Animal Crossing

If ever there was a summer to stay in Mongolia, this would be it.  It was mild even by our standards, with lots of cloudy, breezy days hit with heavy showers right around 1 in the afternoon.  The national Naadam was held outside of the city, so locals were pretty scarce, making traffic a dream.  And without foreigners visiting, there also weren't any tourists.

That was great as far as Ulaanbaatar city life, but I felt sorry for the people who depend on the tourism industry for their living.  Souvenir shops, ger camps, tour guides and drivers are all having a lean year.  Fortunately, there was one place I never did check off my Mongolian bucket list in my previous life - Omnogov - so once I finished my latest course I decided to do my part for the economy and went on an adventure.

The Jojo and Enkhaa Express have been taking tours to the South Gobi the last few years, so they were my first choice for tour companies.  They very fortuitously had just returned from a nine-day bike trek around Arkhangai a few days before I was hoping to go.  Believe it or not, this was my first trip into the countryside since coming back a year ago.  Thanks to the mining industry the roads were pretty great all the way to Dalanzadgad, and it was relaxing watching the landscape subtly shift as the kilometers ticked by.

Back to the lack of tourists - although it made life hard for the economy, those of us who did go traveling this summer got a bonus out of the deal.  See, while the places we went in South Gobi aren't exactly close to civilization, they ARE on the well-beaten tourist trail (read: you'll spend a lot of time on washboard roads).  This means that while they should be remote enough to see some interesting wildlife, the parade of Russian vans has a tendency to scare off the animals.

Somebody forgot her good lens....apologies.  Look closely, I promise you'll see the gazelle.

Not so this year!  As we rumbled our way to the big dunes at Khongoryn Els we spotted three black-tailed gazelle - a mother and twin fawns.  Enkhaa stopped for me to shoot them - WITH MY CAMERA, GEESH, what exactly do you think my last name is??? - telling us how luck we were to see twins.  Even before we could pick up speed we saw a few more making their way through the grass.

The landscape constantly changed that day - we went fairly quickly from the dunes to grasslands, where we were greeted by white-tailed gazelle.  They got a little ways from us and then decided they weren't scared of no tourists, standing there flipping their tails at us.  Grasslands changed to hills striped with outcroppings of rocks, which from there built into craggy cliffs.  As the road wound through them, Engrish spotted an ibex at the top of one of the formations, which Enkhaa and I just barely glimpsed before it scampered away.

The khulan are the ones in the front, not to be mistaken for horses.

It was about that time when Engrish asked Enkhaa if he thought we'd see any khulan, a Mongolian species of wild ass (and yes, I had to say "ass" there.  It's never "donkey" in this context.  If you knew my friend named Khulan you'd also want to associate the word with what it means at every possible opportunity).  He told her we wouldn't, that they live in more remote areas.  But almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth we turned a corner and startled three of them into a gallop.

My favorite animals, though, are not really rare here - last year I even saw one on the sidewalk outside our elementary school, although they are an endangered species.  Yolyn Am was our stopping point on the first day, and it is the world's center of cuteness.  This time the first squee was mine, but it zipped into a burrow before Engrish could confirm its existence.  As we continued to hike down the gorge there were little medium-pitched squeaks, and although we hadn't spotted another yet, I deduced they were chattering as they observed us to judge if we were friendlies.  Finally, the pikas revealed themselves and we were swarmed with cuteness.

Pika are small rodents most closely related to rabbits, although I'll forgive you if you think mice are nearer cousins, since the first time I saw one that was precisely my thought.  They don't have tails and they're much bigger than mice, though, and once you see their little noses twitch, or watch them nibble on the foliage the family resemblance is clear.  They even dash more like a rabbit.  And if you were wondering, yes, they are, in fact, the inspiration for Pikachu.  

