Toerke

Ulaanbaatar’s main street is called Peace Avenue. Nowadays, this seems a surrealistic joke. There’s nothing peaceful about this asphalt jungle. In a symphony of car horns, through a cloud of brown smog, the pedestrian goes through hell on the zebra crossing on green (!). There’s the ocassional traffic policeman blowing his whistle only to raise the volume of this ridiculous orchestra. That’s about all he can do. On the streets we see screaming advertising, fruit and cigarette stalls, potholes that would make a speleologist drool, shoe shine men, little thugs and beggars.

It’s a little chaotic. In the quiet oasis of the Mongolian Museum of National History the costumes are silent witness to a rich culture. My gnome hat is nothing compared to this! I’m glad we’re heading out of this city tomorrow morning. We’re leaving UB in a 4WD for a 17-day jeep tour through the countryside, just a tiny corner on the Mongolian map. I’m very curious about what we are about to discover. For now, it’s over and out.