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This isn't a Pissing Contest love, its the Chinese Border...

sunny 22 °C

Border pissing contest

There were some Mongolian words and at that her husband who was sat in the front passenger seat gave her a small orange bowl, there were some shuffling around in the Jeep I was in, it was hot and cramped. The husband got out of the car as did the son who was sat in the back with me. There was only me and her left in the car and something was going on, and I had a good idea what it was. I was in a Russian jeep that had its entire interior stripped to its bear metal and to open the door there was a shoe lace probably connected to the door catch. I started yanking at it to get me out and I only managed to escape just as she had begun pulling her knickers down. I wasn’t even in China yet, in fact we were still in no-man’s land, territory between Mongolian and China, having just been stamped out of Mongolia we were waiting in this beat up vehicle to cross into China.

I had decided to go the long way to Beijing by taking local trains rather than the Trans-Siberian. The route is still the same but you have to get off the train in the Mongolian border town of Zamyn-Uud, cross the border yourself in a bus or taxi to the next town or Erlian, China where you pick up the onward train to Beijing. On the Trans-Siberian you do the entire border crossing in the comfort of your train, but I had heard that this border crossing was interesting, so I decided to take a look. So I travelled to Zamyn-Uud cross the border by car or bus as you cant walk across, and then hop on a train on the other side in Erlian. Simple? Not in Central Asia. This border crossing from Mongolia to China has got to go down as one of the most dysfunctional and craziest systems in existence.

I got off the train and it was easy to spot where to go for a lift across the border. I got bundled into a small jeep with about 5 others. We were blocked in from another jeep that had parked directly in front us, no problem, 5 guys rolled it down the road into the back of another idle Jeep. So we set off as if this was whacky races, in the car with 1 Mongol driver and 5 Chinese. The driver we had was a bit of a rookie, quite young but broad if not a little overweight, his peers were all weathered veterans and he was competing with them for business. We shot across a field towards the border where I could see the line of cars and trucks waiting in line to cross the border, giving the false sense that there was some kind of order.

The Russian Jeeps, and there were many, were managed a little bit differently. There was a separate line about 300 yards away from the border, all the Jeeps lined up literally bumper to bumper, shunting each one forward as they smacked into their rear. The drivers would all simultaneously get out of their Jeeps and congregate around a car. Inside the car in the back seat was an Army official, he would see one person at a time and no more. He would be driven back and forth from the border to the line of Jeeps. Each time he arrived the Jeep drivers would get excited. A batch of tickets would be given and then a batch of Jeeps would horse down towards the border for the next step in the saga.

Our Rookie got his pass and I could see his big frame bouncing towards the car, he got in the car and shot to the next point where the cars and jeeps were crammed so tightly together they may as well have been all welded together. All the Jeeps were fighting for space, in a mad frantic rush to get across stealing an inch at a time. Just as we had managed to squeeze our way to the front of the line, the goalposts in this calamity production moved. The new orders were that a single line needed to be formed. But the Jeeps were refusing to move so a big army official began throwing rocks at us, big fooking rocks, he then ran at us and booted the drivers side door in. We moved, but only in a circle, still sniffing at the entrance to the border. A Chinese girl behind me said “Boss is coming” which kind of explained what was happening, they wanted to restore order before the big man saw the carnage. The Jeeps were now circling the Army like a blood thirsty pack of wolves, they were inching forward and then backing off when the rocks would come but they weren’t backing down just yet. Next a soldier stood right in front of the cars acting as a human shield to stop them from getting across. This was going crazy, why didn’t he just join the back of the queue? He got out of the Jeep and squared up to the big Army man in a big Army suit, shouting and screaming, but he was totally outnumbered. Things were getting a bit ridiculous and then everything just stopped, the army turned to face a precession of cars when the saluted, once the cars were out of sight, carnage started all over again. The Jeeps in front started revving and managed to penetrate the border, my guy was stood still arguing when he seen that there was an opening. He turned and ran as fast as his body would let him, but his belly was working a different rhythm to his body, almost smacking him in the face at every stride. He shoved the army aside and drove almost over a couple as he sped off across the Mongolian border, still shouting at the guy as he passed.

I then had to pass through the border checkpoint on foot and have my bags examined, but this was relatively civilised.

