Walking Mongolia beyond Ulaanbaatar
Where the road is as interesting as the destination.
I met Noa in Darkhan last fall, where she teaches English. Unlike most foreigners in Mongolia, she had not only chosen to leave Ulaanbaatar, but before leaving she had often trekked up into the Ger district, the most populated part of Mongolia, and one that most outsiders, and plenty of well-to-do locals, feel is unsafe, or uninteresting. Her daunting curiosity impressed me.
A fair remark I hear from readers is that I’m a large guy, and so my “style” of travel isn’t necessarily available to all, especially females. It’s a good point, so I want to mix in some guest posts by people like Noa (a petite young female), who while different from me, shares my intellectual inquisitiveness.
This is her first piece, on a summer of travel throughout Mongolia, which I hope you like as much as I do. — Chris
I have lived in Mongolia for the past two years and visited fourteen of its twenty one provinces, forming connections with communities big and small throughout the country.
I spent the first three months in Ulaanbaatar. I arrived in fall when the air was still fresh and crisp but soon encountered the city’s near un-breathable winter pollution. I could see the air in front of me and feel it in the back of my throat. When I got home at the end of the day, a greasy coat of soot covered any exposed skin, so given the opportunity, I eagerly traded the disorder of the city for Darkhan, a small city with a population of around 100,000 people. I was searching for clear skies and fewer homeless guys begging for fractions of pennies in the bitter cold1.
Before coming to Mongolia I spent time in North and South America, Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. I spent anywhere between two weeks and four months in each place. By the time I left, I could usually articulate the essence of the culture and people, even if only on a basic level. In Mongolia, however, it took an entire year to feel that I could gain a coherent understanding.
It wasn't the language barrier that hindered my Mongolian friends from explaining their culture and customs, but rather the difficulty translating these concepts into Western terms. I've studied several languages, both formally and informally—Spanish, German, French, Hebrew, to name a few. Yet, learning Mongolian felt distinctly different, unfamiliar in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
At first I would joke that speaking Mongolian is like “Yoda talk”. The verb comes at the end of the sentence so that to an English-speaking brain the sentences sound scrambled and nonsensical. That still rings true but not only because of the sentence structure.
The way Mongolians communicate and express ideas is fundamentally different from English and other languages I’ve studied — it simply doesn’t translate. To American ears, the language may sound harsh; Mongolians often make direct, blunt demands that, in English, would be considered very rude2. It is a language rich with metaphor and lengthy descriptions of complex concepts that, in many languages, would be conveyed in a single word.
There’s a lot I could learn about Mongolia simply by staying in Darkhan and learning to speak the language but I wanted to get out of my bubble and see what else is out there. I left my apartment and, over the course of one month, traveled somewhat aimlessly through much of the country. From Ulaanbaatar I flew to Bayan-Ulgii, the westernmost province bordering China on the west and south and Russia on the north. From there I traveled to Khovd then through Gobi-Altai and Bayankhongor to Uvurkhangai, Khuvsgul, and Arkhangai and returned to Darkhan through Ulaanbaatar.
I traveled only by public transportation in buses, shared taxis and a few hitched rides in delivery trucks. Most of the time I was hosted by locals who I contacted through friends or friends of friends. Otherwise I stayed in hostels and ger3 camps4.
The trip revealed that my inability to understand why Mongolia feels more mysterious than any other place I've been isn't entirely my fault. Mongolians themselves don’t seem to fully understand their country—or perhaps they aren’t as curious about it as I am. It’s challenging to get straightforward explanations about why people do the things they do or why some things are the way they are without encountering regional prejudices, half-truths, or indifference about distant places.
When I told a friend I was planning to visit Bayan-Ulgii, where the Mongolian Kazakhs live, his response was: “Why go there? It’s far and they’re not even real Mongolians”. In Khovd, my hosts’ sister-in-law asked where Darkhan is, despite Darkhan being the second biggest city in Mongolia. Perhaps my biggest takeaway is that for a nomadic people, Mongolians are surprisingly set in their ways and deeply rooted to their physical homeland.
My struggle to grasp how Mongolian culture works and their apparent indifference about it reflects the country’s historical narrative. Mongolia is best known as the old land of Genghis Khan, today a nomadic country sandwiched between two great powers in Russia and China, with frigid, harsh winters and the lowest population density in the world5.
