Percha: The Path of Khan

Fine, I’ll admit it: I’m a fan of Korean boy bands.

Before rushing to judgment, though,… Fine, I’ll admit it: I’m a fan of Korean boy bands.

Before rushing to judgment, though, please know that it’s not the spiked hair, jazzy beats or incomprehensible lyrics that have me hooked — although they certainly don’t hurt. It’s just that, with a 24-hour Asian pop-TV channel available in my apartment in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, it’s difficult not to feel a degree of middle school nostalgia with each passing tune.

Throw in the perpetual clamor of impatient car horns and the cheerful jingle that blares from city dump trucks, and you’ve got the soundtrack of the summer for me and my seven fellow participants of Pitt’s University Honors College Mongolia Field Studies program.

Our summer-long adventure features three weeks of travel in China and Russia, followed by an intensive Mongolian language crash course and the opportunity to either intern or conduct independent research while in Mongolia. Also included in the trip: plenty of authentic suutei tsai milk tea, access to patchy Internet cafes and numerous photo ops.

I hardly knew a thing about Mongolia prior to applying for the program. I simply assumed it was one of those mythical places that double as made-for-TV movie backdrops — kind of in the same camp as Anne Hathaway’s pear-exporting Genovia in “The Princess Diaries.”

But as fate and Wikipedia would have it, Mongolia is a vibrant and bustling country, albeit far less touristy than neighboring Russia or China. More than twice the size of Texas, this newly democratic nation is the birthplace of Chinggis (Genghis) Khaan and the reason for construction of the Great Wall of China. In a country where more than half of the population lives a nomadic, herding lifestyle in the countryside, horses easily outnumber humans 13 to one.

Inspired by this landlocked gem’s breathtaking landscapes and traditional script, I decided to venture out of my Western comfort zone and into this striking nation. I wanted to trek in the Gobi Desert and scale the snowcapped Altai Mountains. I wanted to ride a camel on the expansive steppes, and I really wanted to avoid another summer spent at home, scooping ice cream for minimum wage.

One 12-hour flight, seven overnight trains and a questionable speedboat ride later, these plans leapt closer to fruition as I finally arrived in Ulaanbaatar, the capital city of Mongolia. I was ready to embark on my search for worldliness, acculturation and the perfect recipe for khuushuur — traditional Mongolian fried dumplings.

Ulaanbaatar, which translates as “Red Hero,” is charming in a very endearing sense. As home to more than 1 million people, it is the largest metropolis in Mongolia, never mind that it requires only a few hours to walk from one end of the city to another.

With more than 500,000 tourists annually, it’s also a magnet for businessmen, Peace Corps volunteers and hordes of Australian 20-somethings with bleached dreadlocks, backpacks and ambitions to see the world.

Amusingly, this random assortment of inhabitants is mirrored in the city’s personality: slightly offbeat and steeped in individuality.

The Soviet-style buildings are adorned with pastel paint, weathered and peeling from frequent sandstorms, blazing sun and angry rain. Even the cracking, faded pavement and rusty metal playgrounds contribute to the city’s unmistakable salmon, mauve and seafoam palette.

Sidewalks tend to be a mismatched jumble of uneven bricks, and gaping manholes protrude from the ground as a daily obstacle course. They provide a challenge to the handful of Americans in flip-flops and the droves of stiletto-clad Mongolian women, but the sidewalks might be a safer bet than the streets: Drivers are inclined to ignore traffic lights and crosswalks, while lane markers and posted speed limits are virtually nonexistent.

The unpredictability of the city extends to Naran Tuul — literally translated as the “Sun Market,” although despite its perfect legality, foreigners have come to call it the “Black Market.” At this outdoor arena, shoppers can purchase anything from livestock to entire garbage bags filled with singular socks.

Local flavor is also reflected in the “taxi drivers” who navigate tourists there — ordinary, friendly locals who stuff too many people into their own rickety sedans, only to be pulled over and fined for excess passengers. Fine and fare later, one of our cab drivers was out 3,000 tugrik but couldn’t have been more thrilled to practice his English with, as he dubbed us, his “United America friends.”

Ulaanbaatar’s unmistakable character is reflected in the presence of the Victims of Political Persecution Memorial Museum, as well as at the German bakery, which sells yesterday’s bread at a 60 percent discount. It shines through again outside of the city’s UNICEF headquarters, where a terrifying, life-sized steel statue of Predator looms, as if promoting a wayward sequel, “Alien vs. Predator vs. Poverty.”

This city has expanded my sense of humor with its offbeat charm and uncanny charisma. It has warmed my spirits with its hospitable residents, and it has rattled my eardrums with a live, impossibly loud Mongolian punk-rock rendition of Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” with correct lyrics giving way to an awe-inspiring tambourine solo.

But as long as I have my fix of boy band ballads, I’ll keep smiling along with this beautiful nation, one pop song after another.

The second installment of Julie’s adventure will appear midsummer in The Pitt News. Check out Julie’s running blog of this experience at http://julie-mongolia.blogspot.com.