Adventureless Tourism

Having probed a bit of the history of late-19th and early-20th century Western exploration of Asia, I am somewhat befuddled by the pretenses of "adventure" with which so many tourists arrive. The average tourist arrives looking...well, like a tourist, complete with a backpack, a full wardrobe of Columbia Gore-Tex clothing, hiking boots, a fedora, bullwhip, defensive sidearm, woman-in-distress, and preparations such that they should survive any eventuality for up to 20 minutes without a television and microwave oven. I know it sounds presumptuous, but it really is amusing when tourists make themselves highly obvious in their effort to prepare for the unfamiliar. Firstly, to a greater or lesser extent, tourists always appear to be out of place because as a matter of definition, they are out of place persons. Secondly, perhaps in ignorance and fear of the foreboding and unknown wilderness, tourists tend to over-prepare in ways that make them appear ridiculous. From camera-toting groups of bill-capped foreign tourists with well-secured waist packs, hiding beneath six-layers of sunblock, shades and an interpreter/tour guide at Disney World to the American college student who wants to play Indiana Jones for the summer in search of Dutch girls and the Lost World from the bunkbed of his youth hostel dormitory, mobile phone and iPod in hand (Indy likes U2, okay?!?!), the tourist has a way of making an auto-induced spectacle which may be acceptable in some cases or attract murderous thieves and bandits in others but which always makes him look like a tosser.

Of course, the reality of travel is always something quite different from what we anticipate, try as we might beforehand, and perhaps, therein is its appeal to some. Likewise, the reality of travel, its particular requirements, challenges, and threats are also something altogether separate from how individual travelers actually experience it, which for most intents and purposes is the most important thing. The truth of this is overwhelmingly obvious when you take for example Disney World, which is quite literally the Mecca of tourist locations (albeit franchised). While the actual physical experience of Disney World is basically droll and some of its locations are perhaps the height of suburban banality (e.g. Orlando, FL), it is the fantasy of being amongst the Pirates of the Caribbean or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea or in outer space or inside of a volcano that consistently floods such parks with millions of tourists from all over the world every year.

So it seems that the same principle holds for most "adventure tourism," and what little adventure there is, for the average tourist, is mostly imagined. All of the potential needs are provided for, dangers anticipated and avoided, routes, navigation, and logistics are systematized, transportation, shelter and fuel are prepared, and most importantly, there is no objective and the course is always the same: a circle. There is little chance to employ the sort of faculties or confront the hardships that involve truly challenging environments such as physical and emotional endurance, ingenuity, exposure to extreme temperatures, lack of food or water, navigation and surveying skills, leadership, negotion, and command and control, creation of shelters, improvising solutions, keeping pack animals, sickness and medical care, etc. These were the sorts of challenges that faced real adventurers, at the time when there was a need for such, and it was undertaken by only the most expert and hardy of individuals and usually funded by governments and institutions.

Again citing Peter Hopkirk's Foreign Devils On The Silk Road, one episode stands out in particular -- when the great Swedish explorer, Sven Hedin made his first crossing of the Taklamakan Desert in what is now China's Xinjiang Province. Protected in the North by the Gobi Desert, to the West by the Tianshan Mountains, by the Pamirs in the Southwest and the Himalayas in the South, the Takalmakan is one of the most remote and menacing deserts in the world not only for its lack of water, difficult terrain, then-lack of reliable maps, and terrific stand storms, but also the time of Hedin's crossing, it was believed by many of the local tribemen to be haunted.

Although nearly forgotten as a consequence of his support of the German cause in successive World Wars, Hedin's feats of toughness, leadership, courage, and intellect were legendary in his time, and yet, he nearly died on his first crossing of the Taklamakan as remarkably recounted in this excerpt.

Hedin, as Younghusband had pointed out, was highly qualified for his role as a scientific explorer. When only twenty-one, after youthful journeys through Persia and Russian Central Asia, he had returned to Sweden determined to acquire the skills he felt he needed for what he saw as his life's work. He enrolled at the University of Stockholm where for two years he studied geology, physics and zoology. After graduating he enrolled at Berlin University, studying physical geography under the great Baron von Richthofen - himself a celebrated Asiatic explorer - as well as historical geography and palaeontology under other leading professors. He broke off his studies in 1890 to make his first journey to Kashgar, where he met Younghusband, returning for a further year's tuition under von Richthofen.

