Wanderlust Heaven!

We all know about the high points of Mongolian history – namely, how Chinggis Khan and his boys (and a few girls, too) built the largest (contiguous) land empire in history, and how they got as far as Vienna before turning back to choose a new khan. Time Magazine named Mr. Khan its Man of the Millenium not long ago – a fact that makes those Mongolians in the know pretty damn proud. I’d personally vote for Larry Bird, but what do I know?

I read about the Mongols when I was a kid, along with the Romans, Alexander, and a whole host of other violent idols. And since then, I’ve harbored a desire to visit the place. Recent Mongolian history has been less grand – after the disintegration of the Great Mongolian Empire, the country fell under the control of the Chinese Qing (Manchu) Dynasty, and after that the Soviets controlled the place. Only in 1990 did the Mongolians really take back their country and set it on a new, democratic path.

Not sure why it took me so long to get here – it’s (on paper) not such a hard place to get to. Anyway, I finally got here…and it’s not easy to know how to tell you about my time here thus far. Trying to describe an entire country, particularly one like Mongolia, is daunting, but I’ll do my best.

Started at Beijing Capital Airport’s new Terminal 3, which I mentioned in my last post. It’s truly massive, and impressive – all 5 of Heathrow’s terminals could fit inside, or so they say. My Air China flight was leaving at 8:15 a.m., so got there early and checked out the facility. A cute Mongolian girl was in line right behind me…Mongolian women have a great rep in Asia and I thought that if this one was indicative of the general female population I’d be suffering from whiplash once in-country.

Got to my gate. Noticed, after some time, that the electronic sign showed a departure time of 20:00 – not 08:15. Uh-oh. Went to speak with the agent – it was true, we were facing a 12 hour delay. What the fuck? There was some talk of bad weather in Ulaan Bataar (UB), but that wasn’t confirmed. More likely, the plane was needed for another purpose. One of my fellow passengers was a British diplomat of some sort – he carried a few packages clearly stamped with ‘On Her Majesty’s Service’ or the like. I guess it makes sense to be up-front about something like that…but I’d have thought that keeping those materials undercover would be a better approach.

The Brit had been through this ordeal before and was cool about it. I had also become friendly with a couple Kiwis from the South Island who were going to Mongolia to try and set up a jetboating business, similar to the one they run near Queenstown. Very friendly guys – Johnny and Al. Johnny had struck up a conversation with me in the gate – the mere fact that I am white was enough to get him to reach out. Kiwis (and Aussies) are such friendly folk in general – I can’t imagine myself striking up a conversation with another dude just because he’s a Westerner in Asia. I probably need to rethink my general aloofness and reticence…

Air China put all of us (130 or so) at a 3-star hotel back in Beijing. I had moved to the front of the line as we were heading back out through Immigration, and Johnny and Al tagged along. That move worked well, as we were on the first bus to the hotel, got there early, and managed to get our rooms before the herd arrived. The hotel was a nondescript place – but sufficed for taking a snooze and reading. They fed us a couple times, which was fine – but they didn’t communicate well what was happening. We had no idea if we would actually take off that night, or the next day. Finally, after dinner (at 17:00 – torture), they got us in buses and we went back to the airport. Flight took off at 22:30 or so, and we landed in UB past midnight.

On the flight the guy next to me, a real Mongol, had ordered several beers and unbuttoned his shirt, letting his belly hang out. Impressive. I struck up a conversation with the guy across the aisle from me, he looked friendly and reasonably normal. George is an exec with a diversified Mongolian mining company and gave me lots of inside info. on UB. Very nice guy – we’ll probably meet for a beer while I’m in town.

Chinggis Khan International Airport is a modest place. But everything works fine – got through Immigration quickly, hadn’t needed a visa, then went down and got my bag. Had some concern that the bag would get misplaced during the 12+ hour delay, but there it was. And my guesthouse driver was there too, we loaded up and headed into town.

It was now around 1:30 a.m. As expected, the guy drove like a fucking maniac – he must have swerved around a dozen cars, often using the (theoretical) breakdown lane in doing so. I also noticed that the car was right-hand drive, and Mongolians drive on the right side – not sure I’d seen that combo before. Left turns must be a lot of fun…

Got to Zaya Hostel, in an unmarked building off Peace Avenue. The driver and I went upstairs, he tried to call someone presumably inside the guesthouse but no answer. I was starting to teeter. He tried again and again to call – we were standing just outside the guesthouse entrance-I was getting annoyed now. Finally, I reached over and pressed the buzzer, hour be damned. And lo and behold, a young woman opened the door and there I was. Of course, the power was down so we had to search in the dark for my room. My Petzl headlamp was invaluable. Not the smoothest entry into the country, but no autopsy, no foul as I like to say.

