The Mid-Autumn Festival presented a perfect opportunity to explore a little more of China. Some last-minute planning with some friends from work resulted with us choosing to visit Inner Mongolia. We found a tour company that offered a great package; travel, accommodation, food, refreshments, a tour guide and entry to local attractions for ¥965 (£108).
You can't argue with that value, the only downside was that we'd be travelling by coach. It took 11 hours to reach the Inner Mongolian grasslands. 11 hours. You read over that detail in mere seconds, but I had to live through it in a chair that was bolt up-right as the reclining lever was broken. The tour guide also said that we would only be making one toilet break en route to save time. China is a country based on authoritarian rule whereby they may be able to enforce a lack of basic human rights, such as access to drinking water, but on a bus of 50 foreigners, the Maoist tour guide eventually succumbed to our Western pressure. 11 bastard hours.
The tour guide, Kevin wanted to welcome us to Inner Mongolia with further details about the vast land north of Beijing.
"Inner Mongolia isn't part of Mongolia, it's part of China. Inner Mongolia is China. China. China owns Inner Mongolia."
As it happens Inner Mongolia was once part of Mongolia until the rise of the Qing Dynasty around 1650. The Khans were overthrown, and China ruled Mongolia for about 300 years when Mongolia wanted to become independent once again. China ignored these pleas until the end of World War II when Winston Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, and Joseph Stalin (after a few bevvies, lines of coke, and cigars) agreed on some world order. Mongolia gained recognition of independence by China, but the agreement didn't include the region of Inner Mongolia.
Inner Mongolia is in a list akin to Hong Kong, Taiwan, Tibet and Xinjiang. Luckily, Chinese people are very thick skinned and don't need to reiterate such land disputes or feel the need to slap Tory delegates for discussing Hong Kong freedoms.
When we finally arrived at the grasslands we were straight off horseriding. I was hoping for a little guidance on how to ride a horse as I hadn't been on one since I went on a PGL trip about 17 years before. With no instructions we were off, I tried my best to control this beast, but it wasn't responding to the internationally recognised equine instructions of "giddy up!" and "Woah, Nelly!". These horses only understand Mandarin and Mongolian, neither of which I'm versed in. They were under the instruction of the Mongolian trainers and I was just along as a passenger. The trainers would call an instruction, the horses would react and I'd be the last to find out what was happening as I held on for dear life.
Walking was bearable, but anything faster wasn't. Cantering and galloping were terrifying as I bounced around on top of the horse like some ragdoll, my gentleman's region squashed on the horses back with only an old bathmat acting as a makeshift saddle to make it a somewhat comfortable ride.
The riding route took about an hour to navigate and I was finally back on my own two legs. That made for 12 hours of discomfort for the day. It could well be my final time on the back of a horse, my dreams of being a Texan rancher rounding up the cattle or pony trekking on Blackpool beach have been dashed.
After a tasteless dinner, the organisers had put on a small party for us. They announced:
"Please join us outside for music, fireworks, dancing, free beer, and a bonfire. The party is from 8pm until 8:30pm."
Thirty minutes?! That isn't enough time to get drunk enough to even consider dancing. And what happens to the bonfire at half past 8, do they chuck a bucket of water on it?
The party was fun, while it lasted. There were people of all ethnicities, ages, and cultures at the camp that evening. The music started and it was European techno. The hosts welcomed everyone onto a dance platform and old ladies raved it up beside young children while the questionable music blared with lyrics including "I like sex with my ex!" It was very bizarre.
Our accommodation for the evening was a traditional Mongolian yurt. I was rather excited to stay in one, but as the night continued our heater packed up and the outside temperature dropped. Those yurts aren't especially well insulated, it made for a very cold evening.
Up early the following morning and back on the bus. We had a short 5-hour journey over to the Kubuqi desert. The tour guide decided it'd be a good idea for everyone to introduce themselves to the entire bus. A futile activity as most people aren't listening and probably don't care. What we discovered was that our party of 4 teachers were the oldest on the bus. Of the people on the trip, most of them were children aged between 18-20 who were all in China on university exchange programs. It made me feel like a chaperone and my friend, Tina, feel even worse as she was old enough to be a mother to them.
Once a dry, harsh inhospitable land the Kubuqi Desert has been transformed into a sandy theme park. Sandboarding, camel riding, dune buggy rides were on the agenda.
A fun time was had by all and yet more fun was to come as we had another 4-hour bus journey to Inner Mongolia's capital city of Hohhot!
Us city dwellers were getting a little bored of all the open spaces, fresh air and friendly countryside people, what we really wanted was a built-up area of smog and bars. We dropped our bags at the hotel and went bar hopping in Hohhot getting in sometime around 6am.
We had a wake-up call at 8am and had to be on the bus at 8:30am to make it to The Inner Mongolia Museum to learn about all things Inner Mongolian. We just about made it and began talking to the children on the bus, it turned out that they all stayed in the night before. So much for feeling old! Us pensioners have still got some fight left in us. Having said that, the two-hour kip just wasn't enough to muster the will to go to the museum. The children went to learn in the museum (pfft, dweebs) while we went to get McDonald's and recover somewhat from the night before.
