Goodbye already?

Day 6 - We make another quick stop at a station at 7.30 in the morning before continuing. The scenery has changed once again with mound-shaped hillocks in the distance this time. We pass some small russian villages with their quaint vegetable patches, nestling amongst winding streams. There is a smattering of crisp white snow on the ground and the morning sun has cast a pretty glow on everything. The train is moving too fast for a decent photo :(

Lisa wakes up to a lovely white coat, purveyed by Ida via a colleague of hers (who specialises in coats apparently). JD points out with a snigger that the coat is the same one he helped move out on day 1.

Ida then informs us that she, along with 4 other groups, will be taking another train going the opposite direction, i.e. back to Moscow. One remaining group will stay on and return to Mongolia as they do not possess the required visas. We hear the familiar sound of scotch tape as they tape up their packages. I'm rather sad to see her go. We take pictures (I think she likes us by now) and even exchange email addies. By 4.30pm Moscow time, most have left the train. Ida's teenage son bunks with us until his stop which is different to his mother's. Lisa (now a loyal customer) buys another coat from him. We chat in between the last few stops where he proffers his wares to customers. A really nice kid and into hip hop (yes, it's amazing how Eminem and 50 Cent can bring cultures together). At one stop, he tells us a russian police asked to see his identification and then proceeded to ask for 300 rubles. As he didn't have the money on him he got a rap on the head in return. We say our goodbyes as he gets off on his stop.

It is now actually 10.30pm Mongolian time (although everyone follows russian time till they reach Ulaan Baatar) as we are now effectively in Mongolia and the time difference is very apparent looking at the changes in daylight. It is pitch dark outside and the carriage is extremely quiet. One by one, the remaining passengers - the tourists - emerge from their cabins now free to roam the aisles. We exchange anecdotes and even discover that the front carriages specialise in hardware and various machinery parts.

I tell Sam about my being pickpocketed and she shows me a page from the Trans Sib handbook (yes, the ******* handbook which I was never given) which states in Mongolian that I require a police report for insurance purposes. Armed with this page, I tackle the on board police and show him this page. A nice local chap who seems to have been the silent man-in-the-shadows throughout the entire journey helps me translate to the policeman. We agree for me to come to the police station at Ulaan Baatar at a specific date in order for me to collect my report.