Ulaanbaatar

On the train - approach to Ulaanbaatar

After the intimidating but extremely thorough train border-crossing from Russia to Mongolia, I was feeling dishevelled and slightly overwhelmed – when a heavily set Russian official barks something at you in Russian whilst brandishing your passport, it leaves a somewhat uneasy feeling.

However, clearly satisfied, we were all cleared throughout the several hour-long border control process (a man in the carriage next to us was not quite so lucky). The barren and bleak Siberian landscape had given way to rolling sandy hills and blue skies.  Emaciated but numerous cows began to crop up in the distance, and small, densely-populated nomadic villages scattered the landscape. The sky was a brilliant blue, and I fell quickly for Mongolia.

Sukhbaatar Square - statue of Genghis Khan

Arriving in Ulaanbaatar was like walking into a dark room; I had absolutely no preconceived ideas, no clue what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised by the modernity of the city. It’s sleepy – lots of American-style blocks, but often void of people. Cafes are dotted around, and the central Sukhbaatar Square is complete with a large and impressive statue of Genghis Khan, looming over the wide open space flanked by government buildings. In this square, you start to remember that Mongolia is sandwiched between Russia and China. Wedged between two historical and modern superpowers, Mongolia – a country with an 80% nomadic population – is so much smaller in scale, it seems quite the surprising legacy that it ever posed a threat to its adversaries hidden behind the Great Wall of China. The city’s most impressive skyline feature is the sail-shaped Blue Sky Hotel; a startlingly modern and flashy architectural addition to an otherwise low-rise, closely contained city. Although I didn't visit the hotel to get the view, I found a pretty nice view from the top floor of the worth-a-visit State Department Store. As literal as it sounds, this has an extremely eclectic mix of all things Mongolian and offers a nice insight into the daily life of the city dwellers. The top floor has a large Mongolian-ware department with a lot of Mongolian nomad art and souvenirs.

The national museum proudly – and really very impressively – explains the nation’s history and development interactively and highly visually. A complimentary precursor to visiting the largest statute of Genghis Khan in the world (is that a shocking title? Or an oft’ rivalled one? who knows) which sits outside the city, at 40m, atop a horse and made entirely out of steel. A pretty good photo opportunity.

View of the city from the State Department Store top floor

Our first evening in the city fell on the national ‘Alcohol-Free Day’; the first day of every month is entirely dry. Not a terrible tragedy after 2 weeks of sitting on a train with a large portion of the Russian military conscription list, only able to translate and utilise the word ‘Vodka’. Nonetheless, it gave the city an eerily quiet vibe, with all the shops shutting early and only offering empty shelves where, presumably, crates of beer once sat. Instead, we went to a Mongolian cultural show – the Tumen Ekh Ensemble - which featured contortionists, dancers and Mongolian throat-singers. The performance was in a small room, with the audience all sat in rows on the floor – probably about 30 viewers in total – and was surreal to say the least. But, ultimately, very enjoyable and exciting to see a far more concise and defined culture than I had been expecting. The outfits were exciting and beautiful, and mini-plotlines enjoyable and all lasted precisely an hour. 

On the way out from the city towards our Ger Camp

We continued our Mongolia experience by walking to BD’s Mongolian Grill – DELICIOUS. A buffet-style room full of raw vegetables and meat and rice, noodles, salad, beans and pulses which you then take to the cooks which are situated around a large, flat metal griddle which, along with your sauces and spices, flash-fry your food (an extremely impressive show in itself – they very much show-off for their surrounding hungry spectators). The food was truly delicious, I cannot recommend enough. Authentic and tasty, it was a great hit with everyone – particularly due to the ‘all you can eat’ promise. Whilst most of us caved around our 3^rd or 4^th helping, the Mongolians had the right idea by going back for small, intensely flavoured courses. The restaurant itself is great fun, and the waiter’s shirts – which you can buy for your very own – are emblazoned with mottos like ‘Kiss Me I’m Mongolian’.


