We arrive in Darkhan, and are driven straight to our hotel. Originally, we had thought we would be staying in gers, but the plan has been modified, and we have rooms at a local hotel. Considered pretty nice by Mongolian standards, to our Western eyes, it is a stark, bleak, brick structure, half-hidden behind very overgrown trees and shrubbery. It looks deserted. It isn't. The lobby is bare except for a threadbare rug, a plastic plant, two small pictures and a bulletin board, but a smiling, pretty young woman stands behind a desk, beneath a sign that declares her area to be "Reception."
We are told that we will all be on the second floor, and that we must use the stairs because the elevator doesn't work. Later we will find out that the elevator's cab is used for storage! We're glad we're not on a higher floor, because not only does the elevator not work, but there is no bellman or any help to be seen, just the dainty young woman behind the desk. The guys in our group bring our luggage up for us. Again, bless them!
Eloise and I are sharing a room, we're happy to learn. The room, indeed the entire hotel, is a strange blend of dignity and desperation. The bathroom defies description, but at least there is one. There is running water. Much of it runs onto the floor, but it does run. The toilet seat is not attached, but again, at least there is one. Several times I wished for a seatbelt, though. The faucet is fascinating. It's located between the tub and the sink, and swivels to whichever location you wish. There is even a hand-held shower head, hand-held because the wall bracket is broken. No problem, I prefer it that way. The bathroom tissue is very similar to the crepe paper streamers we used to decorate the gym with when we were kids, only it's a grim, gray color.
My pillow defies description, and the pillowcase is ripped in several places, and too small, so that the pillow bulges out through the rips. The furniture is tiny, and a bit rickety. The rug is threadbare, and even holey in places. Still, there are touches. The heavy drapes at the ends of the wall of windows are functional, that's all, but between them there are some absolutely lovely, gauzy white sheer curtains, with beautiful embroidery work on them. The windows are open, and the sheers are billowing in the breeze, and are just delightful. It's as though some unseen hand, at some time, has tried to bring a bit of beauty and quality into this government-issue place.
There is just enough time to freshen up and unpack before dinner. It's served in a large room on the same floor, on tables that are set very formally. Chargers under each plate, yet! The plate is a salad plate by Western standards. The food is served buffet style, and is very good. The salad plate is large enough.
Our interpreters are present, and are very pleasant young people. One holds a bachelor's degree in English. All seem to have a good grasp of the language. There are a few young men, but most of the staff are girls. They are all bright-faced and smile a lot. Except for one, they are all Christians, and it shows. The other Mongolians we have seen so far are not as apt to smile, though they are far more pleasant than the Chinese.
After dinner, we walked about three blocks to Jerry's office. It's located in a similarly stark and bleak structure, on the third floor, again no elevator. We were shown into a large, bare room, lined with boxes and suitcases. Our job was to empty the boxes and sort the contents into the suitcases. We sort out medical supplies and drugs according to purpose - antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, respiratory meds, whatever the class. We have a pharmacist in our group, who was able to guide the non-medical personnel.
Once this task was completed, we walked back to the hotel. Again, I am struck by the bleakness of the place. The city, almost entirely, was built by the Russians, and you can tell it. Row upon repetitive row of square, blocky, ugly apartment buildings, are lined up like cell blocks. Everything is square or rectangular, and everything looks alike. There is no architectural variety, no color, very few flowers, nothing to alter the look of dismal hopelessness.
Outside our hotel is what was once a fountain, but of course it doesn't function. It is two rectangular, above-ground pools, offset and connected at one corner. Some designer's attempt to be innovative, no doubt. The water source is a series of lead pipes, fully visible even if water was flowing. The whole effect screams "communism." Most of what we see was designed and built by the Soviet communist occupation, and their cold, unbending, hopeless, Godless mindset shows through everywhere.
The buildings, the landscape, the street scene - all taken together gives one the effect, the same feeling, that one experiences walking across a fairground after the fair is over and everyone has gone home.
Yet, I am amazed and pleased to learn, there is a flow of life, a pulse to it all. Inside one of those dismal buildings there is an Internet Cafe. Some of our group went there and sent emails home. There is the Mongolian version of a supermarket, which is just a cut above a mom-and-pop grocery at home. There is a bank, a post office, a restaurant, and a bar named, of all things, "The Texas Pub." It all looks deserted, but it isn't. There are never very many people on the street at any given time, but there is almost always someone.
We return to the hotel, I put a towel over some of the holes in my pillowcase, and have no trouble getting to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.
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