The Mongolian people have not forgotten their once great empire. They remain proud of their national hero, Genghis Khan, still frequently referring to him as a God-like figure. They defend him often, almost preemptively addressing any misconceptions or foreigners’ suggestions that he was a brutal warrior who by today’s standards would be considered a “war criminal”. To them he remains eternally justified and forever an emblem of national strength and pride.
To a foreigner unfamiliar with Mongolia’s inner workings, the reverence for Genghis Khan might be comparable to any country’s pride in their national heroes. The United States perhaps stands alone in battling the ethics of their prominent figures — Christopher Columbus, George Washington, Lewis and Clark. But for Mongolia Genghis Khan represents more than a great accomplishment in some distant past. Riddled throughout Mongolian culture and society are remnants of the Great Khan’s lifelong mission: to bring to the nomadic people of the vast open steppe a sense of unified nationhood. To make the ever migrating people of Mongolia a cohesive people under a common law and tradition.
Through the Eyes of a Foreigner
Tourists visiting Mongolia are generally told that to see the “real” Mongolia they must leave Ulaanbaatar for the countryside which for nearly all tourists means joining an organized tour. This is usually one or two weeks exploring the Gobi desert, central Mongolia, or picture perfect landscapes out in the Western provinces.
The tours include a driver, a cook, and guide and an overnight stay in a traditional Mongolian home, a ger. Days on a tour are long. Each day includes a set of activities such as horse or camel riding, hiking, or visiting historical and cultural sites such as monasteries or ruins of old cities.
To arrive at each destination however, is the real adventure. Mongolia is a huge country, one sixth the size of the United States. It has twenty one aimags (provinces) and each aimag has a capital “city” (usually with a population around 30,000) and many small soums (villages) scattered throughout the remote countryside.
Mostly though, Mongolia is nearly entirely empty. In Mongolia all roads lead to Ulaanbaatar so that if you wish to travel to a neighboring province, you must either use the (mostly) paved roads leading back to the city or venture off on bumpy car tracks through the empty landscape, rarely traveling at speeds greater than thirty kilometers per hour.
If taking the scenic route (well, all routes are scenic really!), you’re likely not to come across another vehicle for hours at a time aside from the occasional singular Mongolian riding either horse or motorcycle who seemingly appears out of nowhere.
Though the tours can’t fully capture how Mongolians stay in place, they are not entirely inauthentic. They do offer guests a relatively detailed look into how Mongolians live. Mongolians are meticulous in their hospitality rituals and expect tourists to participate in many aspects of everyday life at their standard. A bathroom stop could be a driver’s smoke break on the wide open steppe where you can see for miles, meaning you walk a short distance before taking care of your business and hoping a car full of strangers doesn’t pull up behind you.
Tucked among your luggage are plastic bags of beef and mutton freshly purchased on the side of the road directly from the herder. Your driver may stop at a relative's home on the way, inviting you inside for a cup of tea while he updates them on the news from where you came.
Even a curated tour can offer a brief glimpse into how Mongolia’s nomadic culture, set in a vast, sparsely populated country, has shaped its social fabric. People, information, and goods are transported across long distances under difficult conditions yet they always seem to make it to their destination.
A small turn in the road becomes a meeting spot for drivers to report a flooded road section ahead. A shady spot where rare trees grow becomes an impromptu marketplace for cigarettes or old coke bottles filled with airag (fermented mare’s milk), an alcoholic drink made and loved by Mongolians for centuries but difficult for most foreigners to enjoy.
At first glance the country seems astonishingly well connected. Its vast emptiness is unlike anything most people have ever witnessed before. Yet there is a distinct sense of social cohesion. A people well practiced in connecting and reconnecting as both the social and physical landscape around them changes season by season6.
An Aspiring Insider’s Take
What these guided tours do fail to convey to their passengers is the internal fractures felt and expressed by many Mongolians. A couple weeks bumping along the beautiful countryside, to tourists, may sound appealing. But many Mongolians never go far from home. In fact, many youth in Ulaanbaatar never leave the city at all, at least not until they’re adults and can choose to travel by themselves. Even then a countryside relative, a work opportunity, or a visit from a friend is usually needed to entice them out of their familiar locale.
