Ulaanbaatar, the Coldest Capital City on Earth

If visiting Mongolia has never crossed your mind, please let it cross. While most Mongolians would recommend a summertime visit, smoky, frigid, November Ulaanbaatar has it charms too.

Mongolia is a vast country, about the size of Alaska, but over 50% of the population lives in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar. Which fun fact, is the coldest capital city in the world. With highs in the 30s and lows in the single digits in early November, it was "unseasonably warm" while we were there. The city contains wide expanses of “Ger Districts,” named after the traditional nomadic tent of the Mongolians.

While many people don’t actually live in gers, they’re still off the city’s power grid. And since heat is provided from water not natural gas, they burn coal and whatever else is available to cook and stay warm during winter temperatures of -40 degrees Fahrenheit. About half of Ulaanbaatar’s population lives in these districts (which remember, is then a quarter of the entire country’s population), so during the winter this creates a dense layer of smoke over the city. It’s omnipresent – in the air, in your nose, in your lungs. When I opened up my suitcase after arriving home, it was like I’d gone camping. It’s a tough problem to tackle, and the government is building a new power plant to double the city’s capacity, but even that with an astronomical price tag will only go so far to relieve the problem. In the meantime, people go about their business as they must, some wearing facemasks, waiting it out for spring and summer.

Ulaanbaatar absolutely has its charm, with large Soviet era squares and Chenggis Khan statues aplenty. There’s something I adore about simply walking city streets, bundled up against the bite of a cold winter night. Luckily, however, you don’t have to travel far outside the city to escape the dense clouds of smoke (assuming you ever get out, because the volume of traffic is also astonishing). The vast, flat landscape of the Mongolian steppe is arresting, with a blue sky that seems to stretch out forever in all directions.

Immediately upon our arrival in the city, one of the fantastic people we worked with took us to the Chenggis Khaan (Mongolian spelling of Ghengis Khan) statue about 60 kilometers outside Ulaanbaatar. It’s really something. Rising out of a large, lonely plain flanked by mountains sits an enormous, very shiny stainless steel Chenggis Khaan on a horse. Only six years old, oversized, and very chrome-like, the horse warrior seems slightly gimmicky, but nevertheless imposing… and inarguably unique. The Mongols (as they call themselves) are proud of their long and legendary history, and since shrugging off the iron curtain have been free to pursue such expressions of their national pride. We made it to the statue just as the sun was setting over the steppe and from high in the horse’s head were treated to a spectacular panorama.

The rest of the week was filled working with one of the best groups of people I’ve been blessed to meet. Traveling to these places and experiencing (more often than not) the natural kindness, warmth and hospitality of people is one of the best parts of my job. We were also taken Mongolian cashmere shopping, which combined with my earlier experience with New Zealand wool, has instigated what I believe to be the start of a long and loving relationship with animal sourced fabrics… The Mongolian cashmere is unbelievably soft and luxurious, and while not a steal, still costs about 60% less than in the US. Let it suffice to say that my transformation to sheep was nearly complete on my trip home.

To cap off the short but almost impossibly rich week, we had the opportunity to go horseback riding in the Mongolian countryside. Occasionally, things in life that seem too good to be true… actually happen. For two and half hours, we followed our Mongolian guide, a boy of about 15, through the hills and prairies of the steppe. We forded icy streams, trotted past herds of yak and cattle and navigated rocky ledges, trailed the entire time by two frisky dogs from the horse ranch. It may be illusionary, but there was something so simple and natural in being atop a horse in this landscape that has been traveled by horse and essentially unchanged for eons. I usually have much to say and describe, but really my mind was unusually quiet during this ride. I already know I want to return to this land and see more, to see the sun set over the interminable Gobi dessert. 

How to Dally in Dili

Someone who had been living in Dili for a few months told me that its slogan should be, “Dili keeps surprising you (in a good way),” and that seemed to be rather accurate. Dili is the capital of Timor-Leste, a small Asian Pacific nation attached to its West to Indonesia and perched above Australia. Timor-Leste is one of the youngest nations in the world, emerging in the early ‘90s after a long and often brutal struggle with Indonesia, preceded by Portuguese colonization, and followed by nearly a decade of UN control... So its independence was dearly fought for and only recently realized, with its identity and language going through a series of transitions.