Jojo's Roadside Cafe

In spite of the grasslands teeming with wildlife, getting bored on a roadtrip - particularly in Mongolia's Kansas - is inevitable.  On our way back from Swan Lake, Enkhaa pulled over and declared we were taking a break.  It is possible Engrish and I need to better explain what Western women need when it comes to answering the call of nature, because we had to walk about five minutes to get far enough away from him and each other to do our business.  That's how flat and bare the land was there.  After taking care of business and eating the last of our sausage and cheese, Enkhaa scattered the crumbs of our now-fragile Khentii bread on the ground, and told us he was marking the spot because Engrish was going to come back and open up a restaurant.  This led to us spending the next fifteen minutes coming up with a business plan for Jojo's Roadside Cafe.

Concept sketch by yours truly, inspired by Rukia Kuchiki

1. She will specialize in chocolate chip cookies.
2. She will sell the Sukhbaatar aimag vodka, in its collectable swan-decorated bottle because she knows her target market.
3. She will get a big ger dog to protect her from her target market.
4. I will purchase some chocolate molds in the shape of swans so she can sell swan chocolates.
5. I'll carve something out of the local volcanic rock...perhaps balbals, so we don't wear out the whole swan theme.
6. She will discount the cookies that get left over - day old, week old...month old...
7. Forget about chocolate chip cookies - we'll make swan-shaped decorated sugar cookies, and after they pass the month-old mark we'll market them as Christmas ornaments.  PURE GENIUS!

Of course, this begs the question of what she'll do for the rest of the year, since the swan migration only takes place in October.  There are only so many times you can bench-press boulders before it gets old.  It's possible that she would just keep the cafe open during the migration and focus on her travel agency - the Jojo and Enkhaa Express - the rest of the year.  As their inaugural customer, here's the review that I can't post on TripAdvisor due to the fact that she's a friend:

The Jojo and Enkhaa Express

I contacted this agency to organize my trip to Sukhbaatar aimag at the beginning of October.  My guide spoke excellent English in spite of the fact that she's Canadian - there was hardly a single sentence that she bastardized into a question by adding, "Eh?" on the end.  She was prepared for every eventuality, and had brought her own bevy of swans* in case the lake was empty.  Enkhaa's Land Cruiser was not exactly the car I was expecting, but since it was white it provided great camouflage and probably let us pass flying swans without them even being aware of our existence.  There was never a dull moment with Enkhaa's exciting driving, and he kept the mood in the car jovial with his witty banter.  On the way back to Ulaanbaatar I protested that I couldn't wait another 2 hours for lunch, and he took us to the best roadside khushuur stand and the mutton wasn't even a little muttony!

Lots of other things happened too.  Engrish is surprised I haven't told you about them yet.  Don't worry, Engrish...I still have at least one blog in me.....

*read: Rubber Duckies.  They weren't painted white, but Engrish and I both have vivid imaginations.  And - now that I'm back in UB - paint.

Set the Wayback Machine to...2009

I tried to be a homebody.  I really did.  In November of 2008 I moved back to the States, to see how that would work out for me.  It didn't.  I gained back all the weight I lost after moving away in the first place and then some, and had probably $4000 on the two credit cards I had (which had been very nearly cleared when I went home).  I loved working at Barnes and Noble, but it was not good for my waistline or my pocketbook, and I felt fairly disconnected from everyone.  It's not that I don't love my family - I do - but living in Iowa to make them happy made me miserable, and it was only a matter of time before I set out again. 

I ended up back in the Middle East.  This prompted a lot of people to ask, "But didn't you hate it there?"  As a matter of fact, no, I was not a bright ball of sunshiney joy when I lived in Bahrain, but my analysis of the decision to move to Ras Al Khaimah, the northernmost of the United Arab Emirates, factored in - among other things - the fact that I was mentally prepared for the things that made my year in Bahrain so hard.  So I went, and that move was where this blog actually began five years ago.  Happily, since I was not as zealous a blogger as I am today, there were plenty of memories to choose from, and I went with the road trip to Fujairah I took with some friends that fall.

