The departure

My Mongolian tally will now be completed in this post. It was harum-scarum on boarding my plane when leaving Mongolia. I had wanted to leave the apartment at 6.30am, but Altaa insisted I eat breakfast and on a myriad of other little things. We eventually left in the taxi at 7.10am. To paraphrase My Fair Lady, get me to the airport on time. The journey took 15 minutes. I got to the check-in area only to be told that the check-in for the Aeroflot flight was closed. My ticket said 08.35, but the staff said the plane was due to leave at 07.45. I had received an email from the travel company, but my account refused to allow me to paste the itinerary web address into my browser, so I trusted that nothing had changed. Huh.
After pleading with the airport authorities and contemplating spending at least one more day in Mongolia, the Aeroflot 'agent' (as the airport staff called him) came to the security area from the plane. Asking to see my ticket, after checking it he speeded things up. My suitcase was weighed then manually carted away. Passport control then had trouble finding my visa stamp, but eventually let me through. I followed the agent/pilot down the gate lane. Getting to my seat I could see they were still taking on fuel. I was lucky on the laidback attitude to life. We finally took off at 08.20. On leaving, I noticed the passenger jet plane for the North Korean second-in-command. It was rather large for a seemingly small entourage, but more surprisimgly for such an anti-American state it looked like a Boeing model.
Further up in the sky, one could see the smog of UB. That is what I've been breathing in for the best part of half a year. It was quite striking as it crept along the corridors formed by the hills leading out of the city.
On the flight, I had a rather interesting chat with a German tourist who had come out to witness a friend's wedding. We covered East Asia, the merits of our respective political systems and the impact of Mongolia's legacy over the past 800 years, though we were at times frivolous as well. It's so refreshing to meet an intellectual equal, not soaring above you or struggling to understand below you.
The Tupolev TU-154 looked rather dodgy from my window seat, with the nails on the wing looking rusty and parts of the wingheld down with silver duct tape. It wasn't auspicious but we arrived in one piece.
The connection flight from Moscow was tight - too tight as it turned out for my stowed luggage. It was scheduled to leave at 11.15am (Moscow time) and our plane landed at 10.30am. However, within ten minutes of stepping off the first plane, I was boarding my flight to London, being whisked past the queue at the transfer desk. Unwittingly, it was sans suitcase, but the futile wait at Heathrow did at least establish that all the people coming from Mongolia were without their suitcases and not just me. A little anxiety aside, not lugging a heavy suitcase through the London transport system was a boon and it was delivered to my house the next day undamaged. I was back in Britain.