It is dark soon after we depart Ulan-Baatar. We get occasional glimpses of snow and frozen lakes. About 10pm the border drill starts: Maria, our rail-car stewardess, delivers four border crossing forms that each of us needs to complete, then she comes back to grade them, making corrections as needed. During this prolonged episode, the train stops and starts, backs-up, clangs and bangs sometimes at small isolated depots other times in the middle of nowhere. An hour later, there is a short knock and a uniformed official is in our compartment. She looks around and takes our passports. Sometime later a customs official looks around and takes our properly completed customs declaration forms. Then the immigration guy is back with our passports. After lots more stops and starts we cross the border into Russia and this whole process is repeated. This time the officials are less friendly and more thorough in their inspections. We have to open all of our large bags. The border drill finally ended at 2am. This is a good time to point out one of the inconviences of train-travel in the Third World. Like clockwork, the doors to the toilets are locked a few minutes before reaching each station. No matter how long the stop, they are not unlocked until departing the station. The unlocking is not like clockwork, sometimes we are miles away and they are still locked. This little annoyance sometimes reaches dramatic levels. In the middle of the night, one can be easily frustrated to find the door locked in preparation for an impending stop. And, further frustrated when it is a lengthy stop but they will not allow thru-passenders to get off, even though vendors, hucksters and money changers are allowed to board, hawk their wares and depart. The reason for locking latrine doors while in stations is because the toilets flush directly out of the commode onto the railroad tracks. One is reminded of this at every flush as the railroad ties and gravel ballast can be seen whizzing by below as a cold blast of air is forced up to greet you.
The next morning we awake at a platform in some small town. For some unknown reason our train car was unhooked and left alone for about 8 hours on a siding in this small village. Each time we asked Maria how long before we depart, the answer was always the same, “one hour”. Fortunately, we were allowed off at this station. Recons in all directions revealed a pay toilet and a pay shower in one direction, a small grocery-like store with beer, cheese and bread in another direction and an ATM that dispences Rubels in between.
Finally, in late afternoon, we are attached to another train and soon on our way again. Tonight we can sleep without the border interruptions. But we do have lots of stops, some for only a few minutes, others for nearly an hour. With all the stops and the slow speed when we are moving, it is surprising that we ever get anyplace.
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We are on the train from Ulan Bataar to Irkutsk going through customs and passport control from 9:00AM to 4:00PM – unbelievable! The terrain makes a big change from Mongolia to Russia. Mongolia – dusty and dry – Russia – still dry, but hills, trees, streams, etc., and it seems so far the Russians are tidier – we’ll see. Do ALL customs and passport control people seem to have a burr under their saddle? Is it a job requirement? Anyway, passed the time with chit chat, partners cribbage, and beers and cheese – not a bad way to wile away a few hours, unless you have a horrible cold – poor Linda!!! Fran