A Mongolian Tale: Black Market day

August 5, 2006, Ulaan Bataar, Republic of Mongolia

Morning.

A nice brisk and sunny morning greets us in UB. As I wake up from my bed I think to myself that I slept a lot better in this place than our previous one. But alas, that was yesterday; today is today. Let’s get breakfast!

Andy, Lili and I walk over and down across from the SDS to Michele’s French Bakery (Yes it is owned by a French guy named Michele). As a side note, there are several types of restaurants to be found in UB. In our stay we ate at an American, a Mexican, a Mediterranean, an Italian, a Korean, a Mongolian(yes of course) restaurant. They were all surprisingly authentic in their own ways. But I digress… Michele’s French Bakery is a small establishment, which seems to seat up to 20 patrons. Upon entering one can instantly smell the scent of freshly baked products. We sit at the first table and grab a menu. I order an espresso and a ham and cheese croissant. They are good and for a moment I have to look around to make sure of where I am again. Oh yes Mongolia! Michele’s French Bakery caters mostly to tourists who are seeking a quick energy boosting breakfast before trekking into the countryside. We were not one of them, we were going to the Black Market today.

After breakfast Lili strays off to say her last goodbye to her group, while Andy and I hailed a cab and head to the Black Market. A note about cabs here. In UB any car is a potential cab. “How could that be?” You ask. Well basically taking a cab is sometimes a form of paid hitchhiking. The few licensed cabs in town have rated meters. The rest, well that’s up to the driver, but sometimes you get a better deal without the meter as they seem to spew out random numbers. Anyways, Andy and I hopped into a metered cab en route to the market. At arrival our total cost was around 3,000 Tugriks. Not bad we thought and out we were in front of the entrance to the grand and famed Black Market. I don’t have a picture of it except in my mind since I did not dare take my camera in there. We had heard stories. Specifically, one of Lili’s kids had been robbed at knifepoint just days earlier. We approach enthusiastically but yet with a sense of caution.

We are alowed to enter the Black Market after purchasing a 50 Tugrik ticket. That’s less than 5 cents! Wow! I that feel the bargain hunting has begun! So our list is pretty simple and basic. We need camping gear. You know, tents, sleeping bags, cups, dishes, etc… Walking around the small open-air and vinyl-walled “stores” we see all types of products. From slippers to radios to hats to pens and all sorts of things we don’t need. So naturally I approach one of the local sales persons to inquire about sleeping bags. Now my Mongolian Phrase book, given to me in Beijing by the hotel’s bartender, will be of great use… I think so optimistically. It takes about 10 minutes for them to decipher that we are looking for sleeping bags. A nice old lady beckons to follow her. “Is this a trap?” I think to myself, not wanting to alarm Andy. But the lady has a friendly smile, not the friendly type on evil people, but friendly like good family folk. So we follow her and surely enough she leads us through the market maze to the sleeping bag “store.” Excellent! We made out with sleeping bags and mats for under 20 US dollars each. Jackpot! Now we tread on to find the other stuff, but it is unfound. Blast!

We leave the Black Market with sleeping bags at least. On the side of the road I watch after our bags while Andy sticks out his hand in the universal cab/hitchhiker signal. Not as quickly as anticipated but soon a red unkempt Hyundai, which resembles an old horse waiting to die, pulls up and we enter. Andy points to our trusty map to indicate our destination, the SDS, while I notice we have taken service from one of those non-metered cabs. This shall be interesting. The driver crunches the shift stick into gear and the “horse” roared off with a moan. The old steed seems to not want to go anywhere, but to where ever it is that cars go to die. At each traffic light, there were a total of four, the machine collapses with a shake. The driver unresistingly wiggles and turns the key kicking the contraption back into life. And off it goes, hesitantly. All along the driver smiles and seems to be having a great day. Even at the end of our journey, when the beast refuses to let me out, the driver just smiles and nudges on the handle magically opening the exit. Total price about half as much as the previous metered cab had cost.

Tonight we dine Mediterranean and I try some Chinggis Vodka.

A Mongolian Tale: Finding a better place

August 4, 2006, Ulaan Bataar, Republic of Mongolia

Morning.

