We went for 10mile run today through the mountains of Sa Pa. The scenery here is amazing. Thousands of rice paddies hug dramatic mountain scapes. The paddies are terraced and emanate out of the hillsides reiterating the initial geological contour of the mountain. It's a truly stunning sight. Here in Sa Pa one can observe rural life as lived in relative prosperity. It's been nice experiencing a bit of rural Vietnamese life, especially when one considers that an overwhelming number of the country's 83 million people live in the countryside. I imagine Sa Pa is as authentic a place to experience pastoral Vietnam as anywhere else in the country. Here, however, things are strikingly beautiful and there is, both to our advantage and at times annoyance, a rather well developed tourist infrastructure.
This idea of "authentic experience" circulates widely in the marketing of various tourist activities. Every tourist operator in the village advertises trips to "real ethnic-minority villages" where you can go take pictures and buy the wares of the Hmong (silent H) people. It's kind of disturbing that these minorities, ethnicities not entirely integrated into the dominant mode of cultural organization, are treated like animals in a zoo. There are clear imperial overtones to this type of tourism. The mere existence of the infrastructure that enables people to become objects of tourism in this way already illustrates the fact that their "traditional way of life" is anything but traditional. It is supremely modern in the sense that it has adapted to, and is reflexively determined by, western tourism and the global economy. A great example of this was when we were on Olhkon Island, in Lake Baikal in Siberia. There was for sale a day trip to a "traditional Buryiat village". A German couple we met who went on the trip commented on just how awkward and fabricated they found the experience when, upon arrival, the women in the village started changing out of their western clothing in order to dress up "traditionally" for the Westerners!
While we recognize that all "first" to "third" world travel has imperial overtones to the extent that it takes enormous advantage of structural economic inequities, the whole marketing people and their way of life as a commodity for western consumption takes things to another level. It's hard to tell which is worse: the desire to observe people this way or the marketing that attempts to make this desirable.
With this said Sa Pa has been a welcomed changed from Hanoi, both in terms of weather and pace of life. Although people here are just as aggressive on the road and equally ready to indulge use of the horns, there is less traffic volume and this makes things more tolerable.
Tomorrow we are off to Dien Bien Phu -- the famous site of the French defeat in 1954 which effectively ended their colonial presence in Indo-China. From Dien Bien Phu, which is tucked away deep in remote NW of the country, we will cross on Wednesday to Laos. We hope to find a boat some 40km across the border that can float us downstream to Luang Prabang.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Our overnight train to Sapa was a foretaste of what hell might be like. 6 bunks is always a bit unpleasant, but this could have been ok had the entire car not been occupied by a group of the rudest people we have pretty much ever encountered. They were a Vietnamese troupe travelling to Lao Cai to do some kind of performance: clearly not one where rest, sleep, or quiet is requisite. They partied until almost 4 in the morning, covering the entire train car with cigarettes, beer bottles, and urine. With four other people in the compartment trying to sleep, they talked out loud to each other, talked on their cellphones, sent SMS messages incessantly (without putting the phone on vibrate, so tones sounded every 2 minutes), and generally made the trip so intolerable that in the morning we just stared at each other, thoroughly traumatized and almost unable to believe that anyone could behave so badly. In total, we got no more than a couple hours of sleep, interrupted every few minutes.
In other words, we cannot handle the noise in Vietnam much longer. It is too bad, because the country is delightful in almost every other way. The food is great, many people are friendly, the scenery is amazing, and so on. But even here in Sapa, a small town, the honking and general noise, plus the constant requests to "buy me?" [from me, we think], "excuse me, buy something?" are just too much to take at this point in the trip.
We did have a highlight yesterday: watching Iraq beat Saudi to take the Asian Cup. Our vociferous cheering provided some entertainment for the Vietnamese who, while supporting Iraq, were rather quieter for a change. Of course, halfway through the game the electricity on one side of the street went out, but we just switched to another restaurant on the other side and carried on. We spent most of the day, however, just recovering from the awful journey here and eating in our hotel restaurant, which serves the most amazing grilled fish with dill ever. Their fresh spring rolls with herbs are also amazing, so I think we'll just eat there again today. AD broke out of her normal rhythm of eating a fraction of what B and I do to order a second serving of the shrimp springrolls during the game yesterday, which as far as we could tell contained no shrimp whatsoever but some absolutely delicious mushrooms.
It is very nice to be out of the heat for a day or two. Sapa is at 1600m and is rainy, so it is actually possible to sleep without A/C for a change. Today we'll try to do some hiking and jogging now that the rain appears to be stopping, and tomorrow we leave early in a car for Dien Bien Phu near the Lao border. We have some fairly arduous days of travelling ahead as we turn toward Luang Prabang in Laos, so we decided to splurge on a private car for what promises to be an unpleasant trip. We'll spend a night in Dien Bien Phu, perhaps visiting what is left of the battle site, before taking the 5:30am bus across the Lao border. Dien Bien Phu is only 35km from the border crossing, and the town the bus goes to on the other side is only 75km more, but we can't expect to hit speeds of more than 25km an hour, and that may be optimistic. So we'll see. Then we plan to float on a boat to Luang Prabang, although AD, having done the same in Cambodia, is a little skeptical of the plan. On the way, we might overnight in a hammock in a village--supposedly, that's the best accomodation available. We've broken out the DEET and started taking Malarone, but I think it will be fine. After all, AD says that Laotians are QUIET, and at this point, I'm willing to put up with almost any inconvenience to be rid of noise.
In other words, we cannot handle the noise in Vietnam much longer. It is too bad, because the country is delightful in almost every other way. The food is great, many people are friendly, the scenery is amazing, and so on. But even here in Sapa, a small town, the honking and general noise, plus the constant requests to "buy me?" [from me, we think], "excuse me, buy something?" are just too much to take at this point in the trip.
We did have a highlight yesterday: watching Iraq beat Saudi to take the Asian Cup. Our vociferous cheering provided some entertainment for the Vietnamese who, while supporting Iraq, were rather quieter for a change. Of course, halfway through the game the electricity on one side of the street went out, but we just switched to another restaurant on the other side and carried on. We spent most of the day, however, just recovering from the awful journey here and eating in our hotel restaurant, which serves the most amazing grilled fish with dill ever. Their fresh spring rolls with herbs are also amazing, so I think we'll just eat there again today. AD broke out of her normal rhythm of eating a fraction of what B and I do to order a second serving of the shrimp springrolls during the game yesterday, which as far as we could tell contained no shrimp whatsoever but some absolutely delicious mushrooms.
It is very nice to be out of the heat for a day or two. Sapa is at 1600m and is rainy, so it is actually possible to sleep without A/C for a change. Today we'll try to do some hiking and jogging now that the rain appears to be stopping, and tomorrow we leave early in a car for Dien Bien Phu near the Lao border. We have some fairly arduous days of travelling ahead as we turn toward Luang Prabang in Laos, so we decided to splurge on a private car for what promises to be an unpleasant trip. We'll spend a night in Dien Bien Phu, perhaps visiting what is left of the battle site, before taking the 5:30am bus across the Lao border. Dien Bien Phu is only 35km from the border crossing, and the town the bus goes to on the other side is only 75km more, but we can't expect to hit speeds of more than 25km an hour, and that may be optimistic. So we'll see. Then we plan to float on a boat to Luang Prabang, although AD, having done the same in Cambodia, is a little skeptical of the plan. On the way, we might overnight in a hammock in a village--supposedly, that's the best accomodation available. We've broken out the DEET and started taking Malarone, but I think it will be fine. After all, AD says that Laotians are QUIET, and at this point, I'm willing to put up with almost any inconvenience to be rid of noise.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Our last two days in Hanoi have been enervating. The heat, the noise, the aggressive salespersons, and general urban rancor have left us longing for a more relaxing rural environment, which we hope to find tomorrow when our night train arrives in Sapa (NW Vietnam near the Chinese border). Here we hope to find cooler weather and more contemplative outdoorsy activity.
As for Hanoi, we spent the last two days here eating, sightseeing, fighting with a recalcitrant hotel staff, and dealing as best we could with the oppressive heat. Yesterday we visited a neo-gothic church (St. Joseph's Cathedral) erected by the French in the late 19th Century. The exterior was in charming disrepair and in the little square just outside entrance Vietnamese children played soccer. Soccer is in the air here as southeast Asia is currently host to the AFC Asian Cup (the finals will take place this Sunday, Iraq vs. Saudi). The inside of the church, like most neo-gothic 19th-century churches, was a little kitschy and overly insistent -- trying to be religious is a way that clearly failed (Nietzsche and Schopenhauer called such churches tombs for an embalmed God). The church only recently resumed services in the early 90s. Many churches in Vietnam faced state persecution after the revolutionaries united the country in 75. This prompted the thought that maybe it's better for the church to be persecuted by the state than to receive its sanction. While pursuing persecution is obviously sinful in the same way pursuing martyrdom is sinful, one must remember that Christianity's original mode of being is religion under siege. So who has done Christianity a greater favor, Constantine or Lenin?
After the church we visited the infamous Hoa Lo Prison, better known by the moniker Hanoi Hilton. This was a prison first designed, built, and used by the French to imprison and torture unruly colonial subjects. It was a pretty horrible place. Although it had been converted into a museum, it did not take much by way of imagination to see just how nasty things were. While the museum did a great job documenting the crimes inflicted by the French on the Vietnamese, it was less than honest when exhibiting the way American prisoners were treated. The rooms dedicated to documenting the lives of American POWs were clearly fabricated. There are staged pictures of GIs receiving letters, eating bountiful Christmas dinners, playing card games, etc. We know, however, some prisoners were tortured. There were pictures of McCain, including one showing the Vietnamese rescuing him from the lake into which he parachuted. In addition to this they also showcased his flight-fatigues. McCain apparently visited here in 2000. Pictures of this visit hang on the wall.
The prison also exhibited photos of protests that took place in France during the 50s and in the States during the 60s and 70s showing the respective domestic war resistance movements. This acted as a historic prompt. S and I looked at each other -- the Iraq war was at the fore of our minds -- and said simultaneously 'we have learned nothing from history, absolutely nothing.' And on that rather sad note, we left the prison.
As for Hanoi, we spent the last two days here eating, sightseeing, fighting with a recalcitrant hotel staff, and dealing as best we could with the oppressive heat. Yesterday we visited a neo-gothic church (St. Joseph's Cathedral) erected by the French in the late 19th Century. The exterior was in charming disrepair and in the little square just outside entrance Vietnamese children played soccer. Soccer is in the air here as southeast Asia is currently host to the AFC Asian Cup (the finals will take place this Sunday, Iraq vs. Saudi). The inside of the church, like most neo-gothic 19th-century churches, was a little kitschy and overly insistent -- trying to be religious is a way that clearly failed (Nietzsche and Schopenhauer called such churches tombs for an embalmed God). The church only recently resumed services in the early 90s. Many churches in Vietnam faced state persecution after the revolutionaries united the country in 75. This prompted the thought that maybe it's better for the church to be persecuted by the state than to receive its sanction. While pursuing persecution is obviously sinful in the same way pursuing martyrdom is sinful, one must remember that Christianity's original mode of being is religion under siege. So who has done Christianity a greater favor, Constantine or Lenin?
After the church we visited the infamous Hoa Lo Prison, better known by the moniker Hanoi Hilton. This was a prison first designed, built, and used by the French to imprison and torture unruly colonial subjects. It was a pretty horrible place. Although it had been converted into a museum, it did not take much by way of imagination to see just how nasty things were. While the museum did a great job documenting the crimes inflicted by the French on the Vietnamese, it was less than honest when exhibiting the way American prisoners were treated. The rooms dedicated to documenting the lives of American POWs were clearly fabricated. There are staged pictures of GIs receiving letters, eating bountiful Christmas dinners, playing card games, etc. We know, however, some prisoners were tortured. There were pictures of McCain, including one showing the Vietnamese rescuing him from the lake into which he parachuted. In addition to this they also showcased his flight-fatigues. McCain apparently visited here in 2000. Pictures of this visit hang on the wall.
The prison also exhibited photos of protests that took place in France during the 50s and in the States during the 60s and 70s showing the respective domestic war resistance movements. This acted as a historic prompt. S and I looked at each other -- the Iraq war was at the fore of our minds -- and said simultaneously 'we have learned nothing from history, absolutely nothing.' And on that rather sad note, we left the prison.
