Despite having grown up in America, I love being in Mongolia, the country of my birth and my childhood. I love the crisp, cold mornings, and the perfect tinge of blue overhead. I love the architecture and the downtown, a blend of history and modernity. I love hearing Mongolian being spoken around me. I love the steam of freshly cooked buuz, the sizzle of huushuur and the savory smell of suutai tsai. But most of all, I love the feeling I get – the feeling of finally coming home, the feeling of being so totally accepted and fitting in.
As I finished crossing the busy Ulaanbaatar street and breathed a sigh of relief, the driver stuck his head out of his window and started yelling at me, calling me names and angrily asking (commenting?) on whether I knew how to cross the street with another sprinkle of cuss words.
Looking at the Mongolian countryside, it is hard not to notice the white specks by hills, rivers, or in the middle of what seems like nowhere. Getting even closer you may hear the loud barks of the dog to alert their owners of the visitor. By the ruckus of the bark, the owners will bow their heads through the doorway of the white speck, which is of course a ger, and call his dog closer.
To increase access to vegetables for the students of Khongor, Mongolia, we established a greenhouse. We are happy to report that it is still alive and operational four years later.
In those rare times when Mongolia does happen to make it onto the pages of global newspapers and magazines, there is something that the well-trained editors and writers sitting behind the desk invariably do. They emphasize the incredible(ly trite) contrast between the old and the new as evidenced by any number of things around Ulaanbaatar. "Ah, yes,… Continue reading Mongolia. Much Exotic. You Like, Yes?