Bayartai!

So this latest long hiatus hasn’t been because I’ve been gallivanting around the Mongolian countryside; it’s because I’ve been gallivanting around the American countryside. After my long flights from Mongolia to Los Angeles, I re-immersed myself pretty rapidly into American life, by seeing Hollywood at night and the Grand Canyon in the heat of the day, camping in the Colorado Rockies, driving through Vegas (just waving as we went past), and eventually ending up in my quiet little college town with a view of the California smog. In short, I’ve sort of been visiting America’s own sacred places.

An American Ovoo

So, though I have about 10 leftover things I’d like to post about eventually, this travel narrative is officially closed.

One would think I would emerge from this American road trip with some brilliant insights about this American life, but I think I was too busy falling back in love with my all-time favorite country to come up with anything intellectual. I do, however want to say something not about Mongolia or America, but about how where we are and where we’ve been sort of defines how we think and behave. I’m taking a class on Jerusalem, and when asked on the first day to define what makes up a city, everyone jumped to relevant aspects of Jerusalem (religious sites, political boundaries, ownership). My mind, however, still at least a bit settled in UB, thought of infrastructure and water/energy sources (not so important to Jerusalem, but crucial to UB’s existence), I nearly said “ger districts” when trying to talk about poorer areas of cities, and when we started a discussion of how topography defines a city, I envisioned my quintessential city as reigned in by mountains and oriented by Sükhbaatar Square.

This mindset is already fading, but that country song seems to ring at least a little true… You can take the girl out of Ulaanbaatar, but you can’t take Ulaanbaatar out of the girl. 

Mongolia is Awesome: Names Edition

After Mongolia became the Mongolian People’s Republic in 1924, they renamed the capital “Ulaanbaatar Xot.” Ulaanbaatar is technically two words, and Ulaanbaatar Xot literally means “Red Hero City.” It’s named after Sükhbaatar, the national hero who led the independence movement against China. Because he led a communist revolution, he was dubbed the Red Hero, and the city was named after him.

But “baatar” occurs in names that don’t involve nationalist leaders, too. It’s commonly found in people’s names; I’ve met a “Chuluunbaatar” (Stone Hero) and at least three “Ganbaatars”; “gan,” like Bold, is a word for steel, so Ganbaatar means Steel Hero. (This country rocks.)

Although having a bunch of Heroes running around is pretty Awesome on its own, Sükhbaatar himself probably takes the cake for the best compound of Hero.”“Sükh” is Mongolian for ax, so Sükhbaatar is simply Ax-Hero. I like to think that this is the equivalent of “George Washington Flamethrower,” or a presidential candidate named “M16 DESTROYER.” Hell, I’d vote for him.

And the moral of this Names Edition? If you are Holding Out for a Hero, get on the next plane to Mongolia.

Mongolian Connections: Coffee Empire

I’m sure there is some deep sociological significance behind a “Coffee Republic” knockoff in Mongolia called “Coffee Empire,” but it’s just too deep for me to dissect. I’m hoping it has to do more with historical than with political ideology, but who knows?

Mongolia is Awesome: DESTROY!

That’s just how the Mongols cut and blowdry. The best part is that it’s two doors down from “Victory Fashion Shop.”

Mongolian Connections: Arizona

Sometimes there are no words.

Why there is a building in downtown Ulaanbaatar called “The Arizona Center” is beyond me. Why it has a steampunk Battlefield Earth style robot in front of it must completely defy explanation. Important note: The dreadlocks are made of bike chains.

I predict someone will suppose it’s because Arizona, like Mongolia, is just that Awesome.

Meditations: Religion and the Lack of It

I wrote earlier about how Stalinist the city is, and part and parcel of that feeling is atheism. Mongolia, or at least Ulaanbaatar, appears to be pretty irreligious. This isn’t entirely recent; the most prominent faith in Mongolia was generally Buddhism, which is pretty different from a “religion” as Westerners see it, and even when the great Khans were in power and had access to three major religions (Nestorian Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism), there was never a national dedication to any of them. 

