Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Mongolia is amazing for its vast expanses of nothingness. You couldn’t help but watch it out of the window of the train continuously. Even though all you might see for miles around was a ger or two and some goats, or a random herd of horses. Scenery-wise, it was a fantastic journey. There was the oh-so-watchable emptiness of Mongolia, then forests and mountains and the gigantic Lake Baikal in Russia. We were sharing a carriage with some obnoxious but hilarious Australians, a French girl and an Israeli guy, and loads of spherical Mongolian traders (how do they get so fat? I suppose all they eat is meat and cheese). As the train pulled out of Ulan Bator (or Ulaan Baatar, if you like) we thought the traders were all trading with each other. There was an awful lot of rushing up and down carriages carrying armfuls of things like jeans, rugs, and rolls upon rolls of sellotape – then swapping them about. The border crossing was an adventure in itself. Since they are cruel, they decided this would be in the middle of the night, but they would also switch us 4 timezones to put us on Moscow time. This was to confuse us and make us think the crossing took a lot less time than 6 hours with no toilet and too much beer beforehand…

The Russians were a friendly bunch (sarcasm), and came round peering at us as we tried to sleep, checking multiple times under a trap-door in the corridor for illicit whatevers, and under our seats for hidden Mongolians. A small boy ran up and down the corridor all night with a towel over his head pretending to be a ghost. Such was the border crossing! The Australians were less than charmed by this boy, and several times played with the idea of pushing him out of the window as he clambered all over it to stick his head out. In the end they nicknamed him ‘monkey’ (which even the other Mongolian children cottoned on to) and taught him how to high-five.

At around what we thought might be 2 or 3am the Russians brought round our forms, and we discovered the customs form was only in Russian. Great. So it was all like a big fun border-crossing puzzle, with clues from things like the cheat sheet Paul had managed to download before we’d left, and a Polish person in another carriage who could speak Russian. This confusion over the form may have had something to do with the treatment we received at Moscow airport, but more on that later. Then, safely through the border and into Russia, a frenzy of activity started up (we wanted to sleep, damnit!). The Mongolians rushed backwards and forwards between the carriages again, re-distributing the merchandise. They seem to have been splitting it up between themselves, the Mongolian non-traders, and the Mongolian cabin attendants into order to get it all through customs. A lot of bribe-money had changed hands, we think. One of the Australians spotted them all handing notes over to one of the cabin attendants as they boarded the train.

We had, for some reason, expected all the Mongolians to leave the train at the first Russia stop to sell their wares cheaply in a market over the border for a few days before returning to Mongolia. We were mistaken. Every stop we arrived at, there would be a crowd of local Russians waiting eagerly to buy cheap crap off the Mongolians. About ten minutes of very frenzied bargaining would commence, and then they would all get back on the train with a lot less stuff. We realised they didn’t need to stop somewhere in Russia to sell their wares; the train was their travelling shop, and the Russians knew where to find them. It was actually fascinating to watch – kids being sized up against T-shirts, women fingering handbags, and men clutching boxer shorts. Even the cabin attendants were in on it – they would cover up their uniforms and sell stuff too, sometimes refusing to let us get off the train. In fact, they generally looked at us as though we were a complete pain in the neck and waste of space. How dare we take up valuable trader space? In fact, how dare we be sitting at our seats when they wanted to vacuum in there? Paul reckoned they were definitely more there to attend the cabins than to attend us.

At every stop the obnoxious Australians would lean out of the train windows and give a commentary on their ‘Ugliest Russian’ and ‘Worst Russian Haircut’ competitions. I hate to say it, but the folk who turned up to buy crap off the Mongolians were among the ugliest group of people I’ve come across. With 1980s mullets being the preferred hairstyle. Add this to the spherical (but very friendly) Mongolians and you had an attractive bunch.

So anyway, Western Siberia is really very pretty. I woke up at what my Moscow-time watch told me was 4am to brilliant sunshine, mountains and forests. Later Lake Baikal came into view and seemed to follow us forever. It was beautiful. All the trees, fields, and little wooden houses which looked like they were trying for a ‘pointiest roof’ competition. It was starting to feel like Europe. We had a pretty relaxing 4 days on the train (although I never want to eat instant noodles again). We read books, played some tunes on the fiddles, watched trees and listened to the Australians plotting to kidnap monkey-boy. It was a nice beginning to the end of the trip – I think it would have been a bit of an anti-climax to just hop onto a plane in Mongolia and suddenly find ourselves at home. This made it feel like the long journey it is.

In Moscow we were met by a very elegant and businesslike Diana, who was to be our brief host. She was the daughter of a Russian bishop and had stayed with my parents for a couple of months a few years back to improve her English. We now know that many Russians are actually very attractive, just not the ones who like to buy things from Mongolians. Diana had just got married and had a beautiful new and stylishly decorated flat, but we weren’t to be staying in it because it only had a couple of rooms. No matter, later we would meet her sister (Marina) and stay with her instead. First we got the train into town to meet a couple of Paul’s colleagues from Edinburgh (in Moscow for a conference), Derek and Sarah (who we’d visited in New Zealand in January).

Transferring to Marina’s involved a very long train journey into the far-out suburbs. Her brother Ed met us, and we got to know the Moscow tradition of buskers on trains via an old man singing ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ by the Beatles in an upbeat and very Russian style. Another world away from the Peruvians in NY who would get on the subway, play about 2 bars, and expect you to pay them. These guys were genuinely good and people were actually happy to give them money. Marina told us her and her siblings had done some singing on the train once and made a fortune.

