Bridge of Certain Death

Kiev has beautiful parks that are full of opportunities to play, eat, explore, and relax.  One park in particular also features a suspension bridge that for me is the cheapest adrenaline rush in town.  It hovers roughly a million feet above the road and is lined with rotting wooden planks that are hardly worthy to support a small dog, much less a throng of overweight tourists and citizens.  As I heroically risk my life to cross the bridge, those same tourists and citizens linger casually on the precarious passage snapping photos and, I’m sure, preparing to shove innocent pedestrians over the low rusty metal railing to the street far below.

At least that’s the narrative that runs through my wild imagination as I shuffle nervously across the bridge.  Strangely, it’s not actually called the Bridge of Certain Death but rather Lover’s Bridge.  And lovers who visit the bridge demonstrate their commitment by affixing a padlock or a ribbon to the bridge railing.  The local authorities routinely snip and remove these signs of devotion, but I trust that the love endures.

Here are some photos of the ‘cheap thrill’ bridge in question:

The bridge as seen from the street below

From directly underneath--notice how the sunlight easily penetrates the spaces between the boards

Working up my nerve to make the perilous journey

If you look closely, you can see ribbons and padlocks affixed to the bridge

Angkor Wat

We gathered in the hotel lobby at 4:30 on a recent Sunday morning.  A dozen of us shuffled through the doors and climbed into tuk-tuks for the 20 minute ride to the most prominent ancient Buddhist temple, and the largest religious monument, on this planet.  The pre-dawn departure allowed us to reach Angkor Wat well before sunrise and look across the reflection pond as the sun slowly revealed itself and the great temple in the process.  Clouds on the horizon prevented a dramatic sunrise, but camera shutters fluttered nonetheless.

After sunrise, several of us continued exploring the vast grounds beyond Angkor Wat, known as Angkor Thom, enjoying more temples, terraces, and statues.  Bayon, the best preserved temple in Angkor Thom, features carved faces on the many towers.

The bridge on the way to Angkor Thom

Bayon

Bayon - if you look closely you can see the faces on each side of the tower

Angkor Thom once boasted a population 1,000,000 strong, and the rulers would proudly look over its marching military forces from the elephant terrace.

Elephant terrace in Angkor Thom

The unanimous favorite temple was Ta Prohm, which is quite literally being swallowed by huge trees, which give the entire site a fanciful vibe.

Ta Prohm and its ambitious trees

What horse meat controversy?

There’s comfort in routine and the familiar.  It’s nice to know what to expect—to know what your food will taste like even before it touches your lips; to sink into the driver’s seat of your car and navigate familiar streets and familiar destinations; to take a worry-free predictable stroll to the store; to work methodically through a to-do list at work and leave the office at the end of the day satisfied with steady progress on tasks large and small. 

I write these words during my first days in in Kiev, Ukraine, my new and unfamiliar home after surviving the weather of a harsh Mongolian winter and the unknown of a new land.

Here are some thoughts from my final weeks in Ulaanbaatar:

Backpack incident

A few weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon following a lovely, lazy 90 minutes at a nearby café, I was walking down a busy street in Ulaanbaatar.  With my trusty backpack strapped over my shoulders, I was thinking about extending my afternoon stroll to do some light grocery shopping.  That’s when I heard the unexpected sound of a zipper opening just inches from my ears.  As soon as I turned my head I realized two men were directly behind me opening my backpack—obviously ready to abscond with whatever from my bag they could get.  My immediate reaction was to grab the closest one by the shoulders and yell at him, “What did you take?!”  I started guiding him off the sidewalk and toward the street.  He immediately addressed me as ‘my friend’ and said it was ‘the other guy,’ who by that time was ten feet away making a casual getaway by blending into the foot traffic.  I let go of the man and looked at my backpack.  It was obvious that nothing had been taken, but even so the event was quite upsetting.  The culprit who I had just released continued to plead his innocence.  Before I turned to continue walking down the street I let him know what I thought of his claim of innocence by stating: “But you were right there.”  Embarrassed and upset about being a target (if not a true victim) of theft, I decided to forgo the walk to the grocery store and instead went directly home.  And for the next hour I allowed wild fantasies of vigilante justice and sting operations run through my head.

Dog sledding

On a much lighter note, my final Sunday in Mongolia included an unexpected adventure of a completely different nature.  My colleague had recently learned about a group that takes thrill seekers dog sledding.  So on Sunday morning, she and another colleague and I drove to the outskirts of UB.  I was concerned that the recent ‘warming’ trend in Mongolia (i.e., daytime temperatures hovering around the freezing mark) might have led to a lack of adequate snow cover for the canine-led voyage.  However, my concerns were eliminated when I realized we were not relying on snow but on the slick, frozen surface of a river. 