Our trip to Halong Bay was pretty much what we needed: a break from the heat and exhaustion of Hanoi, a chance to get out of the city and get some fresh air, and, unfortunately, a chance to experience a night without air conditioning or a fan. We headed out of Hanoi Tuesday morning, riding in a minibus to Halong City, where we embarked on our rather luxurious boat. We had a delicious lunch (they were even able to cater to vegetarians, although the fake shrimp really tasted like plastic--the rest of the food was great) before heading out through the bay to the "Surprise Cave", a pretty hokey but still impressive cave with stalactites and stalagmites (our poor Vietnamese guide! having to pronounce such words was not easy for Han) all over. Afterwards, we looked forward to swimming on a lovely white beach, thinking how refreshing the water would be. It was and it wasn't. Have you ever gotten into the ocean, thinking how lovely the cool water will feel on your skin, then realized that the ocean is as warm as the air? This was our surprise. The ocean was at least 30 Celsius, maybe more! I have never swum in warmer water, and this includes years spent in California and bathing on various sides of the Mediterranean! Still, it was nice just to float, and we also jumped off the roof of the boat (4-5 meters high) straight into the water.
When we checked into our boat room, we were pleasantly surprised to find it beautifully appointed with A/C, en-suite bathroom and shower!, a pristine double bed, and wood panelling everywhere. Another delicious dinner was served us by attentive boat staff, before we lay on the roof on deck chairs watching the lightning over distant mountains and the sky right ahead and then retired to our cabin. It was lovely, much nicer than we could have expected.
The next day, we breakfasted on the boat and then transferred to a smaller boat for our trip on to Cat Ba Island. We swam some more, this time in an area with a bit of a current so the water was slightly cooler. We also had the chance to kayak for an hour or so, although it didn't seem to be a very serious activity. We still managed to sneak off the long way, but the tops of my thighs ended up a bit pinker than I like! Another lovely lunch, before we continued to Monkey Island, where I saw monkeys in the wild for the first time! One with a baby on its chest even stole a juice box! Awesome. We swam off the boat and the beach (getting the theme here?) and then finally arrived on Cat Ba, to check into our supposed three-star hotel. (By now we had discovered that the $80 trip that we took, less than half the price of the trip we had originally enquired about, was not the dirt cheap budget option but supposedly the VIP trip! It was lucky that we didn't know, as we were generally more satisfied with the trip than anyone else.) Looking forward to some A/C and television, we went to our 12th floor room with balcony, one of the nicest rooms in the hotel, only to find that while the lights work, the TV and A/C won't turn on. We call the reception, which informs us that the electricity isn't turned on in the island until 6pm. No problem, we think, it's 5:20--we'll wait. At ten past six we decide to head out for a jog while we wait for electricity, thinking that the chance to jog outside Hanoi is too good to pass up. The harbor front is less trafficked than the city, and somewhat cooler, but a slow 25 minutes still left us dripping with sweat. We go upstairs for a refreshing shower, which is the point where we realize a) there is no electricity; b) the water in the shower is salt water. So rinsing off the salt just isn't working.
At this point, our travel patience is being tried. We call down again to find that the electricity on the whole island is out, minus what comes from generators, which is not enough to power any cooling mechanism. We go down for dinner--again, the food is pretty good--and our guide shows up a half-hour late having been begging the electricity company to please get us A/C! But nothing can be done. We go down the street to find some ice cream and watch the Saudi-Korea game somewhere with a generator powering the TV. Dreading bed, we finally go to the room and take travel sickness pills to try to get sleepier, having run out of regular sleeping pills. (Shared, they have gotten us through some dodgy nights indeed!) It is impossible for me to really sleep until I lie down naked on the balcony--while it's stone, so not exactly soft, there is a cooling breeze that gets me four-five hours of restless sleep while B sprawls inside. A pretty unpleasant night, especially when followed by a refreshing salt-water shower, a rushed breakfast, and a half-hour wait in the dock until another travel group that had been waiting with us in the hotel lobby gets to the dock. Oh well. We steam back to Halong City, napping under the fans on the second boat, have a final lunch in a lovely villa outside the city, and return to Hanoi to meet our friend Ajan Daeng, who is joining us from Thailand after returning from Central America via New York the day before.
Luckily, we manage to meet, only to find that the hotel refuses to honor our reservation, takes us somewhere else wearing enormous backpacks on the backs of motos, clinging to Vietnamese drivers a third of our size, terrified as we roar (it seems) through crowded alleys at breakneck speed. It gets worse when they put two of us, including luggage, on the back of one with a driver! The hotel is horrible, no windows in the rooms and few of the promised amenities, but in return for a promise of nicer accomodation the next day we decide to stay.
After a shower (fresh water!), we go out to dinner at Hanoi Seasons. A real advantage of having a third person around is that we can suddenly order much more food off the menu! AD has trouble keeping up with us as we devour fish in apricot sauce (again), veggie and seafood spring rolls, amazing eggplant with spring onions, and so on.
Yesterday involved some sightseeing, a lot of resting, a disappointing meal at a veggie cafe, and a delicious dinner at an old quarter restaurant, a screaming fight with the hotel staff who refused to move AD to the promised nicer room, paying for a Laos visa to be rushed through in 24 hours, a run at one of Hanoi's nicest hotels, and the Vietnamese celebration of war martyrs and invalids day. B broke 20 minutes for a 5k (I hate him!) while I suffered through a four-mile tempo run and AD napped (literally) in the pool--we are gathering an interesting collection of expensive but delightfully A/C gyms on this trip! Dinner was fabulous: fresh catfish spring rolls (you roll your own with mango, cucumber, and herbs), vegetarian fried spring rolls, green papaya salad, tomato and cucumber salad, eggplant with garlic, fried catfish with dill, fresh lime juice--including drinks, $5 per person.
AD and I head down to a local stage to find out just what the 60th anniversary celebration of war martyrs and invalids day will look like. There is music coming from the stage and a bunch of people (mostly sitting on motos) looking at it expectantly, but it's not clear than anything is actually happening. Suddenly, everybody rushes toward us as we are standing under shelter and it has just started raining. Instantly the stage is packed up, only to be reprepped when the rain stops a few minutes later and everyone comes back. Again suddenly, a troupe of acrobats appears on the stage, the girls dressed in very formfitting white satin outfits and the boys wearing cutoff T-shirts with shiny patterns and tight white pants. They put on an impressive display of athleticism, with boys standing on their hands held up by two other boys, then doing backflips and returning to handstands--it's hard to describe, but it was pretty cool. At first AD and I are the only two people applauding, while loudly discussing whether it's just against Vietnamese culture to applaud (we don't see any other foreigners around), but after the first couple acts, others start to clap also. The girl acrobats generally aren't as impressive as the boys, although one of them turns out to be a very elegant juggler. The acrobatics are equally suddenly interrupted by three boys, one dressed as a woman with a small ponytail, appearing on stage and acting out a small tableau where the woman-boy escapes from the other two while swatting at them with his fan while the two try to grab his hips. They exit stage right with the woman-boy riding on the other two who have turned into something like a human donkey. It's very amusing and confusing at the same time, so when the acrobatics start up again we go back to the A/C room and watch soccer. (Satellite television here includes a seemingly endless number of soccer channels showing classic, recent, and all other kinds of European, Asian, and what-not soccer games.)
Today we have sweated through some sightseeing, as B is describing next to me, and are dreading our evening trip in a six-person compartment (supposedly A/C, but given our hotel's dishonesty so far we have little reason to believe they are telling the truth now... but Sapa is at 1600 meters above sea level so even an outdoor long run might be possible, I hope. We're planning to cross into Laos near Dien Bien Phu, the site of a famous battle against the French, and then perhaps float down the river to Luang Prabang. This should take up most of next week post-Sapa. Apparently accomodation on the way consists of hammocks strung on bungalows (less than $2)--since I have trouble in humidity and AD dislikes critters and squat toilets, this may not be the most pleasant part of our journey but we'll see. Two nights or so in Sapa should help some, we hope, and the Laotians are supposedly very hospitable.
When we checked into our boat room, we were pleasantly surprised to find it beautifully appointed with A/C, en-suite bathroom and shower!, a pristine double bed, and wood panelling everywhere. Another delicious dinner was served us by attentive boat staff, before we lay on the roof on deck chairs watching the lightning over distant mountains and the sky right ahead and then retired to our cabin. It was lovely, much nicer than we could have expected.
The next day, we breakfasted on the boat and then transferred to a smaller boat for our trip on to Cat Ba Island. We swam some more, this time in an area with a bit of a current so the water was slightly cooler. We also had the chance to kayak for an hour or so, although it didn't seem to be a very serious activity. We still managed to sneak off the long way, but the tops of my thighs ended up a bit pinker than I like! Another lovely lunch, before we continued to Monkey Island, where I saw monkeys in the wild for the first time! One with a baby on its chest even stole a juice box! Awesome. We swam off the boat and the beach (getting the theme here?) and then finally arrived on Cat Ba, to check into our supposed three-star hotel. (By now we had discovered that the $80 trip that we took, less than half the price of the trip we had originally enquired about, was not the dirt cheap budget option but supposedly the VIP trip! It was lucky that we didn't know, as we were generally more satisfied with the trip than anyone else.) Looking forward to some A/C and television, we went to our 12th floor room with balcony, one of the nicest rooms in the hotel, only to find that while the lights work, the TV and A/C won't turn on. We call the reception, which informs us that the electricity isn't turned on in the island until 6pm. No problem, we think, it's 5:20--we'll wait. At ten past six we decide to head out for a jog while we wait for electricity, thinking that the chance to jog outside Hanoi is too good to pass up. The harbor front is less trafficked than the city, and somewhat cooler, but a slow 25 minutes still left us dripping with sweat. We go upstairs for a refreshing shower, which is the point where we realize a) there is no electricity; b) the water in the shower is salt water. So rinsing off the salt just isn't working.
At this point, our travel patience is being tried. We call down again to find that the electricity on the whole island is out, minus what comes from generators, which is not enough to power any cooling mechanism. We go down for dinner--again, the food is pretty good--and our guide shows up a half-hour late having been begging the electricity company to please get us A/C! But nothing can be done. We go down the street to find some ice cream and watch the Saudi-Korea game somewhere with a generator powering the TV. Dreading bed, we finally go to the room and take travel sickness pills to try to get sleepier, having run out of regular sleeping pills. (Shared, they have gotten us through some dodgy nights indeed!) It is impossible for me to really sleep until I lie down naked on the balcony--while it's stone, so not exactly soft, there is a cooling breeze that gets me four-five hours of restless sleep while B sprawls inside. A pretty unpleasant night, especially when followed by a refreshing salt-water shower, a rushed breakfast, and a half-hour wait in the dock until another travel group that had been waiting with us in the hotel lobby gets to the dock. Oh well. We steam back to Halong City, napping under the fans on the second boat, have a final lunch in a lovely villa outside the city, and return to Hanoi to meet our friend Ajan Daeng, who is joining us from Thailand after returning from Central America via New York the day before.
Luckily, we manage to meet, only to find that the hotel refuses to honor our reservation, takes us somewhere else wearing enormous backpacks on the backs of motos, clinging to Vietnamese drivers a third of our size, terrified as we roar (it seems) through crowded alleys at breakneck speed. It gets worse when they put two of us, including luggage, on the back of one with a driver! The hotel is horrible, no windows in the rooms and few of the promised amenities, but in return for a promise of nicer accomodation the next day we decide to stay.
After a shower (fresh water!), we go out to dinner at Hanoi Seasons. A real advantage of having a third person around is that we can suddenly order much more food off the menu! AD has trouble keeping up with us as we devour fish in apricot sauce (again), veggie and seafood spring rolls, amazing eggplant with spring onions, and so on.
Yesterday involved some sightseeing, a lot of resting, a disappointing meal at a veggie cafe, and a delicious dinner at an old quarter restaurant, a screaming fight with the hotel staff who refused to move AD to the promised nicer room, paying for a Laos visa to be rushed through in 24 hours, a run at one of Hanoi's nicest hotels, and the Vietnamese celebration of war martyrs and invalids day. B broke 20 minutes for a 5k (I hate him!) while I suffered through a four-mile tempo run and AD napped (literally) in the pool--we are gathering an interesting collection of expensive but delightfully A/C gyms on this trip! Dinner was fabulous: fresh catfish spring rolls (you roll your own with mango, cucumber, and herbs), vegetarian fried spring rolls, green papaya salad, tomato and cucumber salad, eggplant with garlic, fried catfish with dill, fresh lime juice--including drinks, $5 per person.
