The Heart Of The Day

The last time I was in China it was freezing cold in January 2003. The weather is fantastic this October day in 2004.

After slogging it out across Russia and Mongolia, we soak up creature comforts at the friendly Far East Youth Hostel located among the back alleyways of one of Beijing’s ancient hutongs where young backpackers pick the cheap dorm rooms next to the self-catering kitchen and laundry room in the basement and we, of course, choose a double room upstairs with all the Chinese tourists for about $25.

Downstairs is a “coffee bar” featuring a wide screen TV for viewing one of scores of dvd movies, three high speed internet terminals and a book case full of tattered novels and old travel guides.

Several tables of travelers share experiences and information…one with an Israeli guy trying to explain his country’s posture regarding Palestine to a couple of doubting Norwegians (Europe is generally pro-Palestine which is one reason the Europeans have trouble with the U.S.)

The compound includes a courtyard across the alley with a budget restaurant where I tried to order soy sauce in Mandarin (chiang yo) and got rice instead because of the tone I used.

On the back end of the courtyard are even cheaper dorms housing mostly young male West Europeans. After setting up the tiny computer speakers and coffee pot we step outside the doors of the cozy hostel and find ourselves dodging old men on bicycles between humming dumpling shops and cheap clothing stores blasting Chinese hip-hop and techno. At dinner we laugh at the English menu…among the choices are “Hot Pot of Old Duck With Chinese Medicine” and “Soup Of The Ox Reproductive Organs.” This is as good as it gets. If home is where the soul likes to be…I am there…at least for now.

And then…Bob packed up…and left.

Out of the train window, just before departure from Ulaan Bataar to Beijing on the last leg of our trans-siberian train trip, we watch about 30 Mongolians…brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents and who knows who else on the platform wave a tearful goodbye to three girls waving back at them. Bob and I chuckle and agree that we would be lucky if we could muster up just one person to see us off anywhere these days. Nearby, an older woman is waving goodbye to…husband…father…uncle? She takes a spoon and throws what I later find out is milk-tea at the train that just ends up staining the platform white…finally throwing what was left of the empty bottle and then tossing it over the fence behind her…for “safety and good travels.”.

Our companions in our cabin for our day and a half train ride through the moon-faced Gobi desert are a slim good-lucking Mongolian guy, Khurelsukh, (“I am 23 years”) and a Chinese man fluent in Mongolian. Khurelsukh has a sweet girlfriend (Saraa) in another cabin, however, who ends up joining us for most of the trip…snuggling together for the night on one of the bottom bunks we give up to them. He was born in Russia when his parents were engineering students there. He is still a student in the university in Ulaan Bataar but says he is going to Beijing on business to see about “lingua techna” machines to use for teaching languages. Saraa’s mother is a teacher and is advising him, I think I understand. I also think, however, that this trip to Beijing over the weekend is going to be much more…”you will go to discos, I ask.” He grins broadly and says “yes!”

“Mongolians don’t like Chinese,” he says later out of earshot of the still-unnamed Chinese guy.

When the train nears Beijing we all pile out to get our first glimpses of the remnants of the Great Wall and take pictures. Back on board Khurelsukh asks us why we think the wall was built…”to keep out the Mongolians,” we exclaim…watching for his reaction. “Yes, to keep out the Mongolians,” he says with a glint in his eye…probably wondering if we get the irony.

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