I lay down and thought for a minute about how weird it was to finally be in a country and city about which I’d long wondered about. Then I was out like a light (well, Mongolian light, anyway).

I arose in a slightly annoyed state – having lost the entire previous day, I now had an entire day of errands to run, and it was a Friday so there wasn’t much margin. Had a quick breakfast at Zaya, met Zaya herself, who turned out to be a gregarious half-Russian half-Mongolian woman. Runs a tight ship, yet worries that she hasn’t fully grasped capitalism. She does just fine.

Walked a while down to the Immigration, Naturalization, and Foreign Citizens Office, where I wanted to register. Americans don’t need visas here, and you can stay for 90 days, but (randomly) if you want to stay for more than 30, you need to register. Torture. Actually, the most tortuous aspects were 1) walking there, it took a half hour, and 2) finding a pen in the office – I had forgotten mine. The paperwork was a breeze, and that was that.

Next, wanted to go to the US Embassy to let them know I was here. I’d heard that was a good idea. Took a taxi…listened on my new little Sony AM/FM radio (hard to find one these days – no one seems to stock simple standalone radios anymore) to Voice of America’s ‘Special English’ broadcast with host Jim Tetter reporting. The cabbie ripped me off – had the meter fixed (or fixed it when he saw I was a foreigner), and the fare turned out to be US$4-5, about 3 times what it should have been. I paid him, but made a mental note to fight back if this happened again.

Turned out the Embassy wasn’t open for the purpose I needed right then. The guard checked inside, and gave me a card with the online registration site. That was fine…when I got back to Zaya I created an online traveler’s account with the US State Department and noted that I was in Mongolia. Quite a good site, very useful – they send you country-specific info if you register. I already got invited to the Embassy’s July 4^th party, but will be in Russia by then. Which reminds me to register my Russia trip soon…maybe I can go to the July 4^th bash in Moscow, that would be completely random and entertaining.

Noticed in my day planner that this day was the 15^th anniversary of my graduation from Darden Business School. Somehow appropriate to celebrate this day in Ulaan Bataar. Walked to the grandiose, kitsch State Department Store to deal with some matters. Bought a Mongolian language guidebook, and also The Secret History of the Mongols, a supposedly semi-sacred text about the life and times of a certain C. Khan. Got a SIM card for my mobile – surprisingly easy process.

Finally, spent some time trying to find a travel agent called Legend Tours, supposedly the go-to agent in UB if you want a Russian visa. Well-hidden outfit, but I tracked them down and dealt with them for a while. Had to fill out a brutal double-sided page for the visa application – although I hear that the new China visa application form is even worse. Minor crisis arose when I couldn’t find in my passport two empty facing pages for the Russian visa – I finally did manage to find one such place in the passport. Incredible the things that can trip you up – imagine not being able to go to Russia because your passport pages aren’t just so. Also booked a seat on the Trans-Mongolian/Siberian train from UB to Moscow on June 20^th. For the visa (still pending) and the train ticket, I had to fork over US$325 – ugh. And they wouldn’t take some of my US$ bills because they’re ‘old’ – the faces on the bills are the old small versions. Thanks to HSBC and Citizens Bank for giving me old bills – they’re worthless in Mongolia and Russia, apparently. Word to the wise – make sure your US$ bills are fairly recent when you travel abroad. Another thing, like the stupid passport page issue, that can really trip you up.

Was now largely free of commitments, but a bit weary. Walked around Sukhbataar Square, the heart of the old city. Had taken an informal cabbie to get there – really, just a guy in his car who stopped to see if I needed a ride. Total cost: US$0.25. They use the togrog here, there are about 1150 per US$.