Mongolians have a very particular sense of place. Their нутаг (nutag - hometown or territory) is where they were born and raised, not where they currently live or even where their family currently is. It expresses an eternal familial bond to a specific location. Each region defines itself by certain social and cultural characteristics seen as central to that region’s identity.
In Uvurkhangai, the geographically analogous Kansas of Mongolia — right in the center, a wide open plain that goes on and on endlessly — they’ll tell you that they’re “pure” Mongolians because they rarely mixed with other ethnic tribes. Those in Darkhan and Selenge in the north, by contrast, are considered the most beautiful because of large migrations from various ethnic groups who intermingled and settled there.
As far west as you can go, in Bayan-Ulgii and Khovd aimags, are the Mongolian Kazakhs. They speak Kazakh and Mongolian languages and are majority Muslim. Their lifestyle, marked by sobriety and discipline to their faith, contrasts sharply with their central and eastern Mongolian counterparts, who are mostly Buddhist, Shaman, or non-religious and who struggle with severe alcohol over-consumption. The Mongolian Kazakhs are self-described as hardworking, peaceful people. They live a life largely different and disconnected from the rest of their country, something they seem unbothered by.
If asked, most Mongolians would describe their нутаг as their origin place.Even if they haven’t lived there for long or haven’t visited in years, the deep roots of their parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents create an eternal connection to the place. Meeting another Mongolian from the same нутаг holds significance too. Mongolians in general refer to each other as brother or sister if in the same generation.
Older Mongolians refer to younger generations as son or daughter regardless of actual familial relationship. But to be from the same нутаг gives you an immediate “in”, a spoken or unspoken allegiance of sorts. Whether by blood or not those from the same нутаг share a close bond.
Traversing Mongolia’s Regional Tapestry
Traveling the length of Mongolia from east to west or vice versa by public transportation begins to reveal the regional fractures left behind by a long history of a nomadic people still aspiring to Genghis Khan’s dream of a unified nation. Much like the guided tours, journeys by any form of transportation are bumpy, slow and long.
From Ulaanbaatar to Ulgii, Mongolia’s westernmost provincial capital, is an almost thirty hour journey7. Every few hours, the bus stops for a quick smoke, bathroom, or fifteen minute meal break. Passengers rush off, pushing their way to order a hot meal at the roadside canteen. Meals at a canteen are fast but warm and satisfying. The small, dilapidated shack —which in the US would be mistaken for an abandoned building destined for demolition —suddenly bursts into life as three (sometimes more) generations of expert buuz (Mongolian dumplings) makers rush to feed the most recent bus-load of hungry travelers8.
In a matter of minutes a dozen plates are placed on the counter heaping with potato salad (slathered with mayonnaise yet never refrigerated — a miracle I’ve never been sick) and steaming buuz, tsuivan (a traditional meat and flour noodle dish) or soup.
When the driver takes his last bite, it is time to get back on the bus. Then away you go again, slowly advancing towards a horizon that forever recedes into the distance.
And so you journey onward, settling into a temporary bus-bound camaraderie with the strangers around you. Snacks are shared, babies are passed from lap to lap, and card games are played in the evening—sometimes for money, sometimes not.
Despite the vast emptiness surrounding you, cell phones ring incessantly at full volume—an ironic contrast in a country where internet connectivity remains surprisingly reliable. The “No Alcohol” signs are well respected, unusual given that alcohol is present at all social events and whenever boredom threatens to set in.
On the bus it is hard to tell whether someone is traveling home or away from home. You might make some guesses based on the type of luggage they’re transporting or how many children sit on which parent’s lap. If there are gallons of milk or airag9 stowed beneath their seat, a countryside family must be visiting their relatives in the city. If they have home supplies — water kettles, solar panels, pots and pans — they’re coming from or headed out to the countryside. But for the most part, the bus reflects well connected, social people who’re much more comfortable sharing food, conversation, and personal space than much of the rest of the world.
While the long-distance bus is a social, even if often chaotic entity, what really reveals the regional fractures comes through in the logistics of traveling 'short' distances between provinces without returning to Ulaanbaatar. The farther you get from the city the fewer and less frequently paved and maintained the roads get.
