I awake to a white morning and a new week.
My regular Mongolian lesson drags me out into the brisk, confronting air. Thankfully someone has cleared a path to the hostel gate, but the descent into town is still crunchy underfoot. Down on the flat, the streets are dangerously slippery, with spade wielding men working hard to clear the paths of icy snow.
Urban parks are beyond the spade men’s remit, but it doesn’t put the kids off. At a playground, little feet kick at a slide’s snowy surface while a dedicated father obliges with his hands.
It’s definitely chilly, but the skies are blue and as I pass the Rokmon Building I can’t help but smile. It always makes me think of the KLF.
And a cozy spot is not hard to find. I warm my cockles in a small upstairs restaurant in the student district, enjoying a hearty broth of meat, eggs and noodles. Bathed in warm sunlight, it’s worth leaving the hostel for.