A Trip to Work

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Before we left Australia, we knew that one of the biggest challenges we would have in our temporary home was going to be the climate. We were told many times about the harsh winter, the extremely poor air quality (reportedly the second worst air quality in the world) and the risks we would face after we left the sanctuary of our apartment. 

The cloud which hangs is pollution, contributed to by many of the coal burning power plants

We were given advise about what to bring with us to ward off chest infections and how to keep ourselves healthy from a variety of people we had made contact with, but nothing really has prepared us for this sudden onslaught of cold. I have shocking balance and my biggest fear has been sliding on the ice and finding myself on the ground.

When we are out walking, because that is our main form of transport, we hang onto each other, hoping that if one slips, the other is stable enough to keep us both upright. We have cleats attached to our shoes and I think the advice to purchase those has been the best given.

When I wrote of our adventure in Vietnam, I shared my experience of travelling to work on the back of a motorcycle in the monsoonal rain. I thought this time I might share the observations of my journey to work here in Mongolia.

This trip in summer was easy, a quick walk to the bus stop before crossing the road, hopping on the bus and arriving at work. A nice 20 minute walk home in sunshine, a path along the rivers edge before again crossing the busy road and joining the throng of laughing and chatting students who were also making their way about at the end of their day.

But as the seasons change, winter gives a totally different scenario. One of the first things we do in the morning is check out the temperature. We probably shouldn’t do that because it is more often than not a mental torture of what the day will bring. Our apartment is cosy and warm, like most modern homes in Mongolia, we have very efficient central heating. I often think of those living in traditional gers on the hillside as I paddle the warm floor to the bathroom. Gers don’t have inside bathrooms, what must it be like on those minus 30 mornings.

Guess where I would rather be/

Once done with breakfast and checking for news from home, it is into the walk-in wardrobe to work out what to wear. Clothes are piled up in the lounge room, waiting for the last minute to dress. With bags, boots and coats at the door, we start to dress in several layers. Now, this has become a fine art because you have to know what to put on when. Boots and coats are generally the last, but you still have to be able to bend and see to be able to do up your boots, so scarfs are pushed out of the line of sight and gloves wait so that fingers are still nimble.

To give you an idea of our fashion statement, today I have 2 pair of leggings, a pair of thick trousers, a skirt, 2 pair of socks and fur-lined boots. The top half is a thermal singlet, thermal long sleeve top and sleeveless tunic. I wear 2 pair of gloves, one of which is possum fur, a felt scarf and possum fur beanie. Over all of that I have a nice new long duck down and feather coat with a fur hood. This morning was -37 and I was nice and cosy. But the air is so cold, I get brain freeze, like when you eat ice-cream. Once I get to work, I swap the down coat for my white coat but unfortunately my office is really cold so I have a cardigan just for work. When it gets too cold, I go to the staff room to thaw.

James in his wooly hat

I make my own fashion statement

So with all of that on, my laptop bag over my shoulder, I give James a kiss goodbye and waddle to the lift. I haven’t tried the stairs with all that on and I pray we don’t have a power blackout and I have to do the 6 storeys. When I get to the street, if I look up, James is hanging out the window with his fur hat and jacket on waving goodbye.

The streets are all ice now. Occasionally it is cleared in front of a building to make walking easier, but generally it stays there till it thaws I guess. They don’t salt the streets and the cars drive through sludge that looks like wet sand after a fresh drop of snow. There can be large sheets of ice around manhole covers, the steam that rises from them freezes and leaves a hazard. Slopes of slippery ice form at the curb and I always look like an old lady as I tentatively put one foot over the edge, making sure my cleats grab before I shift the second.

A very tough job, but someone needs to lean on the shovel

I am in awe of the Mongolians who share the road or footpath with me. (I find the road easier to walk on and a little less icy) These natives who have grown up through many winters seem to get from A to B with no problem at all. Sometimes they might have arms linked with a partner, but generally they walk at normal pace, if not run while I shuffle, too frightened to lift my foot too high. I walk with arms half out, in anticipation of a fall my fingers already splayed. My head is always down, alert that there might be ice hiding below.

Not only do the natives have great dexterity, which amazes me, but the women do it in high healed shoes. They are very fashion conscious and obviously haven’t previously had a broken ankle. During summer the heels are fine points but in winter the height is there with a more chunky heel.

