Nasty, Brutish, and Short... Making peace with UB
Taking pictures of little beautiful things hiding in the pollution is one way I try to remain on speaking terms with UB. Above is a picture of the plastic wall of my balcony.
It seems appropriate that I, on my last day in Mongolia -- unavoidably spent in Ulaan Baatar, the city I love to hate -- try to reconcile our differences, and make peace; I should leave in peace.
No matter how much I dislike this city -- it's rude, it colors my lungs black, and it leaves a taste in my mouth like too many beers the night before -- there are moments when I feel I judge it too harshly.
Peace Avenue is far from peaceful. It is a place of pollution and loud cars, where "nasty, brutish, and short" seems like a very accurate description of the life of man. But sometimes, you can gaze west along it, through dryer-fuzz-colored air, and rest your eyes on a mountain at the horizon. If your timing is right, just before dusk, the mountain is on fire, bathing in the bright pink rays of the sinking sun.
Indeed, any street that continues long enough in any given direction will reveal flowing hills at its end, reminding you that Mongolia is not very far away, with its open spaces, endless horizon, and starry sky.
The colorless, dusty asphalt sometimes drives me nuts, but if you watch closely where you step, you can sometimes spot the imprint of a horse that stepped in that very same place, many years removed in time.
Somehow it warms my heart a tiny bit to notice those little departures from UB's right-angled industrial city facade.
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