I had two days to go to make it to the border. I was well ahead of schedule, nine days in fact. My flagging energy levels and overall physical exhasustion were getting me down mentally now, but I hoped that a good rest in Erlian would do me a world of good.
On the Saturday of walking one of my more humerous memories was the funny rest stops for drivers I came across. On either side of the road was a layby for the cars to pull in and visit a nearby ger to restock on water or food. I came across two of these gers, both of which were closed. What stuck out in my mind was the amusing road sign that alerted drivers of the rest stop. It had the typical tree and park bench logo used for rest stops in Ireland and New Zealand, but they looked amusingly out of place here where there was neither a tree or even a bench to sit on to be seen for miles.
On the Saturday of walking one of my more humerous memories was the funny rest stops for drivers I came across. On either side of the road was a layby for the cars to pull in and visit a nearby ger to restock on water or food. I came across two of these gers, both of which were closed. What stuck out in my mind was the amusing road sign that alerted drivers of the rest stop. It had the typical tree and park bench logo used for rest stops in Ireland and New Zealand, but they looked amusingly out of place here where there was neither a tree or even a bench to sit on to be seen for miles.
Further on I was to receive my last occasion of Mongolian hospitality in the form of a family at a small ger shop. I had been dreaming of the things I did not have as usual, and today it was a Coca-cola that I couldn't get off my mind. I passed a collection of gers where some truck drivers had stopped to take a break. As I neared they called me over and we had the craic for a while. In the meantime, an old man from one of the gers was standing by and beckoned me towards his home once I was finished with the truck drivers. He invited inside and pulled out a chair for me. Inside was a family consisting of the old man and his wife, a younger couple in their thirties, their 4 year old little boy and another guy in his twenties. As they asked their questions I tried to reply as best as I could as the young father read out my Mongolian letter. The old man then opened up a fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of coke and poured me a bowl. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Never had a coke tasted so good. As soon as I finished the bowl he continued to fill it, while also offering me cheese to snack on. I stayed with them a little while and bought some chilled infused tea from them for later. They then kindly insisted I took the bottle of coke and some cheese too as a gift. As I left, the guys came out to take a look at the cart and take a few photos before wishing me good luck and seeing me off. What an awesome family!
I camped 15km outside Zamyn-Uud that night, hoping that the short distance would guarantee I would make it through the border in time the next day. I only managed a couple of hours broken sleep as I had managed to find my worst campsite so far. That evening the temperature got up to a baking 39° C and stayed there until an hour before sunset. Later, the wind picked up blowing sand everywhere and the nearby horses then spent the remainder of the night screeching as if someone had stuck them with a knife. Throughout the night, articulated trucks were pulling up on the other side of the road to a ger doing God know’s what, but it involved revving engines and flashing headlights until 4am. There was also some dodgy deals going down nearby. A couple of vehicles seemed to be using the spot as a rendezvous point to exchange goods from the back of a truck. This is seemed to require lots of arguing and shouting to get the job done. Normally all this madness would not bother me anymore but I was downwind from all of this noise and therefore the voices and engines sounded like they were only a couple of meters away from my tent.
The next day I made for Zamyn-Uud. The road intermittently changed from tarmac to dirt track and back to tarmac a few times untill I hit a 6 lane highway that was completely empty. It seemed the majority of the traffic preferred the more direct dirt tracks into the town. I followed one of the tracks and came across two lads in a car drinking who called me over to cure their curiosity. We chatted and after sharing their beer I headed into the town via the residential area. I don’t want to call it a slum as I quite liked the friendly atmosphere there. The dusty roads were populated by playing kids and weaving cars trying to avoid the soft patches of sand. On either side of the street, gers and brick houses were nestled together with makeshift fences seperating them. I stopped at a corner shop to get a cold drink and icecream and was delighted to find that the owners were really friendly and helped top up my phone, as I needed to contact my friend here in the town later.
Central Zamyn-Uud was a sort of place that I didn’t really feel like hanging around in. I was keen to make it to China today but my friend who was going to drive me across the border was not answering his phone. I tried for a couple of hours with no joy. In the mean time I managed to strike a deal with a taxi driver in his old Russian jeep, and while the price was steep, it was a better alternative than stayin in the town over night. I had till 4pm to get hold of my friend, otherise I was paying the taxi driver to get me through. I finally got through at 3.30pm but his English seemed to be worse than I had remembered. I called in my last favour from my mate Amar in UB’s Zaya Hostel to contact my Zamyn-Uud friend and translate but after numerous attempts, Amar wasn’t able to get through either. It was decided then. The taxi driver approached soon after and said lets go. After extracting even more money out of me, saying that my cart takes up the room of 4 people, we lifted the cart into the back of his battered* russian jeep and sped off toward the border. My seat for the trip was now by backpack, sitting where the paasenger seat once was. (*When I say battered, think taking an old Russian WW2 jeep, rolling it off a cliff, then sticking an “I love Mongolia“ sticker to it and your ready to go.)
The border check point of Mongolia and China has a reputation for being a bit ridiculous. There is a 2km no-go zone which travellers must take either a bus of a mongolian registered vehicle to cross. First you must take your bags out of the vehicle and through the Mongolian check point, then back into the vehicle. Three minutes later you and your bags are out again to walk through the Chinese checkpoint, and then you can go on your merry way.