First and foremost, I want to thank Melissa for these pictures.  I forgot my camera that day, and if it weren't for the fact that she's a picture taking maniac, I wouldn't have anything to remember it with, and it was a fun day.  She'd just rented a car and was raring to go anywhere and everywhere.  One of the guys we knew suggested Fujairah, which was several hours' drive southeast of RAK.  Along the way we stopped at a beach which Socrates...

...Oh yes, this was the beginning of THAT long, awkward association...

...suggested must be popular with the Russians, based on his translations of the signs in Cyrillic.  In the background you can see "Snoopy Island," which looks slightly like Snoopy lying back on his doghouse (if you are squinting or presumably drunk, that is).  We winced at the heat on the sand, even in October, and piled back into the car quickly enough.

The point of going to Fujairah - other than just getting the hell out of RAK - was that they had an old fortress.  We weren't allowed in the fort, for some reason.  I don't remember if it was just closed to the public or if we went on the wrong day, but we had a good time climbing around it and taking pictures.

There was also a museum nearby, which we did go into.  Did we learn a lot?  Not really.  Did we have fun?  Absolutely.  If I remember right, Melissa was excited to have someone who liked taking goofy pictures, and both of us posed for more than a few!

On the ride back I claimed the front seat.  It was hilarious to see our three guy friends crushed together in the back.  Although it took some time to get settled in Ras Al Khaimah, it was not the disaster that my year in Bahrain was.  Not only was the school a higher caliber school but I had friends, and ten years overseas have taught me that this is what really makes a difference, and what you will actually miss when you do move on.

On the Road, Off the Road

There is little I dislike more in life than pooping outdoors.  I grew up on a farm, and I can cope with it, but while 6.5 years of living in Asia has resigned me to peeing over a hole, I have yet to take a poo over a squatter.  Luckily, for me regularity means once every three days, so when I disappeared with my book into the lovely flush toilets at the Blue Wolf ger camp in Olgii, I figured I'd dodged that bullet again.

I did not poop behind these rocks, but it would have been a good place, if not for the snow.

But here's a little fact for you: nomadic families have milk running through their veins instead of blood.  Okay, not really, but the way that they put back milk tea would convince you otherwise.  Since it's rude not to drink, I've perfected the art of pretending to sip politely.  It's a double strike-out, when you're Mormon and lactose intolerant.  However, since I'm only mildly lactose intolerant, I make up for it by eating plenty of bread and cream.

Note: eat enough fresh cream, and you won't make it three days without pooping.  I'm just saying.

Not a house.  More like a barn.

Engrish, Geek, and I decided since we weren't coming back to UB until Thursday that we should get out into the countryside and take a stab at seeing Tavan Bogd, Mongolia's highest peak.  Canat, who owns the Blue Wolf, told us we could stay in tents at base camp, or go up a different valley and stay with a nomadic family near the glacier, which we would climb in order to see the mountain.  A couple of us (not to name names) were a little afraid of staying in tents up that high in October, so we went with the second option, and it's all for the best.  The snow that you see in the top photo blew in on us the second morning we were out, and we couldn't see the other side of the valley, let alone Tavan Bogd.  And from what we heard, the people who did go for the base camp all ended up staying in the same family's home - the woman we talked to said there were already 8 tourists hunkered down when she got there.

So we had a great trip, and except for eating more cream than I should, staying with families was great.  You have a little more space in a house than you do in a ger, and that's a wonderful thing.  The first family that we were with had the most laid back cat I have ever seen in my life.  Their two daughters manhandled it a LOT, and it just went along for a ride.  They also had a young goat which spent most of its time tethered to a corner of the "kitchen counter."  I'm sorry for the lack of pictures, but I kind of hate taking photos of people's homes.  I feel like it's an invasion of their personal space, and since I want to be a good guest, no pics for you.

