sofasurfers

“Three days in a semi-nomadic ger,” I boasted!

Ahem. I lasted one day.

So Plan A was to stay with a German woman who has married and bred with a Mongolian man. In the ger. But the day before, I learnt that Fraulein had gone off on her nomadic wanderings, leaving just her husband and offspring. “Fine!” I thought - how interesting. I can ask her husband about all matters Mongol. I can play with the kids. I can toast my toes on the in-ger stove. Things didn’t go quite according to plan when I realised that he neither spoke German or English. I was shown my ger, the stove was lit, and the door shut behind me. The fire went out. I went out. “Knock, knock!” (Not a joke). I walked into his house, feeling a little short-changed, feeling a little like a dog put out in his kennel, and now feeling like a stray dog begging for scraps. You see, I didn’t go couchsurfing for free accommodation, but for the couchsurfing spirit - for human warmth, for an exchange of ideas and cultures, and - certainly at this stage of my journey - for company. So then we have this amusing, silent struggle, as I sat in his kitchen in the warmth, refusing to go back to my kennel, him and his children in his living/bedroom (the sum total of rooms in his house), studiously ignoring me. I finally retired, not before nibbling on some dry bread that I’d brought with me (yes, dinner), only to be woken up at 5am by a dream that I was surrounded by howling dogs. As I woke, I realised that, yes, I was surrounded by howling dogs.

I checked out this morning, and thanks to Ollie, organised another host, who lives in a “traditional Mongolian house” (whatever that is; I never found out). “Yes” he says, “I’d be happy to host you. Meet me at the Public Library where I work.” Ah - instructions sound so simple until you actually try to follow them. So I asked many people where the Public Library is. “There are many public libraries! Which one?” Oh. A meta-analysis of results take me to Ulan Bator’s central library (the winner of my survey, with four votes). I wait at the prescribed time. I wait beyond the prescribed time. I look quizzically at newcomers to the scene, waiting for some kind of recognition in their eyes (I am, after all, the only white girl in town). But no. No show. Onto Plan C - the guidebook. Yes, for tonight, I confess, I shall be paying for my accommodation. But actually, it almost feels like a homestay. My host, Bolod, a deeply gracious and kind man, has made me tea, offered to do my washing (finally! the first this trip!), and sleeps in the room next door. I seem to be sharing my room with an English girl called Rose (Rose and Fleur - sweet!) and an American but they also seem to be out at present. Meanwhile, I have arranged to meet with a local Mongolian couchsurfer tomorrow, who would have put me up had her sister not given birth four days ago. So to cut a non-story short, the curiosities continue, on- and off-piste.

Footnote. I have just met ‘Rose’. Actually, it’s Roland. Ha ha ha.