The border guards got her.

I've arrived safe and sound back in Russia and Ulan Ude, where I am now cleaning myself and waiting for the new day to dawn in England so I can pay for a train to Chita and the Amur river.

However, my companion did not make it over the border. She was forced to pack up her things, carry them off the train, and sit in a room with a guard while I was left outside on the platform feeling guilty and pretty useless.

For the rest of the journey I had no time for a chatty archaeologist who was probably really interesting, but wasn't someone I've spent the last month with, and so I just sat reading.

As a cartoonist vampire I did of course draw/write the story of Birke being thrown off the train (I will add it to this post when next I'm in an internet cafe), but when I started doing it I didn't realise it would end with her actually being sent back into Mongolia. I assumed that patience, flexibilty and money would get us through. But no, so just best wishes to you Birke and we will see who is first back in Irkutsk. Although I would love to meet you off the train with your tent and sleeping bag, I hope you beat me in the race, because it means your escape from Mongolia will be swifter.








Travis above the Pacific, John crossing northern China, Freya with the horses, and everyone else from the camp who is now dispersed and off, lots of love, and I will still see some of you before western europe gets me back...

Meanwhile in Mongolia.

I've been drawing a cartoon diary while in Mongolia, available here.

Photos of Mongolia are on a temporary faecebook account here.

And photos of the Lake Baikal camp are also on the account here.

Into Outer Mongolia

I am currently on a detour from the Bakunin-Kropotkin route, into Mongolia with 4 others who did the conservation camp on Baikal. Tomorrow we're heading west to camp for a few days in an unknown place. It's 2 days away because we were advised that wild camping in the general vicinity of Ulan Bator and its nearest national parks is too dangerous. There's still marauders about.

Approaching the border I read about Kropotkin's bluffs and successful manouevres to get past official obstructions and into Chinese Manchuria. I myself was, strictly speaking, in breach of my Russian visa because the conservation organisation I camped with had failed to notify the right authorities that I was there. But another Austrian girl was in worse straits because someone had stolen her visa on the train.

We had 8 hours wait on the Russian side of the border, but in the end the only real (as opposed to imagined) difficulties we faced were the heat and the boredom. My registration slip was wordlessly collected and even the Austrian girl was okay - it was the Mongolian border guard's birthday.

So I'm no longer making notes for the anarchist pilgrimage zine, but will take them up again when I return into Russia, on the 17th September, when I mean to take another train straight away to Chita and the Amur River (where Kropotkin had his first job, and Bakunin escaped exile).

Until then, I am still drawing a diary, which I will probably post here, but there isn't much anarchist history in it.

The only way I am continuing the heritage of Bakunin is by borrowing money off people - the bank has stopped my card and so I've had to buy tickets etc... with the cash of new acquaintances. Bakunin continued to do it into his old age, and never paid back. But I think I'm too middle class for that.

Back in Ulan Bator on the 13th September.

Trail Zine

The Trail Zine we made together is mentioned on my other blog.

Train Journeys

I've booked tickets on the early train to Mongolia tomorrow, with Travis the lucky-in-love confederate boy, and Miss Freya Jones. We have packs of cards and high hopes, although my semi-illegality here now means I may be quizzed at the border (the delay at the border is approximately 7 hours).

Here are pictures from the 3 day train journey on the relatively luxururious 'Rossiya' train. I am proud of dragging people from my carriage out of their cabins and into the restaurant car for drinks. The two men are Waldemar the Finn and Alexandr the Russian. The station is Zima station, which means 'Winter'.

Trail-making on Lake Baikal's shore.

Ulan Ude as a base.

The words on the hill are in Cyrillic, en route to the Datsan, see if you can tell what they say.

The words on the Buddhist temple honour 'green tara'. Yes, the goddess is worshipped only in Buryatia.

The cyclists are a bunch of Germans, American, Polish etc.. we met by Lenin's disembodied head, calling themselves '2wheel4change' and cycling from Ulan Ude to Mongolia. Bunch of hippies - we met them a day before they were due to go to the Lake, after they did a juggling performance in the street. Next day they were still there in the square, still planning to do their performance. Next day they were there again. Good luck to them and all their bike grease.

The dog is blind, and called variously 'mole' or 'blindie' (in Russian). He has a real thing for chewing feet, arms, shoes etc.., and along with the 2 hostel cats has made this hostel a lovely place to be based.