Back at the digs we met the bishop, on a surprise visit from the Black Sea, who was very smiley and insisted Paul would be known as ‘Pavel’. And then the next day, which was our only Moscow day, we made a deliberate effort to avoid anything depressing and Soviet, and just visited Red Square. On account of this, we think of Moscow as being very elegant. We went inside a big cathedral that looked like it was sponsored by Disneyland, and the most stylish shopping centre we’ve ever seen. (Think train-station chic.) One of the most striking things about Moscow (architecturally) was the subway. I’ve never seen one so ornate, with mosaics, vaulted ceilings, and plaster moulding. We also really liked the water feature in Alexandra’s park outside the Kremlin. It ran next to the classiest Mcdonalds we’ve ever seen – a mosaic’d river (but not flowing) filled with fountains and statues of fairy tale characters, in which local teenagers were swimming, wrestling and generally playing splashy-splashy. It was so full of life, and no-one was telling them to get out.

That was our day in Moscow. We left a lot of time to get to the airport, and were glad we did. We had a hot a sweaty time getting there, to find our plane tickets did not exist. Our flight from Moscow was printed ‘2nd May.’ Much panic. We were so close to going home! And what’s more, our visa said we had to leave on that day, or risk being locked in a room and stared at through a very small window by security staff. Not good. The 2nd May had been our original date when we’d booked the tickets, due to the foibles of a round the world ticket. But our travel agent had changed the flight for us as soon as it was available, and sent us a confirmation. Paul protested that he had checked the BA website the night before, and it had all been fine. The Russians were having none of it. Apparently we were booked on the plane but no ticket had been issued – we would have to buy a new one. Or contact our travel agent. How would we do that? This all made no sense, but I stopped Paul biting the girl’s head off and asked her if there was any way she could help us. At first she seemed to take it as a personal affront that we would change the date at all. WHY would we do this? She demanded. I tried to cheerfully explain the round the world ticket situation, she spoke on the phone, and immediately became more smiley and accommodating. We were to come back in half an hour, and when we did (Paul had even managed to Skype the travel agent in this time), it was all sorted out. Phew.

But it seemed that since they had made it so difficult to get into the country, they were still going to make it hard to leave. At customs that Russian-only form came back to bite us. Where were our violin documents? Our customs declaration? Our registrating photographs? We’d been pretty sure the customs form had only asked us to declare valuables, and we spent a lot of time explaining how little value these fiddles had. But Paul’s looks quite old and people mistake it for one that doesn’t sound like a tin box, so they pored over it, and brought their friends to look, constantly wanting to know the age. We wanted to say – it may be old, but it’s still only worth £5. Eventually Paul said he didn’t want to bring it home that badly, and would leave it there if they insisted. It would give him less to carry. This seemed to persuade them, and a big man gave us a stern talk about letting us off this time, but next time we come to Russia blah blah. Next time? Hahahahaha. Hilarious. After that the least of our worries was the full-body scanner and the giggling blonde behind the monitor.

On the plane I tried to assess my feelings about going home. I suppose I had a touch of the nervous anticipation. Paul had something to go back to, but I didn’t. We would both have to be rehabilitated into normal life, and I’ll probably miss the Road a bit. This year was more than just seeing foreign places, it was a whole lifestyle and it seems like only days ago that we were anticipating the Big Trip. We met Mum in London for a day of sightseeing and she asked us difficult questions like, what do we think we’ve learnt? What will we change about our lives? What will we give up now because travelling has made it seem so unimportant? They were difficult questions, because if we have changed it happened so gradually that it’s not so easily identified. We know we’re better in all sorts of awkward social situations, and can make the effort to get on with even the most difficult people. But otherwise… perhaps other people will be able to tell us.

London was loads of fun, and it was a lovely last-minute surprise that Mum came to join us for our day of Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and Camden Market. Everything that’s British welcoming us home – going to some ugly places like Ulan Bator (sorry!) you really appreciate how beautiful a city like London actually is. We stayed with our friends Amy and Mike in a lovely place in Hackney and I realised that whilst before I had been really against the concept of London, now I wouldn’t mind living there.

There were more surprises when we got back to Edinburgh. First of all it was sunny, and the pale morning light washed over Princes Street and the Castle and Calton Hill, and everything was warm and welcoming. Which is a relief, as it would have been a bit of an anti-climax if it had been raining. Secondly one of Paul’s bandmates Isla met us at the bus station, and then another (Rachel) met us as we were on the way to Paul’s sister’s. It was really lovely to have been away for so long, and then have friends so keen to welcome us back! Paul’s sister Sooz gave us a full Scottish breakfast, and we began our long journey of slipping back into life.

Pilgrims through this barren land

After the climax of China, Mongolia seemed like a bit of an epilogue and we really had little idea of what to expect. We'd heard from a number of people that Ulan Bator was really dangerous for foreigners as there was a neo-Nazi group going around attacking folk over foreign companies taking over the mines. I have to say, we got off the train with a little trepidation not wanting to fall at this last hurdle.

We were met at the station by Meg who is a Couchsurfer in Ulan Bator, and who is primarily on Couchsurfing to gain business for her tour company. I am always a bit uncomfortable dealing with Couchsurfers who are on for business (as that's really not the point of it) but Meg came highly recommended and had even made it into Lonely Planet so she seemed too good to miss. We'd organised a tour with her a while previously but had changed at the last moment as there was no-one to go on it with us. Instead, we were to take a 7-day (6-night) Gobi Desert tour along with a French couple and a German girl who we were to meet that evening. Meg had a bit of a hangover from the previous evening's activities but was still on very cheery form and I felt reassured that we were in good hands. We caught a taxi back to her flat (one of these unofficial taxis which are really most of the taxis in Ulan Bator - I think that's asking for trouble but given that Meg was in charge I deemed that it was probably OK.). There we met her parents (who live in Ulan Ude in Russia), her wee brother and her baby daughter. I was particularly impressed with how good her brother (12 years old) was with the baby. He would play with her and generally look after her so Meg could deal with organising us and our tour. He kept singing a song to her which I picked up the tune of (but not the words of course!). It was called "Goyo Goyo" and translated toughly as...

