Train to U B

On the train leaving China, I can now say I'm glad to be gone from Beijing. There were some wonderful moments but the overall impression was of crowds, noise and traffic. Sometimes you could only laugh. The restaurant hostess, slim and fashionable, yelling out reservation numbers on a megaphone. Another restaurant, and the staff is communicating by yelling into walke-talkies, volume set to 'screach'. What can they possibly have to say?  Cab driver on his cell phone, again full volume - volume seems an important quality for communication here.
July is the time for Chinese visitors to come to Beijing and all around town there are huge Chinese tour groups with color coded baseball caps following leaders with flags. Traffic is clogged with convoys of tour buses. The traffic chaos  seems certain to result in accidents, but somehow it never happens. Near where we are staying, dodging bicycles and scooters zipping down the narrow hutong alleyways is critical to survival. 

 

Now it's Wednesday morning and the heat and haze of Beijing is far behind. We travel through the Gobi Desert and there is a bright sunrise and the air is crisp. In about eight hours we will be in Ulaan Baatar. The border crossing last night was a complicated affair involving two sets of passport agents, military border guards saluting the passing train, and jacking up the entire train to change out the undercarrage with new wheels for the Mongolian track which is wider (narrower?) than the Chinese.