Around the World in (Approximately) 80 Days: Day 23: Crossing the border to Ulan Ude, Siberia, Russia

Saturday, October 8, 2016

I didn't sleep well on the train from Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia to Ulan Ude, Russia due to a little thing called a border crossing. Sometime after midnight, the train jerks to a stop in the middle of nowhere. I hear boot steps pounding down the hall, then a stout female Mongolian border agent with an attitude slams open the compartment door. "Passports," she orders, then grabs mine and that of my Russian companion who speaks no English, and disappears. Unconcerned, I turn over and go back to sleep.

As soon as I doze off, the border agent returns. She speaks to the Russian woman, who pulls out a handful of Russian rubles and Monogolian bills, and fans them out for the inspector. Then the agent speaks Russian to me too. Realizing I'm a foreigner, she shoves a customs form at me and tells me to fill it out, then leaves. With eyes barely open, I put on my smudged reading glasses, stare at the tiny words in Mongolian and broken English, and fill it out the best I can.

Meanwhile, Mongolian soldiers come on, searching every train compartment. They make the Russian passenger and me leave the compartment so they can search the baggage storage under the seats and the little cubbies behind our head cushions that I didn't even know could open. Then they climbed up the foot rests for the top bunks to open the heater vents. So what do people smuggle from Mongolia to Russia? Weapons? Drugs? Illegal immigrants? Yak butter? Camel hair socks?

As the soldiers continue their search in every compartment, the immigration agent comes back, demanding to know how much money I have with me. I mumble something about, "Maybe $1000 U.S." She looks at me like a Vegas gambler who just hit the jackpot. Turning quickly, she races down the hall with my filled-in customs form.

Unfortunately, I'd just counted my money before leaving the hostel and was surprised to still have $2300 left...mostly in $100 bills in my money belt, with reserves hidden in other places. I'm wondering why Mongolia even cares how much money I'm taking out of their country? And what is the legal limit? I'm tempted to lie, but after the soldiers tore apart our train compartment, I'm afraid they'll go through all my baggage and strip search me too.

She returns with my customs form and two soldiers and starts yelling at me, as if I can understand her pidgin English. Finally, as she repeats it a dozen times, I realize she's saying, "You're American. You know English. You lied." She's pointing at these words on the form:

Та Удирдлага, эсхүл түүнтэй тэнцэх гадаад валютыг 5 сая байна уу?

Do you have 5 mln MGT or equivalent foreign currency?

"I have no idea what this means!" I say.

"Yes, you American. You speak English," she insists.

"This isn't English."

"Yes, English."

"What's MGT? I have no idea what that means."

"MGT Mongolian Tugriks. You know that!" Now she's lying. Truly, I had no clue what MGT meant. I only spent three days and $100 in her country. The exchange rate for 1 Tugrik barely registers at 0.00043 US Dollars, or put another way, for every $1 US you get 2,318.95 Tugriks in exchange. I adjust my reading glasses and finally make out that what I thought was "min" for "minimum" is actually "mln" for "million," an abbreviation I've never seen before. So that's why she keeps talking about millions. But I give up arguing with her since she understands me less than I understand her.

In case you didn't recognize him, that's Chinggis "Genghis" Khan on the 20,000 Mongolian Tugrik bill, worth $8.62 U.S. All it takes is $431 U.S. to be a millionaire in Mongolia.

"How much money you have?" She's back to broken record #1. "American dollar? Mongolian money?" I show her the pitiful amount of leftover Filipino pesos, Chinese yuan and Mongolian tugrik. They're pretty worthless, but nice souvenirs for friends who collect money. She looks skeptical.

I finally decide to tell her the truth and get it over with. I take the customs form that she's waving in my face, and write "$2300 U.S." I try to switch the check mark from "Nothing to Declare" to other box, but she snatches the form back and says "Too late. You lied. You pay 10% penalty."

What the....??? She's saying I owe $230 in penalty!!! I'm guessing it's not illegal to carry $2300 out of Mongolia, but my crime is allegedly trying to hide it and lying on the customs form. It doesn't matter that I was half asleep and couldn't understand the form.