Chigchihen chinee bishee (I'm not as little as a little finger)
Chihee ooro ugaaya ( So, I will wash my ears by myself)
Timee ho, ain (Okey-Dokey)
Goyo gogo goyo ( I like it)

Huruuhan chinee bishe (I'm not as little as an index finger)
Huvtsaa ooroo ugaya (So, I will wash my clothes by myself)
Timee ho, ain (Okey-Dokey)
Goyo goyo goyo. (I like it)

Erhihen chinee bishe (I'm not as little as a thumb)
Eej aavda tusalya (So, I will help my mom and dad)
Timee ho, ain ( Okey-Dokey)
Goyo goyo goyo (I like it)

And after some detective work, I managed to find a video...

He was clearly the model uncle and some great husband/father material when the time comes for the lassies to take an interest in him!

Meg's family didn't really speak any English (the brother's few words of English were developed through playing Command and Conquer) but seemed a lovely bunch and served us tea, made us food and even went as far as fashioning us pillows when they noted that we didn't have anything. In the evening we met up with with Manon, Arnaud and Sabine who were to join us on the tour. The plan was that Meg, wee brother and baby would all be coming so that the wee brother could look after the baby while Meg was doing her tour guide bit. After the meet up we helped Meg shop for groceries and I was surprised at how European the store was compared to the Chinese ones. I was bemoaning the fact that we'd bought all our train food in China as opposed to buying nice familiar stuff here. When we went to bed Meg was expressing some concern for the baby who looked a wee bit spotty but we decided that it was probably just mosquitoes.

We woke the next morning we woke to a complete change of plan. They were convinced the baby had Chicken Pox and while it wasn't serious it seemed a bad idea to take her into the desert. Meg said she'd already done the traditional Mongolian thing of getting the ill baby to drink some of the mother's morning urine and I wondered how many child-protection type agencies would be down on her if she tried that in the UK. Meg and her wee brother were bitterly disappointed (especially the wee brother who was in a really stroppy mood as a result) but Meg had managed to rope in a new guide in the form of Enkhee who had already arrived and was drinking tea alongside Turo, our long-haired driver. Enkhee didn't seem to have Meg's confidence or command of English (despite the fact that she taught English grammar which was a little worrying) but we reckoned all would be OK.

Our van was amazing Russian affair which had been modified in various ways (including I reckon a different engine from the original) and had loads of levers which I came to assume were for the 4-wheel drive. It was a great machine and Charlotte and I decided that we wanted one. Inside it had silk curtains (it doubled as Turo's living/sleeping space after all), a patterned red carpet, and quilt-type padding on the walls. It looked fabulous until you realised that the padding was there protection if/when the van rolled...

Soon we rattled out of Ulan Bator. Despite our love of the van we never grew a love of the ride which was like being jiggled around in a tumble dryer. This was exacerbated by the fact that most roads in Mongolia are unsurfaced and are not really roads, more just a track where vehicles have driven before you arrived. Once we got out of the city, the landscape was green with with the occasional group of houses or gers ("Yurts" as most people know them - the tents that Mongolians are famous for) but over time it became less green and more barren and uninhabited. At one point we came to a kind of lake/puddle which had some dried up animal bones around it including a skull which still had a bit of skin on. It was like a movie! We took in an abandoned temple before setting up camp at Baga Gazriin Chuluu right next to some pretty nice rock formations. Enkhee made us dinner of Mongolian noodles with lamb - pretty nice!

One of the things you need to get used to in a situation like this is going to the toilet when there's not really any cover and certainly no actual toilets. The girls in the group developed a dignity saving method which involved tying a jumper around the waist before squatting in the open desert. Maybe it should be patented. Also, it's worth mentioning our tents which were the "pop-up" variety and thus came as large discs. It sounds like a great plan but in reality pretty tricky to put up and take down as they needed weighted with stones or they just pull their pegs. Taking them down was like some crazy "Crystal Maze" puzzle game, particularly when it was blowing a gale and chucking down rain!

Anyhow, after some tent trouble (and a lot of help from Turo the driver) we eventually managed to pack up the camp and went rattling south towards our next destination. I was feeling a little unsure about how this was going to work given that there's no water and no shops in the Gobi but was reassured when we stopped in a dusty, remote wee town which had a store selling beer, snacks and various groceries and a well where the locals got water. We had a stop like this pretty much every day so we were able to stock up on some alcohol for the evening as well as mineral water to make sure we didn't dehydrate (a real concern for me as I need to drink a surprising amount).

That afternoon we visited Tsagaan Suvarga or "White Stupa" - a spectacular place of white and red dunes. Where we were camped was actually called "red stupa" and was even more spectacular. By this point there was no doubt that we were in the desert.

