Our flight form Beijing to Ulanbataar (aka Ulan Bataar, aka Ulan Bator, or UB for short) was turned back to Beijing after circling the Ulanbataar airport on account of high winds and rain. Many on the flight suspected it had to do with the political situation on the ground more than the weather, but after checking some weather reports and learning that the Chinggis Khaan airport’s runway is built sloping down a hill (or up as the case may be), the weather seems the probable cause. So after a 2 ½ hr flight back to BJ my stay in China was extended (Fortunately I had a multiple entry Visa).

Chinggis Khaan International Airport

After some initial confusion back at the gate in Beijing, China Air quite surprisingly (to me) bussed us to a hotel for 12 hrs, fed us, and bused us back for a midnight flight back to UB. Our 3am arrival seemed just as puzzling to the scant staff still at the airport as it was to UB’s latest arrivals. The lone immigration official felt no sense of urgency as the 100+ passengers shifted back and forth on their feet and muttered unflattering comments about Mongolia’s capacity to handle international travelers. The growing passengers’ dissatisfaction to this point was soon to be compounded by the confusion at baggage claim.

In the baggage claim area a barely functional baggage carousel, which seemed to be there only as something to watch, grinded its way around in a circle. A baggage handler bypassed the carousel and passed luggage through a small opening in the wall to another handler who slid the bags across the ground into a pile. The pile grew as the last of the passengers made there way through immigration. Those of us who did not speak Mongolian (which was about 90% of the passengers) just stared blankly at each other as we puzzled our way to the conclusion that this was not our flights’ luggage. Another 15 minutes passed after the last bag had been bowled through the opening in the wall. Then the mostly Chinese crowed began to discuss something amongst themselves and began to peel off and leave. The handful of western travelers, who had so far received no understandable instructions, began to huddle and speculate on the situation. The various European side conversations slowly transformed to English as the group coalesced into a small tribe in search of a leader. A few individuals, determined to stick to some sort of itinerary, began a comical act of charades and pointing at phrase books to the lone customs official. The rumor now was that our bags would arrive with the next Air China flight the tomorrow. This news slowly dispersed the group.

Our procession through Customs consisted of walking on the left side of a particular pillar in wide open room (not the right side or you would be directed to go back and walk past on the left). No forms to fill out, not even a hint that bags would be checked, or the slightest suspicion that you might be bringing something into Mongolia that would be considered unacceptable. The small door leading out of the baggage/customs area opened into the Arrivals Room which was exactly ten paces wide leading to the street.

I soon felt like a visiting dignitary as a glanced around and notice a small hand drawn sign stating “NIESEN” held by a rather drowsy Belgian girl. She seemed to be the only individual not confused by our unannounced late arrival. All the westerners were quickly gravitating toward her with a barrage of questions and complaints. My general lack of concern during the baggage debacle seemed to compound the frustrations of some of my fellow travelers, and my next statement surely pissed some of them off. I walked over the girl holding the sign with my name on it and announced “I’m NIESEN”. That was all Sylvia needed, she immediately ignored all other conversations, grabbed one of my bags and led me quickly to a minivan outside. My bags were smushed into the back with 5 other passengers who had somehow negotiated there way into Sylvia’s minivan. I was directed up front to the passenger’s seat. We were off to the guest house, the confused and beleaguered left to fend for themselves.

The guest house was 17 km from the airport and the restless mass sitting behind me was full of questions and concerns for Sylvia. Their Beglian-Franco conversation was mush to my ears and my brain began to quietly review my own complex itinerary.

1- Get on a plane from LA to Beijing …check

2- Get on a plane form Beijing to Ulan Bataar ...check

3- Arrive in time for the Nadaam games ...check

I smiled as it sank in that I had arrived at my destination and then end of my itinerary. The rest of the weeks and months ahead were blank pages.

Score one for NIESEN, The MAN – Zero