So Long Ulaanbaatar, have another Chinggis on me

The author enjoying a Chinggis at a pub in Ulaanbaatar

We have lived in Mongolia for very near two years now. That is a thought to contemplate. I can’t say that ever in my life I thought I would be in a position to say that. It has been an eye-opening experience. I have seen many things I never saw before and probably never will again: an old lady proudly showing off her wolf carcass, a camel race, men wrestling in large boots and bright pink underwear, and Chinggis Khan vodka. Mongolia, in fact, still considers Chinggis to be their greatest leader; he is celebrated not only by his own line of vodka (he actually has about five different brands), but also has his own beer, hotel, and international airport. His image adorns most Mongolian souvenirs, from wall hangings and pictures to flasks and shot glasses, Chinggis Khan is the most marketable image from Mongolia’s history. I wonder what Chinggis would think of the commercialization of his name. His is immortalized in a statue in front of the Government House, and many others throughout Mongolia’s capital city, Ulaanbaatar.

Of course, today’s Mongolia has come a long way since the time of Chinggis. He may have ruled the largest land empire in world history, but he did not have a smart phone or notebook computer. One thing I will take away from living in Mongolia is an understanding of how closely the newest technologies can live next to squalid poverty in the developing world. There are many Mongolians today who drive Hummers and BMW's, while the majority of Ulaanbaatar still lives in gers, the felt-lined tents Mongolians have been living in since the time of Chinggis Khan. Mongolia is one of those few places in the world where many people still live a very traditional lifestyle, even while a growing upper and middle class embraces modern amenities. Our apartment has a built-in sauna; what do you think of that, Chinggis?

We leave Mongolia in two weeks for a couple months back in the U.S., followed by a move to the white beaches of the Caribbean. I should be very excited about this (I think I am on a deeper level, and am just suppressing it at the moment), instead I feel a sense of loss about leaving Mongolia behind. It has its negatives, for sure. Mongolia is not the easiest country to live in in the world. It’s the only country I have lived in where I actually worry about getting scurvy and I have known two people with gout. I didn’t even know people still came down with gout; I thought it was a disease left behind in the days of colonialism. The smoke and air pollution in the winter is terrible and I have even heard troubling statistics about the air quality in the summer months in the capital.

But the countryside is gorgeous, one of those few places in the world where you can take a drive out to the countryside and feel like you are seeing a place very few people get to, a place that really has not changed that much since the 12th Century. Glancing at the rolling hills, you wonder if you see a horseman in the distance holding a horse-tail banner, just as one might have done in Mongolia’s distant past. A quick glance through binoculars confirms it is really just a pile of rocks and sticks, one of the many ovoos that line the countryside, place markers of spiritual significance still to many modern Mongols. Just for fun, you pretend it was built there by the soldier you saw; perhaps it was the ghost of Chinggis Khan, still here in Mongolia having a good laugh as he watches us drink some Chinggis-labeled beverage or other. Perhaps the joke’s on us.