Theoretically speaking, if you look at a map each provincial capital is connected to its neighboring provincial capitals by one road, usually no bigger than two lanes both ways. In practice, you’re bound to find that a certain road doesn’t exist anymore or is closed for the foreseeable future.
This reality is quickly made clear even before the travels begin. I spent hours on facebook messaging old acquaintances from western and central provinces who I hadn’t spoken to in months or over a year to ask for information on the current road conditions. Some responded that they hadn’t been home for a while but heard rumors of a washed out section. Others offered to connect me with their friends or families in the area who could offer more precise and timely insights.
I spent a weekend pacing in my living room calling dozens of numbers from across the country, crossing my fingers they could speak English and labeling their contact with our mutual friends’ name and province for future reference. Some information contradicted. A lot was either inconveniently optimistic, with new roads actually being unpaved, or outdated, with roads that were supposedly non-existent that turned out to be newly paved.
The locals I talked to were mostly completely unaware of how to travel within their own region. The most common sentiment was inexperience due to lack of interest in traveling to nearby places that, just like their own province, lack the amenities and opportunities best found in Ulaanbaatar.
Clearly, Mongolians find no pleasure in solving the logistical puzzle of countryside travel. To them, leisurely travel is best kept to no more than a ten minute drive out of town with a folding chair, a twenty four pack of beer, and a camp stove on which to roast their meat. Long distance travel is reserved mainly for occasional trips to the city to purchase items not found in the countryside or to take care of some other business.
Although physical road infrastructure is woefully unpredictable and at times frustratingly limited, when it comes to mode of transportation, you have many options:
There are a handful of small domestic airports but those are an expense few Mongolians care to spend and flights are infrequent. When I told people that I had flown to Bayan-Ulgii from Ulaanbaatar at the start of the trip I was met with variations of “Why did you fly? Only politicians fly”.
You can rent a private driver which is also expensive and requires local connections. There are no car services for long distance drivers. You have to know someone or know someone who knows someone who can drive the route. In some regions, this requires a Russian truck that can maneuver through difficult mountain passes and uneven terrains.
If willing to pay the price and when successfully arranged, this is a great option for a spontaneous good time on the road. Drivers spend their entire days moving from place to place. They are kind, generous, and relentlessly patient. They often stop at their family’s home on the way out of town to say goodbye to their children and will surprise you with beverages they somehow manage to keep cold in the glove compartment. Drivers remain my go-to Mongolian language practice partners. They delight in a foreigner willing to learn their language and are grateful to be kept from falling asleep on the wheel by poor pronunciation and clumsy attempts at conversation.Next is a shared taxi. Every provincial capital has a parking lot somewhere where taxi drivers gather in the morning in search of passengers to take on their daily route to the next province. It’s best to show up in the morning to claim your seat. Then you can either sit in the car for up to two hours waiting for the three other seats to be claimed or risk giving your phone number to the driver who, if they’re reliable, will save your seat for you and call when the car is ready to go.
It’s the most affordable way to travel but can be the most unpredictable. If a party of four shows up, you may be asked to take the next one (which could mean the next day) to keep the group together. Children don’t count as passengers so you may be stuck with a child or two on your lap for a couple hours. The driver may choose to go run some errands in town before heading out. When it works out, it’s a great adventure. No matter what, traveling anywhere is an entire-day ordeal.Then, there’s Facebook. Each community has a page (or five) dedicated to announcing unoccupied seats or requests for a ride out of town. Usually this won’t get you too far as the inter-province bus is much more convenient and reliable. People who drive cars are typically either traveling for work somewhere nearby or visiting a small village within the same province. It’s entirely a luck-based system best used when you have plenty of time and no one waiting for you at your destination.
Lastly there’s the inter-province bus which is reliable and affordable but goes only to Ulaanbaatar and back. Some provinces only get one bus a day and it’s often overnight or at least partially so due to the long distances. If all you want is to hop a few provinces over or zig-zag your way through the country going north or south without detouring to the city first, you have to arrange a drop-off at a known location on the paved road with the bus driver ahead of time. Then you’ll need to arrange a friend, acquaintance, or hired driver to take you wherever you want to go from there. These drop offs often end up happening late at night in the pitch-dark countryside, a lone mileage marker and the distant twinkling lights of a village are all that welcome you.
