Saturday February 25, 2012
As a US citizen my friend James did not require a visa to enter Mongolia. However I had to ask for an express tourist visa at the consulate in Beijing, for a hefty bill of $80. Upon application it was apparent I would not be able to pick up my passport until Tuesday afternoon.
The international train to Ulaanbaatar departed Beijing on the same afternoon so we said to ourselves "Let's catch the Chinese sleeper bus to the border later in the week and try to board a local train from there."
Let the trouble begin.
I'm unsure if sleeper buses are common in other countries but this was the first time I'd experienced one. It was amusing to see forty people crammed in to three levels of very narrow bunks in a coach that otherwise looks normal from the outside. We departed Beijing at 4pm, but James and I were not entirely sure what time we'd arrive in the border town of Erlian.
The answer: 2:30am. What were we to do arriving at a deserted bus station at an ungodly hour, not knowing anyone, not knowing where to go? Fortunately a Mongolian couple on the bus had seen James read an English book and engaged him in conversation. They were also going to Ulaanbaatar too so were happy for us to follow them.
The first step was to hop on to the back of a ute. The Mongolian couple, James and I sat on our luggage and held on for our lives, hoping not to fall out of the truck. As I lost feeling in my fingers and face I asked James "How cold do you think it is, -20C?" He had no answer, likely because he was unable to move any part of his body.
The ute took us to a local motel where we could put our heads down for four hours. We would meet with our Mongolian guardians at breakfast and they would pursue a way for us to get across the border.
The next morning there was a concern that due to the Mongolian New Year holidays we would not be obtain train tickets to Ulaanbaatar. We tagged along with the Mongolian couple as they searched all over Erlian looking for train tickets. After all the leads failed it was apparent we’d have to cross the border not knowing whether we'd be stranded.
The border crossing was an event in itself as a small jeep with four seats squeezed in eight people, along with our luggage. Everyone had someone sitting on their lap! I was sitting on James' lap with my head perpendicular to my body - the driver's warning that the door may fling open any minute intensified the thrill. My apologies to James' girlfriend for getting to know him in the jeep in ways that no other person should.
After a tense standoff at the Chinese emigration desk where the officers somehow didn't believe that I was Australian, we finally strolled into Mongolia. We wearily headed to the railway station, still without train tickets.
At the station it was a mad scramble for tickets. Tourists and locals alike were desperate to secure a seat but with the New Year holidays demand far outstripped supply, and the allocation seemed arbitrary. There was one South Korean backpacker who had been stranded for two days and finally managed to get a ticket – whereupon he yelled in glee and hugged everyone in sight.
After persistent hustling the Mongolian couple managed to secure two tickets. They suggested we play the tourist "pity" angle to solicit tickets from the saleswoman.
I tried twice and James tried once but the lady at the ticket window firmly denied us. No tickets.
Oyuna, the female half of our guiding couple, then decided drastic action was needed. She confronted the ticket window with some venom, and although James and I can’t understand Mongolian we were left with little doubt as the debate escalated into shouting:
Ticket window lady: “I told you there are no more tickets. Go away.”
Oyuna: “Rubbish, I know you have contingency tickets back there! These foreigners have come all the way from Australia and America and have reservations to meet in Ulaanbaatar. Give them tickets now!”
Ticket window lady: “I don’t care where they’re from. There are no more tickets!”
Oyuna: “Don’t lie, I saw you give those people tickets just now! You can’t leave tourists stranded here at the border. Get typing and hand over two tickets!”
Ticket window lady: “Fine, I can give them two separate single seats. You’re a pain in the backside.”
Victory! Oyuna’s fury had saved us from being stuck in the middle of the desert. I was very impressed – it seemed Mongolian women get what they want! James and I couldn’t hide our delight.
The train ride itself was an immediate immersion into Mongolian life and people. Obviously there were no spare seats, and the seats themselves were very uncomfortable – benches with minimal padding and perpendicular walls as support. There were children scrambling up and down the aisle, elderly folk in traditional clothing, and families snacking.
The train ride to Ulaanbaatar went on for an insufferable seventeen hours. James and I were separated by three carriages – fortunately in my carriage I was able to secure a bench to endure the trip supine.
James was not so lucky, with his carriage remaining packed to the brim for the entire length of the journey. It was no wonder as soon as we landed at Ulaanbaatar he declared “I can’t do that again, Tony. I have to buy an international sleeper train back to Beijing”. Purchasing James’ return ticket was the first thing we did in UB.
It wasn’t all a loss though. The local passengers treated James very well – plenty of homemade dumplings were shared around and they even dressed him up in traditional Mongolian garb. Initially they thought James was a Kazakh. Jagshemash!
In the Internet age when information travels in milliseconds from one side of the world to another James and I proved sending humans across adjacent countries can still take an arduous forty-two hour trip.
As a US citizen my friend James did not require a visa to enter Mongolia. However I had to ask for an express tourist visa at the consulate in Beijing, for a hefty bill of $80. Upon application it was apparent I would not be able to pick up my passport until Tuesday afternoon.
