Spectrum 2

One evening I was walking downtown when a man in a wheelchair whooshed by. He was rolling down the center line of one of the most congested and busy roads in UB. But he just kept going, arms pumping furiously, completely focused on keeping center and probably hoping to not get plowed into by a commuter bus or some driver too busy talking on his cell phone to notice a wheelchair hurtling down the road. No one else around me seemed to look at this scene with the same astonishment as I. I’ve observed bicyclers and mo-peders do the same thing: squeezing between trolleys and SUVs, narrowly escaping a very messy and unpleasant end. But this was not a rickety old piece of transportation – which is at least capable of dodging traffic. No, this was a wobbly, hand propelled wheelchair, which at best can perform about five primary functions: increase speed, decrease speed, turn corners, go straight, move backwards. It certainly was not built for riding the line down Peace Avenue in downtown UlaanBaatar. I have to admire him for taking a risk and looking as if he’s done it a million times.

Spectrum 1

When I look out the window and down the road, there’s a street sweeper diligently nudging rubbish into the gutter with a hay broom. When this is accomplished she sits on the curb for a rest, lighting a cigarette and watching the traffic hiccup by (it’s early still). Later in the afternoon, a fruit vender will set up her pipes and tarps into a rickety stand and sell apples, bananas, watermelon, pears and apricots; raisins, dates, baggied candies and nuts. Sweet smelling and fresh off the truck from China, her goods are stacked and hung within the nylon confines of her stand. An apple costs about 10 cents. The watermelon is about $5. A petite, leather skinned grandma sets herself down against a piece of sheet metal fencing off a construction site and places a box of cigarettes and various kinds of suckers on a stool. She will sell the cigarettes and suckers to both children and adults for little less than 25 cents (often sneaking one of both from time to time). Down a little further is an “Otac” booth – a phone booth about the size of an outhouse. A person sits inside with a phone and waits for others to come make phone calls - UB’s version of a public telephone. I remember one night walking home with some friends and thinking aloud at how awful it would be to have to sit in that little booth all day long, especially at the height of summer or the low of winter, to make your living. And one of my friends said, “Yeah, it’s nice that we have choices.”