We made the trip out there in one afternoon - leaving around noon and getting to the house just as it was getting dark.  One LONG, BUMPY afternoon.  We'd joked with Enkhe, our driver, about bringing us out here if our flight was cancelled, and he said that it would have been the Land Cruiser's last journey.  Having been over those roads now, I believe him!  Geek and Engrish seemed to fare alright, but my back was all kinds of strained and I had bruises from being jostled against the car door. We were in a Russian van that had 6 seats in the back, so we had plenty of space, and windows enough to enjoy the view.  During the journey I became convinced that whoever designed the Russian tank must have also had a hand in the design of the Russian van.  Those things are unstoppable.

Since we missed Tavan Bogd, you may be thinking that our time was wasted.  First of all, spending time in the countryside is never wasted (for me, it helps me to appreciate UB a little bit more...Engrish, on the other hand, has a more authentic appreciation for its charms).  But even if you hate fresh air and blue skies so bright they hurt to look at, you probably can't help getting excited at petroglyphs.  The petroglyphs scattered across the Altai mountains are one of Mongolia's three world heritage sites, and some are as old as 11,000 years!  You don't need to be a history teacher (Geek) or art teacher (me) to think that's fascinating!

I mentioned the Kazakh cemeteries yesterday, but I didn't mention another memorial: the anthropomorphic stone statues called balbals left behind during the Turkic era.  We read about them in Lonely Planet and Canat promised we'd be able to see one, but explaining what we wanted was a little difficult even with Engrish's mad Mongolian skills.  In the end we got there with, "It's a rock with the face of a man."  You can see our cook on the left and our driver on the right.  We weren't sure what we were getting ourselves into, hiring a cook, but it turned out to be one of the best decisions of our trip.  Jemisbek produced the most delicious meals, and I swear he must have worked with foreigners a lot, because he didn't cook a single thing that we were hesitant to eat.  The pinnacle of our experience was besbarmak, or Five Fingers (because that's how you are supposed to eat it), a Kazakh dish of boiled mutton, potatoes, carrots, and this scrumptious steamed long pastry-ish roll thing that had cabbage and onion inside.  The last day of our trip, after our world class driver took us through a pretty strong river, we stopped by the river and had a picnic, with the food - which was delicious - cooked on the spot by Jemisbek. 

Total inclusive cost for the three of us out in the countryside: $550.  That included our driver, our gas, our cook and food, the border permits, some money for the families with whom we stayed, and I'm sure something else I'm forgetting.

Total value of being intrepid, outdoor-pooping explorers: priceless.

End of the Road

It's an exciting time to live in Ulaanbaatar.  Lots of stuff is going on.  I was worried about running out of things to write about, but heck, with the Mongol Rally in town, a food festival at a new shopping/living center called Viva City, and the first Ulaanbaatar film festival just being announced, it looks like I'll be kept busy, not to mention that part of the black market, Naran Tuul, burned down yesterday morning.  Engrish and I were out on our morning constitutional when we saw a huge black cloud billowing up. 

The Mongol Rally is what I, a seasoned travel veteran, would term a true adventure.  Groups get a granny car in Europe (some start in England, but others join in the Czech Republic) and drive all the freaking way across central Asia, according to whatever route they feel like taking, til they get to UB, where their car will be sold for charity.  It's organized by a group called the Adventurists, who seem to have all sorts of crazy events (if driving across Central Asia isn't your thing, maybe you'd be up for racing rickshaws across India, or a 1500km run across the hostile terrain of Siberia?)

Well, this spring I missed seeing all the cool cars coming through town for the Peking to Paris rally, so when I heard about the finish line party for the Mongol Rally, I decided to go against my introverted nature and check it out.  It was set to begin at 8, and I got there about 8:20, to a nearly empty bar.  There were a few ralliers (would that be the word?) around, so I sat at a table with a trio of attractive British guys who regaled me with their stories.  My favorite was that they had made it all the way into Mongolia before their first major problem, when they punctured their gas tank.  One of them had gone looking for chewing gum to try to patch it with, but were saved from testing this avant-garde repair method when another, better prepared group caught up with them and gave them some putty that was designed for that exact purpose.  I really loved the sense that I got of these guys, all out on this great adventure, meeting like-minded people and helping each other out; there was a real sense of camaraderie amongst the ralliers, who knew each other by name and had all these stories in common.  It made me want to give it a go, although there seemingly weren't many either Americans or women in the group.

