Read Online Riding the Iron Rooster by Paul Theroux - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Theroux
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To the southwest there is a tremendous mountain range, the Khrebet Khamar Daban, very snowy, and with great peaks, one behind the other like the Rockies, and rising to 15,000 and 16,000 feet. These mountains constitute the frontier and it is necessary to travel around them in the flat valley of the Selenga River in order to enter Mongolia.
The last time I was here I did not see anything. I was going west, and the westbound trains round Baikal at night. So this was all new to me: icy mountains in brilliant sunshine. The sleeping car had a punished and dusty look; written on its side in Cyrillic were the words
Mongolian Railways,
and there was the Mongolian state sealâa galloping fur-hatted horseman. When we stopped, scores of flat-faced Mongolians in blue tracksuits jumped out of the train and began running in place on the platform. It was the prize-winning Mongolian wrestling team, on their way back from a successful series of matches in Moscow. One of the wrestlers told me that the horseman on the seal was the liberator of Mongolia, Suhe Baator. The name means "Suhe the Hero."
On Russian trains there are loudspeakers in all the coaches, sometimes broadcasting music, sometimes news or comment. The drone is always in the background, and the Russians appear not to notice it. It has a practical value, giving information about the next stop and how long the train will be there. In the past the volume could not be regulatedâthe knobs were removed from the volume control, and so it droned day and night. One of the improvements on Soviet trains has been the replacement of the volume control knobs. On Mongolian trains these knobs are missing, and the traveler is subjected to an ear-bashing in the Mongolian language.
"Isn't there anything they can do about it?" Miss Wilkie said pleadingly.
"I'd like to take an axe to that thing," Kicker said.
They petitioned the Mongolian attendant, a tough-looking woman, who waved them awayâa don't-bother-me gesture.
"Maybe she doesn't have the knob," I said. "In which case, you're in luck. Because if you turn it off she won't be able to turn it back on."
A ducklike voice ranted from the loudspeaker.
"It's driving us nuts," the Westbetters said.
I made myself very popular with the group by showing them how to shut it off. I wrapped a rubber band around the metal stump and this rubber offered enough of a grip to shut the thing off. The beauty of it was that I could then take the rubber band away, and so it stayed off.
We crossed the Selenga, and it looked as though the wilderness went on forever. Mountain streams coursed out of the forest, and chunks of ice as big as cars floated on the river. The earth was brown and dusty, and though it was very cold, there were tiny buds on the trees. The Soviet city of Ulan-Ude sprawled in the wide, flat valleyâlow wooden houses and tall electric poles, and a marshaling yard full of freight cars loaded with tree trunks. It was a region of lumberjacks and trappers, though no one of this description boarded the train. In fact, from what I could see the train carried a great number of young Soviet soldiers.
Leaving the Trans-Siberian route and heading south, the train climbed the bare, brown hills and in the brown valley below was the river clogged with muddy ice and the hideous city smoking on its banks. Just a few miles south of Ulan-Ude the land is arid and desertlike, the
gobi
that is more or less changeless as far as China: big bushes rather than trees, and rough grasslands beaten by sand, and a few settlements, but even those few are sorry places. In many empty places, watching the train go by, was a man in a brown fur hat and padded jacket, smoking a cigarette. He was motionless and solitary, almost emblematic. How had he gotten there?
The great dune-shaped hills were covered with dust and yellow grass. There were no trees. Black goats browsed near some isolated cabins, and horses were tethered. The people did not show themselves.
The last time I was here I did not see anything. I was going west, and the westbound trains round Baikal at night. So this was all new to me: icy mountains in brilliant sunshine. The sleeping car had a punished and dusty look; written on its side in Cyrillic were the words
Mongolian Railways,
and there was the Mongolian state sealâa galloping fur-hatted horseman. When we stopped, scores of flat-faced Mongolians in blue tracksuits jumped out of the train and began running in place on the platform. It was the prize-winning Mongolian wrestling team, on their way back from a successful series of matches in Moscow. One of the wrestlers told me that the horseman on the seal was the liberator of Mongolia, Suhe Baator. The name means "Suhe the Hero."
On Russian trains there are loudspeakers in all the coaches, sometimes broadcasting music, sometimes news or comment. The drone is always in the background, and the Russians appear not to notice it. It has a practical value, giving information about the next stop and how long the train will be there. In the past the volume could not be regulatedâthe knobs were removed from the volume control, and so it droned day and night. One of the improvements on Soviet trains has been the replacement of the volume control knobs. On Mongolian trains these knobs are missing, and the traveler is subjected to an ear-bashing in the Mongolian language.
"Isn't there anything they can do about it?" Miss Wilkie said pleadingly.
"I'd like to take an axe to that thing," Kicker said.
They petitioned the Mongolian attendant, a tough-looking woman, who waved them awayâa don't-bother-me gesture.
"Maybe she doesn't have the knob," I said. "In which case, you're in luck. Because if you turn it off she won't be able to turn it back on."
A ducklike voice ranted from the loudspeaker.
"It's driving us nuts," the Westbetters said.
I made myself very popular with the group by showing them how to shut it off. I wrapped a rubber band around the metal stump and this rubber offered enough of a grip to shut the thing off. The beauty of it was that I could then take the rubber band away, and so it stayed off.
We crossed the Selenga, and it looked as though the wilderness went on forever. Mountain streams coursed out of the forest, and chunks of ice as big as cars floated on the river. The earth was brown and dusty, and though it was very cold, there were tiny buds on the trees. The Soviet city of Ulan-Ude sprawled in the wide, flat valleyâlow wooden houses and tall electric poles, and a marshaling yard full of freight cars loaded with tree trunks. It was a region of lumberjacks and trappers, though no one of this description boarded the train. In fact, from what I could see the train carried a great number of young Soviet soldiers.
Leaving the Trans-Siberian route and heading south, the train climbed the bare, brown hills and in the brown valley below was the river clogged with muddy ice and the hideous city smoking on its banks. Just a few miles south of Ulan-Ude the land is arid and desertlike, the
gobi
that is more or less changeless as far as China: big bushes rather than trees, and rough grasslands beaten by sand, and a few settlements, but even those few are sorry places. In many empty places, watching the train go by, was a man in a brown fur hat and padded jacket, smoking a cigarette. He was motionless and solitary, almost emblematic. How had he gotten there?
The great dune-shaped hills were covered with dust and yellow grass. There were no trees. Black goats browsed near some isolated cabins, and horses were tethered. The people did not show themselves.
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