Then followed his nightmarish crossing of the Pamir and three expeditions across Chinese Central Asia. The first, in February 1895, was to prove to those who followed him - notably Sir Aurel Stein - that travel into the interior of the Taklamakan desert, and not merely around it, was possible, albeit extremely dangerous. His subsequent two Taklamakan expeditions, in December 1895 and September 1899, were to yield discoveries of enormous archaeological importance.

Like all visitors to the region, Hedin had listened to endless tales of lost cities, strewn with ancient treasures, lying deep in the Taklamakan. Many men, it was said, had ventured in search of them, hoping to make their fortunes. The few who had returned to tell the story spoke fearfully of how the guarding spirits had foiled them in their attempts to remove the treasure. One man from Khotan, Hedin was told, was luckier. He had fallen into debt and went into the desert hoping to die. Instead he had stumbled on a hoard of gold and silver and was now a rich man.

Hedin was fascinated by these legends, and was convinced that behind them must lie some grain of truth. He determined, in the course of his more serious task of mapping and exploring this terra incognita, to find one such city. To him the call of this ocean of sand was irresistible. 'Over there, on the verge of the horizon, were the noble, rounded forms of sand-dunes which I never grew tired of watching,' he wrote. 'Beyond them, amid the grave-like silence, stretched the unknown ... the land that I was going to be the first to tread.' Read on...

I Like Ulaanbaatar In July

While it may have the coldest average temperature of all of the world's capital cities (-1.3°C), Ulaanbaatar seems to be having a very pleasant July. Today is 21°C and sunny with low humidity, which is perfect for hiking around the mountains that surround the city, which I climbed for about 5 hours on Sunday. Unaware of how exhausted I was, when I returned to the guesthouse around 6 pm, I fell asleep until I awoke at 2 am, which gave me plenty of time to catch-up on my reading while the other residents slept.

According to Wikipedia, "Ulan Bator is located at about 1350 meters (4430 feet) above sea level, slightly east of the center of Mongolia on the Tuul River, a subtributary of the Selenge, in a valley at the foot of the mountain Bogd Khan Uul...After Mongolia first proclaimed its independence, upon the collapse of the Manchu Empire in 1911, the city [(then known as Ikh Khüree)] became the capital of the new Mongolian People's Republic in 1924 under its new name Ulaanbaatar." Today, the city itself is a relatively characterless post-Soviet strip of asphalt (complete with a "State Department Store") with rows of low-rise buildings throughout and some newer construction of hotels downtown and upscale housing developments at the city's edge. The streets flood when it rains, the roads become dirt trails just outside of the city, and there are frequent power blackouts (at least three in the last week). Manholes also present a hazard, as their covers are often missing or removed for maintenance, and I am told that it is even unsafe to step on a covered manhole as you may fall through. The food is fine by my standards (my fellow traveler's complaints notwithstanding) and very cheap, and I've taken to frequenting the popular National Fast Food Restaurant. "Fast" is a bit of a misnomer, but it serves very large portions and their Hungarian Goulash and Khuushuur are a cheap-thrill.

It seems that Mongolia, as a former Soviet puppet-state, still bears a burdensome industrial aesthetic that causes me to recall the scene in Borat, where Borat describes his competitive relationship with his neighbor: I get a window from a glass, he must get a window from a glass. I get a step, he must get a step. I get a clock-radio, he cannot afford. Great success! For example, as we rode in a guided tour bus en route to the horse races outside the city, I was amused by the industrial banality of the city's notables, such as power plants, sewers, markets, warehouse, "the first tall building," and a covered footbridge, which locals refer to as the "Titanic." Constructed around the same time the James Cameron's movie reached Mongolia, the footbridge is so-named because according to our guide, many of Ulanbaataar's young lovers use it as a platform for fantasy role-playing as Jack and Rose aboard the RMS Titanic.

It seems that the most attractive asset of Mongolia is its sparsely populated back-country, which as the least densely populated country in the world (1.7 per km²), represents most of the territory. There are great opportunities for camping, trekking, fishing, etc., and many companies offer tours of the Gobi Desert and Mongolia's far west, where I am told the ancient shamanistic religions are still practiced as well as hunting with eagles. Unfortunately, I won't have time for either on this trip, which is really more of an ill-equipped and unplanned detour. Additionally, it seems to be the conventional wisdom that if the country has any hope of improving in the near future, it will come through the exploitation of its vast natural resources, which include copper, coal, molybdenum, tin, tungsten, and gold.