After being fed, watered and thoroughly Mongolia-ed for the evening, we returned to our comfortable hotel and prepared to move on to the Ger camp for a few nights in a luxury Yurt...

Beijing, PR China

I could well believe there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, but if this is the case this would barely seem to serve the endless and truly staggeringly vast population of the city. There were a lot of things I was expecting from the People's Republic of China, many of which I did see, but the sheer size and scale of the country is eye watering and caught me off guard. I work in London, I've visited almost every major Asian city and a good handful of American state capitols - I am by no means no stranger to the sprawl of a big city life, but nothing can prepare you for a city like Beijing. On our first afternoon, we walked from our nearby hotel to go and see Tiananmen Square; the pictures make this look like a relatively large space, perhaps not so different from Parliament Square (the irony of this comparison is not lost on me). But oh no. I can honestly say it took a good 30 minutes, perhaps more, to walk from one side of the square to the other – at a pace. Admittedly, part of this was due to the inexplicable and frankly very inconvenient rows and rows of gates and barriers surrounding the square. This became quite a theme in China – everything is barricaded in and it becomes a bit of a mental exercise to try and work out how to get from 'A' to 'B'. Eventually, however, we managed to find our way in; a long queue and a passport check later before surrendering our bags and going to meet the man himself: 毛泽东 - Mao Zedong. 

Chairman Mao's Mausoleum - Tiananmen Square, 2013

Mao’s mausoleum is located right in the middle of the square. A vast and ornate roof over a glass-cabinet containing the serene looking body of the former revolutionary leader. You were permitted a brief glimpse of him so long as you continued walking and didn't stop to stare too long. Draped in communist regalia, surrounded by flowers and offerings and watched over by several completely un-moving, fully uniformed guards, this was of course a particularly surreal attraction yet oddly unmissable. Before you were even allowed in to see Mao, however, there was a waiting room with what I can only describe to be a shrine and piles and piles of white flowers. Howling sobbing citizens fell to the ground, leaving their flowers and their tears in memory of their long-since deceased leader who left this world in 1976. I was surprised to find that the vast majority of visitors to the mausoleum were in fact Chinese, not tourists, which explains why we particularly had a relatively thorough search and interrogation on entering the building.
Fellow visitors watched us closely, perhaps waiting for us too to shed tears for the fallen dictator - who undoubtedly revolutionised the lives of countless millions of Chinese citizens for the better, and oversaw astonishing human rights abuses and mass starvation for countless million more - or perhaps the unwavering stares of the Chinese people around us were simply stemming from one of the many, many, many groups who would soon stop us for photo opportunities outside of the mausoleum and across the rest of China.

Quianmen Street, Tianamen Square visible in the distance

What started off as an endearing cultural quirk, allowing us all to chuckle along and agree reluctantly (whilst simultaneously feeling somewhat flattered) to pose for yet another picture with an entire Chinese family or group of friends, actually wore thin quite quickly. Both myself and my friend were pale and light haired and wearing western fashions; we tried to assume this was the basis of our appeal but, without knowing any Chinese whatsoever, we couldn’t quite shake the feeling eventually that this was a slightly more mocking tradition that the nationals had adopted. Who knows, but when you are trying to buy some water, or enter a museum, and you are launched on by groups of people wanting to pull your hair over themselves and pose for a photo, the appeal undoubtedly wore off. Indeed, whilst visiting a pagoda just outside of Beijing, we were asked to stand on a podium for a photo and soon more or less manhandled into position; the screeches and squeals of our photographers attracted so much attention we soon had a hoard of cameras facing us. That was when we knew: no more agreeing to photos. Enough was enough.


Beyond the highly westernised but unmissable Quianmen Street which led up to Tiananmen Square 

(shops on Quianmen included Sephora, Starbucks and H&M), beyond Mao's mausoleum and the national museum, beyond the patrolling Chinese guard, sat the sprawling expanse of the Forbidden City. 

