A Farewell to Mongolia

As our departure from Mongolia approaches, I've found myself reflecting on our time here with surprising fondness. Below is a list of a few things I'd like to remember about UB:

-the bright orange awnings of the fresh fruit stands that appear each morning on every corner, their patrons gathered en masse to select the best kiwis and Asian pears before work

-the strange Soviet architecture: the pastel buildings with their white columns and the broken yellow, red, green, and blue sidewalk tiles often interrupted by large potholes and the occasional missing manhole cover

-cheerful young fathers with their children in arms, cooing to them softly as they accompany their wives on their errands

-little, aimless old ladies in their colorful deels, tall black boots, and cashmere berets-their purses clutched in their wrinkled hands-making their way slowly through the crowds of poshly dressed young people on the streets

-weird tasting dairy products (dried yogurt and cheeses) made from yak's milk sold in every grocery store--something I've not yet taken a liking to...

-traditional throat singers who can "play" their vocal cords and can create three notes at once (called Huumii in Mongolian) as they strum away at a sheep's head fiddle they hold between their knees

-the cigarette/candy/fruit vendors who will charge 100 tugrugs for a local phone call on the bulky old phones they hold in their laps

-the ODB--our nickname for the town groper (a real pro) who asks if we speak English, hands us a little card explaining how his family died in a fire and he needs money, and, while our hands are occupied, goes in for a squeeze when we're least expecting it

-the warmth of a ger at night and the small hole of blue sky visible at the roof's center in the morning

-couples sharing lunch together on benches surrounding the old cement playgrounds in courtyards tucked away, just off the busy streets of downtown

-the daily guilt trip from our Russian hostel owner about not putting two pieces of toast in the toaster--something a Mongolian person would never do--among other criticisms of Americans

-young kids dressed up in suits and ties, dresses and patent leather shoes, carrying flowers for their teachers who yell 'hello' to us in English as their parents make sure they make it safely across the heavily trafficked streets

-the cozy German bakery where we often get a sandwich and good coffee and take in the smells of bread baking and pastry dough rising after class

-a profound feeling of foreignness.

I shall miss this place. Beyond Mongolia's rough exterior, there is a beauty about this place that I will carry with me for a long while still.

photos: the strange "D" shaped building south of Sukhbaatar Square with mountains in the distance, and a brick layer fixing up a huge piece of sidewalk along a storefront, and a woman setting up her fruit stand on Peace Ave. in UB.