It's bizarre (and i'm back in Beijing)

What a bizarre linguistic experience! The Japanese tourists I was travelling with did not speak English, and I don't speak Japanese. The only language we had in common was Chinese, and it turns out my chinese is ridicilously poor. So, I was struggling to communicate with Japanese tourists in Chinese, in Inner Mongolia of all places... Truly bizarre.

What a bizarre challange to my national identity! The thing that struck me in inner mongolia was the fact that much of the time, I could have been transported back to my childhood in Iceland. The plains, the horses, the sheep, the yoghurt... somehow I even felt a strange spiritual connection between the people descended from the Mongolians of Gengis Khan fame and the vikings. Of course 99% of the time I felt like I was very very far from home. But it was the odd moment when I would suddenly feel I was 5 years old in Iceland again. I felt strongly Icelandic for some reason. I don't feel that very often.

Successfully made it into Inner Mongolia

I successfully infiltrated the Japanese tour group. Nobody suspected a thing. Got onto the train with them and shared a sleeping cart with three others. I really made an effort to pick up some Japanese but I don't think anything has actually stuck.

I've become quite pampered. This morning when we arrived at Huhe Haote in Inner Mongolia, I tried really hard to locate the snooze button on the world. But there was none. When the train arrives, it arrives. Strange that I've forgotten how thing work in reality. Did catch some sleep on the bus to the camp. The camp is made up of tents to give us a feeling of how it was to live as a Mongolian nomad. This is a tourist camp, so everything is of course staged, packaged-for-the-tourist and surely artificial. But I must admit this doesn't bother me at all. On the contrary, it quite suits me.

I think the last time I rode a horse was when I was five. That time, the horse started galloping, I panicked and of course the horse panicked too. I've never liked the idea of horses since then. It was time to face my fear here at the camp, and I think I did quite well. The horse I rode immediately realized I was a push-over and would not listen to any instructions I gave it. It walked slowly most of the time, and when I had built up the courage to want to make it run, it would just shake it's head at me. Thankfully it liked to hang out with it's dad, so whenever Daddy Horse ran, my one would run too. Now my bum hurts. Ouch.

PICTURE UPDATE:

1. Beijing trainstation
2. The japanese tourist group i infiltrated
3. Welcome at the nomadic camp. Welcome ritual included singing and drinking very strong rice wine.
4. Me on a stubborn horse.