Well, a finish line party demands entertainment, and what better way to entertain men who've been on the road four weeks than with contortionists?  The ones hired by XO were great, and it was interesting to see them so close - normally you're further away, but there's just not that much space in a club.

However, the highlight of the evening - at least when it comes to the entertainment - was Altan Urag's performance.  They mix traditional Mongolian melodies and instruments with rock and roll.  It's amazing.  They perform regularly at Ikh Mongol, next to the circus, but I've never seen them because Ikh Mongol is kind of a bar and I don't spent a lot of time in bars without having a good reason.  Altan Urag seems like a pretty good reason, now that I think about it.

The thing that I felt like I missed out on, going to that first party, was the lack of stories on their "Tales of Adventure" map.  No one had written anything yet!  So when Engrish was kind of moping last night because she wanted to go to the party but she had to pack, I convinced her that we should go - we could watch the entertainment and talk to a few people and still leave early.  When we got there just past ten, it was packed and we weren't allowed in - apparently if you didn't already have a ticket, you had to have a Rally wristband.  I did take a look at the map quickly, but nobody had written on it.  Which could be another reason why I need to do this some year.

Parting Shots and Starting Thoughts

My last night in Tibet I stayed in the shabbiest hotel - one star, and I'm surprised Zhangmu's Sherpa Hotel managed that! - I have ever had the misfortune of sleeping in.  Thank goodness I was so exhausted from the night before, or I might not have been able to sleep at all.  It was supposed to only cost me 100 kuai, but a bunch of Indian tourists got there before me and took all the cheap rooms, so instead I ended up in a more expensive one, which even after getting a discount from the proprietress was the same price as the 3-star place I stayed in Shigatse.

Zhangmu is one of the strangest towns I've ever visited.  It's the Chinese border town, and built going down the side of a ravine.  The Energizer asked me if it looked like Korea, and I had to admit that the buildings bore a strange resemblance to some that I'd seen in smaller Korean towns in the countryside.  She explained that there'd been Koreans settled here in the past.  The town itself wasn't much to look at, but the descent into it from the plateau was gorgeous.  It had slowly been getting greener, and then toward the top of the ravine turned to the most verdant mess of ground cover, with waterfalls breaking out of the rock at random intervals.  By the time we got to the town, there were trees and it was humid as hell.  The Energizer says this is what eastern Tibet looks like, over where it adjoins Chengdu.  Apparently a lot of Chinese tourists like to visit that region.

The next morning I made my third border crossing by land (which seems to me a lot more hassle than air crossings for some reason).  It took a long time to actually get down to immigration.  The streets of Zhangmu are narrow and clogged with tour buses and Nepali trucks.  After we got fairly close, our driver parked and said goodbye, then the Energizer and I went on down where seemingly MILLIONS of people, mostly Indian, were milling about in a rough semblance of a line.  The Energizer found me the back of the line (sort of) then went off for a while.  When she came back, she moved me to a group with some other Western tourists, which I was led to believe I'd been given permission to join, and then she went away again.  A few more minutes later she came back and ushered me to the front of the line.  Don't ask me how all this came to pass - my best guess is that she's so chipper and energetic - not to mention rare, because guiding seems to be more of a male occupation - that people just give her what she wants, because this was not the first time I saw her twist people to her will.  Somehow I went from the end of the line to through immigration before the people I'd been standing behind had moved ten feet.  And then she was waving me on my way across the bridge to Nepal.

Yes, we drove over that.

