffs of Bayanzag where Roy Chapman Andrews found the first dinosaur eggs, jaws and skulls of Central Asia. Roy is who the Indiana Jones character is based on. Most of his findings were exported to the American Museum of Natural History but there were some great bones on display at the museum in the Gobi. The cool thing about Asia is that nothing is off limits at museums. I touched everything. Probably didn't help the preservation of the items but I really had the urge to reach out and touch those bones and no one stopped me.

Six Bloody Noses and a Mongolian

First Steppe
After an eternity of driving on what is essentially a path leading into the desert we stopped for our first Mongolian dinner in the wild. There was no menu. It cost one dollar and consisted of meat and noodles accompanied by a bowl of hot milk. The landscape is pretty desolate. This is the rainy season. Things started looking up when we approached Baga Gazrin Chuluu, a granite rock formation. Chinggis Khan is reputed to have grazed his horses here. The rocks form one of many worship sites for locals and prayer flags and piles of offerings are plentiful around here. I clambered up the rocks in my flipflops and admired the landscape from the top of the formation. The Mongolian steppes are more exciting when viewed from above.

Back in the car and we were off to our camp, a hotel, essentially a brick building surrounded by three other brick buildings (a bar, a restaurant, a games room). Luckily two bottles of vodka and the sound of vitality (aka Cass beer) were on hand to help us get used to the long night with each other. I was mistaken in my previous post about my tour mates. Turns out there are no people from the UK. There's an American who has lived in Siberia for the last year and is happy to be speaking English again. A cute red headed German girl. A quiet French dude and a married Italian couple. At one point we realized that the aloof French guy wasn't around. He had opted for playing volleyball with a group of local youths. He brought one of the youths back with him, a nice 18 year old chap called Alan. That was his English name. I for one have no problems with people that give themselves English names to make it easier for the rest of us. Heck, I've done just that for all my friends and colleagues. So, back to Alan. He told us of how dangerous Mongolia was while we were downing vodka shots in teacups. After a few beer chasers we were ready to rock the house. The music from the bar promised a very good time. I believe it was a foxtrott. Funny how some of the useless things you learn become very useful once you are in Mongolia. My useless thing was the waltz. Yup, I taught young Alan how to waltz. His grandparents were supervising from a nearby table. The waltz was followed up by some Black Eyed Peas. We shook our tooshies for hours and finally the Europeans and I retreated into our fancy ger (a traditional Mongolian yurt).

The next day Alan and I took a goodbye picture. He promised to mail it to me. It was a sweet moment. We shook hands. His grandparents watched the interaction from their window.


More Ger
Today we drove and drove and drove and finally got to the badlands, also known as the painted desert. It was magnificent. Red sand, cliffs and once again a view from above across a hillie countryside. I believe it is on these rocks that I realized I stank to high heaven. Man, day two without a shower and I could kill a small animal with my stench. Another dinner of meat and noodles. The entertainment tonight was a one year old boy. I spent a few minutes carrying him around and then decided it might be best to put him down before he pees on me. We (and by that I mean the American and I) spent a few hours discussing various pickled people that are now on display in parts of Asia. Mao, Lenin, Stalin was pickled and then burried in a concrete grave somewhere by Krushev. I went outside to look at the stars and realized the herd of camels that had been grazing nearby had left and was now dissapearing into the darkening emptiness behind our ger. There was more vodka and beer but no disco in the desert tonight.



The Bathhouse of Dalanzadgad
This is where the 15000 people of Dalanzadgad shower. One dollar and fifteen minutes of bliss later I was clean and less stinky. There is a ger of Korean girls next to ours and the American is very excited about the prospect of getting them drunk tonight. This could be good. I am tired of drinking vodka. The American has been tired of drinking vodka pretty much since he got to Siberia. We stopped at the store and bought some wine. The Korean girls don't know it yet but they are in for a good time.

Trekking into the Gobi

The meeting went well. I will be sharing a jeep with five other people. None of whom I really know. One couple is from Italy and then some people from the UK and the USA. We won't hit a town with internet or showers for the next several days. Baby wipes are on hand for the daily 'shower'. We're off to buy supplies now.

Getting to know Chinggis

Getting out of Ulaanbaatar is harder than I thought it would be. The infrastructure in Mongolia is not really very built up at this point. Exploring the country means being part of a tour or hiring a private driver. My funds don't allow for the VIP treatment, so I started looking for a tour that consisted of people that were not couples. I am the only person travelling solo at the hostel. Everyone else has either their own VIP with them or a few friends to share the quiet moments on the steppes. Adventureous as I am I began hitting up tour operators and guesthouses for a trek into the Gobi. It was looking bleak by around 1pm. Tour operators charged about a 1000 bucks a head for a two week tour and guesthouses did not have anyone else interested in tours. The owners at each of the guesthouses insisted on asking where I was from originally. Apparently I don't look Mogol enough to be Afghan but somehow I look Native American to them.

