I love places that are truly lived in and can provide me with authentic insights into the culture of a place and a people today – not necessarily what that culture was thirty, or a hundred, or a thousand years ago. I get kind of grumbly when I read travel bloggers and journalists rabble rouse about destinations that have lost their authenticity, when what that really means is that they are developing.
Ulaanbaatar is one such place. By the rules of traditional Mongolian pastoral nomadism, Ulaanbaatar is a city that should not exist. Instead, it is one that is home to the majority of a country’s population. Built as a Soviet planned city largely after World War 2 (outside of the newer developments, most of the decaying construction today is from 1960-1985), it was built to accommodate new industry in what remains the most sparsely populated nation on earth. Soviets, and now a crowd of international investors, needed a base from which to explore and prospect the Mongolian countryside, and Ulaanbaatar (UB henceforth) was the result.
Mongolians, logically, started to flock to the new Stalinist capital while the nation was under Communist power as the only opportunities for increased income were in the capital. And while many Mongolians chose to stay true to their roots and keep a nomadic lifestyle, many opted to come to the city to try their luck under Communist cum Democratic capitalism.
UB, as a result, is a very interesting city. It is home to Soviet communist blocs, largely occupied by the middle class, and a huge, sprawling ger (Mongolian yurt) slum. In order to relocate to the capital, nomadic families simply sold their livestock, packed their ger, and set up a quite literal camp extending every which way from the city’s relatively urban center. It would be as if a sprawling tent city expanded out from Manhattan. Well, I guess there’s Long Island…BURN.
I arrived to UB not having great expectations for the place. I had planned to have a few nights in UB, but mostly just as bookends between my trips around the country to Amarbayasgalant Monastery and Kharkhorin. I stayed at Zaya’s Hostel right off Peace Boulevard, easily within walking distance from the State Department Store, Sukhbaatar Square, and the main museums in the city. Zaya, the somewhat salty proprietress of the establishment warned me “your pockets are like donation boxes for Mongolians – everyone wants to pickpocket foreigners on the streets in UB.” And with that lovely introduction, I was off to explore the city solo.
And I loved it. The combination of gritty concrete blocks with touches of Mongolian culture via tucked away temples and street vendors felt unique – it was as if a Soviet city had been built and abandoned, only to be reclaimed by its rightful semi-indigenous residents. And no one picked my pocket!
I have to give something to the Soviets – they know how to plan a city. Ulaanbaatar is on a near perfect grid – so despite the fact that the city was built for about a third of the population it currently houses, the parts of it on that grid are incredibly easy to get around. Interested in Soviet urban planning in Mongolia? (WHO ISN’T??) Here’s an interesting article on the failed planning of UB.
There was plenty to dislike about the city, sure – one day I walked about 5k to the Naran Tuul Market a bit outside the center of town and was blowing black snot out of my nose for days. Not super cute. The roads were crazy, and I felt like I was putting myself in danger every time I ventured to cross one. And I couldn’t find Chap Stick in the city to save my damn life. But for every one of these (minor?) inconveniences, I was rewarded with an interaction or experience that was worth ten times the inconvenience of the former – like being fitted for my del (Mongolian traditional robe) at Naran Tuul market, haggling for an antique map from a street vendor, or even chatting with Korean expats over some Mongol-style (add mutton to anything to make it Mongol-style, btw) bibimbap. UB gave me memories that I won’t lose anytime soon. Even now, it’s 2015, and I have photo-quality imaged burned into my brain from my 72 hours in UB in 2011.
I got to UB via direct flight from Incheon International Airport (ICN) on MIAT Mongolian Airlines (codeshare with Korean Air) to Chinggis Khaan International Airport (ULN). MIAT was far less sketchy than I had imagined (slash, had hoped it would be?), and ULN was a delightfully provincial airport with a luggage belt that looked to be made from cardboard and duct tape. Also, Mongolia’s passport stamp looks like a little yurt (swoon!), which cemented Mongolia’s place on my list of favorite places within ten minutes of landing there.
