Patriotism from Across the Pond

Welcome back!  This is the second part in my Mongolia travel series. Hopefully my rendering of events makes your day just a little brighter. Enjoy!

The Chosen One

The State Department Store is a multi-floor shopping center complete with a grocery store, a movie theater, and a Cinnabon.  Situated at the north end of Beatles Square on Peace Avenue,  it serves as a major landmark in the heart of Ulaanbaatar and is quite literally where you go to find anything you need in the capital city of Mongolia.  In addition to the amenities listed above you can also buy and activate a local sim card as the way you use a mobile phone is similar to using a burner phone in the States.  However, before I left I had to unlock my phone - a fancy process by which I call someone, they make typing sounds on a computer, and voila, my phone is now magically able to work on any network in the World.

Mobile data is used in the same way as in the States, but they operate on a system of "units" for calls and text messages.  The entire process of activating and using my current mobile phone with a Mongolian phone number (which was 9922 0439 by the way), was ridiculously simple. Considering that Sprint would have charged me close to $4,000 per month to use one of their "Global" plans in the same manner that I am accustomed to using my phone, I was more than happy to learn a new system of staying connected that only cost me an estimated $20 for six weeks of usage.  It was on one of these days, after purchasing 2,500 more units for just over $1, as I was exiting the store that I was stopped by two teenagers speaking fairly articulate, but still very broken English as they asked, "Excuse me sir, can we interview you?"

The two young boys were completing a school assignment for which they had to interview another person in English. Maybe I stuck out like the cliche "sore thumb" is intended to describe, but like an actual sore thumb I imagine I was just as covert as any other human being walking out of the State Department Store that day.  However, in a country where my facial features are in stark contrast to the majority of the native people, I'm sure I looked like an easy target for two students to complete such an assignment.  Also, it is remarkable how tempting it is when I see another person of European decent to look a them and nod as if I know them, or give a look of empathy as if "I too just ordered food by pointing at a picture, but when it arrived it looked nothing like the picture!"

As for the boys' questions, they were of the normal school assignment nature.  Where are you from? Why did you come here? Do you enjoy Mongolia? America. Visiting a friend. Yes. Nailed it. Needless to say I aced my part of the assignment.  As they recorded my answers on their iPhone and thanked me for my time, they looked at each other, laughed a little, and then scurried off.  The small laughs are common among locals either during or after trying to communicate with them.  I'm assuming it may spawn from the same source of humility I feel when I try to speak a language that isn't my own, or it may be their acknowledgment that they had just chatted with a goofy looking bearded white guy. Either way, it made me feel thankful that someone chose me to chat with, for whatever the reason.

When I got home I realized I had taken my hat off when the boys began recording me.  It turns out that after a few days of not showering (which is pretty common when I am traveling anywhere), my hair tends to be a little more greasy and can hold its shape in a variety of styles and designs.  Some may describe it as cool and trendy, but others may describe it as dirty and homeless.  Whatever your opinion, I think I discovered why the boys had laughed as they ran away.

"Those damn millennials and their fancy cell phones!"
-Every person over the age of 70 

As days passed and I spent more time exploring various restaurants and shops, a few more expats came to town who would be working with my friend Julia on a project updating the archiving system for the artifacts in the Mongolian National History Museum.  One morning, we all ventured a little north in the city to the Gandantegchenling Monastery.  If you had to re-read that name a few times before you finally realized you were never going to get it, don't worry, you're not alone.  With multiple buildings filling the complex, spanning from a library to smaller temples, we went down a long walkway towards a tall building know as the Migjed Janraisig.

Just as we arrived at the massive doors the snow began falling and gave a very picturesque view if you took the time to turn around and look back at the city.  Inside the building your eyes are immediately drawn upwards as you are promptly standing in front of a 26.5 meter tall statute of Janraisig, the Bodhisattva of Compassion.  Although the original statue was destroyed by the Communists in 1938, this replica was completed in 1996 using copper from a mine in the city of Erdenet.  This statue is massive, and it is made even more astounding by the thousands of tiny little statues surrounding the central giant.  Dawn Rogala, a Paintings Conservator for the Smithsonian who was visiting, had a wonderful time entertaining a bird who had found its way inside and followed her as she walked around the building.  I think this made her smile a lot!

The most culturally significant observation was made as one of the lamas began to offer up a prayer to the goddess.  However, it was rudely interrupted by the ringing of a mobile phone and, as the tourists looked around for the insulting culprit, I think more than a few of us had a laugh when it was the lama who reached inside of his robe and answered the phone call.  Even more humorous that when he hung up the phone he didn't even return to the prayer and just proceeded to another part of the morning routine.  Part of me secretly hopes that when our heads were turned he also made a quick change to his fantasy football line-up.  Travis Kelce, the tight end for Kansas City, has been killing me this year so I can only imagine the lama wanted to bench him as well.  Travis, no more reality dating shows in the off season...

