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.
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.
posted by LOTC at 12:40 AM
4 Comments:
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Let's be honest you were so ripped on vodka that after you banged "Bjorn", you then forgot his name and were too embarassed to tell us all. We know you too well Jamala. Remember...no matter how many Tungkriks someone offers you...no bomb parts!
Recent studies prove that not only do most cabbies lie, a full 63% of them smell like pee.
well, if the cabbies are lying, you can close your eyes (but not for too long!) and pretend you are in iran!
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