Half an Hour in Mongolia

The first part of my visa run was easy. I took overnight train from where I was living Hohhot to the Chinese/Mongolian border; sharing a cabin with three burly gents who spent the journey drinking beers, playing cards and ignoring me. Perfect. Having eaten all my snacks, explored the aging train’s toilet facilities and managed not to fall down the hole onto the train tracks, I decided to sleep.

This turned out to be an excellent idea, as I woke to views of the Mongolian-Manchurian grasslands. I’ve before never seen scenery so nonchalantly proving that the world is so much bigger than I can imagine.

Erlian (or Erenhot) is a town on the crossing point of the Chinese/Mongolian border whose main claim to fame is being the town on the crossing point on the Chinese/Mongolian border.

Arriving just after 6am I asked a taxi driver to take me to the border-crossing. Instead he decided to drop me at a random part of border. I could see Mongolia, but I couldn’t get there. Three phone calls, and two taxi rides later; I ended up at the visa office, where I was patiently informed that despite what I’d been told, I would need a Mongolian visa for my trip. So I handed over my passport and was told to come back at 3pm.

Eventually, passport in hand, I got to the border crossing at Guomen ('country gate’). Where I brokered a lift across the border with a Mongolian Chelsea supporter and smuggler. At passport control there was an agonising moment as the officer laboriously counted exactly how many days I’d been in China (88).

Eventually my passport was stamped and I was free to enter no man’s land.

Sitting in the sunshine in no country in particular I waited for my football fan and his jeep to drive me to Mongolian passport control. Eventually he arrived complaining about overbearing Chinese officials; “It doesn’t matter how much I bribe them, they still want to look at everything in my car!”

After promising to visit Mongolia properly one day (“It’s much more beautiful than China, the most beautiful place in the world”) I was dropped at the immigration office. Where my passport was swiftly stamped and I was ushered out. When I asked how to get back to China, I was directed to another door in the same building. Where I spoke to the confused the official:
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“How long have you been in Mongolia?”
“About half an hour.”

She sighed and returned my passport, and with my visas safely stamped I headed back to Hohhot.