Man, it was good to see YT.
He's my best friend, and was the Best Man at my wedding. He looked like shit when he finally arrived in UB. He had left from Baltimore/Washington International airport two-and-a-half days prior. His flight out of BWI was delayed by 2 hours due to a mechanical problem with the airplane. This caused a domino-effect with all his connecting flights. Once into Chicago, he negotiated the balance of his trip with the United Airlines staff at the reservation counter. His primary goal was to arrive in UB in time to join us for our trip to the Gobi Desert for the camel races. His secondary goal was to take the train from Beijing to UB. Fortunately, he managed to arrive in UB a day earlier than he had planned, but at the expense of the train trip.
We waited for almost an hour after his plane landed: his luggage didn't arrive with him. He waited until all the luggage was taken off the airplane, but no luck, no luggage. He filled out the lost luggage forms and we went on our way. Lahaowig Zina's favorite taxi driver, was waiting for us: he had spent the entire hour waiting patiently. Lahaowig is a real character: his name means "Wednesday" in Mongolian, he's totally laid back, he has a knack for chat using my limited vocabulary, and is a dead ringer for Charlie Sheen, only with a really good tan. Lahaowig safely and sanely -- unlike many an airport taxi driver -- delivered us to our house. We had dinner with our friend Kelly: since YT had arrived a day early, we were double booked on dinner plans. YT crashed on our fold-out couch, and hard. He slept for 13 hours.
The following day, YT tried to phone Uniteds baggage claim line but couldn't connect. He sent email to his Dad, who took up the effort. It turns out that his luggage was lost somewhere between Beijing and UB and could possibly arrive in three days on the next scheduled flight from Beijing. This was a problem because most of his clothing -- including his long underwear -- was in the luggage, and we were leaving for the Gobi in only two days. We solved this problem to a degree by a visit to what we call "Jeejik Zakh" or Small Market -- as opposed to the gigantic "Har Zakh" or Black Market. The small market held all of YT short-term clothing and hygene needs: underwear, socks, windproof pants and a toothbrush.
We also went over to the State Department Store where we bought some warm rabbit-fur hats. Zina and I purchased hats a month ago, and while mine fit my extra-large-sized head and was plenty warm, it was a girls style. I took some ribbing about it from the Mongolian gals, so I decided to invest in a new hat. The funny thing is that the all-black hat cost only $9, a fraction of the price of our original fox-fur hats. We will, no doubt, bring them with us when we return home: they're pretty fabulous souvenirs. Like I've said: when it comes to -30c, screw PETA: fur is where it's at.
YT also scoped out some souvenirs for himself and friends. There were two things in particular: a really nice Mongolian knife, and a not-very-toy-like bow for his friend TJ's kid. We agreed that he'd come back for these after we returned from the Gobi. That evening, we went out for dinner with Enkhbold and Galaa at Khan Brau, a German restaurant and brew-pub.
The following day was spent almost entirely in service of sleeping and of tracking down the lost luggage. Many cellphone minutes were spent attempting to connect with the United customer service line. We went back to the State Department Store for some other shopping, mainly food for the trip, and a thermos. After shopping, we did manage to call YT's Dad on the phone and received new information: United Airlines fundamentally washed their hands of the luggage issue because they said it had been delivered to the "final destination" of Beijing. Of course, they were ignoring the fact that their affiliate, Air China sold YT a ticket to UB, and had somehow missed the message that his luggage should follow it's owner. I really want to read YT's inevitable letter to customer service about this fiasco: it should be entertaining reading. One wouldn't even need to embellish the plot to make it an outrageous story.
The following morning, at Oh-Dark-Thirty, as a friend of mine in the Navy says, we dragged ourselves out of bed and finished packing. We were pretty late for our 7:00 meeting with our fellow travelers at Mr. Kim's UB Guest House, so they came to our door for pick-up. I think this was pretty fair since we had a huge suitcase full of food for the group. For the record, food weighs almost as much as the books that Zina had me haul halfway around the world.
