A Bus, a Map, an Experience.

Just when you think you have a handle on things, Mongolia strikes again. With approximately two days notice, UB overhauled its entire public bus system to ‘reduce redundancy.’ Now, I happen to consider myself a confident city bus rider. I grew up within spitting distance of a bus stop – a stop which, in my opinion, gave me access to the more interesting parts of the city. The bus line also gave me access to all the government locales that one eventually must visit – for example, City Hall, Public Utilities or the 4th Circuit Court (on rarer occasions). The most satisfying part of it all was that I didn’t have to find a parking space. I have always defended my public transit system, even when it didn’t show up or mysteriously chose not to finish a route (I haven’t forgotten about you, #14.) I defended it because I didn’t have a car, and sometimes, even on your most determined days, you don’t want to ride your bike in a business suit. As a casual rider, I fancied long, lazy days exploring a different corner of the city, endlessly people-watching. And yes, I know that’s weird, but not as weird as some of the people you meet on a city bus.

The pleasures of bus riding in Mongolia aren’t as easily appreciated, even for the veteran rider. Like this easy to read map on the left. (This is the old system.) The buses are overcrowded and overworked. The drivers will probably pull away from a stop even if you are tapping on the door, and waiting to squeeze onto one in the dead of Mongolian winter is basically asking to feel the cold grip of frostbite slowly overtake your toes. My dad was even pick-pocketed on one recently, which I chalked up to thievery expertise and a pair of ill-fitting Dockers. The hardships are great, but I refuse to give up on it. I support the transit system because the taxi system remains unregulated, continuing to breed swindling drivers of its own. I ride it because if a community stops riding, the government will take it away. And for every exterminated bus line, there are another 50 cars jamming up a road. I ride it because I like to see young people give their seat to the elderly. I savor the long moments spent drifting out the window; I laugh when a driver’s heavy foot creates a bus-length human sandwich. And I’ll continue to support the human sandwich just as soon I figure out which one of these effing things takes me downtown. Apparently, none of them.