Sweet and Sour Mongolia

I stepped out of the airport; the first thing that hit me was the rush of people, smells and languages. The city of Ulaanbaatar was calling to me, and I was more than willing, to succumb to the instant sense of adventure.

I am currently staying at the Oyuna Guesthouse and Hostel. Not too thrilled about the décor… but for six bucks a night, can’t really expect much. The owners of the guesthouse are an elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Chuluun. As lovely as they may seem, they appear to be very suspicious of all their guests and as for Mr Chuluun, senility appears to be his most respectable trait. After copping a few muttered remarks from the owners and settling down in my broom cupboard, classified as a room, I made my way to the exit with glee.

Washing away my less than perfect morning, I started walking up the street to the Gandan Monastery. From there I took a cab to my first exploration sight, The National Museum of Mongolian History. After paying my driver an all-up of 80 cents, I went to the front of the massive building.

I think I spent over 4 hours in that museum, I found everything fascinating, but my favourite section was a whole segment of a level dedicated to Attila the Hun and his allies. Did you know that he murdered his own brother, Bleda, as he did not like sharing the empire? From one perspective, I can’t blame him; we all have those annoying siblings who drive us to moments of insanity, or in some cases, criminal impulses.

After a fulfilled first day investigating history, I decided to hit a restaurant before returning to my “welcoming” hosts. I went to this funky, little Mongolian place called Taliin Mongol that served up soup of a lifetime. Rich, luscious cream of mushroom soup blended with roasted chestnuts. I will never forget that meal for as long as I live.

I decided to walk the way back to Oyuna, as it was a nice and moderately short distance from the restaurant. On the way I stopped by a small snack stand selling the most amazing and slightly discomforting snacks including donkey testicles, cow’s eye or some-sort of organ that had been heavily fried in oil. After long deliberation, I decided to stick with some candied walnuts.

I finally waltzed through the doors of the hostel, feeling thoroughly Mongolised. Anyway, enough “yakking” (pun intended) from me.

With love from Mongolia

Jacqui