But at least with my baby steps, I have time to see what is on the ground around me. I feel so sorry for the person who has dropped the gloves that are now a frozen form in the ice. Plastic bags add a bit of colour and are a crazy design of scrunched flat plastic. Green phlegm which has been spat out looks like a lizard with three legs. All of these things are here today and will stay here till the ice melts in warmer weather. I had lost a button from my leather coat and I know it is buried under snow and ice somewhere on my way home and won’t surface till summer.

It is so cold on the walk to the bus stop, it looks like everyone is smoking with the warm air breathed out forming clouds. As that moisture drops onto my scarf, it freezes and leaves frost on my face. My eyes start to water as soon as I get outside and if I tuck my face down into my scarf, my glasses frost up from my breath. My gloves seem to catch frost from somewhere and I am constantly sniffing.

When I get to the main road, Peace Avenue, I wait till the traffic is banked up at the lights before I attempt to cross. The first lane is for buses so that is easy because they slow to approach the stop. But the next two are cars. I reckon the Mongolian drivers have a point system for foreigners who are trying to cross the road. I swear they speed up when they see me shuffling across their path, they will flash their lights – OK I know you are there, then they blast the horn, I ‘m not sure if it is to scare me or to encourage me to move faster. But I’m busy looking for ice that threatens to have me prostrate before oncoming traffic. When I get to the middle, I generally stop for a second in the slushy stuff that has built up before doing the same slow manoeuvre to reach the other side. Now the trouble is here, I am in the bus lane again and they are speeding up to leave the stop. There is that slippery slope of ice at the curb, so I have to time this just right to make sure I don’t get hit by a bus. Wouldn’t look good in an incident report to Ausaid.

I join everyone else at the bus stop, our breath making us look like chain smokers, all puffing away. Buses come and go but I have to wait for the right one. There can be three or four buses pull up at the same time, the doors open and  bodies spew out onto the ice. There is a hurried choreography to it, people shoving in different directions. The front door of the bus only stays open long enough for a few to get off, so everyone runs(in my case shuffles) toward the middle door. They don’t necessarily wait for everyone to be off before they start to push their way on, this may be because the bus can start to move on to the next stop, depending on how courteous the driver is. 

I grab hold of whatever rail I can and haul myself up onto the bus. I take the few steps up and try to keep my feet stable. My cleats are great in the ice, but they turn into roller skates on the wet slippery floor of the bus. So, I hang into whatever permanent fixture I can find while the driver plants his foot and we shoot off into the path of oncoming traffic. As soon as I get on the bus, my glasses turn to fog and in an attempt to keep myself orientated, I have to take them off till they thaw, the only tissue I have is generally wet from my nose by now. Before I leave home I always have my bus fare in my hand and I’m a bit of a thrill seeker as I let go with one hand to pay my fare. If I am lucky, some seated person takes pity on me and gives up their seat for this inexperienced foreigner. Actually, that is something that happens often here. I don’t think it is that I look so pathetic but rather a generous respect of others (e.g. oldies)

I only have to travel three stops and there isn’t much of a view because the windows are all fogged up. Someone has drawn a picture of a snowmen, a bit of a taunt I think. I know that, if I have got on the right bus, we will have a right hand turn and a little way down is where I get off. I don’t stand too early, because I’m likely to slide down to the doorway, so it is a bit of a hurry and a perilous trick to time it right, but I get myself to the steps before being swept into the flow of people getting off. I always get a push in the back as I get to the last step because I am too cautious putting my first foot onto the ice. Hopefully I have two feet down before the bus takes off.

It is then just a very short walk to the hospital grounds, down a short side road that leads to the front of the hospital. As I get to the door, I prepare for the next step. Once inside, I first remove my glasses because they again fog up from the sudden change in temperature. Then I lean up against the wall while I remove the cleats from my shoes, and generally this is watched with interest by the hospital clientele. I start removing layers as I make my way through the throng of people waiting to register for their appointments, which are some time through the day. By the time I get to my office, the only thing left to remove is my coat, which is swapped for a white cotton version which is mandatory for hospital staff.

And at the end of the day, I repeat it all again. Most days though, I like to walk home, not only for the little bit of exercise, but I get to see a bit more on my slow travels. Of course, it is a slower trip in winter than it was in summer, those tiny princess steps keep me safe. I walk with my head down still looking for ice, but sometimes I get some nice surprises.

As I took a shortcut through a residential area the other day, a delightful old gentleman wanted to practice his very limited English. “Hello”…I think he was checking if I understood, I responded hello and the look on his face showed he was delighted. Ahhhh…”Jesus Christ”… this made me smile, again he was pleased that I understood. “Hallelujah” with his hands raised to the heavens. Now I was wondering where he had picked up his spattering of English.  Christianity is making inroads here and they obviously have a diligent student.