That was strange in and of itself.  When you get to the Nepal side, they just let you through.  There is no officer standing there checking everyone's credentials.  If I'd wanted to, I could have walked right past the visa office and no one would have stopped me (of course this might have proved problematic when I tried to LEAVE the country, but still).  They gave me my visa on the spot, and then I had to go find transportation to Kathmandu.  Lonely Planet said it would cost me 350 to ride the bus.  Even as early in the morning as it was (probably 10:30 when I left Tibet, but 8:15 when I entered Nepal...no, the bridge wasn't that long.  Tibet, as well as all of China, is on Beijing time, which means I've been suffering from a mild case of jetlag despite not having been on a plane in nearly two weeks) it was hot and humid, and I decided I'd take a jeep, if I could find one to share.  And it's a good thing I did.  For the second time in a week, the rain had caused road problems, and it was a little scary going over places where there'd been landslides, not to mention that the roads were so rough that I was NOT feeling well by the time I finally got to my hostel, the Monumental Paradise on Freak Street, at 4 that afternoon.  In fact, the roads were so crowded, and the air coming into the jeep so polluted from big trucks belching black smoke straight into the window, that I was worried that I was wrong, thinking that Nepal was going to be the best part of the trip.  Find out one way or the other tomorrow...

Rocky Road

There is just something about Mongolia that makes you want to set off at a gallop on a horse.  Maybe it's the ridiculous blue sky, maybe it's the wind in your hair.

Or, you know, maybe it's the roads.  I've written before about how awful Mongolian roads are.  I'm not even talking about off-roading - this is a picture from up here on the hill, in hoity-toity Zaisan.  It is a rich neighborhood, but it was built illegally on national park land, so the city won't do a dang thing about it.  The expensive apartment complexes don't want to do anything about it, either, because the huge trucks with construction stuff are continuously coming, and will just ruin the pavement all over again.

Don't believe me when I say the potholes are big enough to swallow a small car?  Here's one of said trucks, stuck in one of our holes.  They are offloading the materials a couple of rods at a time and carrying them over to the site.  The roads around the school are actually fairly smooth because our Queen had them paved, and has low-clearance bars in place to keep the bigger trucks from coming onto her street.  Last summer, supposedly someone cut them down, and supposedly the next day she had them back up and reamed out the people responsible for it.  Good for her, I say.

Today we went to the orphanage.  For the first time in ages, the buses were crowded, and I sat on the step up to the seats at the back.  The college-aged girls in the seats next to me were practicing "Just Give Me a Reason," by Pink (who my homeroom class decided I "would be" if I were a pop star), and when the radio played a Mongolian tune they and all their friends joined in.  I love this about Mongolians - they get involved in music, in performances, clapping and singing along.  They got off around where the cemetery is on the way to Gachuurt, and one of the boys pointed it out, making them all squeal.  I watched them get off the bus, and the people standing at the stop, and really felt that they were part of my extended human family, something I know is true but hard a hard time feeling while I was living in Shanghai.  I really feel like I fit in here better than I did there.  Maybe it's because, like Mongolia, I have some rough edges; whatever the case, I really do like it here. 

On the Road Again

To have a really great travel experience, I think you need 4 things:

1. Good travel companions

2. A good destination

3. Good timing and a little luck

4. Some adventure along the way

This week is our fall break, and a couple of friends (Engrish and Five, to be exact) and I decided to go to Kharkhorin, Mongolia's capital in days of yore.  We hired a friend's driver and his "Land Rover" (a Toyota Vista that I swear had a titanium undercarriage) to take us out there and back.  He used to be a tour driver and he speaks English pretty well.  So that's a great big check for number 1.  I'll talk about numbers 2 and 3 in subsequent posts.  That leaves us with number 4: some adventure along the way.  Where do I begin?  How about animal crossings?  You've all seen deer crossing signs, right?  I've even seen a camel crossing sign or two in my day.  Here in Mongolia, we don't have the signs, but we've got crossings aplenty:

 Cattle crossing, of course.

 And horse crossing.

Goat and sheep crossing.

And although they weren't actually crossing the road at the time, I was very excited to see my first yaks.  So excited I made Enkhe (our driver) stop so I could take a picture of them.  Enkhe is an amazing driver.  He never got tired, never complained, and only got a little off course while driving down roads that hardly existed.