We arrived at the same time as the dog sled company.  The dogs were quickly harnessed, but before launching down the icy river behind the anxious mutts—who were yipping, barking, and howling with excitement—we received a crash course in mushing. 

 

Nearly 20 dogs emerged from the trailer to pull us across the river

Eagerly anticipating the ride

Supervising final preparations

Luckily, our instructor spoke enough English to explain how to use our foot to stop the sled by pushing down on a brake lever.  (The explanation consisted of him pushing the brake into the snow and saying “stop” repeatedly.)  He also demonstrated ‘steering’ by gripping the hand bar and leaning left and right.  And that was the extent of our lesson, so we jumped on our sleds and stepped on the brake until the men got in their truck and started driving down the river and yelling out the window to the dogs (and us) “go, go, go!”

I cautiously lifted my foot and the sled surged forward with frightening speed as the dogs launched toward the departing truck.  So I pressed on the brake to slow down until I felt a bit more balanced and accustomed to the ride.  With the men in the truck urging us on: “go, go, go!” I released the brake and slid speedily down the river behind the barking dogs.  Although still very precariously perched, I started to feel more in control of the journey—a foolish notion, really, but sometimes ignorance is bliss, especially for a first-time musher like me.

Away we go!

After several hundred meters of worry-free travel, the dogs shifted from a flat part of the river up a slight incline.  By veering up the uneven surface, any certainty of my role in controlling the sled was dashed when my balance betrayed me and the dogs continued joyfully up the river without their precious human cargo.  I quickly transitioned from passenger to spectator, but not before crashing hard on the ice—the brunt of the impact absorbed by my right hip and the back of my head.  The impact was jarring but not catastrophic and I was back on my feet in a matter of seconds (partially because my colleagues and their dogs were quickly advancing and I didn’t want to be trampled by the charging fleet).  I caught up to my dogs and sled, which was parked near the stopped truck another hundred meters up the river, remounted the sled, gave a thumbs-up, and was ready to continue the adventure.  The rest of the journey was slower and tamer—perhaps the dogs tired—although one of my colleagues also found herself on the icy river after spilling off the sled.

All in all, I chalk up the 45-minute dog sledding escapade as a success.  My headache faded after a day and my bruised hip stopped bothering me within a week.  And when I saw headlines from the Iditarod, which coincidentally started on the same day as our adventure, I was fairly certain I could hold my own in that race.

Horse Meat

Horse meat has been in the news a lot recently after having been found in fast food burgers and tacos across much of the Western world.  Such news would not make headlines in Mongolia, where horse meat is regularly sold and consumed alongside mutton, cow, and chicken.  So I decided on one of my final grocery store trips in Mongolia to buy a package of horse meat and see what the scandal was all about.

 

There’s really not much to say except that I would challenge anyone to distinguish horse from cow’s meat.  The flavor and texture were quite similar to cow, and I did not feel compelled to call the New York Times in alarm about my horse stroganoff.

The final product and an accompanying beer for good measure

Leaving Mongolia

As I mentioned at the start of this blog, I recently departed Mongolia after nearly 3-months living and working there.  I’m now in Kiev (Kyiv, really).  There’s more snow on the ground here and the wind blows harder than in UB, but the weather is still much more tolerable.  And hints of spring are in the air, so before too long I expect flowers will begin to bloom and the city will emerge from the doldrums of a long, gray winter.  My final days in Mongolia offered hints of spring, too.  For the first time since my arrival in mid-December, temperatures were above freezing.  It’s strange how warm 35 degrees can feel after months when the high temperature for the day rarely reached 15 and the lows fell far below zero. 

So as I settle into a new routine in a new apartment and new city I find myself reflecting on what is new and what is old; where the boundary lies between safety and harm; what is important and meaningful and what is distraction.  And how to reconcile that in life the unfamiliar can be refreshing and at the same time somehow familiar. 

In front of a Buddhist monument

Chinggis Khan still looms large in Mongolia

High above the Ulaanbaatar skyline

 

Everything you need to know about Mongolia

Absolutely no exaggeration—this blog posting will provide you with everything you would ever need to know about Mongolia.  It’s 100% true and triple fact checked.  And triple word score.  And martinized in under an hour.  And completely fascinating and totally unimpossible.

• There are no yurts in Mongolia

Much of the Mongolian population still lives a nomadic lifestyle—moving as necessary to keep livestock fed and bodies warm.  As such, they depend on lightweight, mobile housing that provides protection from the elements.  Some might think that a yurt would be the perfect option for the average Mongolian nomad.  But there are no yurts in Mongolia.  Instead, Mongolian nomads live in gers—tent-like homes with wooden frames and felt walls that look exactly like yurts but in Mongolia are called gers (it’s pronounced like the name Gary, but without the ‘ee’ at the end).  Ok, so I recognize that it’s a misleading game of semantics to say there are no yurts in Mongolia, but knowing to refer to gers rather than yurts can set you apart from neophyte foreigners in Mongolia.

