In the morning I nod off and headbutt the Mongol in front of me. He laughs about it, we both laugh about it. Tama ocky straps me to the bus seat, across my chest. I manage to sleep for twenty minutes or so, my head bouncing into his arm.
Moron, according to the Lonely Planet: “For such a beautiful province, Khosvgol has a rather disappointing province”.
MORON IN THREE PARTS
Moron (1): assembling our bikes in the corner of the bus station. Half a dozen bullying touts come over and try to help / steal stuff. One of them points to his supposedly-menacing friend:“Russki, Russki”. He points to my sandwich-making knife, then back to the Russian; mimes slitting my throat ear-to-ear. The “Russian” takes out a miniature bottle of vodka, and tries to make me follow him down the road. I think this charade is meant to frighten us into buying booze from the “Russian”s store. Tama grumpily ignores them, I keep making sandwiches, and one by one they lose interest and drift away.
Moron (2): Still assembling bikes. Over by the buses, two of the bullying touts start screaming, swinging wild windmill punches at each other’s heads, one of them much more successfully. The winning tout slams the loser into a bus door, head-first. They stop fighting for a bit, then start again. I really want to film them, but, I really don’t want them to notice me filming them. Caution wins out.
Moron (3): Filming a “let’s get out of here” shot, before we get out of there. A boy with an empty vodka bottle on a string, dragging it around like a pet dog. Two younger kids follow the boy around listlessly. The bottle smashes.
The Russian comes up again, feebly waving his little bottle at us. We cycle away without looking back.