"One man with courage is a majority"
-Thomas Jefferson

It would be dismissive of me to not mention the presidential election, especially one that included such pomp and circumstance as this one. This would be my first election while traveling outside of the US and I was quite frustrated with how difficult it was proving to even watch the spectacle. I was thirteen hours ahead of the Eastern Time Zone, so it was morning and clearly time to start drinking mimosas - which took place at a wonderful establishment called The Rosewood run by my soon to be Facebook friend Cliffe and his wife Enkhzaya.

However, this location was the second choice as I was not allowed into the official US Embassy viewing party, which I thought was odd seeing as, you know, I'm an American, with an American passport, visiting another country, and my own embassy refused to extend me an invite to watch the election of our future leader.  However, it worked in our favor as my friend Sandra (who was also not permitted into the Embassy party) and I got front row seats to the YouTube streaming of the CNN reporting displayed on a flat screen at the restaurant.

The watching went as one could expect.  Tears, cheers, speculation and drinking, for both celebratory and consoling purposes. Although the number of Hillary supporters outnumbered the Trump supporters, it all remained relatively civil until it wasn't.  I'll avoid using names for any further slander, but suffice it to say a Trump supporter said some unsavory things to another man's wife and it didn't end well. In fact, having witnessed the initial comment from a distance of about two feet, I quickly became involved and found myself holding a man back from starting a fight. You know, kind of like how Billy Zane tried to hold back Derek Zoolander before having a dance off with Hansel, except I'm pretty sure this fight wouldn't have ended with a man pulling his underwear out of his pants, but stranger things had happened in this election.

Even though Cliffe declared they would likely not be hosting the next election party, the fallout from this scenario seemed minimal considering the magnitude of emotions involved...if it had ended that day. Unfortunately, for the Trump supporter, he felt compelled to continue the conversation the following day by showing up at the workplace of the man who's wife he verbally insulted.  Drunken arguments on election day? Not unheard of.  Showing up to someone's workplace sober the next day to continue the fight? Definitely crossing the line. However, at this point it wasn't just the Hillary supporters who thought that was too much, but so did the Trump supporter's employer.  So much that he was fired shortly thereafter and deported back to the US.

So I guess we can give Trump credit for creating one more job...

Fancy in a Winter Wonderland

Siberia: a word so culturally synonymous with cold weather that just looking at a Siberian Husky makes you crave hot chocolate.  Although Ulaanbaatar is not considered Siberia, I believe the term "splitting hairs" can be applied when it's so cold your phone shuts itself down every fifteen minutes in order to preserve its life - a description eerily similar to what humans might do in the same scenario. The temperatures were buried somewhere around -20 to -25 degrees Celsius, for the elitists in America that is around -10 to -20 degrees Fahrenheit.  This was just in time for the annual Marine Corp Ball - perfect weather for everyone to be wearing fancy outfits.

The event, which brought out the elite of both Mongolians and expats including ambassadors from other countries, local and national news reporters, and of course the best damned dressed man the Universe has ever seen - Me.  I had spent the previous week compiling the articles of clothing that would ultimately form the most fantastic tailored teal blue suit I have ever worn - no matter this was the only tailored suit I have ever worn.  All I can say is I now understand Barney Stinson just a little bit more.  Suit up!

All the fabric, zippers, and buttons were purchased at Narantuul, the famous outdoor market, commonly called the "Black Market," that sits at the corner Narnii Road and Nam Yan Ju Street on the southeast side of the city.  The piece was then cut, sewn and tailored by a wonderful Mongolian woman who runs a shop in the basement of Julia's apartment building.  The shirt, shoes, and socks were purchased at various shops and the tie - a hand painted silk tie with a traditional Mongolian scene of a ger and camels - was purchased from Mary and Martha's, a shop promoting certified fair trade and locally made products (although the name is far from Mongolian).

The speech from the American ambassador was wonderful and having the opportunity to talk with and thank the Marines present for their service was humbling.  However, it was a bit surprising how quickly this event turned from formal ball to high school dance party...but with Marines...and alcohol. The night continued in this fashion until the workers at the Shangri-la, Mongolia's newest five star hotel, began to shuffle us out of the ball room and, just like the band Semisonic constantly reminds us at times like this, we didn't have to go home but we couldn't stay here.

Thanks for reading and keep posted for another part in my Mongolia travel series.  I'm thinking one more will do the trick but seeing as I now have an actual computer instead of a tablet my stories tend to be a bit longer:)  Have a fun and safe New Years and I'll talk to you again in 2017!

