Over the past month or so, I’ve been reflecting on something odd. Now that spring has set in, and summer awaits, I’m feeling a weird sort of nostalgia for the harsh Mongolian winter.
To be clear, I really don’t enjoy the winter at all. When winter was still ongoing, all I could think about everyday was that I wanted it to end. Back in January, the sky was still pitch black as I got out of bed, and my face was often in pain as I traversed slowly on icy surfaces against the wind in -40 ℃ weather. I certainly had no nostalgia for that experience at the time.
When Ulaanbaatar finally became warm enough for me to not wear a thick coat anymore, I suddenly realized that the most frigid days of my life might be behind me now. I will very possibly never again experience a winter as tough as this one. While I do intend to return to Mongolia in the future, I do not intend to return to Mongolia during the winter months.
So, where is this sense of nostalgia coming from, if I had found the wintertime so unpleasant?
I started writing up this journey for Reach the World during the last legs of my time in Mongolia. Last weekend, I booked my flight back to Los Angeles in August, leaving me with just under three months left in Mongolia — plenty of time for some reflection.
