Ep. 2 What Men Live By?

A Friend

On our very first day out of Ulaanbaatar, the engine of our blue Furgon* completely died. We hadn't even been on the road for 24 hours.

Stranded in an endless steppe where calling a tow truck was out of the question, our guide, Jumbe, and our young, energetic driver had no choice but to limp the broken van back to the city alone.

A replacement vehicle arrived overnight while we slept at our first camp. The local agency boasted about upgrading us to a premium ride, but to our slight disappointment, it was just a Hyundai Starex—a minivan all too familiar back home. At the wheel sat a quiet, stern-looking older gentleman. He must have driven through the night to reach us.

During a seemingly endless stretch of off-roading toward our next destination, Jumbe suddenly called for a break to stretch our legs and take in the view. As we stood on a hill letting the wind hit our faces, I noticed our new driver idly tracing lines in the dirt with a broken willow branch.

Just then, a man on horseback approached from the distance. When our driver called out to him, the rider hopped off his horse without hesitation and sat down on a nearby rock. The two immediately fell into quiet conversation. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, but judging by the vibe, they seemed like friends who had known each other for a decade.

'Have those two known each other for a long time?'

I asked Jumbe, only to get an unexpected answer.

**"No, they just met today." **

"Wait, really? But they're talking like that?"

"It's pretty rare to run into anyone out here on the road. They're just happy to see another person. Well, outside of Ulaanbaatar, at least."

The two men kept chatting right up until we climbed back into the van, parting ways with a simple nod. In the middle of this vast, empty land, people paradoxically pull each other closer.

Boundaries

Jumbe wanted to show us authentic Mongolian nomadic life, so he brought us to a local ger. A mother and her two children stood inside to greet us. The older child hid behind her mother's skirt, while the younger one—barely reaching the older sibling's chest—peeked at us from behind her mother's legs. We were likely the first foreigners they had ever seen. Even as they ate the traditional soup their mother handed them, they kept glancing at us, repeatedly lowering their spoons in hesitation.

One of our group members pulled out a small doll. The older girl didn't reach for it right away. Still scared and unsure if she was allowed to take something from a stranger, she kept looking up at her mother. Only after her mother gave a quick nod of approval did the child carefully accept the toy.

Stepping outside, I saw more horses and sheep in one place than I had in my entire life. When I asked if I could take a picture of the horses, the nomad patriarch flashed a hearty, Genghis Khan-esque smile. He struck a pose with a horse tucked casually under his arm—an animal that, he casually mentioned, could kill you with one wrong kick. He offered me some freshly fermented mare's milk (airag). I squeezed my eyes shut and took a gulp.

'Wait, this is actually pretty good. It tastes like yogurt.'

I quickly threw up a thumbs-up.

A short distance away, the nomads were busy shearing sheep. With unhesitating hands, they pinned down the heavy animals and stripped away their coats. Stripped bare of their dirty wool, the now-naked sheep scrambled away with loud "Baaahs."

But my attention soon drifted away from the shearing. The older girl had been hovering near her father (yes, the man who was just holding a horse under his arm), staring at me intently. Her eyes were a mix of pure curiosity and lingering fear.

I stood in front of her, holding a piece of chewy fruit candy that I had been keeping in my hand since we were inside the ger. I wanted to give it to her earlier, but I had hesitated over and over, worried that it might scare her off.

'Should I give it to her? What if she runs away?'

The candy was now soft and half-melted from my body heat. I carefully held out my hand.

For a brief second, I saw a sparkle in her eyes. She unwrapped the candy, popped it into her mouth, and the heavy guard on her face instantly melted away. Just as her expression shifted, looking like she wanted to say something more,

"Yung! Get in the car! We have to go. The sun's about to set!"

I should have given it to her sooner. We could have been friends for just a little bit longer.

A Smile

Feeling a pang of regret, I looked back before getting into the car. The girl was tightly holding the candy wrapper in one hand, while her other tiny hand waved goodbye.

Though it wasn't a wide grin, her shy smile held a subtle mix of gladness and reluctance. Something warm and tender welled up inside my chest.

A few days later, we stopped at another ger nestled in a lush green pasture.

There, we met three kids with closely cropped hair.

Unlike the shy nomadic girl, these kids ran straight up to us without a hint of embarrassment. Their mother shouted at them not to bother the guests, but their curiosity about the outsiders won the tug-of-war.

When I pointed my camera at the kids who were giggling and roughhousing with each other, all three immediately pressed their shoulders together and grinned. The pure, unfiltered friendship shining through the lens was so beautiful that I found myself smiling back.

'When these kids grow up, what will this friendship look like?'

But my heartwarming moment was short-lived. The kids' attention quickly shifted away from us.

Those eyes, which had just been sparkling with curiosity toward strangers, were now completely locked onto the smartphones in our hands.

Out here in this magnificent, sprawling nature, the thing that ultimately stole their hearts was a smartphone...

The pristine innocence of these rural Mongolian kids that I had been admiring just moments ago shattered. I felt a slight sting of sadness, wondering if modern technology had reached this remote corner of the world only to spoil their purity.

We traveled all the way to the middle of nowhere to see untouched nature, yet these kids are dreaming of the flashy world behind a tiny screen. Maybe it doesn't matter whether you live in a gridlocked city or on an empty steppe—people will always chase after what they don't have.

Still, even while completely mesmerized by this new gadget, those three kids never stopped leaning against one another, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Our stern-looking driver chatting like an old friend with a passing stranger in the middle of a barren road. The shy smile of a little girl whose guard was initially raised so high against unfamiliar faces.

What do we actually live by?

Instead of handing me an answer, this vast, wide-open nature simply showed me the quiet beauty of people leaning on each other's warmth.

*Furgon: The symbol of Mongolian tours, a classic off-road van. They usually come in bright colors.