I messed up. After a relaxed start to the day, looking forward to planning our onward trip for Mongolia, I was checking our arrival time in Dar Es Salaam so as to book a hotel, and happened to notice the date we were flying out of Hong Kong. It was the same as Jono's birthday. Today was Jono's birthday. I had got my days wrong. We had 2 hours before takeoff and we were the wrong side of town. Queue frantic packing, spontaneous perspiration and hunting for our belongings throughout the flat. The washing machine was half way through washing half our belongings which had to go in the bag soaking wet and we ran out of the flat to grab a taxi leaving Nibbles very confused. After a heart thumping wait as we sat in traffic we joined the motorway. The motorway was moving at a crawl, and there was nothing we could do. I felt sick but eventually we started to move faster and finally shot out of the taxi and onto the waiting train. We counted down the minutes as the train cruised towards the airport, 75 minutes til takeoff. Like crazed idiots we burst through the train doors and sprinted to the Checkin desk where the guy sped us through and only when we were through passport control, with 45 minutes til takeoff did we breath a sigh of relief.

Bob pointed out that she had not even finished her cup of tea so we grabbed some breakfast and headed to the gate, where we sat down in slightly shocked disbelief, the wet clothes starting to seep through my rucksack. Somehow we had made it but my nerves were shot to pieces and the icing on the cake was an hours delay due to icy cross winds in Ulaanbator...

We soon boarded and Mongol airlines provided a slick service to their capital though yet again the in-flight entertainment left something to be desired! There was a distinctly chilly draft as we disembarked and with another passport stamp in place we collected our luggage and headed to the arrivals hall where a driver who can only be described as 'the strong silent type' was waiting to take us to our hostel. The air was dry and cold and the aggressive Russian lettering prevented any guess work at what the surrounding signs might mean.

The climate was not dissimilar to a ski resort but as we drove into the city the austere buildings did not compare to the Alpine chalets and our driver wound down a back street to a scary looking apartment block which we dragged our bags into, pleased to get out of the cold.

By the time we had got to the third floor we were warm but had exchanged multiple worried looks as it appeared we were staying in a gulag. Fortunately we were welcomed into the Zaya hostel with open arms and it couldn't have been more cosy. We settled into our mercifully toasty room and set about trying to dry the load of washing which had saturated my bag. I physically wrung over a litre of water out of the sopping clothes and we draped them around the room before heading out on the town, Mongol style.

The journey to the restaurant drew all of the moisture out of our faces, which were the only exposed areas of flesh we left exposed, the rest was bundled in all the layers we owned. Arriving at the restaurant with chapped lips we stripped off, the grimy, faded, reflective exterior made it look like a dive but inside it was buzzing with locals and I chose the local favourite karcharum. The arrival of a small mis-en-Bouche flummoxed us and I nearly ate our hand towels disguised as appetisers, fortunately I saved the situation by delivering one of my new Mongol phrases. Thank you. I soon regretted my menu choice as the 5 huge deep fried minced mutton pasties arrived and they were as 'local' as they sound...

We dashed back to our apartment, stopping at the supermarket for scrummies before entering our room which had the humidity of a rainforest from our dripping clothes. We did a bit more googling of the tour of the local sights and sounds and fell asleep in our rock hard twin beds.