Our next destination was probably the most surprising. We had been in very obvious desert territory up to this point but over the next day's drive, the landscape became greener and more lush to the point that I could have been persuaded that we were somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. This was Gobi Gurvansaikhan National Park which is particularly well known for Yolyn Am, a valley that is filled with ice for most of the year. We'd had some pretty hot weather so it was most disconcerting to suddenly be walking on what was pretty much a glacier. We were lucky as it was likely that it would be completely defrosted within the next couple of weeks. It made me realise exactly how cold Mongolia can be. It's on a latitude with the likes of Oregon but has the added complication of being very far inland which means that the climate isn't regulated by large bodies of water. This means that over the course of 24 hours the temperature can change by as much as 35 °C which leads to hot days and cold nights (as we discovered when trying to adjust our sleeping attire. We camped in the park that night at one of the most fragrant places I've ever been - the whole place was carpeted with herbs including thyme and mint and it smelt gorgeous. It was surprising that Mongolia is quite so herbal as they don't tend to use herbs to flavour their food.

The following morning it looked like Turo wasn't going to manage to get the van started which is a bit of a problem when you're in the middle of nowhere. However, after a bit of tinkering (they're good mechanics these Mongolians) and a bump start the van spluttered into life and we jiggled off back into the desert again. When we arrived at our destination, we had our first close encounter with some nomads. It's common for tourists to come to Mogolia and stay in ger camps but Meg is far more into supporting the local nomads where she can. To this end, a lot of them keep a spare ger or two for tourists and also take them on camel rides for a small fee. Charlotte, Sabina and I volunteered to be introduced to the camels who turned out to be the most noisy, smelly, flatulent and bad-tempered animals we'd ever come across. It was an amazing experience though as we rode towards the sand dunes at Hongorïn Els - these were your classic sand dunes that you've seen in movies and 1980s adverts for Fry's Turkish Delight. Our guide spoke no English but was most enthusiastic and explained by a series of mimes that these were two-humped camels whereas the Australian ones were single-humped. Fact for the day! I was given a camel with a particularly flaccid hump. Hmmmm.... We managed to get Enkhee to persuade the nomads to let us try some of their camel and goat-milk related products which we saw drying on on the roof one one of the gers. They turned out to be pretty good, some like cheese (with a kind of fruity taste) and some like biscuits.

We weren't staying in their spare ger but they'd leant it to us to chill out and eat dinner in as it was pretty hot and exposed outside. As we munched away on our pasta we could hear the strumming of a guitar and some singing from one of the other gers. Enkhee hadn't really introduced us properly to the nomads so we weren't too sure about the protocall of invading what might have been a private party. However, we were feeling a little isolated and uncomfortable so we decided to see if we could join in and got Enkhee to broach the subject with them. They were most enthusiastic, so with bottle of vodka and fiddles in hand we ventured in. There was about 3 blokes sitting in a kind-of circle with Turo, our driver who was clearly a regular at this particular ger (I got the impression that the nomads that we met were generally friends of Turo's). They were all pretty far gone but took our offer of more vodka with enthusiasm and seemed to enjoy mine and Charlotte's music. Turo let us try his "camel vodka" which (we think) was made with fermented camel milk although it was hard to be sure. Charlotte sang some Puirt, I did Tatties and Herring and the Mongolians sang and strummed in a very drunken way on a guitar that they couldn't tune. Overall a grand time was had by all and for the first time, we felt we'd made "first contact" with proper Mongolian culture.

We got up-close-and-personal with the dunes the next morning and managed to climb partly up them. There was some pretty crazy wind and rain but un-deterred we climbed up and I wrote my name in the sand (what a cliche!). It wasn't all sand and nothingness, mind. Right next to the dunes was a massive stretch of beautiful grassland filled with rivers and horses and goats and things. And herbs of course. Stunning.

We stayed in a ger the next night and Enkhee made us some Mongolian steamed buns. They were a lot like the buns we'd had in China but with mutton. We were a bit annoyed as we would have liked to have been shown how to make them but unfortunately she wasn't that good about communicating things to us. It was a funny situation for her mind as she'd been pulled in at the last minute and didn't do tours that often. In fact, she herself had only been in the Gobi on one previous occasion so she was kind of learning as she went along. The buns were great mind! On the way to our campsite that day we came across a bus full of Germans which was stranded in the sand. They'd obviously been trying to get it out for a while and sand had mounted up around the back wheels. After a bit of digging and some pulling from Super Turo and the van of wonder we liberated the grateful Germans whose guide expressed her gratitude (in German via Sabine) saying that she was sorry we'd had to spend our time helping them. We were delighted as it was all part of the adventure for us!

Our last night was spent huddled in the rain and cold near Erdenedalai, Turo's home town. It was probably the most exposed site we'd been on which we bemoaned the next morning when we had to pack up the crazy pop-up tents in a howling wind and pouring rain. After some struggling we managed and jiggled our way back to Ulan Bator where we met Meg, her brother, a much recovered baby and a very welcome hot shower. It had been an amazing experience and as a thanks-you we took Meg, Turo and Enkhee out for dinner and some large German-style beers that evening. We also bid farewell to our fellow tourers whose company we'd really enjoyed.

Our final day in Mongolia was spent picking up our train tickets from Moscow from an unmarked office in a pretty dusty and unkempt part of the city. In the afternoon we helped Meg clean and dry the camping kit in the playground down the stairs from her apartment. The local kids and parents seemed very amused and interested as to exactly what the white, long haired wierdo was doing scrubbing tents! We bid farewell to Meg, her brother and the baby the next morning and caught our train heading for Moscow - the start of the long journey home.

New Berlin?

We shared a sleeping compartment to Taishan with two pretty disgusting Chinese men. One snored so deeply all night we each separately fantasised about cutting his face off, and the other hacked and spat into the bucket next to me all morning, and then calmly smoked under the no-smoking sign with the compartment door shut. A 'Chinese bikini' (hoisting the shirt up under the armpits to expose the huge belly) would have completed the look. I opened the compartment door to let the smoke out and he hurriedly put his fag out in his gob-filled bin. I think I embarrassed him because he spent the rest of the journey trying to communicate pleasantries with me, and then forcibly carried some of my bags off the train for me once we arrived. Awkward.