So when Stalin came in, destroyed the monasteries, and attempted to eliminate religious practice, it was pretty effective, and much of the population of Ulaanbaatar today is practically atheist/agnostic. This isn’t noteworthy, I guess, but what is noteworthy is that it shows. My first couple days here, it struck me that the city was missing something, and I couldn’t quite figure out what. But then I realized: No church bells or calls to prayer, no cathedrals standing as a testament to a formerly religious world , no mosques. It might only be noticeable because of the other places I’ve been in the past year. Oxford is in some ways a collection of churches, with bells ringing most of the time (especially when you’re trying to study); Istanbul is defined as a meeting-point of different religions; and in Egypt, when the muezzin called, people made a point either to find a mosque or they got down and prayed where they were.

So this sudden lack of religious institutions—I’m feeling it. Of course, many parts of the US are irreligious, but New England still has its charming churches, Chick Fil-A is still closed on Sundays, and crosses dot the Midwest. Even New York and LA are marked by different types of worship; the skyscrapers of New York are a testament to commerce, and LA’s billboards (Lose one million pounds with Lap-Band!) and malls (from Armani to Abercrombie & Fitch outlets) display its worship of materialism and other superficial stuff. So it may not be religion exactly, but there’s an argument to be made that it is. (In 1989, Jill Dubisch wrote an article saying that the health food craze had all the necessary aspects of a religion; I’d like to see the same for NYC’s commerce or LA’s… LA-ness.)

Ulaanbaatar, then, is the first place I’ve been where I really felt the lack of religion. Where it really felt that they were missing something. So forget all the arguments you usually hear about religion and its benefits/downsides, about moral repercussions, inevitable conflict, self-righteousness, charity, etc. etc. This question is all about culture (as poorly defined a term as that is): What benefits does religion give to a society’s culture, its institutions and architecture and rhythm, and can those benefits be gained by a substitute instead? In today’s world, should those benefits be gained by a substitute instead?

 Not pictured: Churches, temples, or mosques.

Meditations: Stalin Lives!

Walking around Ulaanbaatar, one cannot escape the feel of Stalinism that absolutely pervades the place. If I were given only three words to describe the city, “Stalinist” would indubitably make the list, and I’m not sure that, if I were given only one word, “Stalinist” wouldn’t be it.

It shows in the city’s name: “Ulaanbaatar” is translated as “Red Hero,” and it received its name in 1924 after being conquered by communists. (Who exactly the “Hero” is, I have yet to discover, though I suspect it is Sukhbaatar, who also gives his name to the main Square of the city.) And the buildings… I never realized until I got here how much of an effect architecture has on a place (which shows how little I’ve been paying attention). Most of the standing structures in Ulaanbaatar were built by the USSR, and they look like exactly what you’d expect: Square apartment buildings. Period. But it’s a neglected sort of Stalinism, like an abandoned communist city, despite the crowds of people walking around, knowing to avoid the open manholes and unbothered by the bits of wreckage that stand on (or are) the side of the road. Grass pokes through the concrete and makes a reluctant appearance in backyards and parks, but even the plants here look Soviet.

But here’s the thing: Ulaanbaatar is not communist. It is not Soviet, and officially, it never was. The Mongolian people are pretty ready for the future, evidenced by some of the new modern buildings and the rapid privatization of the country’s industry. When the coordinator of International Programmes dropped me off, I asked about a statue in front of the NUM and wondered who it was. She said she doesn’t like him much, that he was president of Mongolia when the NUM was founded, but she does not like him much (she repeated), because he was friends with Stalin. So people’s attitudes seem to be very un-communist.

My first meditation, then, is very appropriate to Mongolia in general (as I’ll get to later): How significant is the past? What prompts a people to reject their past, and once they collectively want to, how easy is it? Is it even possible, or does the past still stand as long as the buildings do? How are our own societies still tied to the past? Did America emerge the way it did due to the very fact that it was without a past, that it was a people starting fresh and erecting their own buildings? Getting back to Mongolia, is the Stalinism something that will wear off as new institutions of the country emerge (i.e. democracy, capitalism, technology), or has it made enough of a mark that they’re stuck with it for a while? What effect will new institutions have not only on the literal remnants of the past (buildings, statues, etc), but also on people's views of the past? And I haven’t even started with gers yet.