The international train to Ulaanbaatar departed Beijing on the same afternoon so we said to ourselves "Let's catch the Chinese sleeper bus to the border later in the week and try to board a local train from there."
Let the trouble begin.
I'm unsure if sleeper buses are common in other countries but this was the first time I'd experienced one. It was amusing to see forty people crammed in to three levels of very narrow bunks in a coach that otherwise looks normal from the outside. We departed Beijing at 4pm, but James and I were not entirely sure what time we'd arrive in the border town of Erlian.
 |
| Chinese sleeper bus |
The answer: 2:30am. What were we to do arriving at a deserted bus station at an ungodly hour, not knowing anyone, not knowing where to go? Fortunately a Mongolian couple on the bus had seen James read an English book and engaged him in conversation. They were also going to Ulaanbaatar too so were happy for us to follow them.
The first step was to hop on to the back of a ute. The Mongolian couple, James and I sat on our luggage and held on for our lives, hoping not to fall out of the truck. As I lost feeling in my fingers and face I asked James "How cold do you think it is, -20C?" He had no answer, likely because he was unable to move any part of his body.
The ute took us to a local motel where we could put our heads down for four hours. We would meet with our Mongolian guardians at breakfast and they would pursue a way for us to get across the border.
The next morning there was a concern that due to the Mongolian New Year holidays we would not be obtain train tickets to Ulaanbaatar. We tagged along with the Mongolian couple as they searched all over Erlian looking for train tickets. After all the leads failed it was apparent we’d have to cross the border not knowing whether we'd be stranded.
 |
| The jeep that took us across the China-Mongolia border. left to right: James, Oyuna, Baatar |
After a tense standoff at the Chinese emigration desk where the officers somehow didn't believe that I was Australian, we finally strolled into Mongolia. We wearily headed to the railway station, still without train tickets.
At the station it was a mad scramble for tickets. Tourists and locals alike were desperate to secure a seat but with the New Year holidays demand far outstripped supply, and the allocation seemed arbitrary. There was one South Korean backpacker who had been stranded for two days and finally managed to get a ticket – whereupon he yelled in glee and hugged everyone in sight.
After persistent hustling the Mongolian couple managed to secure two tickets. They suggested we play the tourist "pity" angle to solicit tickets from the saleswoman.
I tried twice and James tried once but the lady at the ticket window firmly denied us. No tickets.
Oyuna, the female half of our guiding couple, then decided drastic action was needed. She confronted the ticket window with some venom, and although James and I can’t understand Mongolian we were left with little doubt as the debate escalated into shouting:
Ticket window lady: “I told you there are no more tickets. Go away.”
Oyuna: “Rubbish, I know you have contingency tickets back there! These foreigners have come all the way from Australia and America and have reservations to meet in Ulaanbaatar. Give them tickets now!”
Ticket window lady: “I don’t care where they’re from. There are no more tickets!”
Oyuna: “Don’t lie, I saw you give those people tickets just now! You can’t leave tourists stranded here at the border. Get typing and hand over two tickets!”
Ticket window lady: “Fine, I can give them two separate single seats. You’re a pain in the backside.”
Victory! Oyuna’s fury had saved us from being stuck in the middle of the desert. I was very impressed – it seemed Mongolian women get what they want! James and I couldn’t hide our delight.
The train ride itself was an immediate immersion into Mongolian life and people. Obviously there were no spare seats, and the seats themselves were very uncomfortable – benches with minimal padding and perpendicular walls as support. There were children scrambling up and down the aisle, elderly folk in traditional clothing, and families snacking.
The train ride to Ulaanbaatar went on for an insufferable seventeen hours. James and I were separated by three carriages – fortunately in my carriage I was able to secure a bench to endure the trip supine.
 |
| Finally - Ulaanbaatar railway station! |
It wasn’t all a loss though. The local passengers treated James very well – plenty of homemade dumplings were shared around and they even dressed him up in traditional Mongolian garb. Initially they thought James was a Kazakh. Jagshemash!
In the Internet age when information travels in milliseconds from one side of the world to another James and I proved sending humans across adjacent countries can still take an arduous forty-two hour trip.
Hi my name is Luís Fernando, and I'm planning a big trip around Europe, Asia and Africa next year. I'd like to know how is the passing of the border between Mongolia and China because I'll be in Ulaanbaatar and I want to go to Beijing. How is the best and cheapest way to do this?
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot.
Regards,
Luís Fernando
Hello Luis,
ReplyDeleteThe CHEAPEST way would be to catch the train from UB to Beijing. When you buy the ticket make sure it's an international train that goes all the way to Beijing. Otherwise it'll be a Mongolia-only train, so you'll have to cross the border with all the difficulties I described in the blog.
The BEST way would be fly from UB to Beijing. No hassle and fast. And they're not very far apart so you should be able to get a cheap airfare. We decided to take the train as an adventure, not because there was anything wrong with the airplanes.