SAYNSHAND, Mongolia - As our train sped towards the Chinese border, six of us argued about a robbery.
The subject of the conversation wasn't present. I wasn't even sure of his name. He's Finnish, about my age, likes to wear white T-shirts and sports long, brown sideburns.
My most memorable encounter with the man occured the night I arrived in Ulaanbaatar. I shared a four-bed bunkroom with two other Finnish people, a couple who met on a travelling forum. We ate dinner, grabbed a drink and were back in the hostel by 10 p.m. Around three hours later, just as we were preparing to turn off the light, this other Finnish man opened our door.
"Hey guys," he said, "Let's go out now! It's the biggest party night of the year! I met these Mongolians and we are going to the club."
The Finnish couple looked at each other and then looked at me. We weren't in the mood to go out, especially with someone with as much energy as this man.
The next morning I headed to the countryside, and all the Finns were gone when I returned.
I learned of what happened later in the evening. So the Finn met with with businessmen friends, and they headed to the nearby Face Club. Things were going fine. The Finn bought some drinks for the Mongolians, they reciprocated. He went out on the dance floor, and started to dance with a couple local women. Suddenly the Finn could see some of the Mongolians glaring at him, looking rather angry. Thirty minutes later, the Finn started feeling tired. He walked out of the club, back towards the hostel, and blacked out.
He awoke some hours later in an alley. His wallet was missing, and there were bruises on his head, neck, arms and legs. Barely able to walk, he made it back to the UB Guesthouse with much difficulty.
"And that's why UB is very dangerous," Kim said, concluding the story in the train cabin. Kim -- really Mr. Kim -- ran the UB Guesthouse with Bobby, his Mongolian wife and my former tour guide.
"That's why we say don't go out after midnight," he said, referring to a sign in all capital letters on the guesthouse exit. "You have to be very, very careful."
Graham, from southern California and not used to staying quiet for so long during a story, finally spoke. "But that's not the point," he said. "What he did was stupid. You have to go out and meet people. That's why you travel."
"No," Kim said. "Local people, they work very hard. They have no time to talk to you. They no speak English. But some local people, they have no job, so they learn English, and then they trick you."
"I think that's a very ignorant attitude," Graham said. I admired his gall, an American taking on a Korean fluent in four languages, who arranged his train ticket to Beijing and owned a business in a foreign country.
I stayed quiet during the conversation. Both sides had points, but they refused to budge toward the middle. Having spent the last four weeks helped, hosted and fed by local people throughout Europe and Asia, I'm more inclined to agree with Graham. There are nice people in the world, who just want to meet foreigners and share experiences. And while there might be risks involved in travelling, I'm willing to accept them. I hope that attitude doesn't leave me stranded in a gutter someday.
