Mongolia

A Lebanese tourist I met on my first day in a hostel in Ulaanbaatar gave the most apt description of Mongolia.  He had just returned from a 20-day tour of the country and pondered, “Is there one square kilometer of this country that isn’t gorgeous?”  If it exists (outside of the capital UB), I didn’t see it.

Some stats: The country has 2 million people, half of whom live in the capital.  Because I’m really smart, I can tell you without a doubt that the other half live outside the capital, scattered across a nation twice the size of Texas.  The ratio of horses to people is 13:1.  There are about 1100 Mongolian tugrik to 1 US dollar, and staying one night in a very clean and well-run hostel with hot running water cost $5 – definitely stay at the UB Guesthouse.  The Mongolian diet consists of basically two things: milk and milk products, preferably with some horse, yak, lamb, goat, or beef.  One would be hard-pressed to survive if you didn’t like dairy products.  Indeed, when I returned to Moldova I met a new PCV here who was originally slated to go to Mongolia but got switched because she is lactose intolerant.

I was amazed at both how developed and undeveloped (and by this I mean pristine, not necessarily lacking or in need of reform) the country was.  The capital, UB, has basically every amenity a Westerner could want.  I ate at a Mexican and Indian restaurant, chilled in a wireless internet café that served real coffee.  Some upscale apartment complexes would be considered just as good as those in the States.  And even the regional capitals have impressive guest houses, cafes, and internet access.  Most of this has no doubt arisen to cater to the growing number of adventure seeking tourists and increasingly the international aid workers who live there full-time.

Yet step out of a city and into a ger, the traditional teepee-like dwellings of steppe nomads, and you step into another world.  Some have electricity because of solar panels or car batteries hooked up to electronics, but most go without.  There’s a wood stove in the center with a metal chimney that extends up through a hole in the roof.  The floor is usually covered with a wood frame and beds and cabinets are positioned against the curving wall.  Herding is the repast of the people and they do it with the skill of those who have been keeping animals for generations.

There are no subdivisions within the walls of a ger; it’s just one big room for an entire family.  So privacy is basically out of the question, plus it is common practice for friends and neighbors to simply stop by and open the door – there is no knocking.  As an American in need of personal space, living this way might drive me batty.  But for a Mongolian, it would be just as strange to be without this ever-present community.  And I suppose they get plenty of privacy in the expansive emptiness beyond the walls of the ger.

Enough of the generalities – let me tell you what I did.  Got off the train and met Lizzie, had another blast at a Russian Embassy (see next entry), spent one night in UB and met an international assortment of travelers who became my “tour group,” took a 11 hour ride out to Lizzie’s ger stopping along the way to walk through the old capital.  From Lizzie’s our group split into three subdivisions. 
Mine went to a nearby village for its annual Nadam Festival, with competitions in archery, wrestling, and horse racing.  The next day I left for a two-day horseback-riding trip, which left me wondering what kind of sadist designed Russian and Mongolian saddles?  Then hopped back on an 11-hour bus back to UB, basically pulled an all-nighter because I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up in time for my plane.

[A quick side-note about travel within Mongolia... To say the roads are bad would be like saying the sun is hot.  I think more than anything else, creating 4 paved roads that extended from UB along the points of the compass to Mongolia's borders would create the biggest boost in GDP and the standard of living.  On my way back to UB, I rode the "post bus," creatively named because it carries the mail.  For an 11-hour trip I paid about $8.  The door is jammed shut by wedging a 30-liter plastic container between the first step and the door.  Along the way our muffler fell off and it was generally agreed that it was beyond repair and better left on the side of the road.  And if a young boy needs to pee while the bus is moving, his mother takes him to the door and he pisses toward the door from the top step.  Eventually, it trickles out.]

This was a great first foray to Mongolia, but one week is far too short to see all that this nation has to offer.  I’d love to go back and see the Gobi Desert in the south and head further west than I did to reach the higher mountains. FYI, one could literally get to Mongolia, buy a horse for about $100, and ride it all over the country. The whole place is just open grazing land. Maybe next time...

Special thanks go to Lizzie, my PCV pal from Uzbekistan now serving in Mongolia, for playing tour guide and host during my stay.  Also thanks to her friend Amy for co-facilitating my stay and losing gracefully in our final game of Gin Rummy. And also thanks to Geoff from Australia for making this a nice picture.  I’m definitely convinced that PCVs – with their language skills, cultural awareness, and American tastebuds – make the best guides for fellow Americans.  Now if only I could convince PCVs in every country to drop their work and show me around…