Mongolia feels like dry lips and a scratchy throat as I lay with heavy comforters across my chest at night. It feels like the softest poodle curls of our hosts’ two pooches, and the familiar, worn insides of my two red mittens. It feels like layers of longjohns and my MEC vest, and the brisk cold against my cheeks as we walk.
I see Ulaan Bataar with eyes that have seen Moscow. There are similarities, yes – most notably the Cyrillic script plastered on building tops and ads and in store windows and products. I see dark eyes, weathered faces, long winter coats and exhaust filling the streets in the winter sun.
Mongolia smells like M’s cinnamon buns (in the morning) and smoke (always).
Apartment life is thumpy. Soft bumps and muted voices come through the walls and ceilings at the perfect volume to know we’re not alone. A cat yowls in our stairwell and the footsteps on the concrete stairwells clump. Walking, horns blare and the snow squeaks with each step like Styrofoam rubbed together. Talking, there are accents from across the world – Korean, America, Australian, German. (There is also a lot of Mongolian.)
The first tastes of Mongolia are a rich cheesy omelet and good chicken, and a jet lagged mouth that needs it’s teeth brushed more often.
That being said, it’s time to address the teeth and go to bed. Adios!
(oops, wrong language there…Byeteh!)
PS: Be aware that not only am I a day ahead of most of my readers, but I will generally be writing one day and posting another, whenever I have time for some internet. This will result in my posts NOT being particularly up-to-date with real life time.