AD and I head down to a local stage to find out just what the 60th anniversary celebration of war martyrs and invalids day will look like. There is music coming from the stage and a bunch of people (mostly sitting on motos) looking at it expectantly, but it's not clear than anything is actually happening. Suddenly, everybody rushes toward us as we are standing under shelter and it has just started raining. Instantly the stage is packed up, only to be reprepped when the rain stops a few minutes later and everyone comes back. Again suddenly, a troupe of acrobats appears on the stage, the girls dressed in very formfitting white satin outfits and the boys wearing cutoff T-shirts with shiny patterns and tight white pants. They put on an impressive display of athleticism, with boys standing on their hands held up by two other boys, then doing backflips and returning to handstands--it's hard to describe, but it was pretty cool. At first AD and I are the only two people applauding, while loudly discussing whether it's just against Vietnamese culture to applaud (we don't see any other foreigners around), but after the first couple acts, others start to clap also. The girl acrobats generally aren't as impressive as the boys, although one of them turns out to be a very elegant juggler. The acrobatics are equally suddenly interrupted by three boys, one dressed as a woman with a small ponytail, appearing on stage and acting out a small tableau where the woman-boy escapes from the other two while swatting at them with his fan while the two try to grab his hips. They exit stage right with the woman-boy riding on the other two who have turned into something like a human donkey. It's very amusing and confusing at the same time, so when the acrobatics start up again we go back to the A/C room and watch soccer. (Satellite television here includes a seemingly endless number of soccer channels showing classic, recent, and all other kinds of European, Asian, and what-not soccer games.)
Today we have sweated through some sightseeing, as B is describing next to me, and are dreading our evening trip in a six-person compartment (supposedly A/C, but given our hotel's dishonesty so far we have little reason to believe they are telling the truth now... but Sapa is at 1600 meters above sea level so even an outdoor long run might be possible, I hope. We're planning to cross into Laos near Dien Bien Phu, the site of a famous battle against the French, and then perhaps float down the river to Luang Prabang. This should take up most of next week post-Sapa. Apparently accomodation on the way consists of hammocks strung on bungalows (less than $2)--since I have trouble in humidity and AD dislikes critters and squat toilets, this may not be the most pleasant part of our journey but we'll see. Two nights or so in Sapa should help some, we hope, and the Laotians are supposedly very hospitable.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
After chilling all day yesterday (and eating ethnic food from Northern Vietnam), we set off this morning for a war memorial near the West Lake that commemmorates the shooting down of John McCain. I had tried to get up early for a jog, and I did head out about 7:30, but it was not fun at all! Thinking I would beat the sun and join the other joggers around Hoan Kiem Lake, I set off optimistically only to realize 30 seconds after leaving the hotel that I was lost. We're staying in Hanoi's Old Quarter, an area also known as the 36 streets, because each street is a warren of twists and turns that grew up around various trades that were practiced on separate streets. The area has a lot of potential charm, but as it is the center of the backpacking industry in the city one is constantly accosted by moto drivers, cyclo drivers, people selling Vietnamese hats, Vietnamese fruit sellers wishing to be paid for allowing a picture, and on and on. It's a bit annoying, in other words. But, provided with sunglasses and my Shuffle, I thought I would be fine for a half-hour jog. Of course, I didn't bring a map nor did I remember the street address of our hotel. Nor had I beat the sun's heat, by any stretch of the imagination. Ten minutes before I was done, I did finally find the lake, and amused myself by passing a bunch of Vietnamese guys out jogging (just to show off) two minutes before I stopped. Through mostly sheer luck I ended up right back at the hotel, sweaty and dripping. Breakfast at this hotel is quite nice, though--there's fresh limeade (which is ubiquitous here) and Vietnamese coffee (made with that oh-so-unhealthy sweetened condensed milk).
Fortified, we set out for the above-mentioned McCain memorial after booking a trip to Halong Bay for tomorrow. We'll be swimming and kayaking amidst limestone formations on the coast--maybe it won't be as hot, at least we'll be able to cool off swimming, and we'll spend one night on a boat--should be nice, especially as we found a tour for half the price we originally thought it would cost. We also got two of the silk sleeping bags I have long coveted. They're up to $65 each in the US, so I couldn't bring myself to bargain vociferously when we were quoted a price of $6 each--we just got a dollar knocked off each of them. They're just raw silk sewn into a sleeping bag shape, but they're great for heat or as a sleeping bag liner to extend the temperature range downward.
Of course, by the time we hit the West Lake, I was exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and hungry. Did I mention hungry? (B less so--he's been having some "digestive issues".) We tried to find an Indian restaurant described as excellent value in the book, but after a good half hour or more (why does this ALWAYS happen when we pick a restaurant that seems close, convenient, and cheap?!), we just gave up, looked in the other book, and found that a lovely restaurant described as one of the most pleasant dining experiences in Hanoi was only five minutes walk away. Determined not to worry about prices and just enjoy ourselves, we ordered spring rolls (vegetarian and seafood), steamed fish served with apricots, chilis, pineapple, and absolutely amazing, delicious eggplant in caramel sauce, various fresh juices, sparkling water, Vietnamese coffee, rice dessert, creme caramel, and more. The total (in a SERIOUSLY nice restaurant) came to all of $27 including the 10% service charge. I don't know if we could have eaten more, but we're going back on Thursday when our friend arrives from Thailand!
Afterwards we wandered past the Presidential Palace (a stunning colonial mansion), the Ho Chi Minh memorial--modelled on Lenin's, it is very stylish, but against Ho's own wishes (again, as with Lenin). Ho wished to have his ashes scattered on anonymous mountains in the north, middle, and south of the country. In contrast, you just know that Mao would have LOVED to know that he would be embalmed and admired! The area around the mausoleum is very pleasant (or at least it would be in less humid/hot weather)--wide avenues, leafy trees, sidewalks that are pretty easy to walk on, etc.
What's that about sidewalks? Well, as B has described, the traffic here is pretty abysmal. So it might seem like a natural solution to walk on the sidewalk. But just as in Beijing, the sidewalks are not primarily for walking. They are for parking motos, occasionally riding motos, playing checkers, operating informal (and perhaps illegal, but delicious!) restaurants, threading paper flowers onto funeral wreaths, roasting live squid over an open fire, selling coconuts with straws and sugar cane juice, repairing bicycles, and any one of the million other quasi-businesses that keep a growing, but underdeveloped, economy humming. Delightful though all this sidewalk activity is, it does make it nearly impossible to walk on the sidewalks, but since the streets are already filled with motos, cyclos, bicycles, cars, army trucks, SUVs, carts, and who knows what, there's little room left for people. No wonder 12,400 people were killed in traffic here last year.
In other disturbing news, we're flying Mahan Air from Bangkok to Teheran to Dusseldorf in August when we finish this trip. Except we just learned (off our wonderful satellite television) that the UK has suspended Mahan's license in part because some aircraft ... lack collision avoidance systems?!?! Is that why the tickets were so cheap?
Fortified, we set out for the above-mentioned McCain memorial after booking a trip to Halong Bay for tomorrow. We'll be swimming and kayaking amidst limestone formations on the coast--maybe it won't be as hot, at least we'll be able to cool off swimming, and we'll spend one night on a boat--should be nice, especially as we found a tour for half the price we originally thought it would cost. We also got two of the silk sleeping bags I have long coveted. They're up to $65 each in the US, so I couldn't bring myself to bargain vociferously when we were quoted a price of $6 each--we just got a dollar knocked off each of them. They're just raw silk sewn into a sleeping bag shape, but they're great for heat or as a sleeping bag liner to extend the temperature range downward.
Of course, by the time we hit the West Lake, I was exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and hungry. Did I mention hungry? (B less so--he's been having some "digestive issues".) We tried to find an Indian restaurant described as excellent value in the book, but after a good half hour or more (why does this ALWAYS happen when we pick a restaurant that seems close, convenient, and cheap?!), we just gave up, looked in the other book, and found that a lovely restaurant described as one of the most pleasant dining experiences in Hanoi was only five minutes walk away. Determined not to worry about prices and just enjoy ourselves, we ordered spring rolls (vegetarian and seafood), steamed fish served with apricots, chilis, pineapple, and absolutely amazing, delicious eggplant in caramel sauce, various fresh juices, sparkling water, Vietnamese coffee, rice dessert, creme caramel, and more. The total (in a SERIOUSLY nice restaurant) came to all of $27 including the 10% service charge. I don't know if we could have eaten more, but we're going back on Thursday when our friend arrives from Thailand!
Afterwards we wandered past the Presidential Palace (a stunning colonial mansion), the Ho Chi Minh memorial--modelled on Lenin's, it is very stylish, but against Ho's own wishes (again, as with Lenin). Ho wished to have his ashes scattered on anonymous mountains in the north, middle, and south of the country. In contrast, you just know that Mao would have LOVED to know that he would be embalmed and admired! The area around the mausoleum is very pleasant (or at least it would be in less humid/hot weather)--wide avenues, leafy trees, sidewalks that are pretty easy to walk on, etc.
What's that about sidewalks? Well, as B has described, the traffic here is pretty abysmal. So it might seem like a natural solution to walk on the sidewalk. But just as in Beijing, the sidewalks are not primarily for walking. They are for parking motos, occasionally riding motos, playing checkers, operating informal (and perhaps illegal, but delicious!) restaurants, threading paper flowers onto funeral wreaths, roasting live squid over an open fire, selling coconuts with straws and sugar cane juice, repairing bicycles, and any one of the million other quasi-businesses that keep a growing, but underdeveloped, economy humming. Delightful though all this sidewalk activity is, it does make it nearly impossible to walk on the sidewalks, but since the streets are already filled with motos, cyclos, bicycles, cars, army trucks, SUVs, carts, and who knows what, there's little room left for people. No wonder 12,400 people were killed in traffic here last year.
In other disturbing news, we're flying Mahan Air from Bangkok to Teheran to Dusseldorf in August when we finish this trip. Except we just learned (off our wonderful satellite television) that the UK has suspended Mahan's license in part because some aircraft ... lack collision avoidance systems?!?! Is that why the tickets were so cheap?
In the last half decade the Hanoi moto (a larger version of the Italian Vespa) has become ubiquitous. The deleterious effect this has on the environment cannot be over-exaggerated. The noise and exhaust fills the streets, and there seems to be a competetion amongst drivers to see who can honk the loudest, drive most aggressively, and best assert onseself on the road. Such contests are unpleasant enough on regular bikes, but on motorized ones it becomes an entirely different story. As S mentioned in a post on Chinese drivers, the ability to own motorized vehicles has far outpaced the ability of the society to insure that drivers are adequately trained to operate them. The statistics on yearly road carnage are appalling, and in this nation of 83 million people I think things will get worse before getting better.
Minus the oppressive heat and obnoxious drivers, Hanoi is an extremely pleasant city. It has wonderful tree-lined boulevards, well-manicured parks, delightful restaurants, and enticing market stalls. Today we ventured out to Hanoi's lovely West Lake. Two steps out of air-conditioned hotel and we were dripping with sweat. We soldiered on stopping at a military museum that housed a host of fascinating relics from Vietnam's two twentieth-century anti-imperialist wars for independence. The museum outlined the chronology of Vietnam's defeat of the French (which culminated at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954) and then its defeat of the Americans and their S. Vienamese proxy army. We saw the tank that entered Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) just as the final American helicopter fled the American Embassy. The museum also houses downed imperial aircraft (Chinook helicopters and an interesting heap of French and American plane scraps).
When we reached the lake we strolled down a causeway dividing the lake and saw a memorial comemorating the place where John McCain parachuted into Hanoi after having been shot down. It was a bit surreal, but totally fascinating to see. It is a little sad to have so much of our sightseeing in this city focused on military history, but it is very much the case that Vietnamese identity has been forged in resistance (to the Chinese, the French, the Japanese, the French, and the Americans). This history is still very real and alive even as this Communist society becomes more market-based and consumer orientated.
Minus the oppressive heat and obnoxious drivers, Hanoi is an extremely pleasant city. It has wonderful tree-lined boulevards, well-manicured parks, delightful restaurants, and enticing market stalls. Today we ventured out to Hanoi's lovely West Lake. Two steps out of air-conditioned hotel and we were dripping with sweat. We soldiered on stopping at a military museum that housed a host of fascinating relics from Vietnam's two twentieth-century anti-imperialist wars for independence. The museum outlined the chronology of Vietnam's defeat of the French (which culminated at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954) and then its defeat of the Americans and their S. Vienamese proxy army. We saw the tank that entered Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) just as the final American helicopter fled the American Embassy. The museum also houses downed imperial aircraft (Chinook helicopters and an interesting heap of French and American plane scraps).