Dili was an entirely pleasant place to spend a week in late October, balmy and humid, right on a beach lined with palm trees, with remarkable coral reefs and aquatic life accessible from the shore. Diving is a paradox, allowing you to visit a very foreign world and yet feel so natural. Except for the few humans that go into outer space being underwater is the closest we can get to the experience of weightlessness. There is nothing in the world like suddenly finding yourself surrounded by a flashing silver tornado of schooling fish, with choreographed movements that make them seem like one large, connected organism. It’s a trip to share their world, if even for the 50 minutes or so odd limits of an oxygen tank. 

After completing my Open Water certification (yay!), I went night diving on Halloween, isn’t that perfect? We paddled out on impossibly smooth water, along a pier flitting with bats to the descent site. The base of this reef was simply trash thrown off the pier, like old tires that happen to make great habitat (and hiding places) for creatures such as moray eels, gigantic puffer fish, and crabs. It was really quite eerie, swimming in the dark with just a flashlight suddenly bringing night creatures and coral and algae covered steel structures into view a few feet ahead, with the trembling light of a solitary pier lamp visible far above through 55 feet of water.

The land-based pastimes available in Dili include visiting the Christo Rei, a smaller version of Rio de Janiero’s Redeemer, high on a hillside overlooking the city. The sweaty climb to the top is via the 14 Stations of the Cross, and rewarded with a welcoming Jesus and panoramic views across the harbor.

I'd be amiss if I didn't mention the rather tiny "Tais Market" in the city center. Tais are stiff woven clothes unique to East Timor used for decoration and as clothing. When compared to many African markets, it was almost eerie how completely the vendors left me alone as I wandered through their stalls.

The many restaurants dotting the long beach road are popular diversions, where you can eat or drink either on or overlooking the beach, privy to spectacular sunsets, the soothing sound of lapping waves, or at night, the surprisingly good Timorese cover bands.

And finally sine this was Halloween week afterall, on a hot, sunny Sunday morning I made my way by foot and taxi through local neighborhoods to the Santa Cruz Cemetery. This was the site of a massacre credited with turning the tide in the fight for independence, where the Indonesian Army shot and killed over 100 peaceful protesters. Occupying a relatively small lot of land, the cemetery is fascinating in both the quantity and elaborateness of the tombs. It was difficult to find half a foot of path to walk on, as the graves are packed in so tight. 

Come join me on a Bushland Meander

Ah, the wacky and wonderful world of Australia, it’s like waking up in a Willy Wonka land of opposites. October is spring, kangaroos replace deer, birds sound like R2-D2, friends are mates, and cars drive on the other side of the road. I spent two weeks in Australia, most of it in the capital Canberra (pronounced Canburra as Aussies will happily correct you) and two weekends in Sydney.

My Australian experience fittingly began in Sydney with the Opera House and Harbor Bridge. If you walk through the Royal Botanic Gardens to Macquerie’s Point, one of the truly iconic sights in the world slips inconspicuously into view as you round the bend. Sunshine brightly glints off the tiled sails of the opera house, which seems to float on the edge of Sydney Harbor. Like a frame in the background are the arching iron braces of the Harbor Bridge, spotted with ant-sized people doing the bridge climb.

After wandering around the opera house for a while, we continued across Sydney Harbor the Museum of Modern Art, a challenge for the jet lagged senses. Stuffed internal organs, anyone?

Did I mention that after traveling 24 hours, we crossed the international dateline and then arrived in Australia around 6:00 a.m? I call it the “jet lag challenge” to stay awake until a reasonable bedtime. Our conversation by the end of the night had devolved to checking our watches and commenting, “Only two more hours until eight,” and so on at decreasing intervals. Howevever, the view below is not the worst way to stay awake. 

