ULAAN BAATAR — In case you were wondering, it is the moment just after you cross the Chinese-Mongolian border that the bottom of your train is carefully removed while you're in it. This is done in the middle of the night, by lifting each carriage about six feet in the air, then hitting large metal pieces with other large metal pieces. It seems to be both normal and soothing, said nobody on the train.
But it was cool. Apparently the train tracks in Mongolia are different than those in China, requiring a whole new set of stuff once they make the crossing. The banging carried on for several hours, accompanied by no less than six visits from officials interested in our documentation. Each time they left, we fell back asleep. And each time they returned we sat up and handed over the paperwork again, leaning forward in a sleep fog when they inevitably waved us toward the light for a better look at our faces. Finally they stamped the bottom of the second to last page in each of our almost empty passports, and left us to sleep.
Morning arrived with a view of new country, dry hills that reminded Kristina of the Dakota bad lands. Plus camels. I have now seen several camels, whereas before I had seen none. We also began to see occasional small settlements, a corral with several wooden buildings, or a group of ger — Mongolian traditional homes.
This is a Mongolian ger, courtesy koziqi.com.
Soon we were sailing into Ulaan Baatar, the only city in a country made up mostly of small villages and camps. Modern buildings and apartment complexes sprawl across a wide valley, but mixed throughout and clustered en mass around the edges are the gers.
We were scheduled to stop for only six hours before boarding our train to Irkutsk, Russia. Much as I wanted to see Mongolia, I was nervous about meeting our personal tour guide. Four years ago, Kristina took a parenting class in Minnesota with a woman from Mongolia. Upon hearing that we were visiting her homeland, she arranged for her husband's friend, who speaks no English but a little Russian, to pick us up for a whirlwind introduction to the city. Since this triggered several of my insecurity red flags — strangers, language barriers, time constraints, and things that aren't my idea — I got a little up tight. (As you might imagine, I'm flying red flags a lot these days. I don't let it stop me, it just makes me difficult to travel with.)
Turns out Mr. Bold — we still aren't sure if Bold was his first name, last name or nickname, as they laughed every time we said Mister — brought his wife and daughter along for the ride. They spoke a little English, and between the five of us, we toured Ulaan Baatar in three languages. Mongolian, Russian and English. Four if you count emphatic hand gestures.
Stop 1: The Monastery
When Mr. Bold's wife Sara leaned around from the SUV's front seat to hand me a packet of mixed grains, I was sure I'd just been asked to sample a local snack. I was about to start dry munching the seeds, dedicated to getting an authentic Mongolian experience, when we pulled up to a pigeon-filled square in front of the monastery.
It turns out Kristina was also a half second away from eating bird seed when we pulled up to the square. Instead we joined the families feeding pigeons, before walking through the monastery and its two-story Buddah. We turned prayer wheels, passing old women whispering their way through the spinning aisles.
All around the monastery were beautiful, smiling people. This was true everywhere we went in the city. There was an intrinsic happiness, not just in the lovely people we were exploring with, but the people we passed on the street. The women have kind, open faces, the men seemingly built strong and for laughing. But maybe I just got that impression from meeting a friend of Mr. Bold's in a restaurant parking lot, a jovial man who is apparently a well known boxer. And either way I couldn't help but notice, really, how attractive Mongolian people are.
Stop 2: Genghis Square
Next came a visit to the Mongolian presidential and parliamentary buildings in the city center, skirting a square dedicated to Genghis Khan.
A little Half Moon in Genghis Square. 
Kristina, Sara and me in front of the government headquarters. The big statue in the middle is Genghis Khan. Off to the right you'll see a wedding party.
Stop 3: The Mongolian
Then a fabulous lunch at a local restaurant, which Mr. Bold refused to let us pay for. I had steaming rice noodles with tofu and vegetables, while Kristina sampled the fried dumplings. We also learned to play the Mongolian game of fortune — found at every table for diners' pleasure. It requires asking an internal question about one's future, then rolling, like dice, four small bones — the knotted wrist bones of a sheep. There are four positions that each bone can land in: camel, horse, sheep and goat. The combination you roll determines the degree of positive or negative outlook the future holds regarding your chosen question. To one of my questions I got a solid: good. To the other: VERY good. If either of them come true, I promise to tell you what they were.
Stop 4: Soldier's Memorial
As the sun began a slow, honey-colored sinking toward the hills, Mr. Bold hustled us over the river at the edge of town and to a steep hillside. There we were deposited at the bottom of a few hundred steps, leading up to a large stone soldier and circular memorial.
There we got an aerial view of Ulaan Baatar, our only and very brief stop in a country we both fell in love with instantly. Mr. Bold says when we return to Mongolia, we will explore the countryside, and love that as well. We told him when his family comes to Seattle or Alaska, we'll happily be their guides.
As this seems to be the city of birdly interactions, Kristina managed to get herself into this situation on the way down the steps:
The handler kept telling Kristina to shake her arm, which somehow made the eagle more stable. Perhaps my friends who work with raptors can explain that to me. This golden eagle, eyes covered with a small leather mask, was beautiful and fascinating. But I'm always sad for wild animals on a short leash. I don't know the animal's history or the trainer's, however. Perhaps one rescued the other at some point, and now they're tethered for life. Like Gene Hackman in the Royal Tenanbaums.
Stop 5: The Train Station
With the speed and smile with which he'd been operating all day, Mr. Bold insisted on carrying our luggage from the car to the platform, then straight onto the train where he loaded it carefully onto the upper bunks, before hugging us both goodbye. When he got outside he pulled his wife and daughter to the window of our cabin, where they waved enthusiastically.
"These are your friends?" asked one of the young French women — Adeline and Lorelei — sharing our cabin.
"No," Kristina said, and sighed. "And yes."
"We met them today," I said.
The girls had spent three days in Mongolia, staying in the countryside with local families, riding camels and sleeping in gers. It was incredible, they said, but not nearly enough time. Just as we felt, too. As the train began to pull away, Adeline sighed and reached for a wad of tissue, her eyes already starting to water.
"Oh, no. Now it is time to cry." She waved to the city, cooling through a summer dusk. "Oh, oh my, goodbye Mongolia."
Mr. Bold and his wife Sara — who are both lawyers — with us at the bottom of the memorial steps.
Me with Bold and Sara's daughter, whose name I can't spell but it was very lovely, as was she.
Kristina and Sara
(I just need to point out that at some point between parking the car and meeting us at the top of the soldier's memorial, Sara managed to change into a completely different outfit. I have no idea when or where she did this. Or, actually, why. But she was very stylish.)
Lovely.
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