icy magic tricks

I've learned a great deal from my time in Mongolia. Apart from the myriad of cultural and historic mysteries there are several funky tricks that I have picked up from living in this challenging climate:-

1. at -35C boiling water turns into snow if you throw it in the air [connect to link here] - love this so much but am afraid to find out what would happen if I took a pee outside at this temperature!

2. at minus 30C ice starts to stop being slippy; even the local ice rink doesn't function properly

3. you really do stick to metal if you touch it below -25C; and if you touch it with your tongue...

4. below -30C any parts of skin that are exposed to the air turn white in about ten minutes, numb after 15 and can cease to ever function again after 25 minutes

5. if your home is warm and it's below -30C outside, when you open a window or the front door a mysterious chill mist drifts inwards - very spooky

6. if your home is warm and it's below -15C outside any tiny gaps in windows or doors sucks the cold air and creates a noisy wind despite it being still outside and that disappears as soon as you open the door

7. below -20C, and if it's incredibly dry, when the snow falls it evaporates before it reaches the ground resulting in a mere couple of inches of snow throughout the 7 month winter

Mongolian of the day:- make :: khiikh

a room with a view

I'd like to think that I was getting used to the weather in Mongolia; but I'm not. When the thermometer touches -40C only a very tempting offer would get me to leave the house; such offers might include lunch, dinner, coffee etc.

This morning, after coming back after breakfast with friends in Ulaanbaatar, I stood next to the fire, thawed out (eventually) and sat down to get some work down. It takes so long to get dressed to go out in this weather that by the time you've derobed you've warmed yourself up, it save going to the gym.

Halfway through the afternoon my imagination began to wander. I stared out of the window and wondered how so many animals manage to survive such wilderness. Besides the wild dogs there are a host of creatures that roam the icy expanses. From my desk I watched the local herd of wild horses (I say wild but they actually belong to the President of Mongolia who lives next door). Dreaming furhter afield I spotted two Steppe eagles dancing together on the currents. Normal I would say they were dancing on thermals but I can'ty see how there could possibly be any warm out there. Nearer to home a woodpecker rather randomly appeared and brought me back to my apartment. It was a lovely reminder of home; they are such cosmopolitan creatures.

Mongolian of the day:- animal :: aimtan

true grit

There are not many places where you can look out of your sitting room window and watch cowboys at work. Yet again Mongolia bowls a googly. This afternoon I sat at my desk and watched a cowboy coralling his herd across the mountainside.

The icy landscape rendered his antics unduly hazardous but he moved his charges as if he were picking up freshly cut flowers. They moved willfully in whichever direction he commanded. The mountains he was working on are more steep than I am happy to walk yet he galloped to and fro ensuring that his commerce was undertaken with the utmost efficiency and unerring effectiveness.

The Mongol horseman is a consumate professional.

Ulaanbaatar was the coldest place on earth last week at -47C. Today it was the most polluted place on earth; that's urbanisation and the march of capitalism for you. Thank goodness the winds have finally come.

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: moir

meat me at the market

Ulaanbaatar is a funny old place. Although it is fairly primitive in many respects (there are only a few hundred miles of tarmac road in a country the size of France, Spain, Germany and UK combined) and while it's remoteness can be unforgiving (Ulaanbaatar is the most remote capital city in the world - and the coldest) the Mongolian capital has markets than can sell you anything from a rare species of monkey to HP Sauce. Some may have seen the Black Market on Ewan McGregor's 'The Long Way Round' (it's where he picked up motorbike parts). It is an intimidating place. However, my preferred market is nearer the centre of town and unlike the Black Market (which specialises in dirty heavy goods) the Mercury Market is just for food - a great passion of mine.

Each week I set off with my shopping list. The market starts in the car park where you can pick up a freshly slaughtered sheep if the mood takes you. The market itself is split into four areas. A small entrance hall that offers perfumes, DVDs and other capitalist oriented consumables leads into the first main hall. Here you can find any fruit you could possibly want and any packeted or tinned items you can imagine (this week I managed to source fresh Russian cranberry sauce in vodka and Bisto veggie stock cubes).

This hall leads onto a passage displaying a variety of interesting dairy products. They say it's cheese but coming from France I ain't going anywhere near it. A dozen or so paces on and you reach another large hall (the same size as the fruit and tinnery). The first half is overflowing with seasonal vegetables (like the fruit almost all imported via Russia or China). An incredible assortment of potatoes line the stalls with any number of intriguing root vegetables piled upon them. The vegetables lead to the second half of the hall houses my favourite stalls - the butchers.

From a room in the back you can hear the nostalgic baa-ing of a sheep. This is followed by a dull thwudd. From here a saw can be heard accompanied by the sound of slops falling on the floor. Within minutes freshly butchered mutton is on offer. That's what I call fresh food. On a myriad of clean(ish) tables an incredible variety of meat cuts are nonchalently displayed. One of the butchers has a seemingly mummified sheep's head as her display sign. The roast mutton I cooked up yesterday was one of the best roasts I can remember.

Mongolian of the day:- vegetarian :: [does not compute]

absolute silliness

Ok, scratch what I wrote yesterday about Mongolia. The cold here is unlike anything I've experienced before. I tried to go for a walk this morning and not for want of trying I was warned against doing so. Combined with the joyful pollution that reeks out of the many gers as they burn cardboard, plastic, tyres - whatever it takes to keep warm - there is a definite bite to your throat whenever you venture outdoors.

There is a hill next to my home here that is about twice the height of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh (roughly 500m) so nothing too big. I try and walk up it whenever I can as means of keeping fit. When I first arrived it was a struggle because we are a bit higher up than I am used to; but I managed. When summer arrived I found it tough in +40C; but I managed. In Autumn I struggled at 0C; but I managed. As I set off this morning two Mongolian friends implored me to stop. They assured me that if I tried to walk up the hill in this weather my corpse would be carried off the hill. I failed (but am still breathing).

It might be mostly sunny. It might be mostly still. It might not feel too bad if you are only walking from your home to the car and back. However, if you walk any distance or remain outside for more than a couple of minutes your skin starts to get bitten, your bogies freeze, it becomes tougher to close your eyes as the mucous covering your eyeballs begins to turn more viscous and there is a shortness to your breath that would worry even the more fanatically fit athlete. Still, I can't help but be excited by it. Where else could I revel in -40C? Where else could I walks across deep frozen rivers? Where else could I be so often be close to death? Mongolia continues to surprise when you least expect it.

Apologies if I go on about the weather but a) I am British and b) it is amazing.

Mongolian of the day:- I speak a little Mongolian :: tiym, bi Mongol hel zhaahan medne

meanwhile, back in Mongolia

Flying back across the South Gobi last night was a world away from the heady parties, fine banquets and consumerist excesses that have marked my last month in Europe. Despite having gained some ten pounds and spent considerably more enjoiying myself with friends and family I readily changed currency and by the time the last snow capped mountain loomed out of sight I was safely in the land of the tugrik.

My wonderful wife had her birthday while we were in St Jean de Luz; the Basque port town definitely remains our intended eventual home. I recall the evening well. We sat outside on Place Louis XIV, ate freshly caught seafood and quaffed a delightful grand cru. How different to wake up two weeks later in an ice filled -38C landscape.

Despite the wonder and ferocity of winter in Mongolia I confess that I actually found it colder in Britain. It must be something to do with the wind or wet but the -5C I experienced while sitting in Murrayfield watching Edinburgh beat Glasgow at rugby felt a darn site colder than my bracing walk over the river this morning.

Mongolian of the day:- return :: butsaj irekh