Last time I wrote I was all miserable and whiney as I'd just heard there'd been a hold up at the Mongolian embassy in London, meaning my passport wouldn't be released until Friday evening. My train ticket was booked for early Tuesday morning; my passport had three days to get from London to Beijing, two of which were weekend days. I was near certain that I wouldn't make the train.
Monday night, ten minutes before the local courier office closed I got an email from London saying my passport was in Beijing. A mad cross-town rushhour dash ensued - I had to Indiana Jones under the company's rollershutters - but the passport was there with the two visas I needed. But yeah, in your face Russia, I'm coming in.
Beijing had got more Beijing like by the time I left. By which I mean smoggy. Apparently they'd pumped a whole load f smog dissolving chemicals into the air for Obama's visit, these wore off after a week.
The first leg of the Trans-Siberian has been weird. We had to stop at the Mongolian border for four hours whilst they changed the wheels of the train. Then we got prodded awake by authoritarian Mongolian border guards who made us stand to attention whilst they checked our passports and Visas. I had mine, so in their faces too.
In Ulaanbaatar now. Which means I've finished my major city alphabet. Get in.
Best Mongolian shop name: Wool-mart.
No comments:
Post a Comment