The taxi driver at the airport had a puzzled expression on his face as he pondered the scrap of paper I handed him. My Mongolian friend Haja said she would meet me at the Zaluuchuud Hotel in downtown Ulaanbaatar, but it was clear that the driver did not understand the chicken-scratch I had written on the paper. Confusion reigned as he wandered away to consult with his fellow drivers, while others took the opportunity to surround me with more offers of, "taxi, taxi".
I got my first glimpse of Mongolia from the ground when the driver returned and led me outside to his ageing car. The drive into the city is about 20km and the view is not dissimilar to the dry, rolling prairies of western Canada. But the similarity ends as you enter the city and get a first glimpse at the dusty buildings and the unique features of the Mongol people.
The driver dropped me off outside the Zaluuchuud Hotel, an old crumbling building that did not exude a sense of welcome, where my friend Haja was waiting for me. A petite woman of 26 who worked for a German-Mongolian joint venture, Haja offered to be my guide during her free time. Her halting English made conversation difficult, but she was of great help in a country that uses the Cyrillic alphabet for its written language and where English is not commonly spoken.
After unpacking, Haja took me on a walking tour of Ulaanbaatar. The downtown core is not large, and most places of interest can be walked if you are energetic.
Ulaanbaatar exudes the feeling of an isolated provincial outpost, forgotten by the communist bread-basket and struggling to feel its way toward capitalism. The vestiges of the communist era are evident everywhere: lifeless rectangular architecture, an occasional statue of Lenin or other communist icon, and an expansive central square in the centre of the city. There are no shining office towers or skyscrapers to be seen, only a dirty collection of apartment-style high-rises. The tallest structures on the horizon are the smokestacks of a series of coal-fired power plants sending dirty smoke high into the atmosphere. The streets and buildings are broken and in need of repair and the first signs of capitalism are evident in the form of advertisements for things like photo film and beer.
Low-lying mountains surround the city on all four sides, giving it protection from the harsh winds from Siberia and the Gobi Desert. The mountains are dry and yellow at this time of year, with some sections covered in lifeless larch trees. There is lingering evidence of snow on the ground.
On the street, many of the older generation still wear brightly-coloured traditional clothes known as 'dels', giving them a dignified appearance that reminds me of the Japanese women who still wear kimonos in the streets of Japan. Their weathered expressions exude a sense of contemplative wisdom. As high as 80 percent of the population is under the age of 35, all of whom wear modern clothes. Mongolians have very striking features, with a unique combination of Asian, Caucasian and native influences. Many of the women have long, flowing hair as if they came out of a Clairol shampoo commercial. From time to time a tall creature with an exotic look will pass by, leading me to conclude that a fashion house would be well advised to set up a modelling agency in Ulaanbaatar.
The focal point of the city is Sukhbaatar Square, located in the centre of Ulaanbaatar and created to honour Sukhbaatar, the hero credited with liberating Mongolia from Chinese occupation in 1921. Like Tiananmen Square in Beijing, hulking edifices representing key government and cultural functions surround the square. The main building is the State Parliament House, a massive impenetrable structure worthy of the Great Hall of the People. The square itself is cracked and broken, which to me symbolises the state of the country. The early signs of the free market can be observed, with photographers offering to take clients' pictures in front of the statue of Sukhbaatar, or telephone operators offering phone calls by the minute.
By day, the square is a pleasant place to sit and people-watch. I started a daily ritual of visiting the square in the afternoon, joining the groups of young people who gathered after school to play, and the grandparents who patiently led their grandchildren on strolls. Most guidebooks warn travellers to be wary of pickpockets in places such as Sukhbaatar Square, but one can hardly discern any element of danger amongst the friendly faces of the Mongolians.
One day as I was sitting in the afternoon sun, a young woman dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket nervously stood at a nearby corner, as if waiting for someone. After a while she discreetly approached me and started to whisper in Mongolian. Thinking that she might be asking the time, I showed her my watch. She smiled, sat down beside me and continued to whisper. I tried to explain that I did not understand, but she persisted while pointing her finger behind her back. She continued talking for a few minutes, to which I would shrug my shoulders and smile. Finally, she put her hands to the side of her head in the sleeping position and meekly said "yaui", which means, "let's go" in Mongolian. She was propositioning me!
Somewhat shocked at the offer, in broad daylight no less, I abruptly replied "no yaui", not realising that I had mixed up English and Mongolian.
Not wanting to make a scene, I continued to sit and look out onto the square in silence, while the woman dejectedly sat beside me. After about ten minutes, I made my escape when a couple stopped to ask her a question, momentarily distracting her.
The next day, I noticed in the corner of my eye a scruffy man wandering around the square. Poorly dressed with long uncut hair and a beard, he reminded me of a recluse who had come down from his mountain hideout. It was just my luck that he started to walk straight towards me.
The man addressed me in English as if he knew me, "Nice day today. Where are you from?"
Surprised, and a little bit suspicious of giving my true identity, I replied that I was from Korea. With my limited knowledge of Mongolian affairs, I deduced that Korea was an innocent choice since their investment seemed to be welcome in Mongolia.
"Oh, Korea!", he said, continuing the interrogation, "What do you do in Korea? Are you in Mongolia on business?"
I replied that I was a government worker and was part of a visiting trade delegation. I did not leave despite the uncomfortable feeling I got from him. His mannerisms were very western, and at times he would laugh and touch my shoulder as if we were good friends. All the while, I would try to keep my distance while making sure my belongings were secure inside my jacket.
At this point he surprised me again by rattling off facts about Mongolia and Korea, to which I nodded in appreciation. Nearby, a group of school children stopped to listen and watch us, which gave me a sense of security.
Then he cut to the chase, "I have just arrived in the capital. I have a family and have not worked in six months. I need money."
Not wanting to be give-in to his request, I apologised that I had to get to a meeting and quickly walked away, afraid that he would follow me. I didn't look back until I was amongst a group of people gathered outside the Cultural Centre, and was relieved not to find him.
Despite the obvious dangers of being a foreigner in a poor country, my warmest memory of Mongolia will be the people themselves. At once warm, hospitable and courteous and more than willing to help their fellow citizen, they retain a certain innocence (or ignorance) of the outside world. I fear this endearing feature will break down as the West makes further encroachments on their society.
While Mongolia is better known as an adventure travel destination, a stop in the capital Ulaanbaatar is an interesting cultural experience. The country is an enigma, steeped in a rich cultural past and blessed with rugged natural beauty, yet struggling between the transition from communism to democracy, and between the state-owned system and capitalism.
April 2002
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