When we reached the lake we strolled down a causeway dividing the lake and saw a memorial comemorating the place where John McCain parachuted into Hanoi after having been shot down. It was a bit surreal, but totally fascinating to see. It is a little sad to have so much of our sightseeing in this city focused on military history, but it is very much the case that Vietnamese identity has been forged in resistance (to the Chinese, the French, the Japanese, the French, and the Americans). This history is still very real and alive even as this Communist society becomes more market-based and consumer orientated.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Beijing is far and away the most "becoming" or "on the way" city S or I have ever been to. The air of the future wafts through the air (carried, or course, by the smog). There are impressive collections of ancient imperial buildings (the main tourists draws, e.g. the Forbidden City), but the Beijing that is leading China's furious economic development (China's economy is predicted to overtake Germany's No. 3 position by the end of the year) can be found in its ever evolving skyline of corporate towers, banks, swank hotels, and posh shopping centers. Beijing has the feel that New York must have had in the first quarter of the 20th Century: teeming with life and casting itself with the confidence that the world will soon follow suit. And indeed the city evokes the sentiment that we are at the beginning of the end of American global hegemony.
Nowhere can China's global aspirations be better seen than in its proud and intensely focused energy on the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. The slogan "One World, One Dream" is pasted all over the city and vendors of all sorts are already peddling T-shirts, hats, and other Olympic paraphernalia. All of the major historical monuments are under renovation, which, in the Chinese context, seems to mean rebuilding more than anything else. Much of the Forbidden City is, for instance, in under scaffolding. This didn't disappoint us too much as we share a fundamental allergy for all things imperial and royal (NB: on our week long Paris trip two years ago we willfully avoided Versailles and plan never to go!) There is, after all, only so much interest one can feign in buildings constructed for the purpose of receiving presents on one's birthday! There can be, however, I admit, aesthetic value to such things, but my proletarian sensibilities will always protest.
It is sad that all this construction has resulted in the razing of what many would argue are the most culturally interesting areas of Beijing. These are, namely, the famed Hutongs -- labynthine windy-street neighborhoods that once proliferated in this imperial city, but which now face the threat of extinction as huge boulevards and thoroughfares slice their way through town. This said, some of the Olympic contruction projects are truly amazing. First amongst them is the new National Stadium, which is without a doubt one of the most inspiring architectural forms that we've ever seen (for a picture see: http://www.worldstadia.com/ws/show-page.php?menuCommand=stadium&menuData=827).
Nowhere can China's global aspirations be better seen than in its proud and intensely focused energy on the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. The slogan "One World, One Dream" is pasted all over the city and vendors of all sorts are already peddling T-shirts, hats, and other Olympic paraphernalia. All of the major historical monuments are under renovation, which, in the Chinese context, seems to mean rebuilding more than anything else. Much of the Forbidden City is, for instance, in under scaffolding. This didn't disappoint us too much as we share a fundamental allergy for all things imperial and royal (NB: on our week long Paris trip two years ago we willfully avoided Versailles and plan never to go!) There is, after all, only so much interest one can feign in buildings constructed for the purpose of receiving presents on one's birthday! There can be, however, I admit, aesthetic value to such things, but my proletarian sensibilities will always protest.
It is sad that all this construction has resulted in the razing of what many would argue are the most culturally interesting areas of Beijing. These are, namely, the famed Hutongs -- labynthine windy-street neighborhoods that once proliferated in this imperial city, but which now face the threat of extinction as huge boulevards and thoroughfares slice their way through town. This said, some of the Olympic contruction projects are truly amazing. First amongst them is the new National Stadium, which is without a doubt one of the most inspiring architectural forms that we've ever seen (for a picture see: http://www.worldstadia.com/ws/show-page.php?menuCommand=stadium&menuData=827).
Friday, July 20, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
We spent four nights in St Petersburg, three in Moscow, three in Ulaanbaatar, and now six in Beijing, and this is the first time we leave regretting that we didn't have more time. Our only real complaint about Beijing is that it is hard to decide whether it is less attractive not to see the sky at all and suffer from the humidity, or to see the sun as we have done the last two days and be HOT HOT HOT.
Traffic here is crazy, but the ubiquity of taxis has saved us from the worst annoyance. It is perhaps not so strange that traffic is an issue when you realize that in 1998, there were only 300,000 cars on the streets of Beijing. A few years later, that number had doubled. Now there are three million, and another half million are expected to hit the roads by next year. In other words, there are a LOT of inexperienced drivers out there! Might makes right, so bicyclists threaten pedestrians but are themselves threatened by taxis, who have (sometimes) to yield to buses. Honking is constant, both in order to tell people where you are and simply as an expression of annoyance whenever there is traffic. It is totally frustrating to someone who isn't used to it, but perhaps also sometimes to Beijingers. When we were returning from the wall, our driver honked repeatedly at a bicyclist, who clearly had had enough: he flipped our driver off twice, to cheers from all of us in the bus who well understood his frustration.
We're off to Guangzhou (Canton) tonight, then to Hong Kong in the morning. Then we fly to Bangkok and then Hanoi on Saturday. Hopefully we'll find time to do some proper posts soon!
Traffic here is crazy, but the ubiquity of taxis has saved us from the worst annoyance. It is perhaps not so strange that traffic is an issue when you realize that in 1998, there were only 300,000 cars on the streets of Beijing. A few years later, that number had doubled. Now there are three million, and another half million are expected to hit the roads by next year. In other words, there are a LOT of inexperienced drivers out there! Might makes right, so bicyclists threaten pedestrians but are themselves threatened by taxis, who have (sometimes) to yield to buses. Honking is constant, both in order to tell people where you are and simply as an expression of annoyance whenever there is traffic. It is totally frustrating to someone who isn't used to it, but perhaps also sometimes to Beijingers. When we were returning from the wall, our driver honked repeatedly at a bicyclist, who clearly had had enough: he flipped our driver off twice, to cheers from all of us in the bus who well understood his frustration.
We're off to Guangzhou (Canton) tonight, then to Hong Kong in the morning. Then we fly to Bangkok and then Hanoi on Saturday. Hopefully we'll find time to do some proper posts soon!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
As a life-long vegetarian, I've eaten a lot of eggplant. A lot! But tonight, the Holy Grail of eggplants appeared to me: the perfect balance of oil, chili, garlic, lemongrass, and ginger. We trekked out to a Sichuan restaurant after spending most of the day hiking the Great Wall. Yes, that great wall (no, it isn't visible from space). We were driven out to Jinshanling, the starting point of a supposed four-hour hike to Simatai, both fairly remote sections of the wall that see only a few tourists each day. (Badaling, the closest to Beijing, is supposedly a madhouse every single day, but simply crawling with people on summer weekends.) It was an amazing trek. Admittedly, we were both literally dripping sweat within about ten minutes--it was 38 Celsius plus probably 95% humidity or more--and we'll post a picture soon (Blogger doesn't work very well for us here in China--we can post, but not read our blog or post pictures). It was stunning--for much of the hike (determined as we were to outkick everyone we came with) we had the wall pretty much to ourselves. We passed thirty towers on the way, climbed up and down more or less restored sections of the wall, sweated and sweated and sweated, and had a fantastic time. Of course, the hike only took us two hours, so we had to go a bit further than intended, but it was incredible.
After the three-hour drive (130km) back to Beijing, we took a taxi somewhere close to this restaurant and continued our search for spicy food. B ordered the chicken with chili, I mean the chili with chicken, we had the aforementioned eggplant (seriously, it was SO GOOD), we ordered some "village pickles" which turned out to contain chicken feet, and a good time was had by all.
Yesterday, we didn't do much sightseeing of the guidebook variety, as we tried to get some errands done and also went to a FANCY gym for a run. The gym, located on the 18th floor of some luxury apartments, was supposedly airconditioned but due to the presence of a swimming pool, the A/C was pretty much ineffective. We persevered nonetheless, determined to get in a run on a treadmill. Beijing is not the best city for running. We still haven't seen the sky since getting here on Friday, and yesterday's air pollution index (96) is just below the 100-level where doctors recommend not performing strenuous exercise outside. So off to the treadmill it was. Thankfully, the rules warned that urinating in the sauna was not permitted. (Getting the noveau riche vibe yet?) The run was hell, but I got through my 8 miles and B tested himself on a 5k (results not to be reported at this early stage).
After eating lunch at the Dai restaurant at which we had had dinner the day before (they gave us a free drink as they were happy to see us again so soon--their cucumbers with garlic, chili, and vinegar are absolutely amazing), we sorted out the Great Wall trip for today and then went to Tiananmen square. Having driven through it several times, this was our first time stopping. The square is reputedly the largest in the world--800x500m, but it doesn't seem nearly that large because Mao's mausoleum is perched in the middle and totally spoils the effect. The police are a constant presence, vigilantly chasing down children flying kites (no, really--our first glimpse of the "heavy-handed" Chinese police) and other malcontents. The square is an impressive example of blocky Communist architecture, but the delightful suprise at the south end is the two old gates from when the Forbidden City really was forbidden. The gates are elegant and imposing at the same time, and speak highly for the ancient Chinese sense of form.
So does, at least in a sense, the Summer Palace that we visited the day before. The dowager empress Cixi, minx that she was, diverted the money for rebuilding it from the Chinese navy. In a supreme stroke of historical irony, not to be believed unless true, she used it to, among other things, build a STONE SHIP, an enduring testament to the might of imperial China. The might, that is, of the empire that fell in part as a result of NOT HAVING A MODERN NAVY. The Summer Palace nowadays is delightful, despite the number of buildings Cixi built for the celebration of her own birthday. It is filled with mainly locals (at least at the far ends), many of whom spend the whole day in the extensive grounds picnicking, listening to the radio, or, as a number of pensioners we saw, collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage. (No wonder Beijing is so clean, relatively speaking, minus the air of course.)
After our first Dai meal (we had never heard of the ethnic group either, but boy, can they cook) we got scammed on a pile of delicious-looking mangoes that turned out to have no flavor whatsoever. Took another taxi ride home--Beijing taxis are $1.50 for the first three km and about 20 cents for each km after that, so it's hard to resist, especially given the human overcrowding on the buses. During the morning and evening rush hour, there are uniformed guides for every bus at every central bus stop. Wearing orange T-shirts, khaki pants, a red cap, and waving a red triangular flag, they direct people to stand in separate lines for each bus and flag down the bus when it comes--all while wearing immaculate white gloves, of course. The buses are mostly fresh and new-looking, but they are simply so full of people that the temptation to get on them is not great. There are just under 15,000 buses in the city, which carry 8 million passengers per day--you do the math.
We have lots more to tell about Beijing--by far the most interesting place we've been so far--but they are few internet cafes, we can't access our own blog properly, and we're so tired from the humidity that we'll need to wait until Hong Kong (Friday) or Hanoi (Saturday) to fill things in properly.
After the three-hour drive (130km) back to Beijing, we took a taxi somewhere close to this restaurant and continued our search for spicy food. B ordered the chicken with chili, I mean the chili with chicken, we had the aforementioned eggplant (seriously, it was SO GOOD), we ordered some "village pickles" which turned out to contain chicken feet, and a good time was had by all.
Yesterday, we didn't do much sightseeing of the guidebook variety, as we tried to get some errands done and also went to a FANCY gym for a run. The gym, located on the 18th floor of some luxury apartments, was supposedly airconditioned but due to the presence of a swimming pool, the A/C was pretty much ineffective. We persevered nonetheless, determined to get in a run on a treadmill. Beijing is not the best city for running. We still haven't seen the sky since getting here on Friday, and yesterday's air pollution index (96) is just below the 100-level where doctors recommend not performing strenuous exercise outside. So off to the treadmill it was. Thankfully, the rules warned that urinating in the sauna was not permitted. (Getting the noveau riche vibe yet?) The run was hell, but I got through my 8 miles and B tested himself on a 5k (results not to be reported at this early stage).
After eating lunch at the Dai restaurant at which we had had dinner the day before (they gave us a free drink as they were happy to see us again so soon--their cucumbers with garlic, chili, and vinegar are absolutely amazing), we sorted out the Great Wall trip for today and then went to Tiananmen square. Having driven through it several times, this was our first time stopping. The square is reputedly the largest in the world--800x500m, but it doesn't seem nearly that large because Mao's mausoleum is perched in the middle and totally spoils the effect. The police are a constant presence, vigilantly chasing down children flying kites (no, really--our first glimpse of the "heavy-handed" Chinese police) and other malcontents. The square is an impressive example of blocky Communist architecture, but the delightful suprise at the south end is the two old gates from when the Forbidden City really was forbidden. The gates are elegant and imposing at the same time, and speak highly for the ancient Chinese sense of form.