Taishan was a bit of a nightmare for tired souls such as us (the train had left at 1am and arrived around 6am). No taxi would even look at us, and our instructions for the bus were far from clear. We felt well and truly stuck and hostel-less. It took a lot of bleary walking about and asking the tourist office guy for help (similarly vague directions) before we found a street we were happy to give up on. Photocopied Lonely Planet was not much help as the map lines didn't show up. It took several more taxi-attempts before one would deign to take us (driving all of 5 mins to our destination – it was more like paying for directions). Our destination was a YHA place, but instead of putting helpful signs directing you to its entrance, it just left its logo everywhere like a dog pissing out its territory. These logos led us on a merry dance round several confusing sets of buildings before we found someone to ask and point us. We changed our booking from dorm to private room and commenced to sleep all day.

We knew about Taishan because it's in Lonely Planet and because friends of ours went there – but from the reactions of the locals you'd think they'd never seen a Caucasian before in their lives. Again it was stares, giggles, candid cameras, and more giggles if they tried to say hello to us. Weird.

The main focus of our stay was this clever concept of 'hey, it's midnight, let's climb this holy mountain to see what dawn looks like from up there!' The rest of the town is pretty shitty and very much under construction, so I won't bother talking about that. We had the first day to recover from the overnight train, then checked out the next morning and had to hang around all day waiting for night, then the next day to recover all our sleep in. A simple plan.

We equipped ourselves with raincoats (the weather wasn't being kind) and a very clever rechargeable torch which can plug into the wall, and headed out to look for the mountain at around 10.30 (bored of waiting). We're definitely not night owls, so we were already pretty sleepy. We knew we'd arrived at the gate because people had started to try and sell us stuff, so we joined a bunch of Chinese kids with radios blaring out pop songs and ventured into the dark. Every so often you would come across groups of people or drinks vendors emerging like ghosts from the dark. Then temples with incense. A very nice excuse for a stop and a sit-down – the steps were relentless. We began to wonder if a sunrise really was worth all this. It was our third sunrise pilgrimage of the trip and we weren't sure we want to do it ever again. I don't think we even like sunrises. But the temples were pretty all lit up in the dark, and there was a sort of camaraderie spirit. Shortly after the halfway point I definitely thought I was going to die. The steps only seemed to get steeper and more unforgiving. It was like the Inca Trail but with no coca leaves to keep us going.

I actually didn't believe we'd reached the top. I suppose seemed too much to hope for. It was like a refugee camp with tents pitched on the concrete, even more vendors, and guys hiring out these slightly sinister military trench coats. Actually, it turned out this wasn't the top. Not the one we'd been told to aim for anyway, so we climbed another half an hour in the now freezing winds past some pretty temples to find the dawn viewing place. Our torches revealed dozens of Chinese couples huddled against rocks for shelter and we did the same until we realised we should keep moving if we wanted to avoid hypothermia.

I'm ashamed to say our patience failed us when waiting for the sun to actually rise. It was getting quite light, and the usual guys had pitched up to try and sell you a photo of yourself. We decided screw proper sunrise, it was too cold, and confused everyone by leaving. Hordes of people in trenchcoats swarmed up the mountain towards us to make the sunrise point. It felt quite good to be going against the flow. The refugee camp was being packed up and everything was all new in the emerging daylight. A few stragglers trying to get up those last steps tried to practise their English with us, but apart from that our trek back down was almost deserted. A new wave of vendors were setting up, the sun was beginning to establish itself, and overall it was an incredibly peaceful and beautiful walk down (if not murder on the legs). We're glad we left early.

Actually, after a while we were wondering how we didn't notice what a stupidly long way it was. Especially the bit between the mountain entrance and the hostel. How did we miss that? Anyway, I think we'll be happy if we never see another sunrise again. We claimed a room back from the hostel and did some more all-day sleeping.

Next destination: Beijing! Taxis back to the station were even bigger arseholes than on the way since they wouldn't even stop to see what we wanted. So, fearing we were about the miss the train, we had to drag our weary bones complete with heavy bags to the point of collapse half an hour to the station. Grrr. Ok, so we made it, and we also got to Beijing no bother. So let's just acknowledge the general wankerishness of taxi drivers the world over and move on.

When we were volunteering at SSF in Cambodia we met Isabella, who had spent 6 months living in Beijing and said she'd had the best time ever. So it only made sense that we should therefore do the things she did. She very kindly hooked us up with her couchsurfing friends there, so it was that we found ourselves staying with Seen and Jean-Marie. And it was good advice because they were fantastic. We too had the best time in Beijing. The couchsurfing scene there is very active – more like an ex-pats social club. On the first night we went to a film night at a vegan cafe which JM had organised; the next night was all you can eatanddrink Teppanyaki to celebrate Isabella's return to Beijing (so yay! We got to see her again), next night everybody else went to see Fatboy Slim at the Great Wall, but we stayed in with all you can drink hangovers; then on Sunday there was a BBQ and taco night where Paul was taken for Kid Rock and got really into Guitar Hero; and then the last night was some of the best dumplings I've had in China! After that we felt like Beijing regulars. In between this busy social calendar we went sightseeing (Forbidden City, Wall, some lake with annoying massage touts who hit me with their sign) and, of course, the Mongolian embassy.