The Forbidden City

The physical and metaphorical center of this city and, by extension, of the Eastern world. Entering through the main gates under a vast portrait of Mao, we were once again humbled but overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place; it would seem to take hours just to get to where you needed to be.

Luckily, rather than weaving through the numerous motorbikes and taxis on the streets of Beijing, you could hop into a tuk-tuk and have a slightly more scenic view of the sights and sounds of this truly remarkable city. Cheaper, friendlier though undoubtedly smoggier - this was the most interesting way to travel short distances.


The night life was it’s own spectacular experience. When you quote ‘Bar Street’ to a taxi driver, you will end up on Yinbing South around the Daxing district of Beijing, which feels more like a string of themed bars you would find in Magaluf. However, stray from this street by just another road or two and you find some hidden gems of Chinese nightlife; classy, pricey but extremely trendy bars and restaurants. All a short walk from a little cluster of nightclubs, overshadowed by the looming presence of the Workers’ Stadium. We found ourselves in the labyrinth of corridors spreading through ‘Mix’ – a nightclub which balanced Asian pop music with dub-step remixes of Taylor Swift songs. This became less weird after several of the extremely cheap cocktails from one of its many bars. Having not long since graduated university, this is really saying something; but I have possibly never seen people as drunk as I saw the Mix’s patrons that night. It seemed to actually be the objective to physically collapse from drink, leading on to a flurry of selfies and a lot of laughter. It was bizarre to observe, but a great night out all in all. N.B.: Be prepared for more of the clubs and bars to have no western toilets...

Toboggan Slide down from the Great Wall - Mutianyu

The Great Wall

Finally, Beijing is of course the obvious base for one of the true wonders of the world: The Great Wall of China. Disappointingly not actually ancient anymore, but still staggeringly impressive to observe, you can access the wall from several points – some more touristy than others. I was assured my access point - Mutianyu - was not too touristy, however when we parked next to a Subway and later took a (extremely fun) toboggan to get down from the wall, I doubted that very much. I can't imagine this was quite the authentic experience, but a £2 Subway Melt whilst overlooking the wall seemed to be a comforting sense of irony.
There are cable cars to get up to the wall, but climbing up makes it feel so much more worth it and lets you fully appreciate the scale of the construction. When on the wall, it is a constant stream of steps going up and down to each little outpost; some parts are extremely steep and accessed by stone ladders, others are less so but still require a hefty climb up flights of uneven stone steps. It was predictably foggy and smoggy, but undoubtedly breathtaking. Take a moment to sit atop a high point of the wall, with a bottle of water and observe the misty magic that is the Chinese landscape. Try not to look too closely at the vast white engraving scarring the otherwise perfectly untouched countryside which I was told to be a Maoist addition reading ‘demand total obedience to Chairman Mao.’ Very nice. Very subtle.

But then nothing about Beijing is subtle. I expected uniforms, single files, total order and military presence everywhere, but instead I was met with a slightly out-of-control population that is perhaps too vast, or too uninterested to be particularly controlled by anything: religion, politics, society. I couldn't shake the feeling that this national had been so rigidly controlled for so long by dictatorship that, in it's absence, there had become a slight vacuum leaving lots of un-tethered people living by their own rules. The scope is mind blowing, but that’s what P.R.China is now, with Beijing at the helm – it’s bigger, it’s better and it is absolutely one of – if not the – most interesting city I have ever been to.

UNMISSABLE: The Hutongs; criss-crossing lanes of cafes and restaurants and endless stalls and shops. The Hutongs show a glimmer of 'real China' - the way it once was and entirely unaffected by the Western world. You can get tours through the Hutongs, stopping at key tourist points such as the Drum Tower (well worth a visit above all else), Prince Gong's mansion and the little courtyard neighbourhoods. Unlike anything I've ever seen before, and an authentic and unmissable taste of China. A highlight was 'Pipe Tobacco Alley' near the Drum Tower and whilst I took off by foot, many choose to hire their own bikes to avoid the prices of the cab tours.