So, I took the long route back to my hostel and stopped by the Lenin statue. As I stood there framing the perfect shot I saw two guys walking towards me. UB is a pretty typical Soviet era city. The squares are huge and the streets long. I noticed these guys from pretty far away and it took them forever to get to where I was standing. I figured I'm on vacation. I got nothing but time. I took the picture and spent five minutes waiting for these two questionable characters to get to me. They were holding papers in their hands. They wanted help. With what? Well, they had applied for American visas and were going to be interviewed at the consulate next week. Basically they asked me to stand there and interview them so that they could practice for the real deal. After the interview I walked away, after a considerable distance I turned around and these guys were still standing where I left them. They saw me turn and waved. It was probably the most ridiculous wave of my life. I had to throw up my arm and pretend I was flagging down a helicopter, that's how far away they were.

Back at the hostel I looked for some cream to massage my shoulder (the one I used to wave at the two boys). Soon after I met the guy who was biking from Bejing to London my prayers were answered. There may be a Gobi trip after all for tomorrow. The meeting is tonight at 8. The biker may join if his bike will not be fixed in the next 7 days. Thankfully the drunk medical student from Cambridge will not be going to the Gobi desert.

I'm Finally Here!

It took 4.5 hours of flying to Moscow, 12 hours waiting and another rickety 5.5 hours of flying to get me to Ulaan Baatar. I don't even know how to spell the name of this city anymore. Everyone seems to have their own version: Ulan Bator, Ulaanbaatar, Ulaan Baatar. Let's just call it UB.

Let's start this entry off with a non PC comment: Russians are weird. The stewardesses were all surly. The passengers were all argumentative and trying to get free booze. The women were all blonde (mostly bottle blonde). The men ranged from Russian gino to overweight guy without a belt. The plane kept making funny noises and the overhead compartments would open up every once in a while. There was no entertainment. This is as economy as you can get. Every time I looked over at the guy next to me he was taking huge gulps from a bottle of vodka. At one point he must have been so bored due to the lack of in-flight entertainment that he had to closely inspect the barf bag that was so graciously supplied by Aeroflot.

It wasn't all bad though, I did make the acquaintance of Mongolia's national lightweight boxing champions. They were nice and gave me something to look at between naps on those horrid seats at the terminal.

Part deux of the journey was much less stressful. I was so tired I just wanted to get into my seat. This time my neighbor was a German fellow. He was coming to Mongolia to check out a resort he will be marketing to the Germanic peoples of Europe (this campaign will include the Swiss and the Austrians). I got his card and he told me to call him the next time I make it out to Munich...uhm, yeah, not something I am planning on but let's face it, with the way I travel I could very well be chatting with Bjorn* some time next week over a beer in Bavaria.

Then we landed at Chinggis Khan airport. I prefer to spell it Genghiz myself but let's stick with the official Mongolian on this one. English is rare. At least if you find yourself outside of a hotel or the airport. I took a local bus into town. The Mongolian cabbies are just like their international counterparts: they lie**. Apparently the bus didn't come to the airport and the ride would be really long and dangerous. None of this was true of course. The city is completely uninspiring and I can't wait to get out of here. People are very nice and motorists fit into the Asian mold: they won't stop even if they see you crossing the street, they'll honk instead. The plan is to head south to the Gobi and then loop north to the lake.

*I was so tired I forgot his name, so I made up Bjorn. He looked like a Bjorn.
**It sounds harsh but a lot of cab drivers really do lie.

Goodbye London, Hello Mongolia!

Now that I know where to get heroin in London it's time to get the show on the road. London has been great. I got to hang out with my friends once again. Melissa was here for a week on her way back from India. I ran into Eunoo on a bridge here. We met in Calcutta and she met a nice British boy on her travels which is why she is here. Li is here studying...and falling a half day behind on her readings every time I meet her. There have been concerts and dance classes. There was the doped up hippie lady who tried to teach a bunch of us ALL the bellydancing moves all at once.I even learned what I believe to be a drag queen routine in one of the classes. Those moves will soon be unleashed on a group of unsuspecting travellers in Asia I have yet to meet. Hilda and I had an opportunity to learn more about each other. Mostly she learned I was a really, really lazy person who liked to sleep in until 1 or 2 and I learned she has this dillusion that her hair is black and not dark brown.

Alas, my time here is up and my backpack beckons once again. My next destination will be Mongolia. Land of yaks, horses and two-humped Bactrian camels. Apparently the landing strip in Ulaanbaatar is sloped and makes landing a one shot deal. Lets hope there are burly Mongolian horsemen on standby in case the plane skids a little and lands in a field. I look forward to the lack of vegetables and the abundance of yak products (cookies, fermented yak beverages, tea with yak milk, yak barbecue). There's also still a chance to catch the bubonic plague whilst preparing a goat for the spit. The urban unemployment rate is at 30% which will account for the increase in crime. I've done my research (which has consisted mostly of reading the Lonely Planet) so that I won't be surprised if my non-existent bike is stolen....