With winter well under way, much of the northern hemisphere is only now remembering that winter clothing doesn’t stop at a chunky sweater and a large coat. Over here in Mongolia, where winter sets in sometime around early October and doesn’t leave until the following May, I realised this long ago.
When my girlfriend and I first arrived in Mongolia in the middle of October we were coming from four months living in balmy northern Thailand. For much of the year we’d been sweltering under the Thai sun, escaping whenever we could to the refuge of an air conditioned room, so the move from plus 30 to minus 40 degrees Celsius came as something of a jarring shock.
On the way back to Mongolia we’d passed through Beijing, China, the home of enough counterfeit goods to colonise another planet. I grabbed a new parka and a thick sweater, assuming that I was ready for all the cold had to throw at me.
I was wrong.
From the moment we stepped off the train in Ulaanbaataar I realised my mistake. I’d forgotten to buy scarf and gloves. My core was toasty warm, but my face and hands were nothing more than pain-filled blocks of ice.
At minus 40 degrees the pain begins almost immediately. For just a few seconds you think ‘OK, this isn’t so bad’, but as soon as the air steals away your residual heat the skin begins to sting, then throb, then it goes numb, leaving nothing but the pain. You can’t think of anything but getting indoors. Your life becomes single purpose.
Thankfully I have my loving girlfriend to save me from those situations in which my stupidity has caused pain. She whipped off her Fossil infinity scarf, threw it over my neck and bundled me into the nearest cab before I started to weep like a little girl.
I’m not proud. But at least I was no longer cold.
So far there's (just?) 0 comments on this post - join in and add one »