Ulaanbaatar, the city of the steppes
By Matthew Crawford
Ulaanbaatar may be the only world capital where it is possible to hear throat
singing on a sidewalk at 10 in the morning. While sitting on a concrete block,
waiting for the Kazakhstan Embassy to open, a passing Mongolian man stopped to
talk. He introduced himself as a professional musician, specializing in the art
of throat singing. Before I knew it, he was demonstrating various styles of
this gruff, otherworldly singing style born of the ancient Mongolian people's
experience of the steppes.
This was a good example of the strong hold that Mongolians keep on their
traditions. Most Mongolians still practice shamanistic rites like visiting
hilltop ovoos (stone cairns), while the traditional alcohol of airag
(fermented mare's milk) is available in the
supermarket, packaged in plastic bottles.
There is also a strong awareness of history in Mongolia, with people looking
back to the glory days of the Mongol Empire to draw confidence for the future.
Naturally, national pride is rallied around the figure of Chinggis (or Genghis)
Khan.
Its traditions and history have served as an anchor for modern Mongolia, which
like its East Asian neighbors has braved a tide of relentless change. This has
especially been the case during the past 20 years since it held its first
democratic election in 1990. While much of the rural population continues to
live semi- or fully-nomadic existences as herders, most Mongolians now live in
cities.
It is in Ulaanbaatar that one finds all the contradictions born of the search
for a modern identity and the persistence of tradition. The most obvious
contradictions are those coming about as the Ulaanbaatar of the Soviets becomes
merged with a new cosmopolitanism.
Once completely Sovietized, many of Ulaanbaatar's Russian elements have faded
away. One example is an old market that has recently been demolished. This area
across from the Bishrelt Hotel used to be packed with Russian supermarkets and
restaurants, but has now turned into a construction site and a strip of money
changing shops.
Instead of Russian restaurants one finds plenty of Irish pubs and Korean
restaurants. Likewise, English words are becoming more and more common in
public spaces, though the Cyrillic alphabet continues to be the standard
script.
The many concrete apartment blocks of Ulaanbaatar have also survived into the
post-Soviet era, as has the stately neo-classical architecture around the main
square. The Palace of Culture and State Opera and Ballet Theater are two
attractive examples.
But there is also the old communist party headquarters, the building of the
Mongolian People's Revolutionary Party (MPRP). Looted and burned by rioters
during three days of violence when the MPRP won the elections of June 2008, the
structure has been neither restored nor demolished, and instead remains an
uneasy symbol of the fault line between the old governing elites and the urban
majority.
The new Ulaanbaatar is rising around the Soviet-style kernel of the city that
is the Sukhbaatar Square area. Communist anachronisms like the MPRP
headquarters are now overshadowed by high-rise office buildings. Further from
the center, tastefully designed apartment blocks have redefined the city
skyline.
Among the customers in a sandwich restaurant one afternoon I happened to meet
the Canadian owner of a construction company. These days, he tells me, he is
hiring as many new staff as he can find. And yet the dozens of cranes and
construction sites throughout the city are dormant - due to shortages of funds
as the country feels the pinch of the global economic slowdown.
A more positive sign is the number of new embassies and consulates opening up
in Ulaanbaatar. Mongolia's booming gold and copper mining industries have had
much to do with this.
As for the local beneficiaries of Mongolia's growth, these can be seen shopping
or browsing at the state department store. Outside the store - a city landmark
since 1921 - used sports utility vehicles are lined up for sale. While Hummers,
Land Cruisers and Land Rovers are becoming increasingly popular, the vast
majority of cars on the road are battered Hyundais.
One notices a similar contrast on the sidewalks; sleek sophisticates with
designer sunglasses and youth wearing hip-hop apparel mingle with panhandlers
and street people. Ulaanbaatar is still without payphones. Instead, vendors on
every street offer portable phones, and at the same time sell individual
cigarettes and gum.
Signs of harder times for the country also remain a part of the urban
landscape. All the manhole covers have been stolen and sold as scrap metal,
leaving sidewalk pitfalls and making it a bit dangerous to wander around at
night. The sidewalks themselves are usually strips of sandy dirt.
Ulaanbaatar and Mongolia on the whole are trying to reconcile social
disparities and contradictions between the modern and traditional. Promisingly,
throughout their long history, Mongolians have always adapted well to change.
Much may depend on upcoming presidential elections scheduled for May.
Despite the complete ongoing renovation of Ulaanbaatar, it is comforting that
the old Mongolia can be found at the city's outskirts. Only a few kilometers
into the countryside are ger (traditional Mongolian family communal
tents) camps and grazing flocks of livestock; in the city itself the older
inhabitants still wear the traditional del, a long dress with a sash
round the waist.
And, as I can attest, it is not impossible in 21st century urban Mongolia to
hear throat singing from a stranger.
Originally from Vancouver, Canada, Matthew Crawford now lives in South
Korea, where he recently completed a professorial post at Chungnam National
University. He is currently in the middle of a travel writing project that
began on Japan's Tsushima Island and will conclude with Tibet. His work has
appeared in The Korea Herald and The JoongAng Daily.
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