Mission to Mongolia

In real hours my journey to Mongolia lasted 24 hours, but unlike Jack Bauer, this was not the longest day of my life (even if the time difference officially elongated the duration to 32 hours, Thursday night to Saturday morning). The 13 hour wait in Moscow Sheremetyevo Airport waiting for the connection flight was not as arduous as it sounds as I slept on a bench with my beanie hat as a pillow. I was also prepared this time with ample reading material. Still, the hours could tick by awfully slowly. Getting on my flight to UB, I went to my seat, only to find it occupied by a toothy, old Mongolian who wanted to sit with his wife and adult daughter. It wasn't as if he was cruelly sited at the other end of the plane. I 'was' 11C, he 12E, but crucially C was an aisle seat and E was packed in by the window (I usually prefer aisle seats on flights). It was a fait accompli as he already occupied the place so I went and sat next to a smart-suited, walrus-moustached Italian (as deduced by his activity magazine) with a nasally-inspired chesty cough and an academic air (under questioning some hours later from a Mongolian he revealed himself to be from Bologna). The family soon moved once airborne as behind them three boisterous, young Mongolians got tanked on vodka, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Another trouble with the window seat was stashing my holdall under the seat as obviously there is a lack of space on one side. I couldn't put it in the overhead locker because whereas Aeroflot's European fleet of Airbuses has capacious lockers, its Asian outriders have a space barely big enough to fit a koala. Taking advantage of the night view outside, I noticed a thick haze lingering over most of Moscow's districts, blurring the blaze of artificial light (what must that do for Google Earth). The pilot announced over the patchy, scratchy intercom that we had 1hr 25 mins flight time remaining and that we were currently flying over Brazil (I wondered why the flight was taking so long). Approaching Ulaanbaatar, specks of yellow dotted the landscape and I tried to identify any distinguishing marks to make out if it was car's headlights, a wayside cafe or a ger tent on fire. Altaa having informed me that she had a fish ready for my meal once I arrived, I scrupulously conducted myself accordingly to Aeroflot's inflight supplements, choosing the chicken over the fish on the Europe leg and the beef over the fish on the Asian leg, though the latter had tuna filings amongst the salad. Landing, we were informed it was -28 degrees celsius outside. Make of that what you will.