By 7:45, the "Fourgong", a Russian 4WD van that looks vaguely like a VW Microbus, was loaded with our gear and ourselves, so we got rolling. We headed West out of town, stopping at gas stations along the way. We stopped at 3 before we found one that was open: it was still dark at 8, and UB doesn't really start moving until about 10 in the morning. 
We continued West past the airport, which signifies the end of our known world here in UB. We pass a small town and a short way beyond that, we turn South onto a non-descript dirt road. In fact, I should call it non-descript tire tracks in the snow. I can't tell where the actual road is, or for that matter, even if there is an actual road. You'd never know by the way the van was bouncing around.
The day grew in brilliance as the sun crept higher above the horizon, illuminating the low hills on either side of the road. The landscape undulated gently and the snow had ripples from the wind as if the surface of a lake was flash-frozen. Little streams of snow swirled and slithered across the snow like a million crystalline snakes. Irkhmee, our driver, picked his way carefully along the road, never exceeding 40km/h. Our trajectory weaved between tracks: sometimes choosing the main group of tracks, other times, veering off to auxiliary, less traveled tracks and only very rarely taking on new, uncharted territory.
We were making good progress, and I was enjoying tracking our route on my GPS. YT had purchased a GPS for the occasion, so we were enjoying talking tech weenie jargon about the various features of our respective GPS receivers. In fact, it was YT that had convinced me to make the purchase: he simply said "If you don't need it in Mongolia, where DO you need it?" I had purchased mine almost a year ago and Yts was brand new. Basically, the main difference between the old and new units are screen size: mine is about the size of a cellphone, but the newer one is slightly smaller than a paperback book. Then, we got stuck.
It may seem like a non-sequitir when represented in prose, but that's how it is in reality. We're lurching along just fine, then the motor bogs down, Irkhmee makes a flurry of downshifts, and all forward motion halts. We're stuck. The first time it happened, it was relatively easy: we all got out and pushed and we got the van moving again. It wasn't stuck so bad that a little bit of rocking couldn't free it. This happened a couple more times.
The first Big Stuck came about shortly before lunch. We were stopped for almost an hour. The biggest contributor to the length of time we were stuck was that, despite a direct request on my part to Mr. Kim, our van was only equipped with one shovel. Even now, as I write this, well after the fact, the omission of at least one additional shovel irritates the shit out of me. We eventualyl used a skillet to help dig.
When the van stopped on the slight uphill grade, we all jumped out and started pushing, but this time, it was different: the van felt solid and resolutely resisted our best effort to shift it along any axis. We may as well have been trying to push the earth closer to the sun. So, being the happy-go-lucky tourists that we are, we let Irkhmee do the digging while we took photos. When the novelty of taking pictures of our stuck van wore off, we attempted to help dig the van out. I succeeded in filling my boots with snow and made my gloves sopping wet, yet we could not budge the van. We dug deep trenches behind the wheels, eventually reaching the sandy earth. Still, the van would not move. I had the feeling that Irkhmee was ignoring the possibility that the undercarriage was being supported by the snow, and no amount of digging under and around the tires would free the van. Eventually, after repeated attempts, he perceived this and dug under the chassis. A second vehicle came by and watched us for a while before offering help. I assumed that the help would come in some form of tow chain, strap, or even a rope, but throughout the course of our journey, I would not see a single personal vehicle so equipped. I found it amazing, considering the fact that every single Russian jeep and van comes from the factory with a tow hitch on the rear bumper. Instead of using mechanical means of extraction, several people got out of the second jeep and helped us push. This worked and we rolled backwards down the gentle slope.
Back under way, we continued on and found ourselves in the midst of a large herd of horses. We stopped for a pee break and some photos. The horses were clearly domesticated: they simply meandered past us at fairly close range in search of stalks of grass poking up where the wind had shifted a thin spot into the snow cover. Color me a city boy, but they were kinda pretty in a skinny, shaggy, dirty way. It's the difference between an immaculately-groomed and dietarily-balanced prom-queen of a racehorse and the barely-domesticated free-range dope-smoking hairy-legged hippie chick of a Mongolian horse. Maybe it was how they moved, all lanky and fluid, kind of how a half-empty bag of rice slides between your hands.
continued soon!
NOTICE: all contents copyright Alan Lapp 2003