These guys keep their visa section in a hut at the back of the embassy so you can't actually get into the complex. This is because hundreds of angry wannabe Mongolia tourists would storm the embassy and hold the ambassador under siege if they could. The reason being the queue is very long, the time window very short, and the woman in the hut excruciatingly slow. I hear for many people it takes several days of queuing (and probably missing their train) before they have some success. We were lucky though, got our passports in, and were told to come at 4 the next day. We also had to do some weird dance with the Bank of China to pay for the visas and bring back a receipt, because the embassy wouldn't take the money. Paul only knew this because he read the sign. When we came back at 3.30 the next day (the queue was already getting pretty epic) many people were not aware of this payment quirk and were forced to run to the bank in a panic. 4 came and went, and as 4.30 approached a siege mentality had developed. Pick up of visas was only meant to be between 4 and 5 so people were quite irate. It almost came to blows when the visa lady did eventually turn up and some old man tried to do the Chinese thing of pushing in. Unfortunately for him he tried to push in front of a very scary tattooed Kiwi woman who was having none of it. 5 came and went, and we were so close to the front of the queue! We had visions of the window coming down in from of us and leaving us stuffed (we didn't really have the luxury of coming back). But no, we made it. If nothing else it made us really appreciate our shiny new visas. We went for a bubble tea to celebrate.

Oh yes, we also went to the Great Wall! Well you've got to, haven't you? By now we're too lazy to wrestle camels or whatever to find special no-touristy places, so we went for the second easiest section of the Wall (not so lazy that we'd stomach Badaling!). We were going to Mutianyu and the Internet had told us that there was an actual direct bus at 9am. This was a lie and for the life of us we could not find this bus. So we had to take on the Beijing transport Olympics instead – take a bus to some place, then get a taxi from there. Unfortunately we had no idea which this stop was, but we were pretty sure it wasn't the one that the guy with 'I am a scammer' written all over his face made us get off at. He was very insistant about it to the point of panic, and since we were so helpless and he'd paid off the driver, we had no choice.

So we got off, I negotiated us the price I was expecting to pay anyway and then, lo and behold! Mr. Scam's nasty broken car was parked at the bus stop. No wonder he was so desperate we should get off there. Anyway, we were very annoyed about being so blatantly targetted as victims. We did get there, however, and the guy said he would wait for us, no charge, and take us back again for double our original price. He also followed us into the carpark and tried to offer us tours. I think he had grand plans to make a lot of money out of us, but we had gone and found out about the bus back. When we tried to pay him and get rid of him he put up a huge fight, lying to our faces about there being no bus, putting on a pretty pathetic display. Evenutally we won and he looked like he might get some thugs to beat us up so we legged it. Paul reckons he actually lost money on us because he would have had to spend a bit to get his claws into us in the first place. So ha ha ha – we screwed over the scammer. Serves him right for being such a lying cheat.

The base of the Wall was filled with the usual annoying touts and salesmen (salesmen whiney, touts aggressive) but we escaped them, bought our tickets, and started to climb some million steps upwards (Taishan all over again). It was a gorgeous hot day, and since it was Monday and not the main toursit place, it was actually pretty peaceful. The scenery was lovely and the Wall (once we got there) was pretty spectacular. We did a bit of a hike along it, but the heat got the better of us in the end and we headed back down into the cool conifers. Back at the bottom we had an hour to find the bus stop and met some very friendly Germans who told us the ridiculous and roundabout route they'd had to take to find the outgoing bus in the first place. I must point out that, actually, everyone in Beijing is German. We should be calling it New Berlin or something. At the BBQ (and there were a lot of people there) around 70% of people were German. I'm not complaining – we've recently come to the realisation that the Germans are always really good craic. Just like the whole trip was building up to China, and China building up to Beijing, the amount of Germans we've met around the world was really building up to the New Berlin we discovered in Beijing.

Anyway, eventually it was time to leave China. We'd bought a whole shop full of instant noodles and dried things, and were ready for the Trans-Mongolian. We were sharing our carriage with a lot of Dutch people (not German for a change!) and the scenery out of the window changed from city to Great Wall mountains to flat deserts. It felt like we were really journeying somewhere, and this was the real start of our journey home.

At the border we were obliged to wait 20 years for the guys to change the wheels of the train and do clever things with our passports. By the time we were allowed back onto the the train I was pretty much asleep and kept having to be jolted awake to hand various forms over to Mongolians. There wasn't time to celebrate our arrival into Mongolia. The minute my passport hit the table I was away in the land of Nod, and the train trundled along through the desert.

Things we will miss about China:

Dumplings and steamed buns
All the weird things you can buy in the supermarkets
Actually, food in general
Bubble tea (what's the point of a drink if it doesn't have bits of jelly floating in it?)
Friendly people
Young couples wearing matching clothes (haha, hilarious)
The infrastructure and handy metros
General relief from touts
Shopping centres
Relative cheapness
Relative safety
Hot water everywhere

Things we will not miss about China:

SPITTING
No sense of queuing (and pushing and shoving and unacceptable stranger-on-stranger violence)
Staring
Stealth photographs (I tried to accept that I should just use it as a practise for when I'm a celebrity, but it still just felt too invasive)
spitting
Chinese bikini
Smoke everywhere
Smog
Instant noodles
Firewall
Heiroglyphics
Gangs of noisy Chinese tourists
Disgusting men and male dominance
Blueberry Crisps

The Inception Effect

The interesting thing about China was how un-like the China we'd expected it actually was. Most people in the western world still have the picture of the rice farmers being transported around in busfulls of chickens etc. Instead you're generally presented with ultra-modern cities with super-efficient metros and in a way, it feels a lot more 21st century than the likes of the UK. We were certainly loving it as it was a huge (positive) contrast to our impressions of SE Asia and felt much more like Japan than say, Vietnam.