If you want to learn more—or even purchase your own ger—you can go visit this poorly named Mongolian yurt website: http://www.mongolian-yurt.com/index.html

• This not the most polluted city in the world

Ulaanbaatar is not the most polluted city in the world.  This time of year, mid- January, the air is often thick and soupy and the Weather Channel website literally lists the conditions as “smoke” rather than sunny or cloudy.  Not sure if you can read it, but here’s a screenshot from earlier this week:

The forecast calls for "Smoke"

As someone described it to me on my first day here, simply breathing the air can feel like you’ve been punched in the lung.  The cars clog the streets and fill the air with exhaust fumes; smokestacks at 10 power plants on the edge of the city pour smoke into the sky as a byproduct of providing heating to businesses, offices, and homes.  But the worst contributor to pollution are the tens of thousands of ger communities within the city limits that burn coal and wood in their stoves to stay warm through bitter cold nights and mornings.  And just in case the burning of tons of fossil fuels isn’t bad enough, Ulaanbaatar sits in a virtual bowl—surrounded by mountain ranges in a valley on the Tuul River— which traps the cold, heavy, polluted air and curses its citizens.  It is estimated, in fact, that one-in-ten deaths in Ulaanbaatar is related to the pollution and that the air quality can be four times worse than in the middle of a forest fire.

Another sunny morning in UB

But Ulaanbaatar is not the most polluted city in the world.  According to the World Health Organization, the title of the most air polluted city in the world belongs to Ahvaz, Iran.  Ulaanbaatar, then, is the second most polluted city in the world.

For more about the pollution: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nina-wegner/ulaanbaatar-air-pollution_b_2245035.html

• Genghis Khan is not a bad guy, really

Actually, it’s Chinggis Khan.  Why Westerners felt compelled to rename him is a mystery to me.  (It’s not like Genghis is any more common or easy to pronounce than Chinggis…)  But back to the topic at hand, Chinggis Khan is immortalized by statues and honored (or exploited) by corporations that name their business or product after him.  Restaurants and especially vodka brands use his revered name as their own.  It seems that Chinggis Khan’s brutal campaign of empire building that destroyed entire societies and left countless people dead is not dwelled on as much as his ability to bring together an otherwise disparate collection of nomadic tribes that had previously been vulnerable to attack by outside occupiers.  Chinggis Khan changed the narrative by uniting his people under a common purpose, using innovative strategies in war, and eventually becoming the occupier rather than the occupied.  And it seems, for that, he is revered.

 

• But it is cold here

If you’re going to a country known for its extremes, why not experience those extremes?  I arrived in Mongolia just days before the start of the nine nines.  Mongolia divides the winter into 9 periods each lasting 9 days, starting on December 21.  Each nine is accompanied by a saying that is supposed to help describe the conditions.  During the previous nine, it is said that “the horns of 3 year old bulls will freeze.”  Currently, “the horns of 4 year old bulls will freeze.”  But things will get better soon, because next, “rice will not freeze.”

Today was particularly warm and pleasant day, but otherwise it’s been darn cold here.  On December 23, it was -37 when I spent a brutal 15 minutes walking to a friend’s house.  Often when I walk to work bundled from head to toe except for my eyes, the perspiration from my breath freezes on my eye lashes, giving the effect that my eyes themselves are frozen.  Apparently the news reported last week that more than 180 people were showing up at hospitals in Ulaanbaatar each day due to the slippery roads and sidewalks.  Luckily, I’ve kept myself upright despite several close calls.  And I’ve also heard that it’s not uncommon for men to lose fingers due to frostbite after drinking too much and passing out on the way home.

Here’s a short article about that claims Ulaanbaatar is the coldest capital city in the world:  http://geography.about.com/od/physicalgeography/a/coldcapital.htm

• And it is sparsely populated

This is perhaps the least interesting fact, but it is notable that Mongolia is the most sparsely populated country in the world.  There’s lots of room to roam on the Mongolian steppe and in the Gobi desert.   But that’s sometimes hard to believe when I’m walking home among a crowd of people and waiting for a break in the endless stream of cars so I can cross the street.

So there you go: Mongolia is a cold, polluted, wide-open country with plenty of gers and plenty of love for Chingiss Khan.  There’s actually probably more to Mongolia than these five facts, but I would need a few more weeks to figure everything else out…

 

First Sunrise of 2013

First and foremost, Happy New Year!  Unimpossible Life hopes that your 2013 is full of peace, joy, and great memories!