EATING: snack street is where to go. Cheap, extremely authentic and some tastier options if you’re willing to look past the still-wriggling scorpion kebabs, the skewered seahorses and the slightly flinching tarantulas. For those who do enjoy this type of cuisine, however, it’s just a few Yen and a deep-fat-fryer later until you have a crispy treat on a stick.

Snack Street - Starfish, Scorpions & Seahorses ready to be fried

Look beyond the tempting starbucks and McDonalds, because this is where Chinese food is it’s most Chinese. Not the Cantonese fried goods we’re used to from Western take-aways, but rather the true, authentic taste. Elsewhere in China, I found the food to me quite basic and bland, however  Beijing offers a sprawl of Yunnan Province restaurants, my favourite of which: Lost Heaven. As ethereal as it sounds, extremely atmospheric and absolutely delicious. Not the cheapest option in Beijing by far, but tucked away in a little courtyard just off the edge of Tiananmen Square, I could not fail to be entirely awestruck as I left feeling well fed, happily wined and then strolling straight into the fairy-lit and flood-lit square where Chairman Mao now rests. To each their own, but this for me was breathtaking.

Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam

The former Saigon was a bubbling stream of surprises. Having studied the Vietnam war from various angles, my perception of the political and social hub of South Vietnam - renamed in 1976 after the victorious leader of the North Vietnam Viet Cong - was shaped by a 15-year-old GCSE student's outlook and understanding.

Years (and years) on, there I stood: at the foot of the Rex Hotel, the hub of American wartime correspondence and the military command's Daily Conference throughout the late 60s and 70s. The History and Politics graduate inside me got that Christmas Eve feeling - it was really happening, I was really shadowing the footsteps of some of the most ground-breaking twentieth-century political events. I looked around me, ready to see hoards of equally as awe-struck students and tourists alike, glassy eyed and camera-ready. But alas, all I saw was a busy city full of busy traders and business men and a hell of a lot of motorbikes. Life went on around this ground-breaking site, and I was brought crashing down to the less glamorous reality that this city is developing - and fast - and to those who have walked past the Rex Hotel every day for the last 40 years with decreasing interest and perhaps only shadows of resentment and anger, this day was no different to any other and this still-used hotel was a nearly forgotten protagonist of South Vietnam's past.
Or perhaps everyone was just more interested in the ritzy Chanel shop which now occupies the ground-level of the building. A strange sense of irony.

When I arrived in Ho Chi Minh, I had rode off the back of a typhoon - a weather phenomena that I had never come across before. It started as a heavy but unimpressive rain shower (18years living in the UK - I was hardly impressed by a little rain storm) but quickly progressed to dominating the national news and a total shut down in transport and trade. This had made my crossing into Chau Doc and my questionable choice to hop on the back of a motorbike to tour the vicinity of the Vietnamese border somewhat regrettable. Whilst the driver - Hao - assured me those rolling black clouds and distant thunder claps were not going to be a problem until the evening, I found it hard to appreciate his stopping by a river-measure to show me how dramatic the 12-foot floods were the year before. When I tentatively suggested perhaps he should just return me to my hotel now, Hao laughed, swerved the motorbike to avoid a family of cats, and proceeded to drive me up the side of a mountain. He must have had a poor grasp of English, or perhaps just a really specific sense of humour.


Nonetheless, I made it to a post-storm Ho Chi Minh city and was pleasantly surprised to find the temperatures ever so slightly more enjoyable and slightly less damp.
The first obstacle that any visitor to the city must cross, quite literally, is the traffic and road system. By foot, the task that the infamous proverbial chicken faced of crossing the road to get to the other side became a far greater challenge than could be imagined and was many people's ideal of a total nightmare. Traffic is endless - swells of motorbikes undulate through the vast, multi-lane city roads. I could count the number of actual crossings and traffic lights that I saw on one hand (and even that hand might be a digit or two down). I was quickly advised to walk in a long, slow-moving line with other people across the roads so that the motorbikes have a better chance of dodging you (what a reassurance!). I survived unscathed but I wouldn't recommend squeezing your eyes shut and making a dash for it.