-Dustin

The Opposite Side of the Fence

Much like Indiana Jones' leap from the lion's mouth, I also took a leap of faith when I decided to start writing a few years ago for my Appalachian Trail blog. "Start a blog" they said. "It'll be easy" they said.  Well I can tell you that writing and trying to understand the blogging world is one of the most challenging things I have ever explored in my life.  I have a very organized, sometimes linear mindset that usually doesn't go hand in hand with creative writing, or at least that's what my high school guidance counselor told me.  Although some technical education would be valuable, I think just sitting down and getting words on paper (or pixels on screen) has been the best path for me with regards to writing. It might not be perfect at first, in fact, it might not be perfect ever, but I hope to keep this blog for a variety of topics from current and past travel adventures, to opinion pieces and more.  So please follow, bookmark, and share my posts if you feel compelled.  Even if you don't agree, I appreciate any feedback and comments.  My goal is to not please everyone with everything I write, but to let you know that my voice exists.  So...let's get started.

Spelling Check, A Lost Art

First of all, it's Chinggis Khaan, not Ghengis Khan.  I feel that is the first thing I need to get out of the way.  Even the name of the most feared and ruthless conqueror of all time was still susceptible to translational issues between languages.  I'm reminded of my time working for the Lahaina Restoration Foundation in Hawaii, during which I learned that Christian Missionaries had removed the letter "T" and replaced it with a "K" sound.  This may not seem like a big deal except the king who unified the islands was named Temehameha and the most revered religious tradition was called Tapu.  So whether intentional or unintentional, the missionaries literally changed two of the most important words in Hawaiian culture because they felt it would make it easier to translate their bible.
  
Another example of this is the Native American tribe in North Dakota commonly known as the Sioux.  While following the recent events unfolding around their stand against the oil pipeline, I discovered the actual name of the tribe is Nadowessioux, a combination of Chippewa and French words meaning "two little serpents."  The slang word Sioux can be interpreted as "little devils."  Not the best description for a group of people, but alas it was what the United States decided to adopt as their name, even though that word doesn't actually exist in their language.  Regardless of your moral feelings towards all this, it seems that the English speaking world has an affinity for changing the titles and names of people, which is a bit paradoxical considering a large portion of our society tends to be infatuated with proper titles and names.

In this current example, it appears the mix up with Chinggis' name was purely organic, however, I wonder what it would take to change all of the American textbooks to reflect the proper spelling and pronunciation of his name?  I am definitely not the first person to write about this as I have found other websites discussing it, but if you want to give me credit for bettering the American education system then I will gladly take it. In fact, this change should probably be Betsy DeVos' first act as Secretary of Education.  Well, after providing quality education to the children of America.  So at least her second act.  Well, maybe also after giving public and private school teachers the freedom to teach to students and not to standards.  But no later than her third act.  Chinggis, not Ghengis.  Make it happen, Ms. DeVos.  Make it ALL happen.

"Maybe you should wear these extra gloves, my hands are starting to get sweaty."
-Lloyd Christmas

When I landed in Ulaanbaatar in late October, I didn't need a WiFi connection and a Wikipedia page to remind me I had just landed in the World's coldest national capital.  No, all I needed was the brief moment when I stepped off the plane onto the jetway and a wave of strikingly cold air hit my face.  Remember when Doug E. Doug's Jamaican character Sanka walked out of the Canadian airport in Cool Runnings?  Imagine that except a white guy wearing a Patagonia jacket and a twenty year old Prairie High School baseball hat.  I had arrived in Mongolia.

My first few days in what was once the most expansive empire in human history were a bit of a head rush, and not just because of the smoke in the air from the daily trash burnings happening on the outskirts of the city.  No, it was a rush from the mass of incredible information my friend Julia Clark was bestowing on me from her decade of experience doing archaeology research in the country.  We first headed to a very Asian looking set of buildings - the type that would draw a lot of likes on Facebook.  These buildings are collectively known as the Choijin Lama Temple, a monastery turned museum displaying a gruesome yet innately beautiful scene of Buhddist dieties and the horrors they will render upon those who don't feel compelled to follow the righteous path...sounds great, count me in.

Although Mongolia may seem as the epitome of "the middle of nowhere", the capital city has experienced quite the change in the last decade, at least according to those with that experience.  According to one ex-pat restaurant owner who's wife is Mongolian, he feels this city is one of the more non-asian large cities in Asia.  In other words, they have adopted more aspects of western culture than other Asian cities such as Beijing or Tokyo.  Although this trip represents me losing my Asian travel virginity, I have to say I am surprised by the diversity of food and fashion styles available in the city. Also, I immediately regret using the phrase "Asian travel virginity." 

