Urnaa and Gunje were in good spirits and humming Mongolian folk tunes all afternoon. I asked them if they knew how to do khoomii (throat singing), they both laughed aloud. (Khoomii is a special sound made with the tongue, teeth, larynx and palate. It is a replacement of musical instruments with aspects of vocal organs. As an art, Khoomii started to develop since the nineteenth century.) What a tourist I am. Of course, you’d need to be specifically trained to do Khoomii and there are only a few people in the entire Mongolia who know how to.
Urnaa and Gunje then sang a beautiful folk song into my tape recorder. ‘It’s about the land of Mongolia,’ Gunje explained.
We looked out into the ever-lasting landscape of birch trees that seemed to have become a still painting. Anton Chekhov called this a journey that seems no end. He said to his brother in a letter that he was experiencing and feeling a lot despite the lack of change of scenes outside the window.
I suggested to Urnaa and Gunje that we pop down to the restaurant cart for a drink. Urnaa was quite keen. She took out her cosmetic box and started to put powder on her face.
‘And the lipsticks,’ I reminded her.
She giggled, and complimented me: ‘Sahan haragdaj ban! (meaning ‘you look cute’)’ Gunje sat watching us from her upper bunk bed. She didn’t feel like a drink. ‘I stay in cabin to watch luggage,’ she said to me. We couldn’t persuade her. Gunje is the shy one among their ten siblings (six sisters and two brothers).
It was late afternoon and the restaurant cart was filled with diners and drinkers. Andre sat us down in the middle of the restaurant and got us beers. A Russian man in his late thirties – with a distinct beer belly - was drinking bottle after bottle on his own. Andre put him on our table to save space for the customers crowding into the restaurant.
The man introduced himself as Oleg. He could speak quite fluent Mongolia and so got talking easily to Urnaa, who was blushing at the sight of him (above his beer belly, that is).
‘I live in Ulaanbaatar, for fifteen years I have,’ Oleg began telling his story. ‘I moved to Mongolia at six with my parents. That was in 1986.’ It was the years prior to the end of Russian dominance in Mongolia.
‘What do you do, Oleg?’ I asked.
He burped, and answered: ‘I am director of a building company in Ulaanbaatar. I have many builders working for me. About three hundred of them. Chinese and Mongolian.’
Urnaa asked him if he enjoys life more in Ulaanbaatar than in Moscow. Oleg replied with certainty in his eyes: ‘Of course! I go to Moscow often. But Ulaanbaatar is my home now.’
He told me that there are around 10,000 Russian expats in Mongolia, most of whom are engaged in commerce and construction.
I was curious as to why a busy businessman like him chooses to always travel by rail. Oleg told us: ‘My father died in a plane crash on his way back to Ulaanbaatar. It upset me too much. I refused to fly since his death. I need to travel to Moscow twice a month for my business. Train travel through Siberia takes so much time, but I always take the train. This is the only way I would travel now.’
Urnaa’s eyes have been fixed on Oleg the moment she met him. She’s put on a girl-like, sweet yet flirtatious smile. This was the first time I saw Urnaa’s very feminine charm. They chatted away in Mongolian as we all waited to reach Novosibirk.
Just as Urnaa was enjoying the conversation and made the first move to ask for his phone number, a Russian waitress in short skirt came in and interrupted them. She seemed to be doing it on purpose. After an exchange of Russian, Oleg nodded and left with her. I had no idea what was said, but Urnaa wouldn’t tell me. She just looked lost and let down.
‘I’m going back to cabin,’ Urnaa said to me, probably feeling uneasy to continue the drink.
At 7:13pm, we finally arrived at Novosibirk, nicknamed the “Russian Chicago” for its growing industrial strength (mainly based on production of coal and minerals). It is the third largest Russian city with a population of 1.5 million next to Moscow and St.Petersburg. It is also the biggest city in Siberia. You feel like being in the centre of Siberia when you reach Novosibirk. It’s situated on the Ob River with a one-kilometer-long bridge above it, built just for the railway. We were now 3,303 kilometers from Moscow.
I went down to the platform with Urnaa and Gunge to get some fresh air and stretch our muscle. The station has a glamorous interior, with wide halls and marble floors. Mr Yan told me that the city has a new railway museum and an impressive locomotive collection with 69 trains and wagons dated from late nineteenth century. Novosibirsk is also the first Russian city for most Central Asian people to enter when they come into Russia – the city provides transport links between Russia and Central Asia. From here through to Krasnoyarsk all the way to Irkutsk is the central Siberian section of the rail built between 1893 and 1898.
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