Day 16:

Yesterday and today in Ulan-Ude. It's a pleasant city. I think about thirty percent of the population here in Mongolian. Not strictly "Mongolian," actually - the people here are of the Buryat culture, which is one of the two dozen ethnic groups that constitute present day Mongolia. If I remember correctly from my visit in August, Mongolian people constitute about 82 percent of the 2.7 million people in Mongolia, Khazak people constitute another six percent, while the other groups make up the rest. I believe there are 60,000 Buryat people in the country. It would seem, then, that there are more Buryat people outside than in.

In addition to an eclectic cultural milieu, Ulan-Ude also possess what claims to be the largest statute in the world of Vladimir Lenin's head. Not the whole body of that great man - no, just his HEAD. Sort of creepy.

There are some enjoyable walks around town to be had, and some exquisite old buildings to check out. The old opera house is a treat, as are the traditional wooden structures.

While walking yesterday, I met a young man (seventeen years old) and his father, travelling by train to the nearby city of Irkutsk. They had spent the past week on a rollerblading (!) trip in China. I asked them, too, about Lenin's death - back in Canada, Karen insisted yesterday that it was a big deal at home, and she couldn't believe it wasn't such an item in Russia. The younger of the duo insisted that young people simply don't care, while his father proclaimed that Yeltsin "broke the country." Curiously it was also a big deal in China; the pair told me that one Chinese man frantically tried to mime the news to them when he heard it on the radio, only to be met by a shrug of indifference.

Anyhow.

Ulan-Ude seems a tamer town than Chita. Chita was full of rather stereotypical young Russians: young men with closely sheared heads and surly (cheap) black leather jackets. And open bottles. My God, the open bottles! Everyone... young, old, male, female strolls around Russia with an open bottle of booze (usually Vodka). It's sort of horrible. But it's not so present in Ulan-Ude. That makes the city much nicer, I think.

While strolling today, I encountered a couple of young Russian university students. They didn't speak much English, but we were able to communicate a little in French. That felt pretty cool. The elementary and high school French lessons I endured always made me feel (very, very) anxious, but when I get back to Canada, I might give some lessons a shot. I was able to sit through an entire YEAR of University French instruction. Sybille Bedford said at the end of her last book (I paraphrase): "remaining monolingual is akin to limiting one's mind to the straight path of a streetcar."

Mongolia tomorrow.

-A cafe, Ulan-Ude, 6:00 pm