M-whY

However, my train tickets were already booked, and I'd be leaving early afternoon today. This gave me enough time to visit Ulaan Baatar's museums (and probably more had I not overslept this morning). Justine and Kirsten were like myself, not exactly museum connesieurs, and we estimated 20 minutes at the Museum of National History. The impressive exhibits of Genghis Khan and ethnic minority costumes had us there for twice as long. The Museum of Natural History was a far greater disappointment, only noteworthy for a few dinosaur bones from the Gobi. Afterwards, we said our goodbyes - our itineraries diverged from here on out - and I returned to the hotel to check out.

Naki was waiting for me in the lobby. Half an hour later, transportation arrived and brought me to the train station. I was anxious to see who my cabin mate(s) would be. A fellow backpacker? A blonde Russian hottie? A stylish Mongolian chick? Hopefully not a vodka glugging alcoholic...

I was among the first on board and settled down in anticipation. Not too long later, porters began bringing in bags and boxes. Of all sorts of stuff. Jeans, sweaters, hats, blankets, apples, vodka. Even sticks of salami. In quantities that could stock a department store. They had to be intended for resale... why else would anyone be transporting 20 identical Mickey Mouse sweatshirts. And whoever it was must've bought the other three berths in the room, because the beds were stacked high with inventory.

A friendly, middle aged woman came in and began sorting the clothes. I think she was Mongolian, but what came out of her mouth sounded like Russian. (I don't think Mongolian has rolling r's.)

"[Something something]," she smiled, holding up a shirt and closing the door.

I shrugged.

"[Something something] glasses," she repeated, this time pointing at her eyes, then mine. I still had no clue what she wanted. Not until she mimed covering my eyes that I got her drift.

I looked away while she changed - then watched as she carefully finished stowing things away. The task would take her hours, and occasionally, I'd lend a hand. Apparently our cabin was the warehouse; Other passengers kept bringing in more goods. Thermoses, gloves, socks, more sweaters. She accepted them all, taking notes in her organizer. Stuff inevitably overflowed to my side. I didn't particularly mind. I had plenty of room under my bed and she made it clear she'd take responsibility at customs.

But now I was curious how the border crossing would go. According to my handbook, "Customs is relaxed towards travellers, but a stress to the business people who turn the train into a rolling bazaar. We reached the border a few minutes before 9:00pm. As predicted, it was a mere formality for me. They took my passport, asked me to say my name, then stamped the departure stamp. Surprisingly, my cabin mate had it easy too.

I wonder if it was because she knew all the immigration officials. "Suren!" they'd exclaim upon seeing her, then come in for some small talk. They yawned through her cursory presentation of goods, then moved on to process the next room down. Hardly a stress at all.

The Russian border boys were more serious. Our passports disappeared for a few hours to be stamped in a back room, the ceilings taken apart and checked for illegal goods/people. But they all seemed to know Suren as well. To be sure, I think I saw some bribe money exchange hands, however, everyone and everything passed through painlessly. During the dead time when not much seemed to happen, Suren and I managed to communicate, using sign language and very basic english. I learned she was a 41 year old mother of four. I told her I was 25 and had no kids. She said she was getting off at the next stop, I said I was headed to Moscow. Simple things like that.

So I never figured out what the deal was with her merchandise. When we finally got rolling again, everyone who dropped something off came back to recollect. Our little warehouse cleared, and eventually, Suren herself disappeared and never came back. Right before I fell asleep though, I noticed one last curious though. The salami was stilling hanging from the ceiling.

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!