The Mongolia Effect

So I lied, the storms remain. Sandblasted I was while socializing in the town center. Couldn’t see a thing in the sand shower. One year has passed since I went into exile. How many people actually know what “Mongolia” is? Certainly not my Chicago 8^th graders I visited prior to departure. Nor doth Newsweek, having mentioned in its May 14^th “travel issue” Tuva as being located on the Russian-Chinese border. No surprise. Actually, the place seems to be doing quite well for itself. UB, at least. There is some type of boom or growth coming along. Tourists are flooding the place. I’ve even hosted the French and Germans in my ger. The city is a mix of people.

I’ve lived along the same line of latitude all my life (39?), making a giant step east each time: Chicago, Zadar (2000 year old Croat peninsula) and the Gobi (Mongolia). It’s definitely a good day to be alive. But what have I learned?

• One can have padded city pockets and be unhappy.

• One can have Bohemian desert pockets and be in love with life.

• It’s ok to say no when a Mongol offers you vodka. But then you’re not really experiencing the culture.

• Too much airag, milk tea, camel milk, vodka, homemade vodka, beer, homemade fruit beer, mutton, mutton fat, candy and cookies digested simultaneously are not a good thing.

• People are not radically different around the world. The landscape is, the food is, the music is…but not the essential content of that music.
  

In two weeks I head for a long summer on the majestic coastline of Croatia. I feel like that song, where I can make my way home blindfolded. Some have joked that I may not return. I’ve had doubts myself. Maybe the fever will go away. Yet I’m never one to quit something that has been started.