A bonus: The trans-siberian railway which runs from Moscow in Russia down to Beijing, China makes stops in Mongolia’s Selenge, Darkhan-Uul, Ulaanbaatar, and Dornogobi provinces with one detour to Erdenet city in Orkhon province. Although limited to overnight travel, this is an affordable, safe, and comfortable way to travel.
It's easy to see why most tourists are funneled into organized tours where guides can manage these variables while still ensuring there’s enough time to visit Mongolia’s historical and cultural sites between the long driving stretches. It’s also easy to understand why many Mongolians end up staying in their нутаг region unless taken elsewhere by marriage or a job opportunity. Ulaanbaatar stands alone as a true “melting pot”. A convergence of half the population's final act of migration. The rest of the country is a rugged patchwork of tight-knit circles, each one distinguishing itself by a number of characteristics both real and in the form of myths passed down from generation to generation.
Lessons for the Future
To Americans it may be hard to comprehend living in a country where such regional bonds and self proclaimed differences exist. In the US we certainly have regional pride whether in the local history, sports team, or cuisine. The United States is gigantic. We often take for granted our diversity not only in terms of race but also in culture, spoken accent, place of origin, faith, and political viewpoints. Yet we’re always physically and reliably connected. Misconceptions and prejudices can easily be disproved, and we often actively strive to do so in an effort to better understand and relate to one another.
In Mongolia on the other hand, centuries-old tribal divisions remain, aided by poor road infrastructure, long distances, and a harsh weather that anchors communities firmly to generational homelands. Etched in the culture by centuries of repression by neighboring empires to the north and south, is a national struggle to achieve an independent and unified homeland. In the early 20th century, when openly pursuing Genghis Khan’s mission brought forth harsh state sanctions by foreign occupiers, poet Dashdorjiin Natsagdorj penned a coded message to his country titled “Миний нутаг” (Minii Nutag—My Homeland).
Today students of all ages recite it at the start and end of the academic year and on holidays in between. It is a letter of admiration for the country’s natural beauty and a longing to stand united in pursuit of the Great Khan’s life work.
Minii Nutag, by D. Natsagdorj
High stately mountains Khentei, Khangai and Soyon, Forests and thick-wooded ridges-the beauty of the North, The Great Gobi desert-the spaces of Menen, Sharga and Nomin, And the oceans of sand deserts that dominate the South; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The crystal rivers of sacred Kherlen, Onon and Tuul, Brooks, streams and springs that bring health to all my people, The blue lakes of Khovsgol, Uvs and Buir-deep and wide, Rivers and lakes where people and cattle quench their thirst; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The most beautiful rivers of Orkhon, Selenge and Khukhui, Mountains and passes-the source of metals and stone, Ancient structures and ruins of towns and fortresses, Roads and highways running to distant countries; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The high crowns of snow-capped mountains shining from star, The endless virgin landscape under the clear blue sky, The noble summits seen standing in the distance, And the unbounded fields where one’s soul at last finds peace; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The vast land of Khalkha among the deserts and highlands, Land where we rode along and across from the green days of our youth, Towering mountain chains where deer and wolf are hunted, And the finest valleys where splendid horses run; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The land of pure grasses waving in the breeze, The land of open steppes full of fantastic mirages, Firm rocks and out-of-reach places where Good men used to meet, And the ancient ovoos-the cairns to gods and ancestors; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. Land of pasture heavy with grass thin and pure, Country where all may ride and drive at will, Country where people live freely in all seasons of the year, And the land of fertile soil, the five grains that grow, This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The finest mountains-the cradles where our ancestors lie, Where we grew up and flourished, The land where five kinds of animals wander in the plains, And the land saturated with the soul generations of Mongols; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. Land where all is covered with snow and ice in winter, And the grasses twinkle like glass and crystal, Land where all is a carpet of flowers in summer, And full of songbirds from the distant lands of the South; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. The rich land between the Altai and Khingan mountains, The land where my father and mother lived and blessed for us in their passing, The land peacefully growing under the golden Sun, And sparkling forever under the silver Moon; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. Land of my ancestors from the time of the Hun and Sung, Glorious land where might of the Blue Mongols was felt, Land that has fitted us since the morning of time, And the land overspread by Red Banner of New Mongolia; This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia. Homeland, known from birth and growing up, is land that we dearly love, With every invader we turned back at the very gates, Let us increase the might of our new-born people, And on our merits build a newer world, This, this is my native land, The lovely country – My Mongolia.
