I Grew My Boobs in China (34 page)

There being no direct flights to Mongolia from North America, we started in China, the closest place to it. The whole idea just scared me silly. The stories I’d heard of Mongolia were even worse than what I’d heard about China, and they’d come from travelers who’d been there. I knew the worst part was going to be the food.

But here we were, and part of me could not believe that I was waiting in line in a little immigration building in the desert to get into a country I already hated. I was so tired I could hardly fill out the simplest form – surname, date of birth, nationality, visa validity, expiration date. I squinted in an effort to focus properly, but it all seemed like way too much to ask of me.
Why do they even care?
I wondered as I scribbled in what would have to pass for answers.

Bree was literally dancing by my side as we made our way to the train station once we finally officially got into the country.
I didn’t wish for this,
I thought, trying to understand how I ended up in this remote country on the other side of the world.
Doesn’t fate know any better? I hadn’t wanted to travel in the first place, but I most certainly wanted nothing to do with this part of the plan.
Noticing the steam coming out my ears, Ammon barked, “What’s your bloody problem!?”

“Look where those idiots stamped my passport!!” I said, waving it at him angrily and glaring in a way that normally would have provoked a tongue lashing, but this time he responded by laughing.

“Hah! I told you you’d start to get into it!” He ignored my dismay and was pleased, instead, by my concern about my passport’s appearance. In his mind, it was a sure indication that a seasoned traveler was blossoming within me.

“I am not! It was just so pretty and they ruined it! Why would they want to ruin their own visa?”

“Who cares what it looks like? That’s two fewer stamps I needed to fill my passport!” Ammon said, walking faster and leaving me smoldering in the dust behind him. At that point, I only had a grand total of four visas in my passport and about twice that in stamps, but it was starting to feel full. Though I’d never tell Ammon, I’d secretly memorized the shape, text, colour, and placement of every one of them.

The six of us finally made it through the heat and the dust to the deserted train station, only to spend an exhausting six hours waiting for an overnight train that was supposed to leave at seven o’clock in the evening. Aside from picking up a few necessities for the trip from a tiny shop, mainly water and cookies, we spent hours playing a few dozen more rounds of our ongoing card game, with Ammon and I taking turns being in first place.

When we finally heard the train rumble into its sandy port, we hurriedly swung our packs on our backs and ran outside. Assigned to the very last car on the train, we were unable to board from the concrete platform which wasn’t long enough to accommodate the train’s length. From ground level, the metal step and the handlebars were a long reach, but team work made it possible. With whistles urgently blowing for the last call and my blood rushing in my veins, Bree pushed my backpack from behind as I grasped Ammon’s extended hand and clambered in. Instantaneously turning around, I reached for Bree’s outstretched hand and tugged her in with only seconds to spare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed that the moment we crossed the invisible boundary line and left China’s gorgeous green rice fields behind, the land before us was transformed into a lifeless desert. We found the stark demarcation completely bizarre. “It’s almost as if the earth knew it wasn’t China anymore,” Mom said, looking out the window.

“Whoever made the toilets knew, too,” Ammon said. “I wouldn’t call them award winners, exactly, but they’re definitely an improvement. The doors actually lock, and they’re not nearly as filthy.”

The little men wearing straw cone hats had vanished. There wasn’t a soul in sight for miles. Every time I glanced up from
Gone with the Wind,
I expected to see the lush green fields and terraces we were always treated to on our train rides. Unsure whether I missed the fertile vegetation more than I was now captivated by these wastelands dotted with camels, I was surprised to catch myself smiling, even laughing, as I reminisced about my experiences in my very first foreign country.

I couldn’t believe all the things we’d done in the seven weeks we’d spent there. It seemed that months had passed since I was nearly squashed running across ten lanes of traffic among the City of Chengdu’s ten million people, yet I could still feel the buzz of the big cities in my ears. If I had ever, by any stretch of the imagination, independently chosen to visit China, I would’ve visited only the most advertised and “safest” places. But it was the beautiful landscape and sweet authenticity of the local people in the small villages and in their markets that provided our richest experiences. The remote nooks and crannies that at first seemed to be the most intimidating actually turned out to be the most amazing.

