The Trans-Mongolian Railway

They market it as the ‘Greatest Train Adventure on Earth’, which is a dubious claim, all things considered. On the other hand, taking a rickety old Chinese train through three countries, over seven days and covering 7,700 km, isn’t a total fuck-off either. I’m not sure I would have considered doing it before I spent a month at sea last year and discovered the joy of being removed from society; no wifi, no cell reception, stuck in cramped quarters with company that you don’t really get to choose, limited food options, and not much else to do other than look out the window and read books. Turns out that sort of thing is really good for me, and although I’m sure it’s not good for everyone, you might be surprised at what you discover between your ears when you unplug from Netflix for a few days.

I had already covered ~4,000 km on trains from Edinburgh to Moscow, then spent two nights in the Russian capital trying to find an ounce of real Russia (I failed). Amsterdam was bland, but the Netherlands redeemed itself in Utrecht. Prague was, as advertised, the most beautiful European city I’ve seen, and there I really began to get a feel for my increasing distance from ‘the West’. Moscow, central at least, is one big museum. It’s been scoured clean by the current mayor; no street food or vendors, no ads, posters or billboards, no graffiti, no personality – a surreal archetype of a city, rather than a living place. Trucking my way to the train station for my midnight departure from Moscow Yaroslavsky, I was looking forward to an escape from cities for a while; I wanted to see something new.

Unlike the infuriating 24 hour trip from Prague to Moscow, where a horde of asshole Russian preteens crammed my cabin and train car, I ended up with a cabin to myself for the whole seven days on the Trans-Siberian/Mongolian. The only other passengers in my car were eight friendly Fins, who were lovely company and eager to share their horrible candy – nine passengers in a car suited to 26; heaven. There were also two Chinese train attendants who didn’t speak any English, but they smiled a lot, so that’s just nice.

Days 1 through 4 were unspectacular, with the most interesting scenery being wooden shantytowns, straight out of a Magnificent Seven set. The western Russian landmass is an expanse of flat fields and boreal forests, reminding me of Canada and the Fins of Finland. Someone from Mumbai or Nassau might have found the seemingly unlimited supply of trees a novelty; wake up – trees, go to bed – trees. Trees for lunch. It wasn’t unpleasant, or even boring – I have an impressive capacity to do nothing while looking out the window – but it wasn’t the grand scenic adventure I might have had my hopes up for. I spent my time reading and chewing on ideas for my upcoming ridiculous novel (the completion of which I’m returning to Tokyo for). The Fins periodically invited me to join them for vodka and ukulele sing-alongs, but for the most part I was content in my unstimulated solitude.

The sun rose on Day 5 to reveal the beginnings of what would be an astounding three further days of eyeball fuckery. We had come through the Ural mountains, the barrier between Europe and Asia, and the thickly misted, rolling hills, primordial pine forests, and deep river valleys had us all hanging out the windows in awe, taking pictures and nearly losing limbs to oncoming trains. Around kilometer 5,000 we arrived at Irkutsk, a massive city in the middle of nowhere, and a few hours later the train crested a ridge to reveal a haze drifting up from Lake Baikal, the world’s largest fresh water body. The lake is famous for its crystal-clear water, which was even noticeable from the train as we chugged by. It took us hours to circle Baikal on our way south-east towards Mongolia. I’d love to visit in winter to compare standing on Baikal’s glassy ice with that of Toronto Harbour…

Day 6 was spent traversing Mongolia. Advertising for the trip had recommended that we ‘keep an eye out for yurts’, suggesting we might be lucky enough to see one of the famous desert homes – but the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a group of the white, tent-like structures just outside the window. As our train ascended to Mongolia’s storied steppes, the terrain drifted between Arizona-esque scrubland and rolling grassland. Endless forests had been replaced with ubiquitous herds of horses and cattle, and I even caught sight of some camels as they grazed languidly, all knees and elbows, in the 35+ degree weather. Up on the steppes themselves, the horizon vanished in a green-blue haze that extended in every direction, dotted occasionally with yurts and rare-earth strip mines. The capital, Ulaan Bator, was the most modern city I’ve seen since leaving Toronto, its glass skyscrapers sitting in stark contrast to the featureless desert around it. The air was thin and dusty; everything was sun-blasted. 87% of Mongolia’s border officers, bureaucratic and military, are hot chicks. Mongolia was strange and beautiful and boring at the same time. I highly recommend it.

Possibly due to the stimulation of Mongolia’s exit protocols, I had trouble sleeping on the last night, a problem exacerbated by a four-hour stop just inside China, where the train cars were lifted off their carriages so the wheels could be replaced with China’s standard gauge system (Russia uses a wider track). It was a minimally interesting process that would have been better suited to a montage rather than actually being forced to sit though. I finally got to sleep around 3 am.

Waking up three hours later, I initially grumbled and rolled over in an attempt to get back to sleep, but then I caught my first view of China:

North-east China was striking – verdant cliffs tumbled into mazelike river valleys as the train blasted through black tunnels under mountains. On plains between ranges, rice paddies were terraced by a lattice pattern of irrigation canals, spotted here and there with mud-brick villages or the occasional nuclear power plant. Industrial cities, marked by endless rows of identical apartment blocks, marred the scenery and belched grey-yellow smog into the air, turning the sky into an indistinct, cloudless haze that would extend all the way to Yellow Sea. The 700 kilometers from the border to Beijing lived up to the best and worst of my expectations for China.

We pulled into Beijing central at noon on a muggy Monday. The square around the main station was, predictably, a mob scene. Other than a few hours of conversation with my friendly Fins, I hadn’t spoken to anyone for a week, and it felt good to be surrounded by people again. I walked an hour through downtown Beijing towards my hostel rather than finding the nearest subway station because I think I needed that superficial level of socialization.

The Trans-Mongolian was a good experience, and yes, I know that’s not an expansive statement. I’m not going to rave about the trip – it wasn’t life-changing – but I have no regrets and would happily do it again, probably in the winter. Much like the Toronto-to-Vancouver train through Canada, fully half of the time was spent in familiar-seeming forests, but that didn’t detract from the journey for me. Rather than the scenery or the ‘new experiences’, I feel that the most valuable part of the trip was the time away from my phone and computer. I nailed down the antagonist for my book, took some awesome photos, and decompressed from a harried tour of Europe.

But those Mongolian army chicks yo. Damn.