The wind is usually cold in the afternoons and everyone is rugged up. Mothers carry toddlers who wear padded all-in-one suits. Even if they did want to walk I don’t think they could, being so trussed up in padding, they look more like they are doing a star jump, arms outstretched and knees unbending. At least they must be warm. I guess if they were dropped they wouldn’t get hurt.

My walk home takes me past one of my best discoveries here, Tokyo Bread shop.  Yum, this place makes donuts, cream buns, onion bread and fruit loaf. Not all that good really because I rarely have lunch and by the time I pass here I am cold and hungry. But every now and then I give myself a treat. I sometimes deliberately walk another way to avoid the calories.

One day, when I was avoiding the bakery, I had to stop and take a photo of the mobile butcher. There were a few people gathered around an open truck in which I could see a bull’s head, complete with horns. A guy in the back of the truck was hauling out a side of beef, onto the large industrial scales. A housewife was checking out the meat, looking quite happy. Not sure how far it had travelled, uncovered, but at least it had remained refrigerated for the journey. 

That is probably the only good thing about the climate here, you don’t have to rush home to get meat and dairy into the fridge. I bought a pair of long socks in the street the other day and when I took them out of the bag a short time later, they were frozen, crisp and crunchy.

Anyway, I paddle home, sometimes along the riverside path, wondering just how thick that river ice could be. There are car tracks as well as footprints in the snow on it, so it must be reasonably safe. Empty vodka bottles litter the path, cigarette packets and discarded condoms, someone has had a party out here in the cold. Evidence that this country is indeed inhabited by some very tough people.

Stray dogs have set up home under a low bush, well really a collection of twigs, there are no leaves. They are curled up sharing what warmth the three of them have. I would love take them home, if not feed them but get constantly reminded by James of the dangers of doing that. Even the sparrows seem to have a hard time gathering food. They peck away at a mound of frozen vomit, perhaps left behind by the vodka drinker.

The haze in the distance is pollution

At a corner there are playing cards scattered in the snow. Mongolians seem to often stop in groups and have a few bets, throwing cards into a pile and shouting. I’m not sure the rules of the game and how a winner is determined, but my game is trying to collect a full hand before I get to our door. Quite often there is a trail of individual cards, as though a scene from Alice in Wonderland.

I turn off of the main road and into our street. Usually by this stage I am thinking to myself that I am over this. My exercise tolerance in the cold air is low, the weight of my bag seems to be heavier at this point but I push on, one foot in front of the other, listening to my cleats crunch the snow under my feet. As a car approaches behind me its tires make a funny sound, almost a slow skid on the ice. I move to one side to let it pass and I can see our building not far ahead.

Thank god I am nearly home. I round the building and up the steps before punching in the security code making the door yield. Into the lift, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall. My face is red, my beanie pushed down close to the rim of my glasses, tiny wisps of hair escape from under it. The doors open and my steps are quiet on the carpet, key in the lock and I’m there. Hopefully, I can get everything off quickly as I nearly always have a sudden urge to go to the loo, discarding everything into a pile. As soon as I’m in, it is hot and there is a struggle to shed everything that has kept me so warm out on the street.

But this is our sanctuary from the cold winds, the snow and the ice. If I could wave a magic wand and have a choice of which foreign journey to work I would prefer, I think it would still be Vietnam and that crazy bike ride. But I’m not sure if it is the journey or my love of the country that would have me there. But at least here in Mongolia I can say I have done it, I walked home from work in temperatures of minus 35, but mind you I couldn’t do it forever.

The view from our building in autumn

As the season changes

Blue Sky Tower in Summer

How it changes in Winter

Sukhbaatar Square and Parliament House in summer

Christmas Day, with the snow swept away, (maybe ready for New Year fireworks) and a shroud of smog.

Winter Wonderland

Ger District to the north of the city. Some wooden buildings but they are used more in summer, gers are warmer in winter

Chimneys pour out smoke adding to the city pollution

Waiting  for the bus, hope it isn't a long wait

Tried to make snowmen for the grand-kids but the snow was too dry

Enkhee, my manager, just chilling out

A local yak come to say hello

Frozen river, so pretty

Not a cloud in the sky

Looking down through the valley toward the city. Mist hanging..........or is it pollution

Local dogs having lunch at the hotel tip

My Red Cross colleagues, and James

Who needs an eskie?