Our next destination was Guangzhou where we met Deirdre, a friend of ours from Scotland. There was a bit of a moment where it looked like the immigration lady was going to make a fuss about Charlotte's passport photo but thankfully the production of her driving license solved the problem (despite the two different names...). Deirdre left Scotland not long after we did to do a year's teaching music in China. She'd been there for a few months before this time and had had a hideous experience with a deeply unpleasant, scammy (UK-based before you go accusing China!) employment agency. She'd ended up flying back to the UK in that "emergency" way that we all dread but had had the balls to come back to China (I wouldn't have done!) a few months later and thankfully, all was going swimmingly. She was living in a gorgeous new apartment complex with all mod cons, gymn, swimming pool, shop and Maria, her crazy flatmate (in an entirely wonderful way). She'd donated us the use of her room and was bunking down with Maria - another example of the crazy kindness people have shown us.

Guangzhou is a good example of the super-modern Chinese city and on our first day of wandering we took in the big skyscrapers and the river. we started to notice what we later dubbed the "Inception Effect". We'd seen the movie "Inception" first in Brazil. It's about Leo De Caprio invading people's dreams and manipulating them to his own ends. Whenever he tries to change something in the dream, the people in the dream start to notice him, first by staring and later by attacking him. This is what walking through a Chinese street can feel like. People stare without the Western "it's rude to stare" attitude that we usually have and as a result your paranoia can start to kick in. You have to try and rise above it as to them, it's just them being interested in you and what you're up to in their country. In fact, it's frequently that they're impressed that you're there and surviving at all! That evening Deirdre took us to a restaurant that she had tried a couple of weeks before. We did the Chinese thing of ordering a few dishes to share not knowing exactly how much food would be coming. The portions were enourmous, particularly of a kind of fish-in-broth which seemed to have come in something resembling a bucket. There were also green things with bits of meat, gyoza (like we'd had in Japan) and some kind of chicken dish. Also unlimited flower tea poured by a guy with a huge, er, spout. It was all stunning but we left tonnes as our bellies started to bulge. We saw another example of making-friends by speaking the language when Deirdre seemed to be chatted up by the waiter. She restrained herself from getting his 'phone number but I reckon she could have done! Everyone was so impressed and surprised by any foreign grasp of Mandarin.

We went out for beers afterwards which involved our first encounter with Chinese taxis. First of all, the drivers are mental and all drive like Nigel Mansel and secondly their temperament is extremely variable. Actually it's a bit like the Chinese way of queuing. Ie they don't queue, they shove you out of the way (in this case with their car). The first guy was a total horror and spent most of the journey huffing and and puffing at Deirdre and talking on his mobile. The guy on the way back on the other hand was a total gemstone and spent the journey chatting Deirdre up and teaching her how to speak.

Day 2 in Guangzhou was spent wandering round the colonial area. Although China was never a colony, there are a number of "concession" areas in its cities (e.g. the "French Concession" in Shanghai) which were areas carved up amongst various countries for trading purposes. The Guangzhou area had loads of bronze statues all over it including some rather fine fiddle players! It was apparently THE place to have your wedding photos done. There were so many white clad couples there (yes, the men too) we thought it could be a magazine shoot. That evening Deirdre got very excited about the prospect of having instruments kicking around the place, not having had access to any for a year so she spent a bit of time playing around with the fiddles and working out some tunes. All too soon the next morning it came time for us to leave so we bid our fond farewells and headed north on the sleeper train. This one was the so called "hard sleeper" which is a long corridor with berths of six bunks in it - a bit like a hostel dorm. It was a pleasant way to travel which was just as well as the journey to Shanghai was to be 20 hours! China is a really big place. We were in a berth with a couple of Thai and Chinese guys who were veyr pleasant and spoke a little English. It was interesting to see the lack of adherance to China's recently introduced smoking ban with loads of folk puffing away between the carriages. China as a whole really reeks of fag smoke. Oh well, it's the Chinese way!

At 4.00am the next morning the lights flashed on and we started drawing into Shanghai. A couple of metros later (super efficient as-per!) and we met up with Daisy. She is the fiancee of Tom, a schoolfriend of Charlotte's who she used to lift-share with back in the halcyon days of her youth. Daisy was the first Chinese person we'd really had the chance to grill so we asked all our questions about the history and culture of China and she was able to fill in the roles of such famous names as Chairman Mao and Deng Xiaoping. China is obstensibly a communist country but realistically, it's probably the most capitalist country we've been in and suffers from a lack of free education or healthcare - odd for socialism.

After much chat it was food time again so Daisy took us to try some Shanghainese food. One of their specialities is Dumplings filled with soup which you suck out before munching the dumpling - great fun! She also took us on a wander round the bund and East Nanjing road - two of Shanghai's famous areas. The Bund is part of its colonial past but the real highlight is the view across the Huangpu River to the crazy skyscrapers on the other side. We did see Tom that evening but all-too briefly as he was off to his regular gig at the Hilton.

Shanghai was and still is a major international trading and financial post and as a result has a bustling ex-pat scene which we got a taste of the next day. We joined Tom, Daisy and their friend Oliver at an Irish bar which did a great Sunday buffet brunch. A very British feeling lazy Sunday was had as a result with many beers drunk (including some Kilkenny - brown ale at last!) and many musings pontificated over. Throughout our lazings various other friends of Tom and Daisy came and went and a generally chilled time was had by all. It was a grand day.