Sukhbataar Square is named after a hero of the 1921 revolution, which freed the country from the Chinese but put it in the hands of the Bolsheviks. Americans should never complain about being between Canada and Mexico – Russia and China are a far cry worse. Lots of local milling around the square – a couple wedding parties, idlers, etc. The square is a typical socialist creation – huge, dominated by a few statues (Sukhbataar, Chinggis, and a few of Chinggis’s bros and generals – I do love Asian military statues, they’re so exotic and stylized), kitschy, and cold. UB is in general a fairly dreary city; on my flight I overheard an Aussie saying that he read that UB was rated one of the world’s worst cities. Certainly, in winter, the place is grim – it’s the world’s coldest capital city, and they burn coal like mad to heat the place. But in warmer weather it’s OK.

The Khan statue is massive, and fronts the Parliament building. A few pics of Sukhbataar Square:

Hadn’t had lunch, ducked into a generic guanz (canteen) and ordered a local specialty, buuz, which are lamb/mutton dumplings. Also tried the Chinggis beer, surprisingly good, I hear the Germans built the brewery. Mongolians are turning to beer more and more, and vodka is getting less popular. Good thing, too – lots of Mongolians lack the enzyme for alcohol, a la other Asians, and the country has the rep of having loads of bad drunks. Doing shots of cheap vodka her in the winter is an image I can’t quite shake…

Went over to Nomadic Journeys, the outfitter I’m using for 2 trips, one to the Khan Khentii Mountains, one to the Gobi Desert. Talked to Jan, the proprietor, tied up some loose ends. One that remained was the situation with friend John in Shanghai, the American who was supposed to join me for the 2 trips. Jan told me that John hadn’t yet sent in his paperwork – that was news to me, and concerning. I told Jan I’d call John and see what was up. That proved to be a difficult process, more on that shortly.

Was thirsty, wandered into Brauhaus, which brews its own beer. Got a half-liter of the dark beer and an order of kuushuur, lamb pancakes. Not light finger food – I waddled out of there after working my way through the food and drink, and a bit of Mongolian wrestling on the large screen TV.

Had to return to Legend Tours, with ‘legit’ US$ bills, to pay my balance. Thankfully I had brought a lot of US$ with me, so that the ‘old’ bills didn’t hurt my situation too badly.

Had arranged to meet my 2 new Kiwi buddies at Dave’s Pub that night, so after cleaning up I found the place and went it. Cozy little nook of a bar – but the Kiwis weren’t there, and never showed. Struck up a conversation with a Mongolian woman at the next table who spoke perfect English – turned out she had studied in the States, and was actually a well-known independent tour guide named Meg. We talked about my Mongolian travel plans for a while and agreed to stay in touch in case there was something we might arrange.

Went out to do a bit of bar-hopping, it being my first real night in UB. Went to the Grand Khaan Irish Pub, where I sampled a few more of the local brews. It’s a large place with lots of tables – as I was flying solo, I sat at the bar, ogled a few waitresses, and shot the breeze with some other patrons. I was annoyed at the Kiwis for blowing me off at Dave’s…I was also wondering what the fuck was up with John and his trekking disorder…and I also was having trouble reaching Faith in Cebu. I guess trouble does come in 3’s…still, I was cool and wasn’t about to take all of this personally. Occram’s Razor suggested to me that all of these people had something come up and that I’d be hearing from them before long. The beer probably helped to keep me cool…

Russian influence is still strong in Mongolia. Despite the Stalinist purges here in the late ‘30s, in which almost all the Buddhist monasteries were destroyed and tens of thousands of monks executed, and despite the heavy hand of Communism over the decades, Mongolians still seem to feel a brotherhood with the Ruskies. Probably in part that’s because their other option is China, which has been their adversary over many centuries. I saw something similar with Vietnam – they hate the Chinese and like the Americans, because the Chinese have been their enemy for a thousand years.

But demographics generally win out. Lots of Chinese construction firms and other outfits abound here…Mongolians like cash too.

Mongolians are generally quite large. The chicks are often quite tall (there’s a late-night club called Amrita which features waitresses 6-feet tall – you’ve gotta go there), and the lads are husky. I felt the need to learn one Mongolian word immediately – ‘uuchlarai,’ or ‘excuse me.’ I wasn’t up for a scrap in a pub because of bumping into a local brute.

They eat a huge amount of meat here – not surprising given their tradition as nomads. Lamb meat, beef, and associated dairy products. Good luck getting green vegetables here…

There are a fair few Koreans running around the place, which affords the ability to compare Asian looks and body types. Korean (guys – the woman are awesome) could hardly be geekier – bad haircuts, stocky, round heads, short, often pudgy, 80% of them sport ugly glasses. Then you have the Mongols – sure, there are some drunken fatties, but many are built like a brick shithouse and they have these long eyes that are absolutely classic…Asian, to be sure, but somehow the length of their ‘eye cavities’ spans their entire face and makes them look both wise and tough. Check out some photos to see what I mean.

