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On the longest train ride on the planet it is important seek diversion when the train occasionally stops. The train stopped near the border between China and Mongolia so its wheels – regrettably named “bogies”- could be changed to suit the Mongolian/ Russian gauge. This took place in a giant shed close to a tiny place called Erlian. A friend who’d already completed the journey had recommended visiting the town “disco” to kill the hour with a humorous experience. An American guy chose to come with me; all others remained with the train.
Erlian is not a wealthy place, it was unlit, almost silent, and this on a Saturday night. An ancient pool table outside a shack held the attention of about two dozen revellers. As we walked we made sarcastic comments out of the corners of our mouths about how we wished we could extend our stay.
Soon we arrived at the venue: the Town Hall. We paid our entry and were not disappointed. Couples danced cheek to cheek to bastardised disco and Euro-beat. We bought beers and – keeping a close eye on the time- danced ironically. My friend’s eyes were wet with laughter.
On the way back to the shed I gleefully bought a boxful of beers for virtually nothing, and lumbered along as my friend walked ahead. He got there first and then I heard the words which make me shiver even now: “It’s gone!”
He was right. The once halogen lit yellow shed was now in darkness and empty. We yelled into the space. Nothing. Then a torch clicked on and an old man approached. My friend bawled at him but he just held his arms wide signalling helplessness.
The outlook was bad. The Trans-Mongolian runs once a week. All our possessions were now heading toward Moscow and our ongoing journeys were now in chaos. All we had (we did a quick inventory) were our passports, about 12 dollars - and a box of beers. The old guy jabbed his finger into the night and with nothing else for it we took off in that direction, running along the track as fast as we could. I carried the box of beers which had now become precious. All dignity had gone now, and we blundered up the track yelling our heads off. Both of us stumbled and fell at least twice and I cut my hand open breaking my fall. Each time I scrambled the twirling bottles back into the box.
We saw some small local train carriages parked up and my friend leapt aboard the nearest one. He terrified a cleaning woman with his wild yammering and crazed expression. She backed away from him and with face upturned and a catch in his voice he yelled “PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP US!!!” I caught him and pointed out that nobody was going to help us if he carried on like that. I noticed, though, that my own voice was now an octave or so higher than usual.
We continued our desperate run –I think we were hoping to find someone official –a train guard perhaps- who could tell us what to do, or less feasibly a taxi in which we could chase down the train.
We were now approaching Erlian’s little train station and there, stationary amongst the others, a large train came into view. It was our train!!! The thought of it pulling away while we watched added fresh impetus to our sprint. We made it, and further along the platform some of our fellow passengers could be seen standing in a group, smoking and chatting.
Before jumping aboard and heading for the washroom I turned to my friend and said “better not go into too much detail about what we were like back there.”
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