So does, at least in a sense, the Summer Palace that we visited the day before. The dowager empress Cixi, minx that she was, diverted the money for rebuilding it from the Chinese navy. In a supreme stroke of historical irony, not to be believed unless true, she used it to, among other things, build a STONE SHIP, an enduring testament to the might of imperial China. The might, that is, of the empire that fell in part as a result of NOT HAVING A MODERN NAVY. The Summer Palace nowadays is delightful, despite the number of buildings Cixi built for the celebration of her own birthday. It is filled with mainly locals (at least at the far ends), many of whom spend the whole day in the extensive grounds picnicking, listening to the radio, or, as a number of pensioners we saw, collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage. (No wonder Beijing is so clean, relatively speaking, minus the air of course.)
After our first Dai meal (we had never heard of the ethnic group either, but boy, can they cook) we got scammed on a pile of delicious-looking mangoes that turned out to have no flavor whatsoever. Took another taxi ride home--Beijing taxis are $1.50 for the first three km and about 20 cents for each km after that, so it's hard to resist, especially given the human overcrowding on the buses. During the morning and evening rush hour, there are uniformed guides for every bus at every central bus stop. Wearing orange T-shirts, khaki pants, a red cap, and waving a red triangular flag, they direct people to stand in separate lines for each bus and flag down the bus when it comes--all while wearing immaculate white gloves, of course. The buses are mostly fresh and new-looking, but they are simply so full of people that the temptation to get on them is not great. There are just under 15,000 buses in the city, which carry 8 million passengers per day--you do the math.
We have lots more to tell about Beijing--by far the most interesting place we've been so far--but they are few internet cafes, we can't access our own blog properly, and we're so tired from the humidity that we'll need to wait until Hong Kong (Friday) or Hanoi (Saturday) to fill things in properly.
Friday, July 13, 2007
We arrived in Beijing today after a hellish train ride from UB. Normally, getting on a train to travel is as relaxing as can be, but yesterday was incredibly hot, and it was not possible to keep the windows open because everything got covered with dust through the long hours through the Gobi. We were spitting and coughing dust. We tried to go to the restaurant car to get a snack, but they threw us out after we waited 20 minutes in favor of a tour group. So we ate ramen, again. Hopefully for the last time on this trip!! The border crossing leaving Mongolia wasn't too bad. On the Chinese side, the book had said that we could get off the train and change money/buy something to eat while the bogies were changed to fit the narrower Chinese gauge, but that turned out to be mistaken. Instead, we all lay there dozing, sweltering in the heat (on incredibly hard beds--and this was soft class!). When our passports were returned at one a.m., we tried to get off the train to get some water, but the psycho attendant kept yelling "five minutes!" at us and pushing us back into the train, so finally we paid a dollar for a half liter and gave up. The day seemed endless.
The morning was far more encouraging. The scenery during the last 2-300 km to Beijing was stunning--just like out of a movie. It was overcast (and/or smoggy), so not too hot and miserable. Lots of cute houses with triangular roofs, people working in triangular/conical hats, smiling work crews waving at the train, policemen marching, and so on. It is only in the last few hundred km of our 8500 km journey by train that it got really interesting to look out the window most of the time! The taiga, steppe, and desert were all pretty monotonous. We really started to get excited about China when a woman showed up selling delicious ripe mangoes on the train, which we devoured in about three seconds.
Beijing is so awesome. We took a taxi from the train station to our hostel, which is in a hutong north-west of the Forbidden City. Hutongs are the traditional Beijing neighborhoods consisting of narrow streets lined with courtyard houses and very small businesses. They are slowly disappearing in favor of tall apartment houses with all the amenities, but the ones in this area are very cute. Our hostel is decorated with red all over, has a lovely courtyard, and we not only have our own bathroom/shower but also air conditioning! We realized the other day that for the 16 nights until we got back from the Gobi, we had only had running water for 12 hours, and we've only had our own bathroom for two other nights on this trip. So we are living in the lap of luxury.
On a recommendation from a hostel worker, we headed out to find something to eat after scrubbing the Gobi dust off us head to toe (I washed my hair three times). At first the restaurant didn't seem to serve very spicy food, but that was soon remedied by how tasty it was. We ordered pickled vegetables (cucumbers, mini bok choy, and something that looked like red carrot--pickled with lovely hot Sichuan peppers) and green melon with garlic and chili, sweet and sour duck (B, of course) and steamed fish (me). I was trying to order fried fish, because I thought the steamed fish might be bland, but it was amazing. This was probably in part because when we started eating, the fish was still alive. (The guy brought it in a plastic bag to see if B approved of it.) B also had fresh pear juice, while I had cucumber juice that I could flavor with sugar as I wished. Including jasmine tea and two beers, the entire meal came to 18 dollars. This with the fresh fish being one of the most expensive items on the menu--market price at 6 dollars.
Satisfied and full, we wandered around for several hours just looking at the city and the people. It feels much homier than many of the places we've been, probably because New Haven, California, and so on have lots of Chinese people and we're only now discovering that they also live in China! So far, Beijing is lovely, smog and all.
The morning was far more encouraging. The scenery during the last 2-300 km to Beijing was stunning--just like out of a movie. It was overcast (and/or smoggy), so not too hot and miserable. Lots of cute houses with triangular roofs, people working in triangular/conical hats, smiling work crews waving at the train, policemen marching, and so on. It is only in the last few hundred km of our 8500 km journey by train that it got really interesting to look out the window most of the time! The taiga, steppe, and desert were all pretty monotonous. We really started to get excited about China when a woman showed up selling delicious ripe mangoes on the train, which we devoured in about three seconds.
Beijing is so awesome. We took a taxi from the train station to our hostel, which is in a hutong north-west of the Forbidden City. Hutongs are the traditional Beijing neighborhoods consisting of narrow streets lined with courtyard houses and very small businesses. They are slowly disappearing in favor of tall apartment houses with all the amenities, but the ones in this area are very cute. Our hostel is decorated with red all over, has a lovely courtyard, and we not only have our own bathroom/shower but also air conditioning! We realized the other day that for the 16 nights until we got back from the Gobi, we had only had running water for 12 hours, and we've only had our own bathroom for two other nights on this trip. So we are living in the lap of luxury.
On a recommendation from a hostel worker, we headed out to find something to eat after scrubbing the Gobi dust off us head to toe (I washed my hair three times). At first the restaurant didn't seem to serve very spicy food, but that was soon remedied by how tasty it was. We ordered pickled vegetables (cucumbers, mini bok choy, and something that looked like red carrot--pickled with lovely hot Sichuan peppers) and green melon with garlic and chili, sweet and sour duck (B, of course) and steamed fish (me). I was trying to order fried fish, because I thought the steamed fish might be bland, but it was amazing. This was probably in part because when we started eating, the fish was still alive. (The guy brought it in a plastic bag to see if B approved of it.) B also had fresh pear juice, while I had cucumber juice that I could flavor with sugar as I wished. Including jasmine tea and two beers, the entire meal came to 18 dollars. This with the fresh fish being one of the most expensive items on the menu--market price at 6 dollars.
Satisfied and full, we wandered around for several hours just looking at the city and the people. It feels much homier than many of the places we've been, probably because New Haven, California, and so on have lots of Chinese people and we're only now discovering that they also live in China! So far, Beijing is lovely, smog and all.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Today marked the beginning of the Nadaam Festival here in UB. There was a great deal of pomp and pageantry at the Stadium. We, however, proved to be bad tourists today. Content to rest up after the exhausting four days in the Gobi, we watched parts of the ceremonies and the wrestling on the large TVs in the Central Post Office where we sent a few postcards and called some of the larger hotels searching, in vain, for an indoor fitness center. As it turned out we were able to run outside today. On our way towards the stadium and the Soviet friendship monument we happened upon a dirt/rock trail that weaved its way through an ugly industrial landscape and also went past a few suburban gers. We had an encounter with a couple of Mongolian children who were riding their bikes, an encounter that was entirely illustrative of what we've found to be the characteristic disposition of most Mongolians. The children greeted us demonstrating their basic competence in English grammar. They then curiously accompanied us for a section of our run. I asked one of the boys if he wanted to race. We did and he was eager to tell me that I lost. I, never being at a loss for a little competition, challenged him to a second round and redeemed myself. After we lost the trail going back onto the road they said good-bye and waved. In another instance with our driver in the Gobi he at one point asked to see our plane tickets and passports. Suspicious, S. and I looked at each other and reluctantly agreed. Our hesitation was soon eclipsed by his genuine show of sincere curiosity. He just wanted to see the various visa stamps and pictures. The cumulative effect of interactions like these have engendered in us a very real sense of relaxation and ease. We have not in anyway felt threatened or insecure in our interactions here.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
We got back from the Gobi at midday today, and are happily settled in to a double room at a centrally located guesthouse. I had reached the end of my patience with strangers after sharing gers for four nights in the Gobi desert. But the trip was fantastic.
We headed out Friday morning, very early. Landed at Dalanzadgad before 8am, and were introduced to our driver. Naturally, he spoke fluent Russian but no English. He offered to have his daughter, who speaks a little English, join us for free, but we offered to pay her a few dollars a day, so we headed by his house to pick her up. When I say house, I mean, of course, ger. Almost no Mongolians live in houses--even those who are pretty settled (in the city, except UB) mostly live in gers, maybe surrounded by a fence. After we picked up his daughter, a very sweet and very shy 17-year-old whose English was at first limited to three or four sentences (but she improved rapidly as she lost some of her shyness!). We went off to a local restaurant, which was decorated with plastic palm trees and served Chinese food, but we were able to score an egg with some fried bread and cabbage salad for breakfast.
Then we were off to purchase food for our journey. After stocking up on ramen, we had some trouble explaining that we also wanted to get some vegetables. Finally we ended up in the market, where we got a bunch of cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and a large watermelon. Then it was off to Yolyn Am, a canyon that famously has ice most of the year (it usually melts some point in mid-July). As I'm from Norway, ice in July didn't seem particularly interesting or exceptional to me, but according to the guidebook, the area was good for hiking, so we'd agreed to go anyway. After being conned into a museum at the park entrance that cost $2 each for looking at some really unattractive stuffed animals, we got to the parking lot near the canyon. During the 2km hike down, we met pretty much every single person we had flown down from UB with. Then it started to rain, a steady, cold drizzle that was sapping all the energy out of us. We had packed the Camelbak with lunch and planned to explore the area for several hours, but after eating some Chinese imitation Pringles under a sort of shelter, we gave up and started back. The only highlight of this relatively depressing experience was seeing an ibex that was grazing up on a cliff.
We got back in the jeep and went to the park entrance, where we were shown into a ger made of concrete and informed that this is where we were spending the night. Warm goat's milk was brought in a thermos and served us in bowls. Realizing that we were spending the night in a souvenir-sales ger left our spirits very low, plus we were cold and wet as we had not really expected rain in the Gobi in July! (Although that is the month with the most precipitation. Since annual precipitation is limited to 130 mm, though, we thought we'd be pretty safe.) After an hour or so, our driver said something about another gorge with ice, and since the rain had stopped, we agreed to go take a look.
At that point, the trip changed. Instead of being a tourist-heavy, silly-sight having, waste of time and money, it became a pretty unique experience. Our driver drove us through a twisting gorge carved by a river that was barely wide enough to get through, driving part of the way in the river. We ran into groups of horses grazing free, hiked up a mountain, and saw wild gazelles racing over the hills. Then we arrived at the herder family with whom we would spend the night, blessedly free of the souvenir ger. We watched (and tried to help a little) as they rounded up the goats for their evening milking. We were served endless bowls of warm goat's milk, and I had some sweet rice porridge while B and the rest ate noodles with dried mutton. (Nothing else.) In the morning, we headed out for another herder's family. On the way, we watched Mongolians herd horses with a motorcycle and used the jeep to try to round up a horse that simply did not want to cooperate.
We hung out at the next herder's family during the day. Went for a run in the afternoon, but it was HOT and we were so full of dairy products as we were being served steaming bowls of goat's milk approximately four times a day. So the run pretty much sucked, especially since I saw a small snake, but we did look at the camels which were everywhere. We also saw more gazelles. We went for a ride on the horses, which was cool also--thinking Chinggis Khan (as he's now called) riding across the world on horses just like our pretty-stepping Mongolian ones. We gave the watermelon to the herder family and were rewarded with squeals from the five boys (is it possible that they were as tired of white food as we were?). Maybe the highlight of that stay was playing pick-up basketball with five Mongolian herder boys, our driver, and his daughter. This is the only time on a basketball court, we suspect, that B (5'9" 1/2) will be the tallest person on the court and able to determine play! And basketball court, by the way, is not quite right--a square marked in the dirt, with a piece of metal twisted to make a somewhat crooked hoop. But the oldest boy was fabulous on interceptions and rebounds, and the next oldest a specialist at three-pointers.
