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They call the wind Mariah - the Mongolian wind


I was warned about the wind. Winter wind is unrelenting. Daylight was from 8:15 am to 5:58 pm today, with temperatures ranging from a low of -28C to a maximum of -20C and winds of 44 kilometres per hour. In these temperatures, the wind bites. It cuts. It stings. It makes tears run down your face. It is not for the faint-hearted or faint-skinned. My white cheeks turned red in a millisecond. The forecast for Monday next week is for a dreaded low of -37C, and that’s not taking the wind chill factor into account.

I have a toasty warm, modern, well equipped apartment on the east side of the capital Ulaanbaatar (UB). Everyone calls it UB. The car is toasty warm. And the office is kept at a (warm, they say) 18C, although not warm enough for me. But in my layers of clothes, I am toasty warm in the office.

It is not a winter wonderland. I don’t find snow attractive. There is not a blade of grass to be seen. UB is concrete, steel, snow and ice. Construction is booming, and so are the industries. It’s an industrial town. With industry brings air pollution. With fast-paced progress brings street litter – bottles, plastic bags, paper, cigarette packets, and an assortment of rubbish – mainly construction debris. Paradise is beyond UB – in the countryside – but not in UB. With the wind, plastic bags are whipped into the air, thousands of them, adding to the air pollution. They stick to buildings and light posts and children’s playground equipment. But mostly they just turn around and around in the air as if they’re in a washing machine – a grey washing machine. Visibility is about 10 kilometres because there’s just too much stuff in the air.

People wait for summer, when snow melts and there is beauty in The Land of the Blue Sky. The farmers don’t wait for summer. They like winter – it’s their favourite season because it’s a time of rest. There is much to do in spring and summer. Spring, in particular, is a crucial time for farmers because it is dry, dusty and windy and if there is no food in spring their weaker animals die. They say people die then too.

But there’s no spring in sight yet. The temperatures remain below zero until April. The travel season begins in mid-May. And as I sit in my apartment, I can hear the wind whistling through the windows, loudly. The whistling reaches a crescendo like a kettle boiling, then dies down and begins again with more vigour - relentlessly. I think I’ll put the kettle on and have a good cup of tea. Contrary to foreigners’ advice that the tea is of poor quality here, I find it quite perfect, which is probably why the Mongolians are big tea drinkers. They almost never start a meal until they’ve had a cup of tea first, to aid digestion.
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