Vodka was cold, beer even colder

James with hair

Fire masters getting it just right

Had to be careful, the beer can stuck to the lips

Making snow angels

Good on ya poppie

Merry Christmas

Color, Kim Chi and Korea

The idea was to escape the early cold of Mongolia to catch the last warmth of Korea, but I think we left it too late. After our flight was delayed by snow in Mongolia, we were welcomed by a cold wind in Seoul. But a few days were enough to recharge our batteries and get a taste of another city, one which is clean, organized and modern.

We weren't quite sure exactly what we wanted to do, but had a few things on a tentative list. Part of our first day was wasted trying to get money from an ATM, that venture eventually taking us to the Seven Luck Casino... no, not to win but to exchange cash. When we looked at the map we were close to a park and tower, a friend had said it was worth a visit, so we inquired from the doorman how to get there. He looked at us and said it would take an hour and a half to walk to the top and suggested we use the cable car, we were happy with that. Maybe he thought we walked slowly.

When we got to the top....what a view. Seoul is bursting in autumn color, carpets of yellow on the ground, mixed with red and orange still hanging on the trees. From the mountain top it all looks like a mosaic. We shared the sunshine with the locals who were out walking their pampered pets, families enjoying the free entertainment and couples pledging their love as the wrote on padlocks that were sold in the gift shops. The locks, in their thousands, adorn rungs of a fence, reminding us of the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, but done with more of an Asian flair. There were couples having photos taken, fingers in a V shape while they stood looking like twins in their matching outfits.

Our walk down from the mountain top proved to be a challenge, steep stone stairs wet from the rain and covered in autumn leaves. Now I wish that we had bought a return ticked for the cable car. By the time we got to the bottom my legs were twitching, we needed a rest. I had walked down, muscles tense with the fear of falling and breaking a limb.

Seoul sits under the sign of the cross. A habit that I picked up in Vietnam was to look up above street level and take in life a few stories up. Doing this in Seoul gives a view that is testament to the strong Christian presence here, steeples topped with a crucifix that would flash with lights at night. If not churches there are multistory buildings signed with different denominations.

But we did discover a few delights in the way of Buddhist temples. A cold wind blew us down the footpath toward what, at first we thought was a park but as we ventured in, found a fantastic floral display in the courtyard of a temple. We wandered the paths, camera snapping away, then I realized James had been swallowed up by the potted chrysanthemums. That was, till I saw the sign that invited foreigners in for information. We were welcomed, sharing a pot of tea while we chatted with a delightful young lady who told us about the temple and asked us about our travels.

Before we hit the footpath again, I went inside the temple where women were all bowing and saying their prayers before three big beautiful Buddhas. There was a graceful rhythm in their prayers.

Seoul is in the midst of a Lantern Festival. A canal through the city also acts as a walking trail and it was here that large floating figures were lit at night. Attracting all the locals, it was a display of Korean historical lifestyle, enthusiasm dampened by a cold wind and drizzle, but still worth the walk. At the end we took refuge with hot chocolate in a cafe.

Next day, back on the tourist trail, we walked up to an area called Bukchon, streets that wind up the hills to a height where you can look back on the ancient tiled roofs. The buildings on the main roads are mostly shops or cafes, but if you leave there and go into the back streets, you get more of a feel for the old Seoul. Behind heavy wooden doors are central courtyards of old houses. The streets are steep and narrow, the houses hidden behind high walls, fine branches of trees reaching over the wall toward the street.
We had fun finding our way around, more than once passing the same spot. There was a lady making a delicious "green tea pancake" and we stopped in front of her twice, it was really yummy.

When it looked like rain was going to spoil our day, we found the bus stop for the city tour bus and did a loop of the city. There was lots to see, although we needed to constantly defog the window. But we were warm and dry and it gave us a chance to plan our next stop. We were taken through the fashion districts. Koreans are very stylish and the young seem to be very fashion conscious, especially the boys. They were carrying designer brand shopping bags as much as the girls.

Plastic food on display

Tea for sale from a cart in the street

Our other main form of transport around town had been the subway. It was very efficient and cheap but we did feel out of place. Just about every traveller comes complete with a mobile phone and they sit or stand with earplugs in, either playing games or watching videos. How they don't miss their stop, I don't know. Peak hour travel was most uncomfortable, with people backing into the carriage and pushing so that the doors could shut. Wedged tightly against the next person does stop the risk of falling off balance, but is extremely uncomfortable for a half hour journey. Every so often, there would be another foreigner who would catch my eye and share a smile, understanding that it really translates to "this is impossible" or words to that effect which are too descriptive for print. When we got off the subway on our last ride, I vowed never to do it again.

