Back to Beijing

I'm back in Beijing. I'm sad that my Mongolian adventure is over; I'd really like to spend some time in the Gobi and in the Altai mountains with the eagle hunters. I'm sitting in a restaurant called Fu Tu; the staff doesn't speak a word of English, and the only Chinese I speak is hello and thank you. It's a swanky place, and I definitely like the atmosphere. I don't see any tourists, so maybe this is more of a local place to eat. The staff are cute - I'm writing in my journal while I wait for my tofu. They are walking by and nonchalantly glancing at what I'm writing. I catch two of them stealing glances and they burst out in giggles.

I didn't have an easy time of finding the hostel once I got downtown. After I left the train station, I ended up walking for an hour until my frustration overwhelmed me. With no roman characters on any of the signs, it was nearly impossible for me to figure out where I was and where I needed to go. I hailed a taxi, thinking that he could get me to my hostel. He nodded in acknowledgement when I showed him the Chinese characters for the hostel. When he dropped me off, he pointed towards the side of the street and said hutong. Great! I thought - it's just down this street. After walking all the way to the lake, I realized that I wasn't in the right place. Someone helped me find a tourist map, and then I realized that bastard had taken me even further south from my destination. After I got my bearing, I went north at a fervent pace. After more than an hour, I happened to glace to my right and there was the hostel! I was so excited that I didn't realize that I almost missed it - I realized how lucky I had been later in the evening.

After dinner, I retired to the hostel to read and I went to sleep early. I was tired from my journey across Mongolia.