The local language – they use a form of Cyrilic and it’s hard to work it out. I can tell the word for ‘Internet’ and ‘Aptek’ (pharmacy), and a few others, but generally it’s as if they took English words, and substituted random Roman letters and Greek symbols in most places. ‘Buuz’ is a lamb dumping, but here they spell it ‘byy3.’ You can kind of get by by counting the letters and using your imagination, but it really helps to learn some key words, recognize regular patterns, and lug around the phrasebook.

And spoken Mongolian has been described by one writer as follows: two cats hissing and spitting at each other, until one finally vomits. Lots of guttural emanations and sounds which are hard for us lazy English speakers to replicate. As usual, when an attractive woman speaks the language, it sounds enticing…when a drunken dude speaks, it sounds like he needs a tracheotomy.

Finished up at the Irish Pub, moved on. Checked out the Marco Polo, a gent’s club on the floor above a reputable Italian restaurant. Very cute femmes…had a couple beers there and befriended a waitress who seemed savvy and fun. Took a cab over to Strings, a music club at the White House Hotel – a Filipino band (what else) was playing there, pretty fun place. Looked to me like the girls on one side of the room were ‘working girls.’ I kept getting come-hither looks from a couple of the girls that my unshaven visage and rumpled clothing did not warrant.

Wound up the long day and night at the aforementioned Amrita, a midnight to 4 a.m. place with stunning staff and a good dance floor. Reminded me a bit of some joints in Vientiane, Laos – real Soviet 70’s feeling. The waiters wore white dinner jackets and red ties…a time capsule, really. I gawked at the Amazonian waitresses, drank like a pig, danced a bit, and finally walked home, avoiding any hint of trouble. Lots of crime in UB – mostly pickpockets and bag-slashing, but sometimes drunken violence too. I am by nature gifted with a good sense of danger avoidance, and switched that on ‘high’ while in UB. So far, so good.

Next day, Saturday, did some sight-seeing. Went to the Museum of National History, some good exhibits there about the country’s background. Chinggis, sure, but also a lot about the country under Soviet control. A photo of George and Laura Bush from their 2003 visit – the two of them are standing in a group of locals, who are all wearing colorful costumes, and who are attractive and appear to be intelligent. George and Laura have these generic ‘nobody’s home’ smiles and glassy eyes that contrast quite vividly (and poorly) with those around them. Still, I think the last time an American honcho was here was in the 1940s, when Vice-President Henry Wallace came over and they had to gussy up a local monastery (one of the few not destroyed) to show him.

There was also a replica of a letter written around 1260 from a Mongolian khan to the Pope, telling him that he (the Pope) was a subject of the khan. The letter was found in the Vatican archives in the early 20^th century, and I found that absolutely cool.

Had lunch at Taliin Mongol, one of the better Mongolian food places in the city. Fermented yak milk…chinggis khan beef platter…but they were out of the lamb’s head soup of power. Bummer. All fairly heavy stuff – doesn’t augur well for my fitness while here.

Checked out the Zanabazar Art Gallery – Zanabazar was a 17^th century Mongolian renaissance man who was proclaimed the first ‘Bogd Khan,’ or living Buddha, and exercised temporal power as well as being a great artist. He designed the soyombo, the national symbol, shown here:

Had a cup of tea at the Mahayana Buddhist Center’s little Stupa Café, where I saw a woman who works at Zaya Guesthouse. She also works at Stupa Café – talk about a large yet small city, I was already recognizing people on my 2^nd day in town.

The weather was pleasant – but once in a while a wind blew in from the steppes that cut right through you, even in late May. There’s no confusion about the forces of nature running this place…

Walked over to Gandan Monastery, out in the ger districts. Gandan has a dramatic setting, often enhanced by the stunning Mongolian sky. The locals sometimes refer to the country as the ‘Land of Blue Heaven.’

Gers are yurts, large round Mongolian ‘tents’ which house families, kitchens, etc. Half of UB’s people live in gers. More on them shortly. Here’s a pic, though:

The monastery was nice enough – and you don’t need to take off your shoes to enter, unlike Buddhist temples in most countries. Probably because the weather’s so brutal here, taking off your shoes can bring about frostbite.