The next day after a glorious night of sleep – and let me tell you, a bed never feels better than it does after staying awake/attempting to “sleep” in an economy seat for 38 hours – we did the Bondi to Coogee walk. If you start googling “things to do in Sydney” (which let’s face it, is always how I begin planning trips), this walk shows very high on most lists and for good reason. It’s a four mile walk along a cliffed coastline, from beach to beach. In the heat of the summer, apparently Bondi Beach is the place to see and be seen. For us, it was a crisply pleasant spring day with plenty of room for ourselves.

Our first workday in Canberra, our handler took me and my colleagues on an “Australian Safari” through a local park, which yielded multiple kangaroo sightings, as well as a handful of what to me are exotic birds – giant white cockatoos, small green parrots, magpies, all making completely foreign noises. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about birdcalls, but when they’re this different, you notice. The magpies sound like they’re being run through auto-tuners (or like R2D2), and the cockatoos sound like a shrieking drug addicts. The cockatoos, of course, vigorously vocalized outside my hotel window in the early mornings. Who needs an alarm clock when you can have cockatoos? The kangaroos just chill under groves of trees or wait patiently on the side of the road for cars to pass. They’re as ubiquitous as deer are in the US, even requiring occasional culling to reduce their numbers. But come on, how much cooler are kangaroos than deer?

Probably the coolest part of my Australian odyssey was renting a car and driving to the Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve. Renting a car may not be particularly exciting in the US, but let me assure you that it is an adventure when the steering wheel is on the right and you’re expected to drive on the left of the road. It took me about five attempts to stop turning on the windshield wipers when I turned. The fact that we were given a bright lime bug of vehicle just made it that much better.

Tidbinbilla gave us a little flavor of the Australian bushland as we meandered through its scruffy landscape along the whimsically named “Koala Loop” and “Peppermint Trail.” (I know these things wouldn’t faze Aussies) but there were koalas in the trees and kangaroos in the fields! I guess I understand now why zoos in Europe have the “North American Raccoon.” 

 This is a tree full of koalas.

This is a kangaroo I nearly walked straight into, munching grass behind a large rock. Hello, baby roo.

 This is a field of kangaroos. A field of kangaroos. Wacky and wonderful, huh?

From the Land of Kiwis

When I close my eyes, my memories of New Zealand explode in color and endless expanses of mountain scapes and glacial lakes. We spent four magnificent days on the South Island, in and around Queenstown, mouths watering over the delicious food and vistas alike.

We decided to hike on our first full day to the summit of Ben Lomond, a mountain overlooking the city. Somehow it failed to occur to me that hiking a mountain is well, still climbing a mountain even if no special equipment is required to do so. It was a difficult, long hike, and while exhausted and battered by the end, I’ve never spent seven straight hours in such sublime wonder. From the moment we cleared the tree line and could see the spectacular teal of the glacial lake filled valley on one side and the snow dusted mountain range on the other, the panoramic, stunning views didn’t stop. We climbed from a sparse pine forest through deep rust and daffodil colored tussock, to the rocky, snow-covered crest. Accompanying us the entire hike was breathtaking beauty and serenity, surrounded by near complete silence broken only by the occasional gust of wind. At the very top, the landscape changed drastically once again, battering us with knee deep snow and wind so cold my iPhone shut itself off. We spent only a few minutes at the inhospitable summit, but the combination of achievement, view, and thin oxygen was euphoric.

We ate some fantastic meals in Queenstown. I’ve never seen a place so “green”, as in devoted to conservation and sustainable practices in everyday life. Driving around the country, the sheep, little lambs, cows, and deer are lounging on or happily munching away at idyllic expanses of green. Many will eventually end up on a plate, but they sure have a good life beforehand, unlike the CAFO (Concentrated Animal Factory Operation)’s in the US. All the fish served in restaurants is caught in or off the coast of New Zealand with rigorously enforced sustainable fishing practices, and nearly everything is produced in country and delicious – dairy, vegetables, wine, you name it. New Zealand is said to produce some of the best white wines in the world, and I was not disappointed. In my generous sampling, I found depth and complexity that is usually unique to reds.

