All change – Leaving behind the secretive corners of communism, l finally boarded my train in Erlian, on the China-Mongolian border, where both the landscapes and the people seemed to open up. Arriving at Ulan Bator, the polished, politically correct answers were gone. As our city guide, Baltor, showed us Buddhist temples (rebuilt after the Stalin-backed purges and destruction wrought by the communist government here in the late 1930s) and the giant statue of Genghis Khan, he was brutally honest about the failings of the past and the surprising willingness of his people to accept communism (1924-92). “We were shepherds – we didn’t know who Karl Marx was…”
When l headed up into the steppes and saw some nomadic people with an eagle by the roadside, I asked Tseveen if it was used for hunting. “Well,” she said with a smile, “perhaps one day – but for now it’s a business venture. And as he’s charging U S$i6 for a photo, you have to admit it’s quite a successful one. ” After sampling an array of yak-based products, trying my hand at archery (abysmally) and committing the odd faux pas (never walk between the two central beams in a ger, always take your milk with your right hand), I was loathed to leave the nomadic family and my cosy little ger the following day. But the train was beckoning. As we walked back to the station, the grass around my ankles began to sing “Grasshoppers,” explained Tseveen. “We always say that when they start to call, the seasons ate changing and autumn is coming.”
The pearl of Siberia – Change was certainly a foot after Mongolia, and not just the onset of cooler weather. After crossing the strange no-man’s land between it and Russia – a desolate patch of earth surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards – the train trundled slowly into Siberia, near Ulan-Ude. Here the scenery changed from herds of yak, horses and the odd camel to jumbles of Cyrillic signage, a plethora of churches (note: a normal service here lasts for three hours; for seven hours on a Sunday; and over 12 hours at Easter – all without breaks, standing the whole time), Russian dolls for sale by the roadside and Lenin statues by the bucket load.
The main street was a die-straight row of spartan communist buildings, bookended by a wonderfully ornate theatre and the largest ‘head sculpture’ of Lenin in existence. Inside and outside the theatre, the town were busy rehearsing for their 350-year anniversary, while we were treated to another local speciality brew: kvas (aka ‘Russian cola’), an Eastern take on a Western drink, made from fermented rye bread and tasting something like dandelion & burdock, only stranger. If Ulan-Ude seemed like a mix of Asia and Europe, our next stop, Lake Baikal, felt unlike anywhere else in the whole of Russia Known as the ‘Pearl of Siberia’, it has claims to several impressive titles, including the largest, the dearest, the deepest and the oldest lake in the world, and on top of that, contains over 20% of the Earth’s unfrozen surface fresh water.
