Up at 5.45am and a brisk 10 minute walk to the station. As usual we can’t see the signs for the platform but unusually there is no friendly Russian to help, so we follow two backpackers to a long train and ask a carriage attendant who points to carriage 8 which is bound for Mongolia. Tickets checked by our first Mongolian crew and we say hello to Patrick our French cabin mate who has also just boarded. Mattresses are laid out and as its still dark we rest for a couple of hours until I’m woken by Patrick’s camera shutter repeatedly clunking. I look out of the window to see a beautiful rolling landscape tinged orange by the fresh sun and get out the compact camera.
Mongolian railways don’t provide a glass and silver holder like their Russian counterparts but a cup of tea from a papercup still tastes good. It is soon apparent that we are in the tourist carriage as I haven’t seen this many westerners in one place since Stockholm. Hellos are said and languages and accents eavesdropped upon. A windows is opened so we can take it in turns to get the vital ‘train round the bend’ Trans-Siberian photo that you simply must have. I decide to finally walk the entire length of the train to the back to get the other vital ‘tracks behind the train’ photo and am pleasantly surprised to find that our carriage is the end of the train.
We chat to Patrick and watch the scenery as from out of nowhere, huge refineries churn smoke with their ugly reflections polluting mirror smooth lakes.
Noise in the corridor. We look out to see our crew placing four boxes of bananas in a locker under the carpet. Nothing to see here.
At 1.15pm we reach the Russian side of the border. We are ordered off the train as are the prisoners in the jail wagon a few coaches down from us. Unlike them we are not handcuffed together in bunches of six and marched down the platform. We all stand transfixed, watching them as they stand and stare at us. We have paid for our ticket to Siberia.
The distraction finishes and we chat and as travellers do, swap stories of where we’ve been and info on where we are going. The train is moved and sits and is moved and two hours later we are allowed back on. We sit in our compartments as the sniffer dogs and customs check us and then its time for passport control with the usual smiles and laughter. Not really. We all sit there, as if before our maker in solemn desperation hoping we get the stamp. We all do and four hours after we stop, we’re off again.
Sundown is coming so cameras are out and relief and excitement is tangible as we roll through no mans land. The Mongolian border guards wave at us and we are greeted at the station by two saluting soldiers. Immigration arrives and collects all our passports and we wait for two hours. Patrick tells me of a holiday he took in the south of the USA seeing bluesmen play in small bars and his enthusiasm is so great I want to fly there now.
After dark and the passports are back and off we go. Eventually the crew tell us to go to bed as we are going to be woken up at 4.40am for arrival into Uaan-Baatar at 5.50am. We crash but I’m very excited about seeing the capital of Mongolia and shifting into Asia.
P.S. – we arrive and say our goodbyes and as we walk down the platform we see the contraband fruit getting wheeled away. The trolley hits a dint in the platform and over the boxes go and and their value on the black banana market rises.