A place where no traveller ever stops: the in-between

He stood in the doorway of the compartment in his police uniform, my passport in his hands. I smiled at the top of his stiff hat. He was taking a while and finally he looked up at me shaking his head. A cold sensation dropped into my stomach. Smile gone. Without really knowing what was going on, I was asked to gather my belongings and follow him. Laughing it off, I waved goodbye to my newly made carriage friends. See you… never.

I had always wanted to live in Europe. I wanted to live in Europe and learn a second language. Why not German. I’d already learnt some basics. My last name is German. I’d visited  to Berlin for a weekend in 2010. The same weekend as the ‘final’ Love Parade and was captured by the atmosphere and summer heat and sense of freedom. No one cared what you did, what you wore, what you said. That’s where I wanted to go.

Overland. Of course. The Trans-Mongolian. What a dream. What an adventure.

I don’t even remember my mum’s reaction when I told her. That probably means she was her usual supportive self and didn’t question my assumption that I could do it. I’m not sure she thought through the possibilities of what could happen. I’m not sure I had. That is until she mentioned it to a good friend of hers who opened her eyes to everything that could go wrong. Thanks. After weeks of being nonchalant, suddenly came the questions and insecurity.

It didn’t last. She and I both knew I could do it and would do it and I’d be fine. More than fine.

Arriving in Beijing I had instructions on a torn piece of paper as to where I needed to pick up my train tickets. I had booked it all online through a pretty random website. Hey, it worked! I took the subway out to a part of town that probably isn’t even on the map, and found this worn out office block with a door that could have led anywhere. It’s like what you imagine when you go to pick up something you buy online from someone in a Facebook group, and as they sift through their belongings behind the door, it feels like some dodgy drug deal. My tickets were there in the pile of papers on the 90s looking desk. Choice! Sorted.

You know it’s the right train, given the number of Europeans sitting on backpacks reading or chatting, waiting at the gate to the platform. How did I ever imagine that I would be doing this journey alone, with no other English speakers? When has that ever been the case? Expectation management. So, down the escalator, onto the platform, jump shot next to the train with the uniformed guard, and on I got. I was in 2nd class, not 3rd class where the whole carriage is full of bunks – that adventure came later – or first class with 2 bunks in each compartment – that adventure came never – but 2nd class with 4 bunks. My European cabin mates faces and names all blur together. I’m sure they were nice enough.

Three days. Beijing to Ulan Bator. A mishmash of train stations. Anything you can eat with boiling water. Instant coffee. Condensed milk. Noodles. Learn to love it.

I spent a few days in and around Ulan Bator before getting back on the train. Yes, Mongolia is awesome. Yes, you should go. Did you know Mongolia has the highest number of blue sky days in the world? Their national animal is a horse, which you can find all over their currency. So good. Even though I’m not a big fan.

So, where was I?

The journey from Ulan Bator to the border wasn’t long. 5 hours maybe. We got there by the afternoon. Border control. Yep. And I was escorted off the train. What? How? Where even was I? The crew in my compartment waved me off, looking very concerned. I followed the man into the railway station waiting room. I had no idea what was going on until finally someone could explain in English that I was 1 day too early for Russia. Ah! Visa. My train was scheduled to arrive in Russia on the 16th. My visa was from the 16th. But today was the 15th. And the border crossing was 11pm on the 15th. That means I needed a visa valid from the 15th. My bad. Apparently, the Russian guards were far less understanding and I would be much better to just stay in the last Mongolian town and wait for the train the next day than to be left in the in-between. No mans land. In fact, I was in a little town called Suhbataar. Thank you google maps. The funniest part is as the train pulled up into Suhbataar station, before the border control, I looked out at the depressing station ‘hotel’ and thought: you poor people who have to stay in that run down concrete hotel. And yep, that turned out to be me. I guess it’s a good way to learn to be humble and realise that anything can happen and that everything that happens will have something positive.

It really wasn’t that bad. I mean all considering. I had food. I got weird looks. I got a grand back from changing my train tickets by 1 day and missing out 1 stop in Russia. I met epic people 3 days later on my birthday in Irkutsk and went out partying all night till my next train. Win. Memory bank.

I am therefore thankful for being removed from the train in that town. Also I’m definitely not the first or last person to which that happens. You know it. But the Russian border. Man. They have dogs. They have passport scanners with blue lights. They have poker expressions. I mean, if you smile in Russia, everyone thinks you’re crazy. I am definitely in that bucket.

I try to check visa’s more carefully now. But hey, shit happens.

by Fran Gleisner

Featured photo by Jessica Papini.
Supportive comments are welcome.