So, after all manner of unquestionably interesting journeys, voyages, tribulations, Chinese breakfast cereals and so forth, here I am at last in that very cradle of awesomeness, Mongolia.  I am staying here at a rather well-appointed apartment (or, as the Mongolians call it, a flat) here in the heart of Ulan Bator, capital city of Mongolia, with my most excellent sister, Liz (coconspirator and originator of the entire “Bring Ben to Mongolia” plan) and her housemate Daniela (who is from Australia, land of shrimp, barbies, Vegemite, and is an all-around nice gal herself).

 

            Mere words (not even really big, impressive ones, which almost invariably do the trick in ineffable situations such as this) cannot even begin to convey the inexpressible awesometude of this nation.  Therefore, by way of one very poor segue and a few similes of greater quality, allow me to endeavor to impress upon y’all, Gentle Readers, how absa-freakin-sweet it is here.  The people here are a hardy and robust lot, and rather like Klingons in the best of ways (pointy boots, funky language, forehead ridges, etc.).

 

            Now imagine, if you will, that in all of America’s history that George Washington was our nation’s only founding father, national hero, and wearer of wooden teeth (of course now we have Gerald  Ford and the Squirrel Nut Zippers, but that is neither here nor there to us in this instance).  Imagine that he was practically the patron saint of our fine nation, and the least inkling that he might have any done anything less than quintessentially awesome would unthinkably impugn his universal badassitude.  Imagine then, that even now, centuries after his death, his is still the name to conjure with, and that to name a ritzy hotel, coffee house, beer, pants cartel, or pug after him is still the very apogee of eponymous approbation.  It is in this way that the Mongolian people think of Genghis Khan.  He is, quite simply, the very quintessence of all that is worthy of exultation and emulation to them.  What Mr. Spock is to trekkies, thus is Genghis Khan to Mongolians.  He is, in brief, uncommonly popular here.

 

            Mongolians also, in a culinary triumph rarely exposed in the West, have developed a means whereby, through advanced alchemical ensorclements not fully understood nor understandable by mere mortals such as I, yogurt may be rendered into a beverage.  A beverage which totally rules.  Totally.  In fact, the Mongolian sweet tooth is very well-developed indeed, being altogether more conducive to the production of fine and palatable vittles than any other nation or parallel dimension which I have yet visited.  Also, the Mongolian beef tooth is rather uncommonly attuned in much the same superlative manner (to say nothing of how The Mongolian Beef Tooth would be most well attuned for use as a band name).

 

            The people here, almost to a man, dislike the Chinese intensely.  No, seriously, you know how America feels about Mexicans?  That’s how Mongolians think about the Chinese about a dozen times over in fiery intensity.  Except that there aren’t a billion and a half Mexicans who want to utterly conquer and subdue America and turn it into a communist puppet state (that I know of, anyway).  Really, the fastest way to assure a Mongolian that you are indeed a capital fellow is to heap a few heart execrations upon the Chinese, at which point he will likely decide that you’re worth knowing after all and offer you a cup of some yak-based beverage.

 

            Their Pringles here have a picture of Saddam Hussein in a sombrero on them, and taste, if such a thing be possible, better even then the ones we have back home (to say nothing of the Cheez Doodles with Adolf Hitler on them).

 

            You see, back in the early 20th century, both the Russians and the Chinese were fairly keen on taking control of Mongolia (long famed for its vast deposits of minerals and awesomeness) and since the Chinese believe Mongolia to be insufferably backwards Mongolia threw in with the Soviets and spent the greater part of the rest of the 1900s as a soviet satellite.

 

            Until of course, that entire thing back around 1990 when Gorbachev forgot to pay the phone bill or something and the entire Soviet Union fell apart like a zombie riding a tilt-a-whirl in a hurricane pretty much overnight.  So Russia pretty much called Mongolia and was all like, “Um, so yeah, it was really special and everything, dominating your culture for the last 70 years and, uh, you’re really a nice country and we definitely need to do this again, um later, and we’ll call you next time we’re in town sometime or something, okay?”  Thus totally dumping Mongolia all of like, fifteen minutes before Eastern Asian Nation Junior Prom.  Mongolia didn’t even have time to get the deposit back on their tux or anything.  It really sucked.

 

            So, the next day, everyone in Mongolia kind of woke up, poured themselves a bowl of yak-pops and fermented mare’s milk and was like, “So, um, do you guys think maybe we should form some kind of a government or something?”  And since communism wasn’t really for the cool kids anymore they thought maybe they’d give the whole democracy thing a go for a while and see how that worked, since they’d heard it resulted in things like supermodels, cheeseburgers, and laptops.  Unfortunately, no one here really knew what democracy was, so it took them a false start or two before they really got things to the point where they had such venerable and necessary institutions as a President, Prime Minister, Parliament, Funkadelic, and Thriving Professional Wrestling Business.

 

            So, having had a good fifteen years or so to get things together, Ulan Bator today really, more than anything, resembles a boomtown from the Old West, what with all the brightly-colored stucco buildings, street vendors, silly hats and Buddhist monks running around.  Except its still a very Klingon Old West Boomtown, where everybody drives these crazy Mad Max Soviet surplus land rovers around.  But like a Wild West Boomtown full of Klingons, this place is very much on its way up in the world, with wi-fi hotspots and ATMs springing up amongst the yurts and topless bars.

 

            So yes, in short, Mongolia totally rocks.  But don’t worry, Mom, I’m still coming home and I’m bringing Liz with me.  And possibly a yak or three.  And some boots.  But no communism, they don’t let you take that stuff on the plane.