Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
close up it differed greatly - it was far more congested and chaotic. Elderly men
wandered the cluttered streets in the traditional
dele
, shoulder to shoulder with
teenage girls dressed in skin-tight pants and platform shoes. There were people
wandering around with mobile phones and others carrying bloodied sheepskins on
their backs. Some men rode horses on the pavement.
The outer suburbs were a sight neither of us had anticipated: thousands of
ger
tents boxed in by shanty fences of scrap metal and scavenged timber. Each had its
own postal address and a minuscule patch of dirt to call home. In a land of wide,
open spaces it struck me as bizarre.
As we neared the city centre I had the feeling that life here lacked the vitality of
the countryside. Smog collected above the city, turning the sky a pasty grey. The
streets, plagued with potholes, were thickly layered in dust. Road workers could
be seen sweeping the dust out of gutters and into crude pans, collecting it in rub-
bish bags; the rubbish disposal system looked horrific. In the courtyards between
apartment blocks, adjacent to playgrounds, were enormous metal waste units full
of burning debris. Everything from plastics to food scraps was thrown in and set
alight, sending putrid black smoke billowing through the cramped living quarters.
In our first hour we saw more bikes than during our entire time in Russia. Chil-
dren rode cheap but new Chinese-made mountain bikes fitted out with shiny mod-
ern parts. Later on we discovered that you could buy 100 puncture repair patches
for fifty cents. In Russia we hadn't been able to find one puncture repair kit in 5000
kilometres.
We agreed that the best plan of attack was to rent an apartment for ten days.
The time was needed not just for rest and recuperation, but also for getting Chinese
visas, extending our Mongolian ones, and organising plane tickets for the flight to
Australia.
I phoned Zula, a woman we had met on the road from Suchbaatar. With the help
of her family we soon found a place close to the city centre. Unfortunately, the
apartment didn't have beds, and only one light was in working order, but for the
time being it was a little patch of paradise.
Our time in Ulaan Baatar began with great promise. I was delighted to find that
the streets of the inner city were cluttered with cheap restaurants selling all forms
of greasy, fried mutton. A short walk would suddenly turn into an eating marathon
as I found it hard to pass by without stopping in each and every shop. My favourite
snacks were
khuushurs
, which are a flattened balls of mutton deep-fried in pastry.
At five cents a piece there was no stopping me. As they slid down my throat, and