This Unimpossible Life kicked off January 1, 2013 by climbing into a taxi at 5am—not after a long night of partying, but after a good night’s sleep—for the purpose of traveling to the countryside to greet the first sunrise in spectacular fashion.  My current city of residence, Ulaanbaatar, offers most of the conveniences of modern urban life, but the occasional return to more natural surroundings provides needed respite from the smog, traffic, and icy sidewalks.  So, along with 2 coworkers I climbed on a train in the dark, early hours of January 1 to visit the Mongolian steppe and watch the sun rise.

At the Ulaanbaatar train station in the early hours of January 1, 2013

The first surprise of the trip came shortly after boarding the train when we realized we would be riding in a private cabin—a normal seat in the train would have been just fine, but we quickly got comfortable in our cabin.  Settled into the cabin and chugging down the tracks in a southeastern direction outside of Ulaanbaatar, we were informed that breakfast would be served at 7am in the dining car. 

At the appointed time, we made our way to breakfast.  In the dining car, we were first presented with cake; then we were served bread, meat, cheese, and jam.  Next we were served a plate of eggs and a choice of tea or coffee.  Finally, we were given champagne so we could toast the New Year properly.  And because the tables sat four people, the three of us shared breakfast with a young woman from Japan who came to Mongolia to celebrate the New Year.  The big breakfast was our second surprise of the morning.

With our bellies full and bodies warm, we were ready to reach our destination—Khangai station.  As passengers poured out of the train onto the Mongolian tundra, three tall pyramids of wood were lit ablaze—offering heat and inspiring the sun to climb over the horizon.  A strong wind played a dual role of dropping the temperature but also fanning the flames of the bonfires until they were impressive raging blazes.

Bracing the cold weather and winds of the Mongolian steppe

Soon, a performance started on the snow by the largest of the bonfires.  Dancers wearing traditional costumes and large masks showed their reverence to the fire; and a drummer kneeled dangerously close to the bonfire beating his drum.  The performance was accompanied by music, singing, and storytelling, but it was all in Mongolian so I could only guess at the significance of the song and dance.

As the performance finished, the crowd of several hundred—which had largely been milling aimlessly trying to keep warm—agreed on a common purpose and became transfixed on the eastern horizon, which was quickly transitioning from deep blue to light blue in anticipation of the impending sunrise.  When the golden sun finally broke the horizon, the cheering began—as did the third surprise: people greeted the rising sun by flinging milk—frozen and liquid—and tossing candy toward the east.  One of my fellow travelers was approached by a young man with a carved wooden utensil that resembled a large spoon but with a flat square end.  The young man poured some milk on the end; after some instruction and encouragement, my colleague flung the milk toward the sun.

Flinging milk toward the rising sun

As the sun continued to reveal itself, people held their arms out as if preparing to hug the sun itself.  Many were saying a phrase in Mongolian that I could neither pronounce at the time nor remember now.  Despite language barriers, the significance of the moment and the reverence shown to the first sun of 2013 was clearly understood.

Welcoming the first sunrise of 2013

With the sun well established in the sky, my attention was drawn toward a nearby ger, which is a nomadic house that Unimpossible Life readers might call a yurt.  I stepped inside and saw a busy scene—a lama was chanting early morning prayers while traditional Mongolian snacks and milk tea were being distributed.  Soon, I found myself accepting a small paper cup—it was not filled with tea but with vodka which I drank without hesitation despite the early hour.

After enjoying the relative warmth of the ger, I returned with my traveling companions to the actual warmth of the train.  After less than an hour outside, we were frozen from head to toe but exhilarated by the early morning events of the New Year.

Unimpossibly cold toes, but enjoying the comfort and warmth of the train

When the train got underway again, we trekked to the bar car for a folklore performance.  The performance was spectacular, featuring live music, singing, dancing, and most incredibly—Mongolian throat singing.  When the Mongolian throat singing began, I honestly didn’t know what was producing the sound, even though the performer was standing 30 feet away from me.  When I realized he was producing the sound, I decided he must have something in his throat—but that didn’t make sense because he had just finished introducing his song in his normal voice.  Quickly, I understood that he simply had an amazing talent for throat singing, so I stopped trying to figure out how he was making the noise and simply enjoyed it.

After the folklore performance finished, we returned to our cabin to enjoy gazing upon the Mongolian landscape from our cabin.  There was a lot of open space, but there was also a wind farm, the occasional village, and a few small herds of cattle—with some cows wearing blankets to protect against the extreme cold.  After a relaxing ride, we arrived back in Ulaanbaatar.  And although I yearned to enjoy more of the open landscape of Mongolia, I was also pleased to return to my warm apartment and a comfortable sofa, which welcomed me for a much-needed nap.  Through my drowsiness, though, in the early afternoon I woke up briefly to call my family to count down their final seconds of 2012 and once again welcome 2013.