The trip was coming to an end and we had our final slog of a journey back to Beijing which we managed in about 7 hours. It was a lot of fun but after spending close to 30 hours on a coach I think my next trip will be by plane.
You can't argue with that value, the only downside was that we'd be travelling by coach. It took 11 hours to reach the Inner Mongolian grasslands. 11 hours. You read over that detail in mere seconds, but I had to live through it in a chair that was bolt up-right as the reclining lever was broken. The tour guide also said that we would only be making one toilet break en route to save time. China is a country based on authoritarian rule whereby they may be able to enforce a lack of basic human rights, such as access to drinking water, but on a bus of 50 foreigners, the Maoist tour guide eventually succumbed to our Western pressure. 11 bastard hours.
The tour guide, Kevin wanted to welcome us to Inner Mongolia with further details about the vast land north of Beijing.
"Inner Mongolia isn't part of Mongolia, it's part of China. Inner Mongolia is China. China. China owns Inner Mongolia."
As it happens Inner Mongolia was once part of Mongolia until the rise of the Qing Dynasty around 1650. The Khans were overthrown, and China ruled Mongolia for about 300 years when Mongolia wanted to become independent once again. China ignored these pleas until the end of World War II when Winston Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, and Joseph Stalin (after a few bevvies, lines of coke, and cigars) agreed on some world order. Mongolia gained recognition of independence by China, but the agreement didn't include the region of Inner Mongolia.
Inner Mongolia is in a list akin to Hong Kong, Taiwan, Tibet and Xinjiang. Luckily, Chinese people are very thick skinned and don't need to reiterate such land disputes or feel the need to slap Tory delegates for discussing Hong Kong freedoms.
When we finally arrived at the grasslands we were straight off horseriding. I was hoping for a little guidance on how to ride a horse as I hadn't been on one since I went on a PGL trip about 17 years before. With no instructions we were off, I tried my best to control this beast, but it wasn't responding to the internationally recognised equine instructions of "giddy up!" and "Woah, Nelly!". These horses only understand Mandarin and Mongolian, neither of which I'm versed in. They were under the instruction of the Mongolian trainers and I was just along as a passenger. The trainers would call an instruction, the horses would react and I'd be the last to find out what was happening as I held on for dear life.
Walking was bearable, but anything faster wasn't. Cantering and galloping were terrifying as I bounced around on top of the horse like some ragdoll, my gentleman's region squashed on the horses back with only an old bathmat acting as a makeshift saddle to make it a somewhat comfortable ride.
The riding route took about an hour to navigate and I was finally back on my own two legs. That made for 12 hours of discomfort for the day. It could well be my final time on the back of a horse, my dreams of being a Texan rancher rounding up the cattle or pony trekking on Blackpool beach have been dashed.
After a tasteless dinner, the organisers had put on a small party for us. They announced:
"Please join us outside for music, fireworks, dancing, free beer, and a bonfire. The party is from 8pm until 8:30pm."
Thirty minutes?! That isn't enough time to get drunk enough to even consider dancing. And what happens to the bonfire at half past 8, do they chuck a bucket of water on it?
The party was fun, while it lasted. There were people of all ethnicities, ages, and cultures at the camp that evening. The music started and it was European techno. The hosts welcomed everyone onto a dance platform and old ladies raved it up beside young children while the questionable music blared with lyrics including "I like sex with my ex!" It was very bizarre.
Our accommodation for the evening was a traditional Mongolian yurt. I was rather excited to stay in one, but as the night continued our heater packed up and the outside temperature dropped. Those yurts aren't especially well insulated, it made for a very cold evening.
Up early the following morning and back on the bus. We had a short 5-hour journey over to the Kubuqi desert. The tour guide decided it'd be a good idea for everyone to introduce themselves to the entire bus. A futile activity as most people aren't listening and probably don't care. What we discovered was that our party of 4 teachers were the oldest on the bus. Of the people on the trip, most of them were children aged between 18-20 who were all in China on university exchange programs. It made me feel like a chaperone and my friend, Tina, feel even worse as she was old enough to be a mother to them.
Once a dry, harsh inhospitable land the Kubuqi Desert has been transformed into a sandy theme park. Sandboarding, camel riding, dune buggy rides were on the agenda.
Us city dwellers were getting a little bored of all the open spaces, fresh air and friendly countryside people, what we really wanted was a built-up area of smog and bars. We dropped our bags at the hotel and went bar hopping in Hohhot getting in sometime around 6am.
We had a wake-up call at 8am and had to be on the bus at 8:30am to make it to The Inner Mongolia Museum to learn about all things Inner Mongolian. We just about made it and began talking to the children on the bus, it turned out that they all stayed in the night before. So much for feeling old! Us pensioners have still got some fight left in us. Having said that, the two-hour kip just wasn't enough to muster the will to go to the museum. The children went to learn in the museum (pfft, dweebs) while we went to get McDonald's and recover somewhat from the night before.
The trip was coming to an end and we had our final slog of a journey back to Beijing which we managed in about 7 hours. It was a lot of fun but after spending close to 30 hours on a coach I think my next trip will be by plane.
