We hopped an overnight train from Irkutsk to Ulan Ude, Russia and then cabbed to a bus stop just off the city’s main square, which houses the world’s largest bust of Lenin.
Boarding the bus, we encountered inexplicable seating complications that ended in our banishment to the very last row.
The elevated seats placed us at the perfect height to bash our heads against the ceiling while going over every, single, bump.
By mid-afternoon we were nearly to the Mongolian border and the final rest stop before the border proved to be the most lively portion of the journey. While Lara and Jacqueline were using the squat toilets, our bus driver unceremoniously drove away.
Conor and I were bewildered. Our frantic shouts to turn around fell on deaf ears. He kept driving.
All I could think about was how panicked the girls must have been – realizing that they’d been left. With nothing. No phones, no passports/identification, no money.
Several stressful minutes later (that felt like hours), the driver whipped a U-turn and went back. As he did so, he began laughing hysterically. Passengers joined in the jubilation.
We didn’t find the stunt very funny. Luckily the girls’ panic was quickly replaced by relief (see video below).
The boarder crossing itself took over two hours and was a series of passport checks, drug dog searches, luggage screenings, questionnaires, registration checks and passport stampings. (While in Russia, you have to register at every hotel you stay at for more than three days and then produce the registration papers upon exiting the country. Failure to do so can result in fines up to $10,000.)
Once everyone was cleared, we grabbed lunch; our first encounter with Mongolian cuisine. Buuz (dumplings) and milk tea were on the menu.
Hitting the road again, we caught the first glimpse of the Mongolian countryside. Golden yellows and brown melted with grays and blues. It was beautiful and I could hardly contain my excitement!
Just before 9pm we pulled into the Ulaan Baator bus station and were promptly greeted by a jovial man holding a sign reading “LARA”. Our hostel, Khongor Guesthouse, had sent someone to fetch us. After over 21 hours on the road it was a fabulously unexpected surprise (not to mention a drastic change following weeks of apathy from the Russian hospitality industry).
We piled into the waiting minivan and set out into the hectic streets of Ulaan Baator.