The next day saw us heading to Khongoryn Els, the Gobi sand dunes. Although B has been to the Sahara and I've seen dunes in Death Valley, Wadi Rum, and elsewhere, these really were impressive dunes. Not so much because of their extension, because they're mostly just a few km wide, but because they rise out of the ground, as from nowhere, and climb up to 300m. In front of them runs a very narrow river (you can step across it) that supports a green swath where everyone grazes his (probably) camels. Although we agreed with our driver to go to the dunes at 7pm, we couldn't resist and climbed up in the heat of the day. It was HARD, but the reward--sliding down a mountain of sand that literally hummed under our feet--was well worth it. It was, predictably, much easier to do it again once the sun had sunk somewhat! Leaping down the dunes after watching the sunset was simply amazing. This night and the next were spent in quasi-tourist gers; not the huge, luxurious camps favored by most travellers, but in simple guest gers run by herder families to supplement their herding income and gain some hard cash. (The first two nights, we stayed in the "living room" ger--one family had two, one for cooking and one for entertaining, and the second family had three, with one for sleeping--we felt bad about chasing the families out but they seemed very pleased to have visitors.)
On the forth day, we drove up to Bayanzag ("rich in saxual shrubs"--that's what they're called. They're like little Joshua Trees, sort of). We wandered around the Flaming Cliffs, which look just like a very very very small Grand Canyon/Zion made not of rock but of clay. This is where Roy Chapman Anderson went on his dinosaur-hunting trips in the 1920s and killed 46 vipers in the tent one night, so I was very alert for snakes but saw none. There were beautiful rocks everywhere, and it might not have been very hard to find a dinosaur fossil, but once more the heat was quite exhausting so we had mercy on our driver and headed to the ger. After gorging on ramen to the point of near nausea (finally, we weren't staying in people's "houses" so we could eat our own food), we went out for a sunset run through the saxuals toward the cliffs. It was stunning: one of those classic runs that just makes you happy to be alive, and happy to be in the Gobi, and happy to be in Mongolia.
After a short night, we drove over the bumpy bumpy roads to the airport. There are only about 1700km of paved roads in Mongolia (1800km of railroad), even though Mongolia is the 14th largest country in the world. It is impossible to get around areas like the Gobi without a native driver (or maybe, maybe using GPS) because there are no landmarks to use to navigate. A few hours at the airport, a short flight with the delightfully polite AeroMongolia folks, and we were back in UB.
One final anecdote to illustrate why Mongolia is what it is: after finding a room for the night, we went out to eat lunch just now at an Asian restaurant. When we paid the bill, the girl came back to say that something was wrong. She showed us that we had paid the bill and then left 2500 Togrog over. When we explained that it was for her ("a tip"), she hardly knew what to do with herself. Note that this isn't common, but that it could happen at all... !!
We headed out Friday morning, very early. Landed at Dalanzadgad before 8am, and were introduced to our driver. Naturally, he spoke fluent Russian but no English. He offered to have his daughter, who speaks a little English, join us for free, but we offered to pay her a few dollars a day, so we headed by his house to pick her up. When I say house, I mean, of course, ger. Almost no Mongolians live in houses--even those who are pretty settled (in the city, except UB) mostly live in gers, maybe surrounded by a fence. After we picked up his daughter, a very sweet and very shy 17-year-old whose English was at first limited to three or four sentences (but she improved rapidly as she lost some of her shyness!). We went off to a local restaurant, which was decorated with plastic palm trees and served Chinese food, but we were able to score an egg with some fried bread and cabbage salad for breakfast.
Then we were off to purchase food for our journey. After stocking up on ramen, we had some trouble explaining that we also wanted to get some vegetables. Finally we ended up in the market, where we got a bunch of cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and a large watermelon. Then it was off to Yolyn Am, a canyon that famously has ice most of the year (it usually melts some point in mid-July). As I'm from Norway, ice in July didn't seem particularly interesting or exceptional to me, but according to the guidebook, the area was good for hiking, so we'd agreed to go anyway. After being conned into a museum at the park entrance that cost $2 each for looking at some really unattractive stuffed animals, we got to the parking lot near the canyon. During the 2km hike down, we met pretty much every single person we had flown down from UB with. Then it started to rain, a steady, cold drizzle that was sapping all the energy out of us. We had packed the Camelbak with lunch and planned to explore the area for several hours, but after eating some Chinese imitation Pringles under a sort of shelter, we gave up and started back. The only highlight of this relatively depressing experience was seeing an ibex that was grazing up on a cliff.
We got back in the jeep and went to the park entrance, where we were shown into a ger made of concrete and informed that this is where we were spending the night. Warm goat's milk was brought in a thermos and served us in bowls. Realizing that we were spending the night in a souvenir-sales ger left our spirits very low, plus we were cold and wet as we had not really expected rain in the Gobi in July! (Although that is the month with the most precipitation. Since annual precipitation is limited to 130 mm, though, we thought we'd be pretty safe.) After an hour or so, our driver said something about another gorge with ice, and since the rain had stopped, we agreed to go take a look.
At that point, the trip changed. Instead of being a tourist-heavy, silly-sight having, waste of time and money, it became a pretty unique experience. Our driver drove us through a twisting gorge carved by a river that was barely wide enough to get through, driving part of the way in the river. We ran into groups of horses grazing free, hiked up a mountain, and saw wild gazelles racing over the hills. Then we arrived at the herder family with whom we would spend the night, blessedly free of the souvenir ger. We watched (and tried to help a little) as they rounded up the goats for their evening milking. We were served endless bowls of warm goat's milk, and I had some sweet rice porridge while B and the rest ate noodles with dried mutton. (Nothing else.) In the morning, we headed out for another herder's family. On the way, we watched Mongolians herd horses with a motorcycle and used the jeep to try to round up a horse that simply did not want to cooperate.
We hung out at the next herder's family during the day. Went for a run in the afternoon, but it was HOT and we were so full of dairy products as we were being served steaming bowls of goat's milk approximately four times a day. So the run pretty much sucked, especially since I saw a small snake, but we did look at the camels which were everywhere. We also saw more gazelles. We went for a ride on the horses, which was cool also--thinking Chinggis Khan (as he's now called) riding across the world on horses just like our pretty-stepping Mongolian ones. We gave the watermelon to the herder family and were rewarded with squeals from the five boys (is it possible that they were as tired of white food as we were?). Maybe the highlight of that stay was playing pick-up basketball with five Mongolian herder boys, our driver, and his daughter. This is the only time on a basketball court, we suspect, that B (5'9" 1/2) will be the tallest person on the court and able to determine play! And basketball court, by the way, is not quite right--a square marked in the dirt, with a piece of metal twisted to make a somewhat crooked hoop. But the oldest boy was fabulous on interceptions and rebounds, and the next oldest a specialist at three-pointers.
The next day saw us heading to Khongoryn Els, the Gobi sand dunes. Although B has been to the Sahara and I've seen dunes in Death Valley, Wadi Rum, and elsewhere, these really were impressive dunes. Not so much because of their extension, because they're mostly just a few km wide, but because they rise out of the ground, as from nowhere, and climb up to 300m. In front of them runs a very narrow river (you can step across it) that supports a green swath where everyone grazes his (probably) camels. Although we agreed with our driver to go to the dunes at 7pm, we couldn't resist and climbed up in the heat of the day. It was HARD, but the reward--sliding down a mountain of sand that literally hummed under our feet--was well worth it. It was, predictably, much easier to do it again once the sun had sunk somewhat! Leaping down the dunes after watching the sunset was simply amazing. This night and the next were spent in quasi-tourist gers; not the huge, luxurious camps favored by most travellers, but in simple guest gers run by herder families to supplement their herding income and gain some hard cash. (The first two nights, we stayed in the "living room" ger--one family had two, one for cooking and one for entertaining, and the second family had three, with one for sleeping--we felt bad about chasing the families out but they seemed very pleased to have visitors.)
On the forth day, we drove up to Bayanzag ("rich in saxual shrubs"--that's what they're called. They're like little Joshua Trees, sort of). We wandered around the Flaming Cliffs, which look just like a very very very small Grand Canyon/Zion made not of rock but of clay. This is where Roy Chapman Anderson went on his dinosaur-hunting trips in the 1920s and killed 46 vipers in the tent one night, so I was very alert for snakes but saw none. There were beautiful rocks everywhere, and it might not have been very hard to find a dinosaur fossil, but once more the heat was quite exhausting so we had mercy on our driver and headed to the ger. After gorging on ramen to the point of near nausea (finally, we weren't staying in people's "houses" so we could eat our own food), we went out for a sunset run through the saxuals toward the cliffs. It was stunning: one of those classic runs that just makes you happy to be alive, and happy to be in the Gobi, and happy to be in Mongolia.
After a short night, we drove over the bumpy bumpy roads to the airport. There are only about 1700km of paved roads in Mongolia (1800km of railroad), even though Mongolia is the 14th largest country in the world. It is impossible to get around areas like the Gobi without a native driver (or maybe, maybe using GPS) because there are no landmarks to use to navigate. A few hours at the airport, a short flight with the delightfully polite AeroMongolia folks, and we were back in UB.
One final anecdote to illustrate why Mongolia is what it is: after finding a room for the night, we went out to eat lunch just now at an Asian restaurant. When we paid the bill, the girl came back to say that something was wrong. She showed us that we had paid the bill and then left 2500 Togrog over. When we explained that it was for her ("a tip"), she hardly knew what to do with herself. Note that this isn't common, but that it could happen at all... !!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
After settling into our hostel, which is evidently the home of the woman and her daughters who run the place, we set out for the Gandantegchinlen Monastery -- the center of Mongolian Buddhism. At the turn of the century Mongolia housed hundreds of Buddhist monasteries and thousands of Buddhist monks. Buddhism has been the major religion here ever since Kublai Khan made Tibetan Buddhism the official religion of Mongolia 13th-Century. With the Soviet backing the Mongolian People's party and their cohorts laid waste to the country's religious temples after the first World War. The Monastery we visited today survived as a museum. We read today that when Henry Wallace (FDR's VP and Progressive Party presidential candidate in 48') visited Ulaan Baatar in 44' he asked the then Prime Minister to see a religious building, the PM had to scramble embarrassingly to make the one we saw today presentable. The main Temple houses a 23m (enormous) statue of the Buddha. It was very impressive. The original was torn down and brought to Russia to be melted down. It was rebuilt in the 90s with aid from Japan and India.
The two experiences we've had on this trip that have been the most socially and culturally constructed as "religious" have been entering Lenin's Mausoleum and entering this temple. In the first case Lenin's body is on show for a mere 12hrs a week (I suppose they are keeping him from decaying the remainder of the time) and one must queue for an 1 and a half hours with Russians and tourists alike. They let people go in small groups to metal detectors and past the metal detectors the line turns into a trickle. The entirety of Red Square is block off except for the faithful who have so patiently waited. It's quite exhilarating to have the Square to yourself as you approach the tomb. As you enter there are soldiers at every turn to meet you, silently indicating the way as it becomes darker and darker. Finally you emerge into the main room constructed entirely from black marble. A faint red light sets the mood and there in the middle, fully lit, is the man himself, well dressed and dignifiedly composed. You try to walk slow, but are made to move through with great alacrity, forcing the experience immediately into memory. Lenin wished to be buried in St. Petersburg alongside his mother and loathed the idea of the construction of a cult around his personality. Nevertheless, the author of Materialism and Empirio-Criticism, the great atheist Marxist revolutionary is arrayed like one of the greatest saints of the Catholic Church. But it's more ignominious than that. The fact that they attempt to preserve his appearance is a great affront to the materialist position. At least the Catherine of Siena's head, on full display in the Church of San Domenico in Siena, has be allowed to take its natural course.
How this is related to the second religious experience I'm not sure. The Buddha statue was similarly imposing and it was presented in such a way that is was clearly designed to inspire veneration. One circumambulates spinning prayer wheels and gazing. I thought of idols in both cases. (Although neither to me seemed as idolatrous as the way icons were treated by the faithful in Russia. Perhaps I received the wrong impression, but icons seem to do real religious work in a way that very much raised the suspicion of my protestant sensibilities.) The Buddhism here also incorporates aspects of Shamanism. There was a Shaman pole being venerated by lay people in the middle of the monastic complex, which is now also the primary Buddhist University in Mongolia. We are further finding it interesting to see the way in which Buddhism responded and is responding to the fall of communism. We normally think of religion and Communism as being Christianity and Communism. Being here alters that perspective a bit. Although the Communists we certainly foolish to destroy the rich Buddhist history of this country, they were correct in seeing that populace ought to be literate (or at least have the opportunity to become so). This is something pre-communist Buddhism in Mongolia did not permit. Learning was strictly the occupation of the monastic class.