I also loved the people… They really call themselves Kiwis, as in, “We realized it was important to preserve the land for future generations of Kiwis, and visitors as well.” Thirty percent of the land in New Zealand is national parks or reserves, meaning no development is allowed. I’m happy I had the privilege of seeing these funny little flightless, nocturnal birds at a special kiwi breeding house. They basically look like large kiwi fruits with long beaks, two long legs and no wings. They’re adorable and New Zealand is the only place in the world they’re found.

I saw my first fjord, incorrectly named Milford Sound since it was created by glaciers not running water. The awe-inspiring drive through Fjordland National Park was worth the journey by itself. We passed the mountain where Sir Edmund Hillary (Kiwi) spent several months conditioning himself for his Everest attempt, and also saw a Kea – the world’s only alpine parrot. The clever, impish, dusky green parrot is coveted by illegal animal traffickers, but one has never been successfully smuggled out of the country because Keas die shortly after they’re caged. Poetic in a heart breaking way, isn’t it? The boat ride out through the misty, magical fjord was filled with lazy seals, snow covered mountain peaks, and ephemeral waterfalls created by fresh rainfall. One of the permanent waterfalls is three times the height of Niagra Falls and yet somehow manages to look tiny, dwarfed by the mountains around it.

On the long drive out, our drive and guide told of New Zealand’s struggle with introduced, non-native invasive species. Some worked out well like the trout that’s now a popular game fish, and others less so, such as the rabbits that were introduced by early European settlers and quickly reproduced out of control to become a scourge of farmland, eating crops to dust. As a solution, stouts and ferrets were introduced to kill the rabbits, which then went on to decimate the native bird species of New Zealand, many of which, like the Kiwi, lost their flight evolving on a predator-less island. So going back to the Kiwi house, there’s now a large, shared effort among the government, communities, and even corporations to breed kiwis in captivity. The young are kept safe until they grow big enough to fight off the ferrets and stoats, then released into the wild. The efforts have had a lot of success but it seems like the problem might forever require a high level of vigilance and action. The ironic part is after all that, the rabbits are still a problem 

too.

And finally, I left New Zealand stocked with as much wool as I could wear, socks, scarfs, hats, gloves… So warm and soft, I’m a convert. Ryan said I’m turning into a sheep. Also it’s worth noting that pretty much everywhere we went felt like it could have been a setting from Lord of the Rings. I’m geekily obsessed with a restaurant we found call “The Cow,” down the only back alley in Queenstown, which I swear if it wasn’t actually the set of a hobbit tavern scene, it most definitely inspired one.

Loving Lemurs in Madagascar

Madagascar is possibly my favorite of the places I’ve gone, and at this point I think I can say that’s saying a lot. The country is fascinating, the land beautiful and altogether distinctive. The sky is incredibly expressive, like it’s trying to communicate something profound through the drama of light and shadows. The constant overcast puts everything into deeper contrast, the greens of the rice paddies are impossibly green, and everything seems to have nuance, as well as a good dose of the chaotic. The capital Antananarivo is perched high on a mountain, so driving is constant undulation, latitudinally and laterally, straight lines rare and fleeting. The roads are also narrow, forcing vehicles to share with pedestrians and all manners of conveyance (people pushing carts, zebu pulling carts, people pushing zebu). They’re really more like rivers of humanity than anything conventionally called a road. It takes an absurd amount of time to go very short distances, but there’s so much to see in the unending, inscrutable procession.

In my short experience, Madagascar seemed a magical place full of the unexpected. The country is an enormous island off the Southeast coast of Africa, but the majority of its people are of Indonesian descent (with impossibly long names), along with Africans, Indians and Chinese. The sheer diversity of the land also seems impossible, and we only saw a relatively small part of it. Over the weekend, we hired a driver to take us three hours to a place colloquially called “Lemur Island.” It was the sort of trip that the phrase, “the journey is just as important as the destination,” was created to describe. We drove out of the bustling city, through villages selling vegetables on train tracks that send people scurrying when the occasional train actually comes. We drove past enormous castles of bricks being dried in the open air and sun, topped with people in various parts of the assembly line turning mud to brick.