Walked across the road to a small hill that overlooks part of the city. There’s an ovoo at the top, ovoos are piles of rocks and other things (vodka bottles appear to be a popular contribution) that are offerings to the gods. In the old days soldiers would pass by an ovoo, drop a rock on top, and when they came back they’d take the rock back. That way their commanders could estimate the size of their force. Of course, if you didn’t make it through the battle, your rock stayed on the ovoo.

Had dinner that night at Silk Road restaurant, one of the yuppie places in town. Good food – hard to get away from meat, so I had the beef salad. Cute waitresses, too. My beliefs about the good looks of Mongolian women were being borne out…

While in Silk Road I heard some very familiar music. Turned out it was Prem Joshua. The last time I’d heard his stuff was while in India months earlier…funny to hear it here in UB.

Outside the restaurant there was a beggar without hands, just stumps. My assumption: he’d gotten blind drunk on a winter day/night, passed out in the street, and lost his mitts. I gave him some $, and prayed he wouldn’t be gripping a bottle of Chinggis Khan vodka between his stumps the next time our paths crossed…

UB is a weird place. Right across the street from the grand Parliament building, there’s a broken-down, abandoned building that previously housed MIAT, the national airline. Prime real estate, just lying there in ruins.

The local food – heavily lamb-based, with lots of bread, pasta, and, of course, alcohol – has made me incredibly gassy. So much so that I’ve been checking for the possibility of a ‘bad gamble’ whenever I pass a toilet. I had to share that with you…

That night I went around for a few more drinks/laughs. Watched Local youth drag-race their hot-rods down the road in front of the State Circus. No real diff from home. Wound up the night at Amrita again…cabbie tried to rip me off, charging 4-5 times the real rate. I called him on it, and when he protested I just gave him the equivalent of a buck and got out of the cab. He bellowed at me…I thought an altercation might be at hand…but I just walked away and he did nothing. The problem in Asia is that, even if you’re right about matters like these, you can’t make the other guy lose face or he might try to kill you. I suppose it’s not so different from humiliating someone publicly in the West, but out here the concept is much stronger and more fraught with consequences.

Amrita was even more fun tonight. They had some performers, notably a Mongolian rapper who I thought was fairly funny, even though I had no idea what he was saying. At least it rhymed. Then came on a troupe dressed in Mongolian traditional outfits – a sort of honor guard – who eventually stripped down to nothing except their helmets and batons. Quite charming. Next – another group who danced to ‘All Shook Up’ by Elvis Presley, and also stripped down to the bone, keeping their umbrellas while a gust blew in from a machine, it was all a bit evocative of that famous Marilyn Monroe scene when her dress blows in the wind. There was also a trio somewhere in there, I forget when, who break-danced (haven’t seen that in a few years). Altogether, a solid program.

During a break in the action, a local guy sat down near me and said he. He wanted to practice his English, which wasn’t half bad. The fellow, Bolor, is a graphic designer, and he introduced me to his friends, including one knockout 5 foot 10 collection of legs and breasts. He also promised to show me around town – ‘the best places’ – when I return from my wilderness treks. Can’t pass that up – need to get beyond the expat hangouts.

Left Amrita around 3:30 a.m. Was starving, stopped into the fast food chain Xaanbuuz (meaning: ‘kings’s dumplings’, Cyrilic spelling: Xahnbyy3 – of course) for some grub. The waitress came over and sat in my lap. This was turning out well. But I think her mates put her up to it – the Mongolians do like to have some fun with foreigners. This type of fun is perfectly fine with me. Eventually she got up, I inhaled some lamb dumplings and goulash, and went back to the guesthouse.

Next day, my last in UB before hitting the countryside, I did a bit more sightseeing and checked email. Visited the Chojin Lama Museum, which was nice and cool inside – Buddhist temples usually are inviting in that manner. Had a great ham and cheese croissant at Michele’s French Bakery. Walked over to an old house that now is the Museum of Victims of Political Persecution – this place used to be the private home of former Prime Minister P. Genden, who defied Stalin and was taken to Moscow, where he was executed. His daughter created the museum, which now houses some fairly harrowing stuff. A few examples:

Finally, visited the Museum of Natural History, which has great dinosaur remains, mostly from the Gobi. The most famous piece is that of two dinos fighting, must before their demise from a sandstorm or the like:

Heard from John, my wayward friend/traveling companion. He ran into some business problems and would be stuck in Shanghai for a few more days, meaning he’d miss the first of our two treks. I told Jan at Nomadic Journeys straightaway, and replied to John, telling him to keep me abreast of his plans – although I’d be taking off the next day for the mountains without mobile or computer. I was getting sick of babysitting John – all the while empathetic of his business troubles – and hoped he’d deal directly with Jan and all the hotel/flight/etc. operators. I wasn’t sure how to handicap that likelihood, but put it out of my mind for the time being.