Another anecdotal example, albeit poignant to some, would be the landscape view behind the Choijin Lama Temple, which includes the twenty five floors of the elliptically shaped Blue Sky Hotel and Tower.  This building, with a great view from the bar and restaurant on the top floor, may be seen as a sign of progress, however some may question if this type of gentrification is right for Mongolia. Admittedly, even though I researched photos and read a little bit before I arrived, I clearly didn't manage my expectations properly and was quite surprised when I saw the sprawling nature of Ulaanbaatar, and it's hard not to be impressed by the glowing lights visible from any one of the top floor restaurants in the city.  However, my devil's advocate side asks whether or not this sort of energy and material consumption can sustain itself in a country where, although women are literally awarded medals for having children, the majority of Mongolians actually live outside of the country (as mentioned in a multitude of online sources).

The Mongolian Steppe...not exactly a dance compeition

Early one Saturday morning we arranged for Julia's friend Namja to drive us to the countryside.  We stopped at a small market where we purchased some very Mongolian-esque road trip snacks, you know, crackers that look like mushrooms with chocolate on top and some potato chips.  We arrived at the Chinggis Khaan Equestrian Statue, a massive 40 meter high, steel constructed image of the famous ruler atop a horse near the Tuul River.  According to legend, Chinggis found a golden horse whip in the area.  I suppose that's a good of reason as any to spend 4.2 million USD to build a statue, right?   All joking aside, it is quite the beautiful sight as it sits alone in the middle of the steppe, and serves as an amazing testimony to how much respect is shown for this ancient leader.  There are smaller warrior statues around the larger central attraction and, depending on how much one is willing to spend, you can have one made in your honor with a replica of your face on the warrior.  Word on the street is Jackie Chan has already purchased one but I have yet to confirm these rumors.  Stay posted TMZ.

Later we drove into Terelj National Park where we hiked around a famous landmark called Turtle Rock and then turned our attention to renting some horses.  Since I decided to visit Mongolia in the winter, there are fewer options for various activities, however, thanks to a hand written sign posted on a door with a phone number, we were able to contact a local family who was willing to take us around the area.  Although the horses are smaller than what one might find renting horses in the United States, it was the saddle that proved to have the most lasting effect.  The traditional Mongolian saddle is smaller than others and, even though the total riding time was merely a few hours, the massive rub burn just above my arse would last another week. 

We rode up the winding road to a small temple sitting on a hill with a breathtaking view of the outstretched valley. The walk up the temple path was decorated with hundreds of signs with various Buhddist sayings, my favorite stating "A puppy born in a freezing cold and a man born in a warm home have the same desire for comfort, but their capacity of endurance is much different." A very fitting statement for a variety of real life applications.  We live in a World where we compare ourselves to others, and all too often we are comparing ourselves for the wrong reasons.  We shouldn't care about the clothes we buy or the cars we drive, but our capacity to look at another human being and understand where they are coming from.  We have plenty of crap in our lives we don't need and, as the holiday season approaches, I think it's the best time to realize that it isn't about the size of the roof over our head, but the amount of love we can fit underneath it.  

As we returned to camp, the cold was settling in fast and we were soon comforted by the warmth of milk tea (a somewhat salty beverage) and a version of a local noodle and meat dish called tsuivan, all while we lingered inside of a ger (the Mongolian version of the Russian yert) and let the wood fired stove bring feeling back into the tips of my fingers and toes.

The grass isn't always greener on the other side.  It's green where you water it.

We soon traveled back and relaxed in Julia's apartment just off Sukhbaatar Square, a popular landmark in the city.  In a place where street names don't hold a candle of importance to landmarks in terms of directions and finding your way around, I am thankful I had a place to stay that provided me with as many landmarks as possible.

Although my efforts to make hand gestures and use google translate can be effective, it is one of the most humbling things to need the patience of an entire community in which you don't speak the language.  It turns out not knowing the language does not make me a terrible human - it just makes me human - and I am grateful for every cab driver and server who has been there to help.

Whether it was my travels in Italy, France, Germany, Peru, or India, remembering those experiences always make me reflect about the opposite side of that cultural fence, and is why I encourage everyone to spend time in a foreign country - not so we can tell them how we do things, but so they can show us why they don't.  So next time you're approached by someone who doesn't speak English, there's probably a good chance they are not trying to murder or steal from you.  They may just be looking for a good cup of coffee.

I'll return soon with more highlights from my time in Mongolia.  Until then, stay warm, stay dry...scratch that, go outside, get cold, get wet, and enjoy your week.

-Dustin