If you have any questions for Noa, ask her in the comments!
I leave this Wednesday for Faroe Islands, and so hopefully my next post will be about cold wet wind swept Atlantic islands.
This piece was supposed to be about my time in Reno, but I canceled that trip a few hours before leaving to the airport, when I got a text from the airline saying my flight would be delayed (meaning I’d miss my connection) and would I take a voucher to skip the whole thing. I took the voucher, since the idea of spending a full night in Denver’s airport, while somewhat appealing, wasn’t THAT appealing.
Sorry to all those who were looking forward to Nevada musings. Maybe another time.
Until next week — depending on Faroe Island logistics, the next post might take a little longer to come than usual. I hope not, but writing while traveling can be challenging, especially from the North Atlantic.
Mongolian winters last from November to April or even later (this year it snowed in July!). Temperatures average in the -20 to -30c range but get down to as low as -40c/f. There are no homeless shelters but the police sometimes round up the homeless to prevent deaths on the street. Beggars sit outside malls trying to get small bills customers may have received as change. These are 10, 20, 50, and 100 MNT bills which are equivalent to about 0.003 to 0.03 USD.
I teach at English at a school in Darkhan. At first, I shared an office space with my supervisor. She’d make demands like “close the window” and “pass the folder” which I was taken aback by. I thought maybe I had landed myself a superior who’d make my life hell!
A ger is the traditional Mongolian home and looks similar to a yurt. Gers are insulated with wool and have a wood stove inside for heating and cooking. Gers are always set up with their doors facing south, the holy direction in the Buddhist faith. Sometimes multiple generations live in one ger together though usually multi-generation families have a second ger that is used as a kitchen and living area.
Ger camps are a popular local accommodation option. Much like a hostel or hotel, you can book a ger for a couple of nights. There are usually a handful of gers in a fenced in area and another building with a restaurant and bathroom facilities.
There are about six people per square mile here. And about four horses and four sheep per person too!
Nomadic families typically have a “winter place” and a “summer place” where they set up their ger every year. These places aren’t necessarily that far from each other but provide necessities such as easier access to towns or better grazing fields.
From Ulaanbaatar to Ulgii it is 1,689 kilometers (1,049 miles). If it takes you 30 hours (which it does), that’s about 56 KPH or 34 MPH.
During Tsagaan Sar, the Mongolian lunar new year, Mongolians visit the homes of their eldest family members as a sign of respect. Buuz is the main food served during these visits. Depending on the age of the eldest member of the family, each family makes thousands of dumplings to feed all the guests they expect to host during the one week event. It is a multi-generational, family-wide operation each year. Children often learn to count by counting the number of buuz made during Tsagaan Sar preparations.
Airag is a traditional alcoholic drink made of fermented mare’s milk. Uvukhangai and Dundgobi provinces are known for producing the best fresh airag. Because countryside families don’t have refrigeration, airag is made fresh in summer when milk is plentiful and continues to ferment through winter when its flavor is strongest and most sour.
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Hi Noa, we're just back from Mongolia, 10 days riding in the Töv province, we had a contact who works with the Mongol Derby who fixed us up with connections - a herder with his horses who took us on a huge circle, staying with families as we went, riding 30/40km a day. It was profound, a deeply felt experience, we are all changed by it. We loved the airag, and have sourced as similar as we can find now that we're back in the UK, a fermented raw goat's kefir. It has done wonders for our western guts. We are converted. Great to find your article - my friend Anna Schott sent it to me - I'm keeping it saved in case I go back, perhaps I can be in touch for advice travelling in other parts of that magnificent land.
I traveled to Mongolia solo for a couple of weeks in 2019, including taking the overnight bus to Khuvsgul—which remains my favorite place on earth. Your piece helped me relive that incredible experience (and taught me much about the country that I didn’t know). Thank you.