There is an especially large Korean influence here, and through my many encounters with South Koreans, I have been told that there are strong historical and ethnic links between the two peoples, and at birth both Mongolian and Korean children bear a unique blue-black birthmarks on their posteriors, which is cited as evidence of the kinship between the two nations. Mongolia is also notably friendly to Americans, who can enter for up to 90 days without a visa and can obtain visas lasting up to 10 years. Conversely, Mongolians demonstrate very strong anti-Chinese sentiments, and at the mere mention of China, locals will express their dislike for their giant neighbor with the same consistency and virulence with which Chinese denounce Japanese. Based-upon what I have been told, Mongolians feel looked down upon by the Chinese, and that given the chance, the Chinese would "retake" Mongolia at anytime.

The people generally look like Chinese, but tend to be somewhat larger, and in my experience and according to the stern warnings posted on the door of the guesthouse, there is a tendency for violence, which I have witnessed on four occasions in my short time there. Mongolians also tend to be a bit more natural and untamed -- less stiff than their Chinese counterparts, and women's fashion tends tends to show a bit more skin and middrifts are omnipresent. For better or worse, Mongolians like hard rock and rap music, and many youths are something like wannabe gangsters in the middle of nowhere. Motorcycle gangs seem to be a thing in Ulaanbaatar and occassionally, you can hear them rumbling through the streets or watch as they blaze past. Basketball is also popular.

Despite their geographic closeness and shared history, the Mongolian language bears little apparent resemblance to Chinese, and I have been told that it is more closely linked to Japanese. Interestingly, due to the Soviet influence the Russian Cyrillic alphabet is still used in lieu of the traditional Mongolian script, although during the 1980's there was a failed attempt to reintroduce the traditional writing in the schools. Today, traditional script is largely used for decorative purposes, which stands in contrast to Inner Mongolia (the chunk of Mongolia proper that China retains), where the road signs are written in both Chinese and Mongolian, although with compulsory Mandarin language in schools, the real utility of such signs is dubious.

Border Crossings III: China-Mongolia at Erlian-Zamin Uud

Well, after a good deal of time spent tracing borders that I have yet to cross, I have physically crossed one. On an unplanned trip from Beijing, I entered Mongolia at Zamin Uud via the Chinese border town of Erlian. I departed from Beijing on Sunday night at 6 pm aboard a sleeper bus, which arrived in Erlian at about 4:30 am. At 8 am, I left Erlian for the border in a severely cramped, Soviet-era jeep with 4 other passengers plus our driver. The jeep was extraordinarily uncomfortable without any notable interior padding (just steel) and every door only opened from one side. I sat in the front seat, which was unstable, forcing me to lean forward to avoid crushing the passengers behind me, and adding to the discomfort was another passenger's large bag, which I had to keep on my lap, so overloaded was the jeep. Later I discovered the bag was filled with Chinese shoes destined for resale in Mongolia. The jeep, like many of the older cars here, also offered the option of starting by hand-cranking the engine through a keyway beneath the grill.

We passed through Chinese and Mongolian customs around 11:30 am, the former being much more difficult in exiting than entry to the latter (American citizens do not need a visa to visit Mongolia as a tourist for up to 90 days). Our Mongolian driver, who evidently passes this border daily, seemed to have a laugh playing cat-and-mouse with the Chinese border guards, as he twice attempted to carry all five passengers out of China simultaneously, and each time he was stopped, told to park and one passenger was forced to exit the vehicle. Evidently, four passengers is the limit for a single crossing.

We arrived a the train station around 12 pm, and then waited until nearly 6 pm to board the cramped also Soviet-era hard sleeper. I passed the time tolerating an extraordinarily talkative Frenchman and nodding-off in my chair. By the time we arrived all of the sleeper bunks were sold, and I was forced to pay 10,200 tugriks (about USD8) for two seats, which ultimately ended-up being an elevated 2/3-length sleeper and not exactly two seats as I imagined. After a harsh night choked by desert sand wafting in through the opened windows, about 40 hours of continuous travel, people bumping me as I slept, and Mongolians getting loud and physical, we wearily arrived at 10 am on Tuesday in Ulaanbaatar.