From the moment we stepped out of the airport in Ulaanbaatar, we have been attempting to make sense of that crazy, crazy place. I don’t claim to have it all figured out, but after seeing as much of this beautiful, harsh, and unpredictable country as a person possibly can in four weeks, I have a bit of insight to offer up.
Ulaanbaatar (UB), the country’s capital, is the undisputed heart of the nation, as it is the largest and most developed city by leaps and bounds. Our group was lucky to have taken root in a guesthouse right off the main drag, which gave us exposure to the good, the bad and the ugly of the area.
I haven’t decided if it was the shock of acclimating to our first Asian home, or if it was truly the craziness of the Mongolian way of life that created such an intimidating first impression. But in any case, I distinctly remember feeling like I was walking through an apocalyptic movie set as I ventured into the street during those initial days. It was like aliens were attacking and the entire city had gone into primal instinct mode: every man for himself. There were no rules. There were crosswalks, but as Aleisha so aptly explained, crossing them was like a game of Frogger. Stopping on the yellow line in the middle of the road was no longer dangerous, but necessary. We quickly learned to follow the crowd.
I often felt like the only one swerving my way around people on the street and in the department store. And personal space doesn’t hold nearly as much significance as it does in the States; people aren’t fazed by brushing up against each other on the street.
Vehicle transportation was just as unnerving. Two lane roads often become three lane, and speed limits are respected by very few, if they exist at all. But in a way, things seem to move more slowly than in many US cities. Not leisurely, but almost carelessly. Time commitments don’t mean much. Food makes it to the table when it makes it to the table.
We were initially disappointed not to have been given maps of the city by the members of our travel group in charge of logistics, but we soon discovered that maps wouldn’t have done any good, as there are no street signs. We were told the streets have names, but I never did see evidence.
Everyone acts on their own agenda, which is reflected in the city’s lack of public amenities. While there is constant construction and an apparent movement towards progress, Mongolians seem to have overlooked the necessity of a strong infrastructural foundation to the success of a city. There are no public bathrooms and no reliable water sources; drainage is poor - the streets puddle for days after it rains; public transportation is overrun and unpredictable; as I mentioned, traffic is brutally heavy and unregulated. But people aren’t motivated to fix these things. They are more concerned with capitalizing on more lucrative ventures, like the many high-end designer boutiques and fancy hotels that have been cropping up. The disparity between wealth and poverty is huge, and the two groups are constantly mingling.
But as we quickly discovered, UB is only half of the story.
You can’t claim to have thoroughly explored Mongolia without experiencing the grandeur of the uninhabited countryside. Through our weekly excursions we were given a chance to see first-hand the ways in which the culture is making the transition from a pastoral to an urban lifestyle.
The desolate, expansive geography and harsh climate have promoted a solitary existence for the Mongolian people since the beginning of their history. Ruggedness is a way of life, and they have been conditioned to be aggressive, resourceful and tolerant of what comes their way. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to survive a harsh, unforgiving Mongolian winter.
But on the flip side, the separation and tough living have created an undeniable camaraderie amongst the pastoral people; they are neighbors, no matter their proximity to one another. They seemed to me to have a much more delightful spirit about them than the city-dwellers, as was evidenced by their willingness to invite us into their gers and offer us endless bowls of airag (fermented mare’s milk), homemade sweets and unidentifiable boiled animal parts.
One particular group of “neighbors” was generous enough allow our 35-person crew to take a rest stop on their property and temporarily take over their kitchen and living room for our evening meal. It was a kind of generosity I’ve never experienced before.
Suddenly, UB’s seemingly unforgiving nature started to make sense. The city is still quite young and in the process of figuring out how to take advantage of their newfound independence while keeping up with the pace of the modern world. Their culture and identity is, and always will be, intimately connected to their unique environment and the lifestyle it promotes. Thus, attitudes that at first seemed severe, we soon began to recognize as a form of vigilance. These people aren’t insensitive, but robust and resilient.
Now that our time in Mongolia is done, I am more disappointed than I thought I would be. I find myself missing parts of the city that I never thought I would: adrenaline-pumping walks around town, my ability to assert my newly realized self-confidence, and the sense of community that our group’s close living quarters fostered. But that is the nature of this trip after all. As we continue on our journey, every day we are learning to recognize the gifts each place brings, and appreciate them while we can.
No comments:
Post a Comment