Mongolia Lost and Found (Part Three)

(again, written by Bill Shields)

There is still no verbal understanding, so raised voices and vigorously jerking arm motions are our only means of communicating our demands. They are very mad but stop short of any physical attempt to get us on the buses where most others reside. We even resort to a little laughing and smiling to give an air of superiority that is intended to push them over the edge. We think that they have surrendered as they lead us away from the buses and toward a ticket counter where we assume they will return our bags. No such luck.

They are now pointing toward the conveyor belt that normally takes our bags to a place only God and Confucius knows. Now they are smiling. We recognize the international translation for ‘if you want your damn bags so bad go find them yourself’. To their surprise and visible consternation Cho and I think this may be the appropriate end to a lousy day, so we decide to take them up on their offer.

There is a low ceiling so we duck-walk down the conveyor and through the hole at the end that leads us under the airport. There is a rubber slide that descends into an enormous cement warehouse that is full of carts with luggage of every size and color. The carbon monoxide is so thick you can literally watch it move with the wave of a hand. I can’t believe anyone actually survives working in this environment. We begin our search.

It is amazing that within a fairly short time we find our luggage at the bottom of a cart and proceed to pull and kick our luggage free. Now it is back to duck-walking up the conveyor belt and back out into the main airport. Our hosts are still there and their dismay at our success is only exceeded by their knowledge that our life has been cut short by consumption of lethal levels of carbon monoxide. Back to the buses we go.

All is quiet – but only briefly. The young Slavs have decided it is time for a sing along. I have been watching this smiley group of young people now for some time trying to categorize their nationality. It is impossible and I finally decide why – they are gypsies and call no single place their home. The men are all incredibly handsome and the women beautiful. Their upbeat nature seems natural and can only mean one thing – they have no rules. The rest of us are a package deal. They care not and proceed to dance and sing. It is obvious joy and their intent is to spread that among the rest of us whether we want it or not.

It is impossible not to participate and we are relatively sure that the words do not involve any gypsy curses or death wishes to all non gypsy-like civilizations. I am watching the North Koreans and they are clearly uncomfortable with joy and looking for an exit. In the end even they succumb, but cover Kim Il-Sung’s eyes so he cannot see they are enjoying themselves. This is a macabre scene and visions of Hans Solo walking into a Martian bar appear in my head.

It is now about 9 PM and we are whipped as we pull up to the hotel...Cho and I locate our tour agent and declare we will not be staying in this hotel. Voices are raised once again and we think they are telling us that we aren’t even really supposed to be in China so they cannot let us go. We smile, shake our heads that we understand, and then we leave. To our surprise there is no pursuit...We drag our luggage across the street to a Holiday Inn...

The next morning we arrive back at the Bates Motel and board the buses with the living dead. Even the gypsies are a little subdued but maybe they are not morning people. The North Koreans look rested because this has probably been a holiday for them compared to their usual digs. And they have been given time to regain their composure and stone looks.

The trip back to the airport is quiet and uneventful. We do not have to go through immigration because technically we were never really in China in the first place. We actually board the plane with no further delay and I am mildly surprised that there is no livestock aboard. We are off.