The two experiences we've had on this trip that have been the most socially and culturally constructed as "religious" have been entering Lenin's Mausoleum and entering this temple. In the first case Lenin's body is on show for a mere 12hrs a week (I suppose they are keeping him from decaying the remainder of the time) and one must queue for an 1 and a half hours with Russians and tourists alike. They let people go in small groups to metal detectors and past the metal detectors the line turns into a trickle. The entirety of Red Square is block off except for the faithful who have so patiently waited. It's quite exhilarating to have the Square to yourself as you approach the tomb. As you enter there are soldiers at every turn to meet you, silently indicating the way as it becomes darker and darker. Finally you emerge into the main room constructed entirely from black marble. A faint red light sets the mood and there in the middle, fully lit, is the man himself, well dressed and dignifiedly composed. You try to walk slow, but are made to move through with great alacrity, forcing the experience immediately into memory. Lenin wished to be buried in St. Petersburg alongside his mother and loathed the idea of the construction of a cult around his personality. Nevertheless, the author of Materialism and Empirio-Criticism, the great atheist Marxist revolutionary is arrayed like one of the greatest saints of the Catholic Church. But it's more ignominious than that. The fact that they attempt to preserve his appearance is a great affront to the materialist position. At least the Catherine of Siena's head, on full display in the Church of San Domenico in Siena, has be allowed to take its natural course.
How this is related to the second religious experience I'm not sure. The Buddha statue was similarly imposing and it was presented in such a way that is was clearly designed to inspire veneration. One circumambulates spinning prayer wheels and gazing. I thought of idols in both cases. (Although neither to me seemed as idolatrous as the way icons were treated by the faithful in Russia. Perhaps I received the wrong impression, but icons seem to do real religious work in a way that very much raised the suspicion of my protestant sensibilities.) The Buddhism here also incorporates aspects of Shamanism. There was a Shaman pole being venerated by lay people in the middle of the monastic complex, which is now also the primary Buddhist University in Mongolia. We are further finding it interesting to see the way in which Buddhism responded and is responding to the fall of communism. We normally think of religion and Communism as being Christianity and Communism. Being here alters that perspective a bit. Although the Communists we certainly foolish to destroy the rich Buddhist history of this country, they were correct in seeing that populace ought to be literate (or at least have the opportunity to become so). This is something pre-communist Buddhism in Mongolia did not permit. Learning was strictly the occupation of the monastic class.
Mongolia at last
We arrived in Ulaanbataar this morning after a fairly long journey across the border. In absolute terms, we only came 1000km from Irkutsk. But it took... a while. This was mainly because once we arrived in Naushki, the Russian border town, nothing happened for four hours. We've both crossed many a border on trains before, and usually the border guards are on you so fast you can't blink so that they can be sure that you aren't getting up to any trouble. Our guidebook said that after our passports had been taken, we would be free to wander around. But since everyone seemed to be milling about, and no one came to take our passports, I finally set out in search of a snack or something to drink. (We hadn't forgotten that it was the 4th of July, so we needed an ice cream treat and a toast against imperialism of all kinds.) The farmer's market across the street that we had been promised contained one bunch of dill. Yes, one bunch of dill. This was in contrast to the delightful market we had visited in Irkutsk, which, while low on variety, had delicious tomatoes, radishes, dill, arugula (or something similar), spring onions, and those wonderful homemade cucumber pickles that are simply my favorite thing EVER about Russia. Our salads on the train were amazing, as you can imagine, and occasioned much interest from everyone else who was wandering up and down the corridor eating ramen. But in Naushki we ended up with ramen as well.
We'd been happily surprised to find ourselves alone in the compartment the night before, and since we appeared to be in second class, had pretty much decided that maybe we had paid to have the compartment to ourselves (since that would explain the price--I thought I had indicated to the agency that we didn't want to do that, but that hasn't been the first difficulty). But at Naushki, just as we had fallen asleep for a nap, two Mongolian women and a child wandered in. Oh well. We sat there, and sat there, and sat there. We'd been warned that the process could take up to 12 hours on the Russian side, so we weren't really impatient, but it was HOT. Then there was a thunderstorm. Then it got hot again. I was reading Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which is wildly entertaining but does show Gibbon up to be a bit of an ass.
Finally the guards came and took away our passports. Then they checked our customs forms. No need to go on about the tedious process, or how it was repeated (although rather more speedily) on the Mongolian side. Time spent: 9 1/2 hours. Given the stories we'd been hearing, we probably got off easily. As soon as we got our passports back on the Mongolian side, the two women and the child disappeared, so they had apparently just crashed our compartment for seven or so hours. As usual, the language barrier prevented our discovering this.
As soon as we crossed into Mongolia, the landscape started to change into more rolling grasslands with sharply etched hills. The countryside was dotted with gers surrounded by grazing cattle and horses. About 25% of Mongolians are still true nomads, while others live a semi-nomadic existence. UB has an official population of 800 000, while the unofficial count is about one million (including the "suburban" gers)--more than a third of Mongolia's population of about 2.4 million.
The city is pretty typically Soviet-built, but is clearly a happening place. We keep running into people we've seen before on the Trans-Siberian, so the full tourist rush doesn't seem to be in here yet. Our host (guesthouse and tour person) is very sweet, but totally disorganized. All the booking we thought we had done beforehand had not taken place at all, so we were lucky to snag two of the last three seats on our flights (but before, we'd been told that we couldn't return on the 10th, which is risky. We have tickets to Beijing on the morning of the 12th, and flights from the Gobi are sometimes cancelled due to wind and thus sand). We saw the fighting dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History! We also got plane tickets to the Gobi--we head off early in the morning and return on Tuesday. The guided tour we thought we would have has become a tour simply with jeep and driver, which saves us a little money. We're trying to decide whether we should stay for (touristy) Ulaanbataar Naadam on the 11th or head into the countryside, camp Tuesday, and hunt Wednesday for a local Naadam. Any votes?
B is super-excited because he's gotten some cute Mongolian slippers. We ate a huge lunch at a Chinese place for under $15 for both of us--finally no more Russian prices. In Dalganzad, when we stock up tomorrow, things should be pretty cheap. We're paying for our driver to eat so we don't have to cook for him. Rate: 3000 TG (just under $3) per day. We'll be staying with a nomad family one night (riding a two-humped camel as a tourist must do), which should be cool since it's a little off the beaten path. Our host comes from the South Gobi herself and knows a lot of people there. The rest of the itinerary is pretty standard, but should allow for some nice hiking and perhaps a dinosaur fossil near the Flaming Cliffs? (They're probably mostly gone by now--or rather, professionals have to dig for them, but in the museum we saw a dinosaur nest filled with eggs found nearby as late as 1994.)
It's almost unreal to actually be here. It hardly seems like we can really be in Mongolia, because that is so exotic, but here we are just walking down the streets! There are a few elderly people around in traditional dress, but young people are of course totally Westernized and shop at the "Homeboy" hip-hop shop. But it is so much more relaxing than Russia. In Russia, if you don't speak Russian, you're simply a non-person. Nobody tries to understand you. Nobody wants to help--most people either ignore you or wish you'd just go away and stop bothering them. Here, people seem to be proud of their English and desirous of practicing (such as the monk we chatted with in the monastery this morning, who had only been learning English for a year. He is a student at the Buddhist university here, which offers a major in chanting, of which we heard a great deal when we were up there). Tourism is also an increasingly important source of hard currency for Mongolia, of course, so that has something to do with the difference in attitude. The country is heavily dependent on just a few sources of income. The copper mine in Erdenet supposedly consumes half--yes, HALF--the country's electricity and provides about 40% of its cash. Other income comes from gold and selling trees to China. But the government is pretty eager to keep the tourist dollar coming, and even backpackers seem welcome (increasingly unusual for Asian countries, who are sick of Westerners coming to hang around naked, get drunk/high, and leave little money behind in the local economy).
We'd been happily surprised to find ourselves alone in the compartment the night before, and since we appeared to be in second class, had pretty much decided that maybe we had paid to have the compartment to ourselves (since that would explain the price--I thought I had indicated to the agency that we didn't want to do that, but that hasn't been the first difficulty). But at Naushki, just as we had fallen asleep for a nap, two Mongolian women and a child wandered in. Oh well. We sat there, and sat there, and sat there. We'd been warned that the process could take up to 12 hours on the Russian side, so we weren't really impatient, but it was HOT. Then there was a thunderstorm. Then it got hot again. I was reading Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which is wildly entertaining but does show Gibbon up to be a bit of an ass.
Finally the guards came and took away our passports. Then they checked our customs forms. No need to go on about the tedious process, or how it was repeated (although rather more speedily) on the Mongolian side. Time spent: 9 1/2 hours. Given the stories we'd been hearing, we probably got off easily. As soon as we got our passports back on the Mongolian side, the two women and the child disappeared, so they had apparently just crashed our compartment for seven or so hours. As usual, the language barrier prevented our discovering this.
As soon as we crossed into Mongolia, the landscape started to change into more rolling grasslands with sharply etched hills. The countryside was dotted with gers surrounded by grazing cattle and horses. About 25% of Mongolians are still true nomads, while others live a semi-nomadic existence. UB has an official population of 800 000, while the unofficial count is about one million (including the "suburban" gers)--more than a third of Mongolia's population of about 2.4 million.
The city is pretty typically Soviet-built, but is clearly a happening place. We keep running into people we've seen before on the Trans-Siberian, so the full tourist rush doesn't seem to be in here yet. Our host (guesthouse and tour person) is very sweet, but totally disorganized. All the booking we thought we had done beforehand had not taken place at all, so we were lucky to snag two of the last three seats on our flights (but before, we'd been told that we couldn't return on the 10th, which is risky. We have tickets to Beijing on the morning of the 12th, and flights from the Gobi are sometimes cancelled due to wind and thus sand). We saw the fighting dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History! We also got plane tickets to the Gobi--we head off early in the morning and return on Tuesday. The guided tour we thought we would have has become a tour simply with jeep and driver, which saves us a little money. We're trying to decide whether we should stay for (touristy) Ulaanbataar Naadam on the 11th or head into the countryside, camp Tuesday, and hunt Wednesday for a local Naadam. Any votes?
B is super-excited because he's gotten some cute Mongolian slippers. We ate a huge lunch at a Chinese place for under $15 for both of us--finally no more Russian prices. In Dalganzad, when we stock up tomorrow, things should be pretty cheap. We're paying for our driver to eat so we don't have to cook for him. Rate: 3000 TG (just under $3) per day. We'll be staying with a nomad family one night (riding a two-humped camel as a tourist must do), which should be cool since it's a little off the beaten path. Our host comes from the South Gobi herself and knows a lot of people there. The rest of the itinerary is pretty standard, but should allow for some nice hiking and perhaps a dinosaur fossil near the Flaming Cliffs? (They're probably mostly gone by now--or rather, professionals have to dig for them, but in the museum we saw a dinosaur nest filled with eggs found nearby as late as 1994.)
It's almost unreal to actually be here. It hardly seems like we can really be in Mongolia, because that is so exotic, but here we are just walking down the streets! There are a few elderly people around in traditional dress, but young people are of course totally Westernized and shop at the "Homeboy" hip-hop shop. But it is so much more relaxing than Russia. In Russia, if you don't speak Russian, you're simply a non-person. Nobody tries to understand you. Nobody wants to help--most people either ignore you or wish you'd just go away and stop bothering them. Here, people seem to be proud of their English and desirous of practicing (such as the monk we chatted with in the monastery this morning, who had only been learning English for a year. He is a student at the Buddhist university here, which offers a major in chanting, of which we heard a great deal when we were up there). Tourism is also an increasingly important source of hard currency for Mongolia, of course, so that has something to do with the difference in attitude. The country is heavily dependent on just a few sources of income. The copper mine in Erdenet supposedly consumes half--yes, HALF--the country's electricity and provides about 40% of its cash. Other income comes from gold and selling trees to China. But the government is pretty eager to keep the tourist dollar coming, and even backpackers seem welcome (increasingly unusual for Asian countries, who are sick of Westerners coming to hang around naked, get drunk/high, and leave little money behind in the local economy).
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
PS We booked a hostel in UB for the Nadaam night--a double room with bathroom for $20. All the Lonely Planet recommended hostels are fully booked, but we found some other random place that is right near where we need to pick up our tickets in UB so it shouldn't be too hard to find. Even if it's bad it won't matter much as we'll be out looking at Nadaam after we fly back from the Gobi and then leaving for Beijing early the next morning. Looks like we'll dorm it the first night in UB so that we can get a sense of whether our "tour operator" (who I think is more like some Mongolian guy who speaks English and can arrange things) is really the go-to guy.