The landscape changed from the vibrant, wet green of rice paddies to jutting rock cliffs, to rolling shrub covered hills to deciduous forests whose leaves were the reds and golds of fall splendor I’d expect to see in the Midwest or Northeast, and finally to the exotic, oversized flora of the jungle.

 And to top all of that off, our driver shared so much with us about his country and his own life; it

was a fascinating glimpse into the culture which we don’t usually get on such short stays. On our journey, we drove past exhumation and circumcision rituals, both of which are celebrated with parties, large crowds, and fanfare. Exhumations rituals occur every five years, in which a loved one’s bones are dug up and brought (still wrapped) to the party where the memory of that person is celebrated. So say your uncle was a big fan of Jack Daniels, you would bring him a bottle and honor him. While the very physical application of “Never forget the dead” is initially shocking to Western sensibilities, I love the concept behind it. It also serves the practical purpose of rotating bodies and making space available for the soon to depart.

More light-heartedly, he also shared with us the Malagasy tradition of stealing Zebu (their humped, horned bovines) to prove manhood before marriage. (And to impress in-laws?) I find myself wishing I had asked more questions about this, such as how exactly does one go about stealing a zebu and what does one do with it afterward? We learned some great Malagasy vocabulary – “Mora Mora” is the slow, quiet way of doing things, and the fun to say “Malala” is love, coining our phrase of the trip, “Lemur Malala.”

Now, have you ever gazed into a lemur’s soulful eyes? Or had a troupe of hungry lemurs advance soundlessly out of the fog, greedily ogling the bananas you hold? Well, add that to your bucket list. It’s an equally unnerving and awesome experience. When we finally made it to Lemur Island, it was everything we had dreamed of and more… The lodge was surrounded by huge, pre-historic looking plants that made it feel like driving into Jurassic Park, and combined with the heavy morning fog the place was otherworldly. The property has an island that serves as a home for tame lemurs that can’t survive in the wild because they were rescued or surrendered by people who kept them as pets. You get to the island by crossing a small moat with a canoe, and immediately, the lemurs approach out of the wood line. It’s a tremendously unsettling sight at first, they’re not small creatures, they move fast, and don’t hesitate to jump directly at you if you happen to be holding a banana. Luckily, they also happen to be extremely light and fluffy, so after the shock of the first lunge I was able to enjoy their antics. It was such a frantic, funny little episode, all these nervous tourists holding bananas, the trees full of jumping lemurs happy to trade a picture for a treat. Also, it was only the 10,000th time I’ve thought while overseas, “Yeah, this would never happen in America.”

Elephants, Zebras, and Airplane Wine, oh my...

“There’s a rawness to Africa. The US is well done… perhaps too well,” said Murray, the middle-aged South African sitting next to me on the flight to Africa after sharing several bottles of airline wine. Sitting on a safari vehicle several days later in the pre-dawn African wilderness, surrounded by wild beasts, watching the fiery red dawn slowly devour the blackness, this concept leapt to life. Being in these spaces, it’s like your mind and soul actually expand to try to comprehend the vastness, a subliminal longing for our ancestral lands. Seeing these magnificent animals outside of sad little zoo cages filled me with awe. Against their native background, it was instantly apparent why they are shaped and colored the way they are – enormous elephants at first glance can look simply like large boulders, and a lion’s tawny fur blends him effortlessly into the grass. I’m not entirely sure what’s with the crazy zig-zagging stripes of zebras, but they certainly have a delightful effect as the giddy animals neigh and frolic across the savanna.

We went on two game drives – one at sunset, one at sunrise. We saw far more animals at sunset, but there was an absolutely ethereal quality to the quiet, lonely drive into the dawn, a few meager humans tracking a leopard across the sparse landscape. We didn’t find him, but just being “on the hunt” for one made my hair stand on end and senses come alive. The Big 5 are lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and Cape buffalo, and we saw all but the leopard, plus zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, Steenbok, Kudu, and an abundance of these funny little chickens that ran very fast. It was an incredible experience, and I have an intense longing to go back.