Once I got out I was grabbed by some guy who put me in a Jeep with some different people, is this how it worked? (I later found out that he thought I was another traveller, us westerners, we all must look the same.) So I ended up in a different Jeep with an older Mongolian Family. We had to tear down the road to get to the next border control. Our driver tried to be casually drive by all the waiting cars and sneak through the Chinese barricade, our car was surrounded straight away by Chinese who were not going to dick around, so he made a retreat, nice try though. Instead of going to the back of the line, he chose a point by a normal civilian car. That poor car and those poor people in that car must have been scared shitless, the jeeps tore it to bits when they started moving, our driver side swiped it and I saw another car do the same on the other side. Then things were quiet for a while, the China border had shut temporarily and no cars would pass. It was a chance to relax for a while.

And that was when Mrs Mongol decided to pee in a small orange bowl. I had managed to escape just in time once I figured out how to pull on the shoe lace in the right way. I saw her exit the other side with bowl in hand, she emptied it and then put it back in her bag. The family then decided it would be a good idea for them to walk across the border from here. It was not surprising, when I got back in the jeep I realised that the bowl must have been too small for Mrs Mongol, but that hadn’t mattered. She must have carried on regardless, pissing all over her hands; the back of the Jeep was flooded. I had to lift my bag off the floor to stop it from getting wet.

I got through the Chinese border and the driver of the Jeep was supposed to wait for me so that he could drop me in town to the bus station. It was no surprise to me that he didn’t turn up, probably noticed the pool of stinking ammonia behind him and figured enough was enough.

The shamed family stood there outside the Chinese embassy, expecting to get this lift, I waited with them for a while until I realised it was pointless, so I had to resort to hitchhiking into town.

Welcome to China….

Russian Jeeps, bumper to bumper
cranking the motor to get it to start....
the church on spilled pi**

Article By David Beattie of Rounton Coffee

Posted by beatski 05:13 Archived in China Tagged toilet border chinese mongolia russian jeeps habits Comments (0)

Where your shoes Gone, Wheres Mark Rabys Shoes Gone?

overcast 19 °C
View Overland debacle on beatski's travel map.

Tallin, Estonia 16th September 2011

Since I ditched my huge hiking Beetle Crushers in Cologne, I have been donning Mark Raby’s 7 year old ‘nearly’ Nike trainers. I have since been plagued with an odour emanating from my bag which I had initially put down to just my general deterioration in hygiene and all the dirty laundry I had amassed. The holes in the soles of these shoes were not a new Adidas torsion design, rather a symptom of Raymond Ledgio dragging his feet aimlessly around Cologne for the last however many years. The fact that they were a little snug on my feet given that they were one size too small was arbitrary, my toes were too long and needed something to stunt their growth. The problem was that these damn trainers had an amazing ability to absorb water which, when that water began to evaporate managed to carry this odour to distances I didn’t think possible.

And so I needed to find myself a pair of shoes that:

a) Were light enough to carry
b) Didn’t have holes in
c) Didn’t stink to high heaven

It seemed a simple task. But walking shoes in the Baltics is like Mark Raby’s fashion sense, none exists.

Poland had none, Lithuania had none, Latvia had one pair of Clarks shoes but were 110€, I wanted some crap Karrimor that you can walk into any ‘Sports Direct.com@St James’ Park’ and come out with for £20. But it was beginning to get desperate; I was feeling sorry for all the other crusties that were sharing a room with me. I had a pair of sandles and I was beginning to wear them a bit too much, with socks I may add. I was beginning to look like my Dad. Even when I was wearing them without it was a disgusting sight, both my big toe nails are black from all the running and toe poking football style I was used to playing. So I went to a Russian Market in the Russian Suburbs in Riga, and I bought myself some grey winkle pickers. Anything so that I could ditch those stinking trainers.

On this journey by this time I think I had spent the equivalent of almost 36 hours on the road, whether it be on train or bus. The only other significant loss to my life, aside from the 2 hour walking tour, was the hours I had spent trawling through Russian shops, even western shops, looking for suitable trainers. But then I struck gold, I had to, there was no way that I was going to be able to purchase decent clod hoppers in Russia, I found a shop in Tallinn, Estonia. I paid 100€ for a pair of shoes that if I had of went to ‘Sports Direct.com@St James’ Park’ would have been significantly less. Nevermind, the hunt was over.



Stinking Bastard Nike 'Trendy Trainers'


Naughty Russian Winkle Pickers


Shocking Fashion Sense ere


Mark, bad news, I've put your ‘Nearly Nike’ in the bin, but they have company, I ditched those Russian made winkle pickers as well.


Article By David Beattie of Rounton Coffee

Posted by beatski 10:28 Archived in Estonia Tagged shoes russian winkle pickers sandles Comments (0)

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