Leaving Ulaanbaatar, I boarded an RZD train heading north to continue my summer Siberian rail journey. Ulaanbaatar’s train station is as simple as a bus stop. Even when taking an international train, you can walk straight onto the platform, which feels a little unfamiliar to Chinese passengers used to multiple rounds of security checks at home.
The platform was crowded with travelers heading north and relatives coming to see them off. Airport and train station entrances and exits are always places full of emotions. If you had the time, it would probably be interesting to sit at the entrance to an airport or station like in Love Actually, and watch all the stories of joy and sorrow unfold.
The train from Ulaanbaatar to Irkutsk is operated by Russian Railways, and the carriages wear the standard RZD livery. Before boarding, the Russian conductor meticulously checked tickets and passports, so I hurried to the supermarket to buy some supplies that would later become lifesaving rations.
After boarding, I had to make up my own bed as usual. It was a bit complicated, and I spent a while figuring out the structure of the sleeper berth, but making the bed itself was already second nature.
There weren’t many people departing from Ulaanbaatar today, so I temporarily had a compartment all to myself and piled my belongings onto all four berths. Once I settled in, I wandered around and greeted my neighbors.
A few compartments to the right were occupied by a group of Mongolian men and women in their forties, all broad-shouldered and hefty, laying out several roast chickens and braised snacks while drinking and chatting. I couldn’t help but imagine they were on a reunion trip with classmates from twenty years ago.
The compartment to the left held a family of four. The two little boys had endless energy and kept running happily through the carriage, maybe because summer vacation finally meant travel without homework.
North of Ulaanbaatar lies the most beautiful stretch of grassland on the Mongolian Trans-Siberian route. Ancient Mongolia was split in two by a great desert; the “Mo” in South Mo and North Mo, often heard in Legends of the Condor Heroes and Qing dynasty dramas, refers to this desert, the Gobi. In recent years, Chinese business schools have especially liked organizing Gobi Challenge races, which take place in a small section of the same desert extension with similar terrain.
During the Qing dynasty, South Mongolia included Inner Zasagt Mongols and Inner Shun Mongols, the predecessors of today’s Inner Mongolia, including the well-known Horqin grasslands. North Mongolia, that is, today’s Mongolia, was mainly the Khalkha grasslands. Unlike Inner Mongolia, the Zasagt Mongols, or vassal Mongols, were like a special administrative region: highly autonomous, except that they had no diplomatic power.
There’s much to love about RZD, except that the train windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. Since I couldn’t take good photos, I might as well go eat. But after walking back and forth through the train twice, I still couldn’t find the dining car. A Russian auntie waved her hand and said, “Young man, this train doesn’t have a dining car.”
Wow, so only long-distance trains like the K3 have dining cars attached. What I’d been looking forward to for more than a month—cheap Russian train food—suddenly became expensive Russian instant noodles.
When the train reached Sukhbaatar, a father and daughter came into the compartment. I quickly packed away my things. After some casual conversation, I learned that the daughter was going to study in a European country whose name I didn’t catch, but first they had to cross the border into Ulan-Ude, Russia, and fly to Moscow to transfer. The burly man with a face full of meat was actually seeing his daughter off to school. It looked like they must be from a fairly well-off family in Mongolia.
Near midnight, the train reached Naushki on the Mongolia-Russia border. Handsome Russian soldiers boarded and carefully and strictly checked every corner of the carriage, ordered every compartment to draw the curtains and seal themselves up tightly, and collected everyone’s passports.
No one knows how long it was before the train started rocking along again. Half asleep and half awake, I said goodbye to Mongolia and arrived in Russia this way. When I woke again, the train was already racing happily through the birch forests of Siberia, and the Mongolian father and daughter had long since gotten off without leaving any contact information. It seemed I wouldn’t be able to introduce my friend as the son-in-law of a Mongolian tycoon after all.
The train arrived at a major station called Vladimir, a very Russian-sounding name. Feeling the chilly morning breeze and seeing the little onion-domed church, I finally believed that I had truly arrived in Russia by land.
Before the final stop in Irkutsk, there was one more little highlight. The train runs along the shores of Lake Baikal for a stretch. Even though the weather was bad and the windows were dirty, the sea of blue still managed to move me a little, which made me even more eager for a proper visit when the weather is good. Today was just a first call, a way of paying my respects.
A little after two in the afternoon, I finally arrived at the end of this train journey, Irkutsk. Irkutsk is the largest city in Siberia, with a developed industrial base; legend has it that the Su-30 is manufactured here. But the real reason Irkutsk has become Siberia’s most popular travel city is still that lake.
I rushed to the hostel, originally hoping to catch the last bus to Olkhon Island. Perhaps because of a communication misunderstanding, the handsome guy at the hostel regretfully told me that there actually wasn’t such a bus. Probably seeing how dust-covered and exhausted I looked, he also said I could sleep for free in the hostel lobby that night. That worked for me; I’ve always taken things as they come, so I’d just wander around Irkutsk for now.
He said this could be my bedroom... The people of Irkutsk have linked all the city’s sights worth visiting with green lines into a sightseeing route called the green line. One end of the green line is the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan.
The Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan is the most magnificent church in all of Siberia, and it can even rank third in all of Russia. At first glance, it even felt more fairy-tale-like than Moscow’s famous onion domes.
As dusk approached, people gradually arrived at the church, greeted one another, and then stood in small groups around the church to begin evening prayers. The priest carried a censer and spread wisps of blue incense throughout the church. The evening sunlight shining through the windows onto the smoke gave the scene a solemn, awe-inspiring ritual feeling.
Quietly leaving the church, I walked through the streets of Irkutsk. Almost every church, big and small, across the city was holding evening prayers, and the sound of hymns floated through the whole city.
I’d always planned to come to Irkutsk in the coldest part of winter to see the beautiful blue ice. In summer, Irkutsk, aside from the winter snow, feels lighter and more colorful. The streets are also busier than they are in the freezing season.
This scene made me think of my grandmother.
My favorite piece of graffiti from the whole trip.
Irkutsk isn’t actually very big. If you get tired of walking, you can hop on a tram at any time and get anywhere in the city. The trams here are especially slender, oddly adorable, with proportions that don’t match Russians at all.
Following the green line to Kirov Square, the square is the center of the city’s government offices. Everyone in the square was quietly doing their own thing. Not far away, the eternal flame for the unknown soldier in front of the Spasskaya Church was burning fiercely.
As the city’s second stone building, Spasskaya Church is so old that the small chapel next to it doesn’t even deserve a name.
I felt especially sorry for this nameless little chapel. Farther on, the Lovers’ Bridge by the Angara River, like so many Lovers’ Bridges around the world, was covered with countless Chinese love locks.
Even the streetlights had come to witness the love of those who came here.
At a local restaurant in District 130, I ordered ahead of time a bowl of especially delicious fish soup from Lake Baikal and a glass of vodka, so that both my body and my mood could be ready.
See you soon on the blue shores of Lake Baikal.
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