Thursday 12th July and I am boarding the morning (and only) bus to Ulaan Baatar. It is good to confirm the route out of town but the heat of the bus and lack of reading material soon claim me and I sleep fitfully with the jolting of the 'good' road to the border.
Border formalities are tedious with the Russian pre-check, Russian immigration, Russian post-check, Mongolian immigration, Mongolian customs and Mongolian post-check. The unspecified trouble alluded to by the travel agent turned out to be some questioning about why I had not registered and concern at my lack of tickets or receipts. When it was explained that I was travelling by motorcycle, the way cleared. The most frightening part was some very intense cross-checking of my passport photo and asking me my name several times (just in case I had forgotten). I was too clever for them, I remembered my name correctly for a full ten minutes!
Arrived in Ulaan Baatar at about 7:30pm and accepted the offer of Sasha & Valerie for help finding a guest house. Ended up staying at the Nassan guest-house where there was space available despite it being the festival of Naadam. I strolled the streets and had dinner at a Mongolian fast food joint. It had fast-food decor but with table service (at a slightly higher price) or takeaway. The servings were huge and pre-smothered in tomato sauce. I barely ate a quarter of the serving still feeling unwell from a pre-trip stomach upset that I had been nursing all day. Back to the stifling top bunk and sleep.
Up early and out and about. The guest-house is not far from Shukbaatar square, which I had a picture of so I was keen to see the reality of it. Besides the Naadam celebratory decoration, it looked the same.
Checked the location of the bus station. We had come by taxi through back streets so wasn't exactly sure. I walked on to the Central Stadium hoping for a timetable of festivities but there were just cleaners, hmmm. Hung about until 10am and then walked back to town. As I later discovered, the third day of Naadam is a holiday so there is nothing on at the Central Stadium, the TV highlights I had seen last night were to be my lot.
Whilst standing around on the street corner, Bill and 4 other bikers ride by. I launch myself onto the street and we greet one another. He had had a nightmare ride to UB with 6 hours at the border arriving in UB at 1am. He had fallen on his feet however finding a biker-friendly guest-house with secure parking, cheap camping and other bikers. He was with a Dutch group that had come from Kazakhstan to UB so had news of routes and fuel supplies. We agreed to meet for dinner and parted, me to stroll the highlights of UB and him to change money.
UB is quite a cool place with amazing buildings and much statuary. There are many westerners and so the place is geared to western needs. There are camping shops, English book stores, restaurant menus with pictures and western-style toilets.
Stopped for lunch back at the guest-house to be treated to a street fight Mongolia-style. I had seen wrestling in the street but this was novel because the guys leg fell off (luckily it was prosthetic). I then noticed that his other leg was also prosthetic so he was wrestling on his knees. The girlfriends also joined in slapping and hair-pulling. One girl got whacked with the prosthetic leg. It was really quite civilised, there was no punching or biting and the legless guy could easily have indulged in goolie-grabbing (is that the right spelling? Testicular compression perhaps). It almost made up for missing Naadam.
I also saw a group of 5 poorly-dressed people who were so horribly drunk that none could assist their fallen comrade to her feet. Her legs and arms were waving about like those of an overturned beetle and her friends couldn't muster the coordination or concentration to successfully right her.
I visited a military museum in the afternoon but it was closed. Luckily there were some outdoor displays that I was able to pore over. They were all un-named so all I know is that it was a Russian jet that used to have one axially-placed engine and was supersonic. It must have like sitting astride an enormous skyrocket flying one of those things.
Taxied to the 'Oasis' for dinner with Bill and the others and then we all piled into a taxi to town to an Irish pub. The Irish are well established here, in fact Marco Polo has changed his name to Marc O'Polo, such is their dominance. The taxi was a small Hyundai into which fitted 3 burly bikers, Bill, myself, the taxi driver and her young daughter. I'm sure Hyundai never designed the car for such a load and the spring manufacturers certainly hadn't, we felt every bump.
The Dutch riders are having Russian visa problems as well. The express visa service at the Russian embassy has been stopped so there is now a 10 working day wait for visas. This is bad news for Bill whose visa expires on the 8th August. This means that we must get a Kazakh visa and be across Mongolia and into Kazakhstan by then. Knowing my earliest arrival in UB, the uncertainty of Kazakh visas, and the distance to travel in Mongolia, all thoughts of the Gobi must be shelved for Bill. I have a multi-entry visa so can re-enter Russia at any time. My only constraint is to arrive in Athens by 8th September.

Up early on the July 14th and head off to a German-owned coffee house. Great bread and real coffee although made with long-life milk. I walk to the Gandantegchenling Buddhist Monastery to the west of the city centre. On the way, I notice a shabby tour operator's office with the sign 'The cheapest and the best way to see Mongolia'. I was just thinking that this was one tour operator I would not patronise when several guests from the guest-house exited the office. They were fairly ropeable. After reading the contract and verbally confirming that fuel was included in the tour price, they were being told that they must pay for fuel. A refund was eventually forthcoming but they had already bought all the food and the chance of finding another tour operator immediately after Naadam was slim.
The Monastery was huge with 7 Datsan (like university schools) and a library plus the main building housing a standing Buddha. Considering the Soviet treatment of Buddhist monks and monasteries, they were in remarkably good shape. The sight and sound of novices chanting was very eastern but the monastery lacked the tranquil atmosphere by being thronged with tourists (me included).
Continued to stroll around Ulaan Baatar enjoying the sights and sounds in back streets before dinner in a Turkish restaurant.
Up early again for the bus trip back to Ulan-Ude. This time I have a book, more food and am prepared mentally. The day is also a lot cooler but of course buses can be hot and stuffy in any weather. In fact bus-drivers are schooled in judging the mood exactly so that they can turn on the air-conditioning moments before open mutiny. Passengers immediately collapse back into their seats exhausted so that the air-conditioning can be promptly turned off.
More border formalities. The Russians have added another level of opacity to the process by requiring that the luggage of local passengers to be weighed. Since some were weighed with hand-luggage and some without, the data is not consistent. And what is to be gained by the effort? The weight now has no correlation to the weight next time a passenger passes through. There is no excise or duty based on weight alone, I am baffled. The X-ray machines used when we left Russia are not employed on our entry. The whole immigration/customs process seems so random and irrational but you can't be accused of doing it wrong if nobody knows the right way.