Irkustk to Ulan Bataar

Our three days in Irkutsk were pretty uneventful. Not much to see there - and unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to head to Olkhon Island for some R&R before boarding the train to Ulan Bataar. We did, however, manage to squeeze in some football (much to Carl's delight). We watched the Russkies spank the English in a pub called Liverpool (again, to Carl's delight), with an English guy we met at our hostel (so we even got a little of our own back after the rugby world cup). We also managed a day trip to a little village called Listvyanka on the banks of Lake Baikal, where we ran into the Aussie women we'd met on the Moscow to Irkustk train.

They'd organised a boat trip on Lake Baikal and let us join in the fun, which made the crazy minibus ride to and from Irkutsk worthwhile. Lake Baikal is 636km from north to south, although it's only 60km wide. It's the world's deepest lake (1637m at its deepest point) and contains a fifth of the world's fresh, unfrozen water. It was formed by a rift between tectonic plates and will apparently form the earth's fifth ocean, splitting the Asian continent. We spent two hours on the lake, surrounded by mountains and checking out the little villages that dot the shoreline. Not a bad way to kill an afternoon!

But now, we are relaxing on the train the Ulan Bataar. We boarded at about 8pm last night and have just worked out where we are. We are passing along the western shore of Gusinoye Ozero (Goose Lake), and are about halfway between Ulan Ude and the Russian border post, Nauski. Outside, the environment is much the same. We are surrounded by long, low mountain ranges and yellowy-brown grassy plains. Occasionally there is a little wooden house or an isolated village.

Inside, things are completely different from the previous legs of our journey. The miserable unsmiling Russian provodnitsas (who are in charge of each carriage) have been replaced by Mongolian provodnitsas. Because this is a Mongolian train now, everyone is smiling and laughing. The carriage is a buzz of activity - the cabin is full of young Mongolian men who never sit still. They wander the carriage, saying hello to everyone in Mongolian, Russian, German, and English - basically, whichever language they think works.

Our cabin comes complete with chintzy gold tasselled upholstery and our new Mongolian friend, Jargal. He speaks little to know English, but we have managed to work out that he's from Ulan Bataar, rides horses like all good Mongolian men, and we think he may have been a tailor, butcher, hairdresser or all of the above.

At the moment, he's trying to teach Carl another weird card game. I sense he wants to play for money, which could spell disaster for us.