Nomad Meets the City<\/a>), \u2018The film is about capturing the cultural and spatial changes these men and women, entire families, are going through when they leave their nomadic traditions and come to settle in the city.\u2019<\/p>\n\u2018It\u2019s not easy,\u2019 she says. \u2018There are lots of problem with drunks and homeless people in the streets.\u2019<\/p>\n
I reflect on Anji\u2019s project as we settled in the cabin. The coal powered train chugs along the old tracks. The smell of sand, dry bushes and cattle flows through the open window. A rail worker pees on a post as the train approaches a station, pausing to give way to a cargo train. A single track moving a steady stream of materials eastward and westward across the open land. Here there are no tunnels: the line circles through the land, caressing the dusty mountains. Old infrastructure, low maintenance. Slow.<\/p>\n
Just over a week ago we were arriving to Ulaabaatar, on Sunday 7 June, leaving cabin IV, wagon 7 of the Trans-Mongolian. As we stepped onto the platform, tour operators enveloped us with hotel leaflets, tour information and free maps of the city. We had stepped into Asia. Dusty colours and loud noises, impossible street crossings, constant sound of klaxons, unfinished sidewalks, discoloured traffic lights. The constant awareness of looking different, a blunt and happy reminder that we are travelling. Some shade. An alleyway. A group of seven or eight old women selling bundles of spring onions. After the capsicum market we turn left on a busy road and see the sign of our hostel.<\/p>\n
In Ulaanbaatar, streets have no numbers. Like a group of tents assembled in the middle of the dessert. Where there are numbers, these do not follow any specific order. \u2018You have to find your way with landmarks, or know where you want to go!\u2019 Emily tells us as we meet her in Sukbaatar square. After two days at a hostel, we decided to move to an apartment and meet people living in the city, Emily was our host. But the apartment wasn\u2019t ready until the next day, so we decided to pack our bags and go to a nearby hotel – perhaps a mistake, but the decision had been made. We left the hostel at 9 AM with heavy backpacks and a fifteen minute walk ahead. After half an hour, a tall, thin man approaches and asks if he can help. Unmistakable North American accent. We tell him the name of the hotel and show him our map. He says we are in the right place, that maybe we have passed it but he is not familiar with the name. We backtrack and make our way to what had looked like an empty building. The hotel, no street number at the entrance.<\/p>\n
Elona calls me to the train window, she had seen the first patch of sand. As we crawl towards the Gobi desert we leave the meandering hills. To our left, one of the country\u2019s few paved roads takes the same direction. Cars become sparser as we move further from the capital.<\/p>\n
Cars. As we walk the broken sidewalks of the city where manholes are decorated with colourful smiley faces, we start noticing something peculiar. \u2018I thought this car had no driver, look, the steering wheel is\u2026 on the right!\u2019 \u2018Strange. Oh, look, that one has the steering wheel on the left\u2019 Elona points out. We later learn the official statistic is 50-50 left-right, cars are Russian, Japanese, Chinese\u2026<\/p>\n
Sukhbaatar Square, still known to locals as Genghis Khan Square, lies in the centre of the city surrounded by noisy streets and sidewalks with no trees. At the south end, the Blue Sky tower, twenty-four floor building which rises above the older and flatter government buildings. At the north end of the square, a large staircase flanked by two immense bronze statues of knights in Kahn style, leads to the entrance to the National Parliament. The square is barren but lively. We walk through it avoiding electric toy cars driven by joyful children, and reckless steering of adults on colourful tandem bicycles. The wind is still cold though the sun colours our skin and makes us squint.<\/p>\n
An old man wearing a red jacket addresses us in English, then in Russian, then \u2018bonjour\u2019<\/em>, \u2018buonjorno\u2019<\/em>. His name is Bogod and we start to converse. He offers a tour in the countryside to meet nomadic families. \u2018No we don\u2019t know them beforehand,\u2019 he tells us. \u2018All nomads have the same right to be connected and meet foreigners, not just those who have an agreement with a tour agency,\u2019 he declares. We later learn many families are part of a community-based tourism network. Tourism is an important industry for the country.<\/p>\nOur encounter with the Mongolia of today is one of contrasts, with a still very present nomadic culture and lifestyles – which many still idolize. A week earlier near lake Baikal, Tom, a half-Irish half-Australian tells Elona \u2018No offence, but you see, I\u2019m not interested in meeting other travellers. I am interested in getting to know the real place, the real people. After Ulaanbaatar we will stay with a nomadic family for two days, and that\u2019s what I live for, they share their stories, and I share mine.\u2019 This city, its hybrid cars, loud horns, its pick-pockets, tour operators, its capsicum markets, old temples and young monks talking on mobile phones \u2013 all seem very real to me.<\/p>\n
I stop the recording, and swing the rucksack on my back. We triple check the room. \u2018No nos olvidamos nada, no?\u2019<\/em> and walk downstairs. As we are leaving, a tall thin man appears \u2018I\u2026I know you,\u2019 he says with that unmistakable North American accent, confused. \u2018Yes\u2026We know you too!\u2019 I say. \u2018The sidewalk, you were lost.\u2019 Click. Yes, John happens to be Emily\u2019s friend. Ulaanbaatar, small. Mongolia, big and sparse.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Monday 15 June, 5 AM. Black birds. Small black birds swooping in and out of holes in the walls, through antennas, cables and metal structures that extend from the buildings. Below, dirt streets, potholes, overflowing bins, cars squeezed into the limited space. I raise my eyes and look at the compound; a calm and central…<\/p>\n Read More<\/span> Gers, slow tracks, smiley faces and dust<\/span><\/a>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":257,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"Layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[57,12],"tags":[15,20,19,18,16,17],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=160"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":643,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions\/643"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/257"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=160"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=160"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}