It seemed like forever since we’d landed in Hong Kong. Perhaps the impact was due to being thrown into it all so suddenly and a bit harshly. I’d certainly gotten to know the squatties. I’d literally faced the toilets, at one point thrusting my head into one, sick as a dog. I’d also seen a bum washing his bum in a puddle at the edge of a busy highway. The biggest eye-opener, though, was watching a young mother clutch her baby to her breast while lying on a curb, scooping soggy rice from a trash can into her mouth.
That picture will probably stick with me for a while,
I thought. Luckily there was always so much going on that I rarely had time to dwell on any one image.

Lowering my heavy book to look out the train window, I was struck mostly by the scarcity of towns and people. Aside from a few lost wanderers on foot or atop child-sized horses, we were alone in the desert. Predictably, I began to worry.
What if we broke down? How would we survive? How much water is on this train? There isn’t a speck of shade anywhere. How long would our food supply last if we got stranded here? How long would it be before we’d have to start cutting throats to get a share of noodles?
Following close behind the anxiety, though, I began to feel some excitement welling up inside me. I could see that it was a perfect place for the horseback riding I’d been promised. We occasionally saw herds of what we thought must be wild horses, given the absence of any farms, barns, or even fences.

Every so often, an isolated, circular white tent would appear like a buoy bobbing in the vastness of the sea. These small, round homes usually sat alone in open fields. Sometimes there were pairs or even groups of them. I was shocked when Ammon explained that those white tents were the most common form of housing outside of the capital city.

“You’re kidding! They LIVE there?!” I ogled a few through the glass.

“Yes, and ‘there’ is called a ger,” he told us.

“Grrrr!” Bree growled, devising her own, more creative, version of the word.

“And about a third of the entire population of this country lives that way.”

“How do they get food, or water, or clothes, or anything?!” I asked.

“Well, that’s part of what you’ll learn while we’re here,” Ammon told me. “Something you should know is that twenty percent of the people live on less than a dollar and twenty-five cents day.”

“Whoa!” Bree couldn’t quite comprehend how they could do that. Neither could I, of course, but I thought about different parts of their lives as I peered out through a minor sandstorm to where a flock of goats were tended by young boys who looked to be about nine or ten years old.
Do they even go to school? Where do they get their food from? How do they live out here?! How do they find people to date?
And then a final, anxious thought.
Where will I ever find a date?! I’m gonna be a worn-out, if well-traveled, spinster before I ever have a man in my life!

The thing that impressed me the most, though, was seeing the train randomly stop to unload passengers who’d then just walk off into the never-ending distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I must’ve passed out as soon as the fiery sun sank into the hazy horizon because, before I knew it, I heard everyone waking around me. People passed me to line up for the bathroom and freshen up for the new day just before we got to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s capital. We exchanged warm hugs with Khongorzul and her daughter as we said our farewells.

“You will have a great time. You will love my people. If you are again in
U.B.
and need my help in any way, this is my number.” And with that, she was gone.

Arriving again without reservations or plans, I was pleased to see a girl on the platform promoting a guest house. The benefit of going with her was the free ride to the hostel – just what I needed after two straight days of travelling. The first thing I noticed during the ride was that the steering wheel was on the right-hand side of the car. Though I’d seen this in Hong Kong, it was the fact that they did not drive on the left side of the road like they did in Hong Kong that really threw me. I eventually noticed that roughly half of the steering wheels were positioned on the left, but regardless of its location, everyone luckily drove on the same side of the road.

The luxury SUV we rode in from the station did not extend to the cheaply priced hostel’s quality. The dorm we were presented with was dark and dank, and hosted ten cramped bunk beds that would accommodate twenty guests. I was ready to turn around and walk right back out when we saw it, but not Ammon.