Tom and Daisy were moving flats at the time we were in Shanghai and had a "spare flat" as a result which they leant to us. It was such a pleasure to have a place to be where we could cook some food, come and go as we please and spend some time chilling out and watching telly. They even had a coo-el DVD player with a USB slot that could play all the episodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" we'd downloaded. I'd been reading the follow up to "Eat, Pray, Love" which is called "Commited" and is mainly about the authors musings on marriage as she drifts around SE Asia with her Brazillian boyfriend. At one point he displays truly Paul-esque bout of travel fatigue stating that all he wants is a "coffee pot". In short, he craves exactly what I crave, a place to exist with a kettle, cooker, shop nearby, TV and (for me) decent internet connection. Here, in Shanghai we finally had it and it was a real pleasure.

Not that we didn't explore Shanghai. We made sure that we took in the Bund at night (stunning), explored some of the big crazy shopping centres and went out for some more keen means with Tom and Daisy (including some seriously impressive spicy Szechuan food laced with frog no less!). A particular highlight for us was having the ability to have "dinner guests" in the form of Tom and Daisy and a large pot of my special spag-bol. I hadn't made it for ages and I totally relished the opportunity. We also got the chance to see Tom play at a local jam night and even did a little playing and singing ourselves.

Our last day in Shanghai was spent mostly in two museums. The first was the "Shanghai Urban Planning Centre" which sounds like it should be as dull as ditchwater but was actually really good. It took us through the history of Shanghai with a bunch of old photos and then to the present and future. There was a certain amoint of "oh look at us aren't we jolly clever" style propeganda but it was impressive nevertheless. It even had a small-scale model of Shanghai which was pretty nice. Afterwards we delved into the past at the museum of propaganda posters. It took us through the time before, during and after the Cultural Revolution and was truly fascinating. The owner was particularly enthusiastic and would occasionally come through to point out some of the characters in the posters including Mao (of course) but also Truman, Churchill and Stalin. It even went through to the mid 70s when the famous "one child per family" policy was instigated with a smiling nurse holding a leaflet and a bottle of pills...

Again, the time to leave had come so it was off on the train to Nanjing, after thanking Tom and Daisy profusely for more extreme kindness.

One confusing thing that happened in Shanghai (before we move on to other things) was this - space jellyfish. We just can't understand them. In the sky were what looked like the underneath of aeroplanes, but on second glance weren't really moving and were actually multiciloured lights. Getting closer it looked like they had tails behind them which made us think they were lit-up kites. But they were too high up, even compared to the tops of the appartment blocks, for that. Only conclusion - space jellyfish!

Our China leg was starting to feel a lot like our US leg as we were bouncing from friend to friend. Nanjing is the home of Zhijun, one of Alan (my dad's) colleagues who had recently moved back to China after a spell in the UK. He met us at the train station with another of his colleagues and whisked us off (in a car he'd hired specially no less) for some Korean BBQ. It was a bit like the Cambodian BBQ we'd had before but the quality of the meat was far higher. We were able to quiz Zhijun about his impressions of living in the UK compared to living in China. we took in some of Nanjing's central area that evening which had loads of crazy pet shops with some rather sorry looking furry creatures packed into far-too-small cages. There was also the Confucian temple - which had been turned into a shopping area and lit up with multi-coloured lights all along the traditional roofs.

Zhijun toured us round the lake and a really lovely mountain green space with several temples and pagodas. In the evening we headed to Yangzhou (not to be confused with Yangshou) which is the town where Zhijun grew up. He took us for some typical Yangzhou food which was a lot lighter and fresher than much of the Chinese food we'd had (which can be pretty oily) where the waitresses giggled and tried to see if our eyes were blue like they'd heard Western peoples' were. He'd booked us into a flashy hotel for the night as he was staying down the road with his parents - what a man!

In fact, Zhijun's parents and brother came for a "Yangzhou Breakfast" with us the next morning where piles and piles of dumplings, tofu noodles, mushrooms and various other delicious bits-and pieces were consumed. Zhujun's family told us a bit about their impressions of the UK when they'd visited and Zhijun's mum (in true Chinese hospitality style) encouraged us to eat as much a possible. It was a fantastic meal and a super-authentic Chinese experience. Zhijun's brother gave me a gift of the shirt of his favourite football team - generosity really knows no bounds in this part of the world.

Yangzhou is known around China as "the Garden City" and this is really no exaggeration as we spent the whole day touring the stunning, colourful gardens and beautiful old houses of the city. It was interesting to see how the houses and temples were much more like the wooden-style we'd seen in Japan as opposed to the crazy gaudiness we'd seen in Chinese buildings in other countries (e.g. Malaysia, Singapore). The gardens were extremely well kept and full of colourful flowers which (again in ture Chinese style) I took loads of photos of. We had the usual moment of someone wanting their photo taken with Charlotte (rarely me mind) and it was really interesting watching the hordes of Chinese tourists. I was trying to compare their attitudes towards tourism compared with our's. It seems very much the culture that you hire a guide for every tourism occasion. These are usually well-dressed young ladies with a microphone and a little belt-mounted speaker being tailed by a whole load of tourists in hats clutching cameras. It seems that Asian tourists are far more into "touring" than we tend to be as western tourists. Our attitude is usually that we want to be left alone in a place to enjoy it on our own terms but in a sense we do lose out a bit as a result and no doubt miss some important stuff.

Back in Nanjing that evening we went for some spicy food (including some more frog and some amazing mushrooms - and I'm not usually into mushrooms) before catching another overnight train to Taishan. Zhijun drove us there (at midnight would you believe) without a hint of complaint and made sure to buy us water to see us through the journey. He had been an incredibly generous host, paying for absolutely everything including our hotel and train ticket. I just hope that sometime in the future we have the opportunity to repay the compliment but it's very much the Chinese way to treat guests like royalty without any thought of yourself. On we go!