Yakitty Yak Yak: 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.