I mean, I have an almost perfect sense of direction, and I think even I couldn't memorize the path through here.  He got us back on track and on our way quickly enough after this, and we got to see a little more of this gorgeous landscape.  We also got stuck a couple of times.

There were tons of crossings back and forth over the Orkhon River on our first and second day (getting out to the waterfall and back).  Each time we held our breath, because that water was COLD, if you can't tell by the ice, and getting stuck anywhere is no fun.  During one of the last, Enkhe got stopped by a big sheet of ice.  We girls got out and convinced him to let us push, and once we got a rhythm between the four of us he was out of the river in no time.

Enkhe assures us that off-roading is a standard part of the Mongolian driver's license test.  I couldn't help remembering my dad's driving as we were soaring over boulder-strewn tracks that could only be loosely classified as "roads."  I'm not sure even he - in his truck - could keep up with Enkhe.  (If you'd like to hire him, send me an email and I'll put you in touch...with Enkhe, that is, not my dad, although he is retired and if you find yourself stranded near Omaha he might just be willing to help you out).

On our last day, heading back to UB, Enkhe stopped at Mongol Els, a sand dune that wandered out of the Gobi and couldn't find its way back (that's my story, anyways).  After pushing and digging and digging and sticking bones and the tread of an old tire under his wheels and pushing some more, Enkhe finally went after help.  Fortunately someone was home at a nearby ger and he brought his truck over to help pull us out.  We gave him some of the snacks we still had as a thank you.  That's how we roll out here.

The aftermath of our labors.  It's a good thing I'd already decided not to be prissy and worry about sand in my clothes/hair/ears, etc, because let me tell you - 24 hours and a shower later, and I'm still finding sand.  Totally worth it...but it DOES make me wonder if I'm ready for the Gobi, where I am assured being stuck in sand happens on a regular basis...

Chapter Four

In Which a Day is Wasted Being Grumpy

Let me tell you about this day. We got up way too early to catch a train to Jhansi, where we would proceed to Khajuraho. Then the train (coming from Delhi) was delayed due to - you guessed it - fog. For FOUR AND A BLOODY HALF HOURS!!! Waiting most of that time in the ladies' lounge on a hard chair and peeing in a squatter did NOT put me in a good mood.

(Don't get me wrong. I can pee in a squatter with the best of them. It's just not fun).

Anyways, I continued to be grumpy on the train because I sincerely dislike having people in my personal space, and I had to share my right armrest with some creeper because Gimpy (aka the Evil One) didn't trust her recovering elbow to a stranger. Which the rational part of my brain understood, but the rational part of my brain was on a vacation somewhere else and so MAYBE I was a little pissy with her, but she is an awesome friend and still pointed out some of the more awesome features of the landscape we were passing, including a random temple or palace out in the middle of nowhere. Or rather, the near middle of nowhere. The true middle of nowhere, as we were soon to learn, is where we were headed. Which is a good thing, because the Persians, who ruled India during the Mughal dynasty, were not averse to recycling Hindu temples, minus most of the art, and I'd be really upset if that had happened at Khajuraho.

Unfortunately, the train didn't take us all the way there. We got off the train at Jhansi, and had a driver taking us the rest of the way. And take us, he did. I can't even explain the driving to you (but I can try...it involved veering around lorries, tuk-tuks, motorbikes, bicycles, cows, and anything else in the road - at high speeds, in the opposite lane, with oncoming traffic. Oh, and lots of horn honking and light flashing). And it was literally off the beaten path - about three hours after we set out the road deterioated to a surface similar to that of your typical adolescent's face - so it was creeping up on nine before we got into the FABULOUS (and I am absolutely NOT being sarcastic) Usha Bundela Hotel, where we picked up our lovely young guide. He proved his worth that night by taking us to an Italian restaurant called the Mediterraneo ("Italian Chef - Dutch Supervision. Since 1991). A great hotel and a real Italian restaurant. What more could two white girls ask for? Okay, I can think of a thing or two, but we'll leave it at that for now...