I awake in the capital of Mongolia, Ulaan Bataar, which in Mongolian means Red Hero. It might be pertinent at this juncture to note that one will find the city’s name spelt many different ways. Sometimes it is presented as one word, others as two, and the amount of A’s that make up all but one of its vowels varies from a minimum of three to a maximum of six. In rare circumstances the last one or two A’s are replaced by an O. For future reference, this is the most common form: Ulaan Bataar.

To continue, I am in my $40 a night room at the Jiguur Grand Hotel. The following points summarize our stay in this establishment, which lasted less than 24 hours.

• One should not expect air conditioning of any kind. Open a window.
• A sign displaying “English Spoken” should read: English Spoken… not here.
• When they tell you they accept credit cards they actually mean they want cash.
• A local phone call from the room costs an unannounced 600 Tugriks or 50 cents per minute. This is 500% more than using a street phone.
• The advertised Internet and business center was still under “construction.”
• I didn’t bother to look for the spa, but don’t expect one.

Anyways I meet up with Andy and Lili, who had arrived just last night from a six-week stint as a tour guide in the Mongolian countryside with a group of teenagers. Noon is approaching and we check out just in time so as not to be charged an extra $40. We leave with a gracious but discontented demeanor as the hotel personnel wave us goodbye bearing smiles. Smiles that almost seem to speak softly, “suckers.”

Andy and I go about to look for an alternate hotel while Lili hangs out with her tour group to begin saying their goodbyes. In our search for a new hospice we stumble upon two places that are moderately priced, but fully occupied. On our third attempt we round the corner from the State Department Store (SDS), unofficially the center of the city, and spot the sign of a hostel, “Chingis Backpackers” hung over a four story apartment building. Entering the cool and damp building takes me back about fifty years, in my imagination since I’m only half that age, when the mechanism of communism helped modernize the country. Now these strong buildings are showing signs of aging and neglect. I suspect no hot water here and foresee a great disappointment.

Andy and I enter the reception/living room of one of the apartments. Greeting us in soft-spoken English is the owner of the hostel who has one apartment available. We need not one apartment, just one or two rooms for a total of three people, but we humor her in showing us the apartment anyways. Located on the first floor of the building, we enter an apartment that includes a spacious room with two pairs of bunk beds and one king size bed, a kitchen with stove and fridge, and a complete bathroom. Well this is obviously too much, but we ask how much? Excuse me? Twenty dollars a night? Per person!? For the whole apartment?! Includes towels and sheets?! No phone, no spa, no business center, no credit cards, no air conditioning, no misleading. We take out a crisp twenty and hand it to the lady. Our first night has been paid for.

Please note: As in most countries with weak currency the US dollar is acceptable at most establishments in Mongolia.

After getting comfy in our economically priced flat we walk across the street to the SDS to begin exploring the city. Half of Mongolia’s two million populace live in the capital within low apartments, houses, and gers that paint the outskirts. Most of the architecture is made up of monotone communist-era buildings, but some new construction projects are propping up. The streets are in dismal shape not to mention the sidewalks, which remind me of Panama; an endless obstacle course for anyone commuting more than a few blocks on foot. The only decent and wide sidewalks are on the main Peace Avenue. But among the city that time forgot are one of the most sophisticated looking people around. They are chatting on the latest cell phones and sporting the newest trends in fashion. Amazingly, women wear heels to tread among the un-walkable streets. Just goes to show what a free market economy can do for individuals.

For dinner we meet up with the father of an old friend who has been living in Mongolia for three years. Lili is having a goodbye dinner with her group. He takes us out to a fine Korean dinner at one of his favorite restaurants. Korean in Mongolia?! Yes. In fact, Mongolians feel a close tie to the Korean nation and vice versa. This is due to their classic genetic links. All through out Ulaan Bataar we see advertisements for Korean products and phrases like “Korea loves Mongolia.” And it showed in this establishment’s food. I cannot recall the name of the place, but if you’re in town just ask for the best Korean food and you can’t miss. Afterward, we returned home. It sure felt like home to have a whole apartment. In preparation for sleep I approached the sink to wash my face and brush my teeth. I turned the knob and out flowed hot burning water! The building’s way of scolding me for my previous doubts. Maybe its true… They don’t make ‘em like the communists used to.