Getting around on foot is, otherwise, a pretty great way of seeing the city. Small, for a capital, but with the very concise air of a city on the increase. Buildings were going up higher, and the city borders were moving out wider.
Hotels and corporate hubs were coated a familiar glossy, reflective-glass exterior, giving the buildings that general city-vibe. They could have been anywhere; not distinctive to Ho Chi Minh in any way. However, seek and ye shall find: I soon found myself stumbling across dramatic Art-Deco buildings, and ceremonial halls and visiting the most impressive post-office I have ever seen (high ceilings, dramatic Art-Deco-esque murals and a mandatory, huge framed picture of Ho Chi Minh himself - puts the postie-cum-off-licence next door to me to shame, that's for sure). The post office also faced the city's vast and surprisingly full Catholic Church. I was dutifully informed by a Vietnamese woman sitting on the steps that the church was a sight to behold at Christmas. The church was circled by fast and busy roads, and pavements which were being mounted by helmet-clad motorcyclists, one of which I saw on the other side of the road promptly swipe a large SLR Camera in it's bag from the shoulder of one tourist and speed off. Some fellow tourists rush to help and offer comfort, but most people kept walking, perhaps having seen this happen many times before. Personally, I found it a little hard to imagine a magical Christmas Eve here.




The whole city got a little bit more sparkly by night and a tad more blurry after visiting a fine establishment celebrating the height of Vietnamese nightlife and fun - karaoke.
You rent a room, with a television, a couple of microphones, a few sofas and chairs and an endless catalogue of Western and Asian music options. Options were therefore not so much in short supply, however the selection seemed extremely random. Instead of Adele or Whitney Houston belters, we had Men At Work's 'Down Under'. Instead of Frank Sinatra or Aerosmith, we had several language translations of 'English Man In New York'. My personal favourite being a performance from another man in the room who roared out every English word in a heavy German accent.
Thankfully, the wine was cheap. Or it was if you ordered Vietnamese wine (Dalat Wine). Whilst I admit that even a portion of Fish and Chips would have run away to hide from this stuff, I developed a bit of a taste for it. But for £2 a bottle - who wouldn't?
Despite being the largest city in Vietnam, my brief time in Ho Chi Minh City did little for advancing my personal understanding of Vietnamese culture. Tiny flecks of the long-gone French influence existed there in the form of delicious bakeries and patisseries, and there were copious authentic restaurants ready to serve you their personal take on spring rolls or fried noodles - with or without Frog - but this was slightly overshadowed by a distant feeling of Westernisation. Whilst there was not a McDonalds in sight, nor any other visible Western food franchises, the city-dwellers grasp of English seemed surprisingly developed and the fashion shops would not have looked out of place on Oxford Street.

Nonetheless, this was culture in itself: Ho Chi Minh City is a melting-pot of people in a transitional period into a fast developing and growing capital city. The turbulent Vietnamese 20th century history is far more absent than I expected considering its comparatively recent discourse, but perhaps that makes it easier to see Ho Chi Minh City's growth as recovery as well as modernisation. Still far more modest than cities like Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur, I can imagine HCMC will soon be an economic hub of South East Asia and I already can't wait to revisit in a decades time - perhaps I can stand in view of the Rex Hotel once again amongst a greater international appreciation. Or perhaps it just won't exist any more.

Either way, I hope they continue making the robust but bargain-buy Dalat Wine.




UNMISSABLE: Cu Chi Tunnels - a truly astonishing insight into the Guerilla warfare techniques of the Vietnamese. You can observe and even try-out the vast network of hidden tunnels which Vietnamese soldiers fought, hid and lived in as well as see the surprisingly graphic torture and booby-trap displays. Very illuminating with the slight bizarre option to shoot AK47s in a mini-shooting range at the end. All ages welcome and protective clothing optional.

