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.