As we arrived at the first checkpoint, the officials turned us away. It apeared we were too late. My driver fought a while with the official and managed to pursuade him to let us through – I could see he really wanted to hold on to that 50,000 MNT (NZD 35.00) he got out of me. We played the same game with the next army checkpoint and got through. At this point I started thinking that maybe this guy might be worth the money after all. We arrived at the Mongolian immigration building where I left the cart in the jeep and brought my bags through. Once the customs guys scanned the bags, took 1000 MNT (NZD 7.00) exit tax and stamped my passport, I was back in the jeep and entering China. At this stage my industrious driver had picked up another passenger who seemed quite happy to use my bag as a seat too. I was considering haggling with the driver to get some money back as the price was based on him not fitting any more passengers in but at this stage I didn’t care. Besides, Mongolian Tugrik has no value once outside the country and It was getting late and I wanted to find a hotel in Erlian and get settled in for the night. The Chinese customs process was a lot more intimidating and this time I had to bring the cart with me. The taxi driver helped lift the cart up the steps and into the Chinese border building. The slick new terminal resembled and airline immigtarion area. I put my pags through the first scanner, but it appeared that the security guy was too intrigued and confused about the cart to notice what was in the scanner. I had been a little anxious as I was not sure if the huge bag of stones I had gathered for my little friend Aydrian would be ok to bring through. Oh and yeah, I was also carrying three litres of petrol strapped to the cart! I breezed on through. That was too easy I thought.
I went on to the next gate where two young police men were on duty. One went to check my passport out and I thought now was a good time to pull out my Chinese magic letter for the first time. (I thought now was a good a time as any to see how it goes down with the local law enforcers). The other officer returned and they poured over the letter, then started conratulating me and wishing me luck. Not the reaction I had expected but hell I was happy with that. With one more scanner to go through, I put my bags on to the conveyor belt, but my cart would not go through the narrow body scanner I was supposed to walk through. An another official came up to me and I showed him the problem. He checked the cart over and asked what I was carrying. When I told him about the petrol he seemed a bit shocked but I explained it was for cooking (via charades) and pulled out the letter again. Success! He seemed impressed and led me to a side gate to bypass the scanner and then proceded to help me load the cart back up. Just then my driver appeared on the exit door and helped me to load all the gear back into the jeep. I was now in China!
As we arrived at the first checkpoint, the officials turned us away. It apeared we were too late. My driver fought a while with the official and managed to pursuade him to let us through – I could see he really wanted to hold on to that 50,000 MNT (NZD 35.00) he got out of me. We played the same game with the next army checkpoint and got through. At this point I started thinking that maybe this guy might be worth the money after all. We arrived at the Mongolian immigration building where I left the cart in the jeep and brought my bags through. Once the customs guys scanned the bags, took 1000 MNT (NZD 7.00) exit tax and stamped my passport, I was back in the jeep and entering China. At this stage my industrious driver had picked up another passenger who seemed quite happy to use my bag as a seat too. I was considering haggling with the driver to get some money back as the price was based on him not fitting any more passengers in but at this stage I didn’t care. Besides, Mongolian Tugrik has no value once outside the country and It was getting late and I wanted to find a hotel in Erlian and get settled in for the night. The Chinese customs process was a lot more intimidating and this time I had to bring the cart with me. The taxi driver helped lift the cart up the steps and into the Chinese border building. The slick new terminal resembled and airline immigtarion area. I put my pags through the first scanner, but it appeared that the security guy was too intrigued and confused about the cart to notice what was in the scanner. I had been a little anxious as I was not sure if the huge bag of stones I had gathered for my little friend Aydrian would be ok to bring through. Oh and yeah, I was also carrying three litres of petrol strapped to the cart! I breezed on through. That was too easy I thought.
I went on to the next gate where two young police men were on duty. One went to check my passport out and I thought now was a good time to pull out my Chinese magic letter for the first time. (I thought now was a good a time as any to see how it goes down with the local law enforcers). The other officer returned and they poured over the letter, then started conratulating me and wishing me luck. Not the reaction I had expected but hell I was happy with that. With one more scanner to go through, I put my bags on to the conveyor belt, but my cart would not go through the narrow body scanner I was supposed to walk through. An another official came up to me and I showed him the problem. He checked the cart over and asked what I was carrying. When I told him about the petrol he seemed a bit shocked but I explained it was for cooking (via charades) and pulled out the letter again. Success! He seemed impressed and led me to a side gate to bypass the scanner and then proceded to help me load the cart back up. Just then my driver appeared on the exit door and helped me to load all the gear back into the jeep. I was now in China!
The driver dropped off his new passenger and I tried to explain where my hotel was with out much success. Driving into Erlian felt like I had been transported over 500 mies away. As we drove into the city I could see a visible difference in the facial features in some of the people I saw. Some were definitely Mongolian with their rounder faces and slightly larger features, but now I could see the difference in the Chinese ethnicity, their faces slightly more slender and with pointed features. I expected Erlian to be a town similar to Zamyn Uud, but this was a bustling city full of cars, scooters, and cyclists. The driver dropped me off in the city centre to which I was greeted by crowd of curious onlookers who all seemed to be pretty friendly. No one seemed to know where my hotel was so I harnesed up and started walking the streets for the next hour while attempting to follow google maps on my dying phone. I eventually made it to Antai hotel after a very long and unwanted detour. I was deighted that I could bring my cart into the lobby to keep it safe, and once I was checked in, it was time to get some food and drink, say hello to China followed by a good nights sleep. My Mongolian adventure was now over and the next was about to begin.