Also heard from 1) the Kiwis, who called me on my mobile (I’d emailed one of them with that info). We made plans to go out when I returned from trek #1. Then heard from 2) Faith in Cebu, she had traded phones with her sister or cousin, meaning that my provocative text messages were now going around the family. Terrific. Anyway, I was feeling largely vindicated in my decision to relax about getting the full-court blow-off from everyone.

Got a very bad haircut at a local barber shop/salon. Perhaps the worst ever. Over the years I’ve generally been able to communicate my basic stylistic desires, but here, no dice. I may wear a hat for a couple weeks while I recover.

Had dinner that night in the ‘Ger Restaurant’ with my tour guide and other guidees, who were Mary and Kaz, an Asian-American woman and her son from Philly. Nice people. The guide was not particularly informative – but I put off judgement until the trek itself starts. John’s absence was felt to some extent – the guide, Anka, asked me about him, and I felt a bit Asian in my feeling of losing face in public. Anyway, what could I really do?

After the dinner I walked back to Zaya’s to pack. I was thinking of one more solid night around town…and was thinking about where to go as I walked by a few scruffy-looking kids. UB has a population of street kids, back in the early 90’s there were 6,000 or so of them, many living in the sewers. Now there are many orphanages, but still some kids prefer to stay on the streets, particularly when the weather is warm. I had unzipped my parka and was crossing the street when I felt an odd tug on my side – one of the kids had snuck behind me and had actually managed to unzip one of my parka’s outer pockets…but had not been able to grab anything inside in the same move. I only had a cheapo watch in there, as it turned out. I whirled around, confused, then realized what had happened. The kid was lingering about 3 meters away…I heard a ‘sorry’ voiced from one of his compadres. I took a couple steps toward the kid, and put on my most menacing look – all the while glancing around for a cop. They ran off and I eventually did find a cop, who was no help at all – he just walked me over to an alley which opened up on the local police station. I had not lost anything, all I wanted was for the cops to station someone closer to that (busy) intersection. But they didn’t speak English, and I wasn’t in the mood to stay there forever.

This was probably the most brazen pickpocketing attempt I’ve faced. In Hanoi I had a guy tug at my hanging camera strap, then take off, but this time it was much more ‘invasive.’ I was really pissed off – but didn’t have any good options. I did walk around for the next 45 minutes to let off some steam, and told 3 different foreign backpackers to carry their packs in front of them – they all did so. UB/Mongolia does have a real crime problem and I’ve always made an effort to be careful here – I never carry my wallet, rarely have my mobile with me, and keep any bag/pack in front. Still, I’ll redouble my watch from now on. And if I see that brat I’ll take my shoe off and bash him over the head with it. That would be a real insult in a Buddhist country!

Eventually returned to Zaya and packed my stuff. Zaya herself was still around, it was about 11 p.m. by now. We had a great, lengthy talk about socialism and capitalism and how rampant consumerism is brought on by a ‘deficit in the soul.’ Hadn’t had such an interesting discussion in a long time – Zaya is a spiritual person, despite her often businesslike demeanor. I think I’ll go with her to the local yoga class when back from my treks.

By the time we finished talking it was past midnight, and I needed to get some sleep before my Khentii trek, which would likely involve long nights in a tent with the cold wind whipping about. Before crashing I checked my emails one last time – still nothing from John on his specific travel plans. I wondered what would happen (if anything) while I was away during the week. I wasn’t in the mood to clean up John’s mess when back in UB, especially since I’d only have 20 hours in the city before embarking on my second trek, to the Gobi. I crossed my fingers and went to sleep.

This post is already pretty long, much like my old Burma posts, so I’ll wrap up this entry here and continue with my write-ups from my two treks in separate posts. Stay tuned for those, they’ll be posted in the next 2-3 days. Over and out.

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