Residual Observations
For a city that was founded the same year as Yale (1703) St. Petersburg is remarkable is every respect. Seldom does a city so young boast so much history. Its writers and muscians are perched high in the pantheon of European cultural acheivement. It also has an impressive architechtural history; its streets, canals, and wide boulevards make it feel at times like Paris, at times Amsterdam, and at times Venice. The city also weathered a devastating 900 day Nazi siege. There are still signs on the streets indicating which side is safer during artillery shellings. The central core of the city, the oldest, most charming, and cleanest part, is very well manicured and quite pleasant. The outer reaches, however, are much more depressing. On our way in from the aiport on the public bus we saw concrete jugnles of Soviet apartmet blocks, and on our long run we found its outlying parks in dismal condition and its building in woeful disrepair. More so than perhaps anyplace either of us have ever been, Russia seems to straddle the threshold of the 1st and 3rd worlds. So clearly one or the other at various moments.
Soviet architecture had three main styles: Constructivism, Stalinist Gothic, and "ugly-concrete". Of the former two there are many wonderful examples in Moscow. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many aesthetically compelling buildings were constructed during Stalin's monumental building campaigns of 30s. The most impressive acheivement of this era was the construction of the Moscow metro which is, hands down, the nicest, most beautiful, most charming and delightful metro ever. The metros are quite literally decorated like palaces. Stalin called them "palaces of the people". They are clean, deep, run often and on time, have chandeliers, and are all thematically decorated with scenes comemorating the revolution, everyday life, and ornaments of socialist realism (which is generally very kitsch and ideological insistent in annoying ways) but seems somehow to work well here.
Soviet architecture had three main styles: Constructivism, Stalinist Gothic, and "ugly-concrete". Of the former two there are many wonderful examples in Moscow. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many aesthetically compelling buildings were constructed during Stalin's monumental building campaigns of 30s. The most impressive acheivement of this era was the construction of the Moscow metro which is, hands down, the nicest, most beautiful, most charming and delightful metro ever. The metros are quite literally decorated like palaces. Stalin called them "palaces of the people". They are clean, deep, run often and on time, have chandeliers, and are all thematically decorated with scenes comemorating the revolution, everyday life, and ornaments of socialist realism (which is generally very kitsch and ideological insistent in annoying ways) but seems somehow to work well here.
So we're comfortably settled at an internet cafe in Irkutsk, tickets in hand and a good meal in our stomachs. Therefore Irkutsk seems like a delightful town at the moment. It seems to be in the midst of a heat-wave, so we really don't want to be outside carrying our backpacks around. We do have to stock up on some food for our next 34 hours on the train--we're taking the "telephone pole" (it stops at every one) tonight to Ulaanbaatar. As far as we can tell, the train will hardly move from tomorrow early afternoon until late evening--it's projected to take seven hours to leave Russia and three hours to enter Mongolia. It looks like our tickets are first class again, even though we ordered second class (this explains why they were so expensive!) but I think we'll be sharing with two others anyway. We're hoping the price of the tickets will weed out the worst drunkards.
It's typical, but unfortunate nonetheless, that just as we're adjusting to Russia, we leave. I was totally intimidated here at first--I even refused to jaywalk (cars or no) in case there was a policeman waiting around the corner somewhere to give me a fine. We were repeatedly warned that many police in Russia supplement their incomes by making up fines to charge foreigners so we should have copies of our visas and passports (which we never got around to making) so that they wouldn't make off with the originals. Given how smooth our interactions with officialdom have been (nonexistent, in other words), it seems like I was a bit overly worried. Olkhon was much more relaxing than Moscow and St. Petersburg, though, because you could tell that no one cared what you did on the island. You could go anywhere, do whatever--no one is watching or minding. Irkutsk is such a mix, what with those downtown wooden houses, occasional gorgeous late 19th century buildings, and new malls housing hipster restaurants for the new Russians, found here as everywhere else, who are growing fat (or, in the case of young girls, alarmingly thin) on oil money etc.
That's something I've been meaning to comment on for a while. Russian girls must be the thinnest Western girls in the entire world. Seriously, Norwegian girls look pretty plump in comparison. It's strange, because the girls are so thin (average size is probably 2--32/4 in Europe), but the women are not. The girls are also so very fashionably dressed! Actually, I haven't followed what's hip for a while, but the girls in Moscow and P'burg looked just like the girls in New York and Paris--or even better in many cases--while here in Irkutsk they look much like the girls in Oslo. I guess the Siberian girls who have set such trends in modelling maybe had a trickle-down effect?
Russia has been such an experience--a real mix of the familiar and delightful with the totally strange. I suppose any country of this size must be like that, but it is also unexpected: so many things are similar to Western Europe that I'm much more surprised when something is genuinely different. And at the same time, nothing is ever so similar that there isn't an undercurrent of strangeness that always keeps one a little off balance.
B finally was able to shave his head and beard yesterday. He borrowed a hairclipper from a German guy and now looks suitably like a Buddhist monk. He shaved his face in the banya. Russian banyas are quite nice, especially when the shower you've been promised in your homestay is nonexistent and people keep telling you that it works fine, but no water comes out! Banya and internet were both quite expensive on Olkhon--$8/hour each--but both seemed quite important. The banya is much like a standard sauna or Roman bath, but after our Sunday evening "bath"--I had a lovely dirt tan from the bike ride, and we bathed in two buckets, one cold and one warm--a real banya was just the ticket. It is of course far too hot to bear inside, so you throw buckets of cold water on yourself and gasp. The banya is heated with a genuine wood fire--wood is one of the things there is plenty!! of here--and, although I don't think I would bother to do it often, given that there was no running water on Olkhon it was an absolute necessity.
It looks like our Gobi trip may be a go--if so, we fly down there on Friday. I think the guy is picking us up from the train station Thursday morning, so we'll get oriented in UB on Thursday before we head down to the desert. The guy wants payment in cash for the tour--I'm not sure how we're supposed to be able to take out $1000, but maybe he knows of an ATM in UB that dispenses dollars?--but he seems pretty reliable although very slow on e-mail. We'll see. My diet in Mongolia is going to be very bland, and I'm already driving B crazy by meditating out loud on how delightful food in Beijing and Vietnam is going to be. Chili! Lime! Fish sauce! Garlic! All elements that have been sorely missing from our diet here. Even the good meals--and the food on Olkhon was quite nice--just don't have as much flavor as we're used to. The fish on Olkhon, which was served twice a day, was delightful, however. It is a small white fish called omul, and you could tell that it was pretty much still wriggling on the plate as you were eating it. Delicious!
Tomorrow will be a pretty hellish day. We expect to spend the entire day hanging around train stations waiting to pass customs. BORING! But we have reading material, so hopefully it won't be too bad. We don't know if we'll have any trouble with our visas when leaving. Our hostel in St. Petersburg claimed that they registered our visas, which is required within 3 business days of arriving, but we're pretty skeptical that they were telling the truth, as every other hostel has had a notice about payment for visa registration. However, we stayed in hotels in Veliky Novgorod and Vladimir (even typing Veliky Novgorod gives me a bit of a pang--the old part of that town was so beautiful!!), so they may well have registered us (as they are legally required to do). Since then, we've been on the move all the time before three business days pass, so we haven't needed to register, and we decided not to on Olkhon because there is supposedly no way for the authorities to check. I think the fine is only 1500 rub ($60) if we have trouble, and it only applies if you try to get a Russian visa again, but I would still prefer not to have problems. So we've saved every receipt and train ticket to show them if they want to know where we've been. We shouldn't have trouble in Mongolia or China, as we both have visas for the latter and I for the former (B doesn't need one--a concession demanded by GWB for agreeing to trade with Mongolia).
So much for the "miscellaneous" post I've been planning to write for a while. Next post from Mongolia (I hope!).
It's typical, but unfortunate nonetheless, that just as we're adjusting to Russia, we leave. I was totally intimidated here at first--I even refused to jaywalk (cars or no) in case there was a policeman waiting around the corner somewhere to give me a fine. We were repeatedly warned that many police in Russia supplement their incomes by making up fines to charge foreigners so we should have copies of our visas and passports (which we never got around to making) so that they wouldn't make off with the originals. Given how smooth our interactions with officialdom have been (nonexistent, in other words), it seems like I was a bit overly worried. Olkhon was much more relaxing than Moscow and St. Petersburg, though, because you could tell that no one cared what you did on the island. You could go anywhere, do whatever--no one is watching or minding. Irkutsk is such a mix, what with those downtown wooden houses, occasional gorgeous late 19th century buildings, and new malls housing hipster restaurants for the new Russians, found here as everywhere else, who are growing fat (or, in the case of young girls, alarmingly thin) on oil money etc.
That's something I've been meaning to comment on for a while. Russian girls must be the thinnest Western girls in the entire world. Seriously, Norwegian girls look pretty plump in comparison. It's strange, because the girls are so thin (average size is probably 2--32/4 in Europe), but the women are not. The girls are also so very fashionably dressed! Actually, I haven't followed what's hip for a while, but the girls in Moscow and P'burg looked just like the girls in New York and Paris--or even better in many cases--while here in Irkutsk they look much like the girls in Oslo. I guess the Siberian girls who have set such trends in modelling maybe had a trickle-down effect?
Russia has been such an experience--a real mix of the familiar and delightful with the totally strange. I suppose any country of this size must be like that, but it is also unexpected: so many things are similar to Western Europe that I'm much more surprised when something is genuinely different. And at the same time, nothing is ever so similar that there isn't an undercurrent of strangeness that always keeps one a little off balance.
B finally was able to shave his head and beard yesterday. He borrowed a hairclipper from a German guy and now looks suitably like a Buddhist monk. He shaved his face in the banya. Russian banyas are quite nice, especially when the shower you've been promised in your homestay is nonexistent and people keep telling you that it works fine, but no water comes out! Banya and internet were both quite expensive on Olkhon--$8/hour each--but both seemed quite important. The banya is much like a standard sauna or Roman bath, but after our Sunday evening "bath"--I had a lovely dirt tan from the bike ride, and we bathed in two buckets, one cold and one warm--a real banya was just the ticket. It is of course far too hot to bear inside, so you throw buckets of cold water on yourself and gasp. The banya is heated with a genuine wood fire--wood is one of the things there is plenty!! of here--and, although I don't think I would bother to do it often, given that there was no running water on Olkhon it was an absolute necessity.
It looks like our Gobi trip may be a go--if so, we fly down there on Friday. I think the guy is picking us up from the train station Thursday morning, so we'll get oriented in UB on Thursday before we head down to the desert. The guy wants payment in cash for the tour--I'm not sure how we're supposed to be able to take out $1000, but maybe he knows of an ATM in UB that dispenses dollars?--but he seems pretty reliable although very slow on e-mail. We'll see. My diet in Mongolia is going to be very bland, and I'm already driving B crazy by meditating out loud on how delightful food in Beijing and Vietnam is going to be. Chili! Lime! Fish sauce! Garlic! All elements that have been sorely missing from our diet here. Even the good meals--and the food on Olkhon was quite nice--just don't have as much flavor as we're used to. The fish on Olkhon, which was served twice a day, was delightful, however. It is a small white fish called omul, and you could tell that it was pretty much still wriggling on the plate as you were eating it. Delicious!
Tomorrow will be a pretty hellish day. We expect to spend the entire day hanging around train stations waiting to pass customs. BORING! But we have reading material, so hopefully it won't be too bad. We don't know if we'll have any trouble with our visas when leaving. Our hostel in St. Petersburg claimed that they registered our visas, which is required within 3 business days of arriving, but we're pretty skeptical that they were telling the truth, as every other hostel has had a notice about payment for visa registration. However, we stayed in hotels in Veliky Novgorod and Vladimir (even typing Veliky Novgorod gives me a bit of a pang--the old part of that town was so beautiful!!), so they may well have registered us (as they are legally required to do). Since then, we've been on the move all the time before three business days pass, so we haven't needed to register, and we decided not to on Olkhon because there is supposedly no way for the authorities to check. I think the fine is only 1500 rub ($60) if we have trouble, and it only applies if you try to get a Russian visa again, but I would still prefer not to have problems. So we've saved every receipt and train ticket to show them if they want to know where we've been. We shouldn't have trouble in Mongolia or China, as we both have visas for the latter and I for the former (B doesn't need one--a concession demanded by GWB for agreeing to trade with Mongolia).
So much for the "miscellaneous" post I've been planning to write for a while. Next post from Mongolia (I hope!).
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