Obviously NOT peak hour

Our last day was the only one that was planned. On advise from a guy visiting UlaanBaatar from the Australian Embassy in Seoul, we pre-booked a tour to the DMZ. At first I thought he was giving us a tip on a restaurant, but into our conversation realized it stands for De-Militarized Zone. I’m not sure if we had to pre-book because of its popularity or because they needed to check us out. The shuttle bus picked us up early for a rendezvous with an even bigger bus at one of the big hotels. We thought of coffee while we waited but the cost  of $11 dried up our thirst.

Once we set off, we were watching the city traffic which slowly thinned as we made our way north. First stop was an observatory where we were shown a film depicting life in North Korea, the comparison shameful. There was a young guide who was a defector, having fled the north for China, before being sold to a Chinese family by the people smuggler. Here she was married and produced a child before leaving it all behind to move on to Cambodia and Vietnam, before returning to the south of her homeland. She told us how, while she was in China, she was treated as a non-citizen, having no status at all. After she had fled to Cambodia, her father had visited relatives in China and suffered a heart attach and died. The North Korean government, believing he too had fled, took the remaining family and she hadn’t been able to trace them since. Of the group of 17 who had fled North Korea with her, 8 survived either death or recapture.

We were ushered outside where we looked across the river to the North. The border was marked with rolled barbed wire, the line studded with watch towers, each side watching the other. To think that that line of wire divided families, the river narrow enough that they can call to each other, but have to live their lives apart. A distance that was nothing in the zoom of the camera. The other side of the river looked barren, tree that could hide people escaping having been removed.

There is a park where families from the South go, to spend the day close to those they have left in the North. There is no real contact between them, ribbons are tied to fences and messages left. There is a bridge which is barricaded at both ends. It is the closest they can get to those they love, not knowing  if they are alive or dead.

After lunch we moved on to Camp Bonifos, an American base where the United Nations help to keep the peace. We had to show our passports, leave our bags behind and board an American army bus before crossing the threshold. We had to sign a disclaimer and agree not to carry knives, guns etc.

There was a strict dress code and we were told that we would be informed when we were allowed to take photos. Apparently, if you wear sling back shoes, the North can take photos and use it as propaganda against the South, saying they are too poor to afford a whole shoe.

We had a cute American soldier to escort us, his uniform told us his family name was Martinez. Another movie to fill us in on the history and  displays about the conflict, then we went to see the JSA - Joint Security Area.  This part was a bit surreal. There were three blue buildings which apparently are shared by both sides. Through the middle of the room passes the border, marked by the microphone cable on the table, and outside a concrete path. Outside the southern end of the building were three soldiers who stand at the ready, facing the north. At a big building on the northern side, was a solider taking photos of us, while we all snapped photos of him, the border between us. Inside the building we were free to hop between the two countries. Doors at either end are locked to keep the other guy out, depending on who is in the room at the time. Forming two straight lines, we were escorted back to the bus, on our way to the gift shop, past the Bridge of No Return.

The microphone cable on the table marks the divide

Outside the window you can see the concrete strip which is the border

The South watching the North. At the top of the steps is the guy who was photographing us, hope he got my good side.

The Bridge of No Return

I realize that this is serious business, but it had the feeling of a movie set. Thank god nobody sent a balloon flying, or we may have found out just how nasty it can get. Part of the history lesson was about the Southern side deciding to trim a tree so that the view of the north wasn’t obstructed. The Northern guys didn’t like this and came to talk about it. What ensued is now referred to as the Axe Murder Incident, a fight having broken out and two Americans being killed with the axe used to trim the tree.

Safely back on our tour bus, we followed the line of barbed wire and were on the road back to Seoul. There was lots to think about as the sun set on the North.

The next day we were making our way to the airport and back to our “home” in Mongolia. We were greeted with snow and slippery footpaths. Unfortunately, there still isn’t the feeling of belonging here, not like arriving at an airport in Australia or Vietnam. For now, this is where we are at, and it is a case of putting up with the cold. The beauty is looking out the window at the stunningly blue sky and being grateful for the liberty we have, being able to travel at will, being warm and safe, having the freedom to phone or write to family and friends as I choose and knowing the next generation will have that same freedom.