She whips out a calculator and types in 2300 "US Money" and then hits the "times" button and types in 2400 "Mongolian Money," which is well beyond the real exchange rate, but it works in her favor. Sure enough, just over 5 million tugriks. If only I'd told her $100 less, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all.

So why am I traveling with so much cash? Good question, and I'm asking myself that right now. Basically, I like the flexibility of being able to exchange a little amount or a lot at once, without worrying about ATM fees and commissions. I get tired of paying $10 for $200 max, or needing just $20 more, which isn't worth the $10 fee. But after this experience, I will definitely be depending more on my ATM card and packing minimal cash.

After threatening to take me to her supervisor in the station to pay the $230 penalty, she finally comes up with a compromise. "Ok, ok. Give me $20 and I won't turn you in." I think about my options for a moment, then decide the bribe is still cheaper than a visa would have been, and definitely easier than spending all night at the border. Angrily, I hand over a $20 bill in exchange for my passport, then lie back down on my bunk, facing the wall.

After a while, the train rumbles along again, but not far. It must be 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. by now. I hear the sound of boots again, marching down the hallway. The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming! I see their sharp green uniforms and big brown fur hats passing by. Initially, I had thought the Mongolian exit stamp would be a breeze, and I should be worried about the Russians. Hillary Clinton hasn't been saying nice things about Russia's involvement in the Syrian crisis, so I hoped they wouldn't take it out on American tourists. But I'm too tired to care.

By comparison, the Russians seemed very professional and efficient. A tiny, light-skinned woman with some portable device that looked like a credit card reader took care of everything in a matter minutes. She scanned our passports, recorded information, and checked my visa. No forms, no questions about money, nyet. The only thing that slowed her down for a moment was confirming that the gorgeous woman in my passport really is the same bleary-eyed, dead of sleep, grouchy old lady slouched on the lower bunk. After looking from photo to face several times, she stamped my passport and handed it back.

The Russians did their job, and the train rolled back into the night. A few hours later, at 6:00 a.m. I arrived in Ulan Ude to pitch blackness and empty streets. It took a little while in the freezing cold to find the Ulan Ude Guesthouse, but luckily Anastasia buzzed me up to the warm and cozy hostel which felt like home, gave me a cup of hot tea, and showed me my bottom bunk. The other guests were still snoring as I opened my laptop and logged on.

6:00 a.m. arrival in the Ulan Ude train station.

Ulan Ude's claim to fame is the world's largest head of Lenin. Hard to tell in this photo, but it's many times larger than life at 7.7 meters or 25 feet tall. There's a gallery in the hostel bathroom of imaginative photos of Lenin's head. I decided to line up the flags like horns, with no political implication.

I wish I'd scanned these individually. Some of them are really clever.

Despite the cold, I went out for a walk. Besides, speaking of money exchange, I needed to get some Russian rubles. The banks were closed for the weekend, so I had to hit up an ATM.

I love the colorful and ornate window frames against the bare wood, and how this cutie's jacket matches perfectly.

I know I say this about every country, but Russian women are gorgeous. They're experts at bundling up against the cold, and still looking sexy. In contrast, I look like a pink marshmallow in the second hand coat I inherited from the hostel for free, along with some black boots that are just a 1/2 size too small. I took a weird camouflage cap too, but can't bear to wear it unless it's super cold.

Can you tell I'm a little obsessed with the Siberian windows.

Pony rides around the plaza. I know a little girl who would have loved that.

Locks of love. I remember that Paris removed them recently because the railings on the bridges were starting to collapse under the weight.

This romantic lock has been there since August 15, 2015. I hope the relationship is still going strong too.

I just had to try this unusual dessert, but it was kind of a mess to eat since the hot homemade waffle melted the ice cream.

WWII War Monument overlooking the city of Ulan Ude. You can see how many of the Buryat people of eastern Siberia are closely related to the Mongolians.

Part of the WWII War Memorial

The view from the war monument. Ulan Ude has over a million people, which is bigger than I prefer. I wanted to go to a Buryat village, and also to where the Old Believers live and still practice their religion. But a private guide was too expensive, and I couldn't find a group to join. The public buses don't run on the weekends, so I just decided just to stay one night and keep moving west.