Welcome to Mongolia

This is my first time traveling back to Mongolia since my first visit here nearly nine years ago. Ulaanbaatar is in many ways almost unrecognizable. The very energy of the city seems more intense. It has been nearly a week since I arrived and the city still overwhelms me each morning with brightness, traffic and crowds.
It may be that I arrived this time into the bustle of the summer season ramping up whereas in my last memories of the city it was wrapped in the icy numbness of December. But this energy is not merely seasonal, it is the result of half a million more people, exponentially more cars, and all that comes with it. Cellphones, ten years ago a rarity, are omnipresent now. New construction has sprouted up everywhere with towering apartment buildings popping up on the city's southern edge and glass skyscrapers looming over downtown. None of this is surprising, really. After all, Mongolia is now nearly twice as long removed from the socialist era as when I was here last.

Yet despite these monumental changes, the city still feels familiar in so many ways. Many of the landmarks are the same, allowing me to orient myself somewhat in my old mental map of the city. But mostly it is the little details that feel familiar: the distinctive odors (some good, some bad), the taste of the food, the sing-song calls of the microbus drivers, the particular shades of blue paint.

I'll end this first blog post with my two favorite moments of the trip so far. Both have been on the bus, oddly enough (but perhaps not so odd--it's one of the only times to stop and observe). The first was an old man reading a book about wildflowers. The second was a young boy travelling home with his mother and grandmother. He had one of those whirly-gigs and as the traffic inched slowly along he held it up to the window to catch the rare breeze.