“You know what? I like it,” he said, surprisingly.

“You WHAT?!” I asked, watching him swing his pack off to claim a bed.

“I like it,” he repeated before turning on his heels to leave. “Now drop your bags. We’re going out. We’ve got to go figure out what we’re doing next.”

“Oh my heck!” I exclaimed, but we all left our bags on top or underneath our chosen bed. I felt tons lighter when I finally got to drop that load. When you are attached to something that heavy for so long, it slowly becomes a part of you, and dropping it feels a bit like when you get off a horse and suddenly feel much shorter.

We got caught in a heavy downpour that filled potholes and formed muddy rivers in the streets of Ulaanbaatar as we searched for a place offering the cheapest tours. A quiet bell dinged four times, once for each of us, when we passed through a little wooden door and climbed the stairs to Narran’s Guest House. The business was run from a small apartment, so Bree and I waited in the stairwell while Mom and Ammon booked a twelve-day tour that would begin the following morning. We were both sopping wet and began wringing the rainwater out of our long, braided hair.

The door through which Mom and Ammon had disappeared was closed, but the open door opposite looked like a kitchen. Bree and I were just chatting when I began to notice her leaning awkwardly to get a better look inside the open door.

“Stop it!” I finally said as I looked over my shoulder to see what was so interesting. “What on earth?”

“Shhh, shhh! He might hear you.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said, rolling my eyes when I saw the topless guy rummaging through the refrigerator to get a bite to eat. His skin was as smooth and perfect as a baby’s. He looked no older than twelve, but I figured he was probably in his mid-twenties.

“Don’t you think he’s cute?!” she asked, not taking her eyes off the slender guy’s lean, mocha-coloured figure. “His aviators are so sexy, like he’s from
Top Gun
,” she whispered, leaning over me to get a better look.

Pushing her away and speaking in a normal voice, I asked, “Who wears sunglasses indoors?”

“But they are SO sexy!!!” she insisted.

“Ugh,” I groaned, annoyed. I stood up and slammed the door shut.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Oh my gosh, Savannah! He was getting up. You just slammed the door in his face.” I turned warily when I heard the door slowly creaking open. He stuck his head cautiously through the crack and peered at us.

He pulled his sunglasses up and with a charming smile asked, “Are you two fighting?” Bree was too weak in the knees to answer, so he carried on. “My name’s Baagii,” he said, pleasant as could be.

“Rhymes with doggy?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly!” he laughed, taking no offence.

“So, what are you doing here?” Bree asked, striking up a conversation.

“I work here,” he said with a cheeky smile. “I help with the tours.”
That’s just great! That’s all the encouragement Bree needs!
From the instant she heard he was an employee, she couldn’t shut up about him. She talked about him at the hostel, in the big covered market when we bought food, and even at the bank when Mom became a millionaire. Okay, only a togrog millionaire, but the thick stack of new currency made Mom giddy nonetheless, but all Bree could do was say, “Baagii’s worth a million togrog,” and giggle childishly at her own cliché.

She paced like an idiot the following morning, hoping against hope that he would be there. The vehicles arrived late, something we’d rarely experienced in China. One Russian van pulled over at the roundabout where we waited, followed closely by a jeep similar to the one we’d driven across the border in. I held my breath as the grey van’s side door slid open and Baagii emerged from the shadows, his aviator glasses catching the sunlight first.

“Oh, here we go,” I muttered.

Strutting out in ripped jeans and a tight white tank top, Baagii offered his hand to Ammon, who happily announced, “Meet our new guide.”

Chapter 30

Anything Goes

“What was his name again?” Ammon shouted over the engine as he nodded towards the driver. “Has anyone talked to him yet?”

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. I hadn’t heard him speak even once. The man behind the wheel came across as a man of few words, but always boasted a big smile. He wasn’t bad looking, either.

“His name’s Bimbo!” Bree chimed in.