EATING: Pho 2000 is worth a visit for some Saigon delicacy with a real Vietnamese local feel to it. And apparently Bill Clinton went here too. Near a large market which is also worth a visit beforehand.

Reykjavik, Iceland

Iceland, it has to be said, is a true wonder of this world. From the lava fields shrouded in diverse moss types, to the glaciers, the mountains, the endless, bleak plains to the molten Earth so overwhelmingly under pressure that it literally explodes with the force of the parts of the planet we can't even see. Rekyavik is a slightly more normative settlement nestled between these extraordinary elements and boasts not only the title of capital city (those who have toured other European capitals may scoff at this) but also rows upon rows of idyllic, low-rise, Scandinavian-looking buildings housing what I truly believe to be one of the nicest race of people I have encountered.

Beyond the folksy shops selling wools, furs, Christmas ornaments and stuffed Puffins, Reykjavik becomes a more diverse city than immediate perceptions might suggest. An array of Chinese, Italian, Scandinavian and fast-food restaurants line the streets and break up some atmospheric little cafes (Kaffis) which are scattered with twinkling fairy lights, and providing really rather delicious Icelandic coffee and a roof to groups of locals and tourists alike escaping the unpredictable yet rather frequent rain showers. If you look closely enough between these, you can spot discrete bars and night clubs, but unless you choose to begin your night out at around 12.30am like the Icelanders do, it is difficult to fully imagine a Reykjavik nightlife in these places. Do not let this fool you: under the sheet of 24 hour daylight in the summer months, vampy-clad youths emerge to begin their nights out, the bravest of which may do so with a couple of shots of the thoroughly warming, albeit somewhat inadvisable, Brennivín.


This nightlife was not where my heart lay, however. Rather, at 12.30am, I preferred to marvel at the sheer beauty of the coastline of Reykjavik which was illuminated almost as well as it was at midday.
The days are easily filled with many very understated tourist attractions. Be sure not to miss Icelandic art, and if you have an appetite for the fascinating history of the country, particularly its gritty Viking foundations, do not miss the 871 Settlement Museum which, on top of having a very interesting subject matter, had remarkable technology making it exciting for even those who wouldn't otherwise bother.

The city is cultured, and clean. It is watched over by the Hallgrímskirkja church which is important to see, and difficult to miss - at 73m high, it boasts a position as the tallest building in the city. From the quirky, somewhat Viking-inspired  exterior, one is entirely forgiven for being taken back by the high-ceilinged, stark white modern interior. Warm, comfortable and extremely atmospheric, this strange surprise of a building accurately represents the general feel of the city - surprising, but comfortable and safe.
Perhaps not so much with the warm part, however: having visited in early June, I could not say the weather was typical of a summer holiday. It rained a lot, yet could switch to clear, cold skies or thick grey cloud in the space of minutes. Entirely unpredictable, I can advise only waterproofs, layers, a comfortable car and, of course, walking shoes.



UNMISSABLE: Blue Lagoon - A 45 minute/hour long drive out of Reykjavik central is the famous and truly luxurious Blue Lagoon Geothermal Spa. Once you get over the initial unpleasant sulphuric smell, you instead appreciate you are in a entirely natural hot spring, probably in the rain or snow but the water is gorgeously warm and you can scoop the nourishing clay or get some from small collection points around the spa to rub on your skin. There are also a significant amount of spa treatments available and little steam room/spa hot chambers. Iceland as its geological mightiest and finest, with just the right sprinkling of luxury.

EATING:  Þrír Frakkar restaurant - samples a very acquired taste. But definitely authentic! Lots of seafood and fish prepared in very Icelandic ways. Apparently Jamie Oliver is a big fan of this place  and its reputation within Reykjavik is as a very popular little snug. Maybe go at the beginning of your trip before you've grown too attached to Puffins...