Madikwe was only a 45 minute drive from Gaborone, and is the fifth largest game reserve in South Africa. It has an interesting story. In the early ‘90s, the government decided that the best use of the infertile farm land in the area would be to turn it into a game park. Over the next two decades, this project became the largest ever relocation of wild animals as they were moved from other reserves in Africa. It was also developed closely with the local community, to ensure that they were included in the planning process and job opportunities.

Parts of Botswana that I didn’t have the chance to see may be amazing, but the capitol city of Gaborone is regrettably bland. It was pleasant, but there simply was nothing distinctive about it. My colleague compared it to a West Texas town, sprawling, scrubby, strip malls here and there. We took a humorous private city tour, humorous because it was like trying to take a tour of a nondescript big city suburb.  “Here’s our mall. Here’s our other mall. This is where people with money live. This is where people without money live.” Thanks, guy…

Luckily, the trip only got exponentially better from there with the trip to the South African game reserve and Madagascar and Lemur Island still to come.

No Ebola Here!

It’s difficult to put into words why I like West Africa. It truthfully is ramshackle and decrepit, but I have fondness in my heart when I think of these cities and especially the people with whom I spent time. The local staff I worked with was enthusiastic and appreciative, and it makes me sad to have such small windows to get to know them. The ex-pat community, which I mentioned previously, was also a joy. In this single four week trip, I hung out with people from France, Lebanon, Egypt, Jordon, Israel, and England, all a little bit crazy and a lot of interesting for ending up in places like these. One of my favorites was a crusty old Brit, a character straight out of an Indian Jones adventure, who regaled us with stories of the Ivorian civil wars while we drank large mugs of Castel late into the night in a sand-floored Abidjan tiki bar.

Lome, Togo must be an archetypal West African experience. Colorfully swathed women patrol the roads, hawking the entire produce section of a grocery store delicately balanced on top their heads. And ah, the steamy, sultry African nights… where the air clings to your skin like a damp blanket and the erratic city lights twinkle in the humidity. Lome’s unpretentious rooftop bars, which overlook nothing of particular interest, condone conversations spilling out over glasses of beer and wine with people who not so long before had been strangers. The sort of gypsy life of the Foreign Service Officer and others passing through on a semi-temporary basis creates an impulse to throw connections down quickly and passionately.

There’s so much beauty in Africa, interspersed with stunning poverty. Lome houses a swanky new beach day-resort/party spot called Pure Plage, and to get there you have to drive past shanty-towns which look like they would collapse like a house of cards in a storm. I lounged on a red cushioned recliner beneath a tiki umbrella, sipping a Corona while gazing across the Gulf of Guinea, so close yet so removed from the woes of the world. It’s a bit surreal, as is much that happens on these trips.

Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire, served as quite a contrast after spending several weeks in less-developed Togo and Benin. Looking out across the city from the hotel balcony, it dawned on me that I was looking at a cityscape, with skyscrapers… In the 1970s, apparently Abidjan was the place to be in Africa. Then two civil wars and instability happened. It’s a nice city, but clearly still trying to recapture its former glory. I call the hotel we stayed at my “Grand Budapest” experience (watch this movie!). The enormous wading pool and grassy lounge area was pervaded with a sense of faded grandeur. Perhaps it was because the oversized, bright orange sofas and pillows actually were stained and fading.

The other analogy the Americans I worked with drew for Abidjan was “Lost” (the TV show). As in it never entirely made sense why things were happening the way they were. I went on a run outside the hotel, and soon was confronted with a man smiling and clapping for me, saying something that sounded encouraging in French. Then it happened again. Then again, and again. For a moment I thought I must be finishing the grandest race of my life, instead of slowly slogging through the heat and humidity, trying to keep from dying.

These are not places people go for vacation, but that’s a big part of what motivates me to do what I do. I’m intoxicated with a desire to see and feel and experience parts of the world I barely knew existed.