Mongolia Lost and Found (Part One)

This is my first guest-blog. Written by Bill Shields, it will be published in installments.

It is July of 1994 and my new boss, the latest in a succession of many, has decided in his wisdom that Mongolia is the new frontier for the production of outerwear. I can only conjure a picture of the descendants of the great Khan gathered in a desert tent huddled over sewing machines – but I am on the way to see for myself.

I am traveling with Y H Cho who is our Asian manager inherited from the recent merger of London Fog and Pacific Trail. I don’t know it at the time but this trip will cement a friendship that will last a lifetime. Like many things in Asia Cho is a paradox of gentleness combined with fierce negotiating skills. In later years we become convinced that we must have known each other in a previous life and are still working out our Karma. I am almost sure he was the old woman that responded to my every command as I was growing up in ancient China, and he is sure he was the King and I the court jester with orders to keep him happy. We will never know and the only thing we know for now is that neither of us has any idea what to expect in Mongolia.

We are headed for the capitol of Mongolia, Ulaanbaatar, which when you look at a map is centrally located in the middle of nowhere. Mongolia appears to be the size of the North America continent but with only 3 cities seemingly non-strategically placed.

There is only one way to get to Ulaanbaatar and that is through Beijing, China. There is also only one airline that will take us there – you guessed it – Mongolia Airlines. Dancing in my head are visions of recently trained pilots in fur hats pulled tightly over their ears, excited about being given the opportunity to test their new skills at the wheel of a jumbo jet. Traveling the globe you either sign on for the ride or you don’t, so I meditate my pulse to a calm 110 and move forward through Chinese immigration. Another stamp is added to my passport by a government employee who looks at us with disdain and says “next” for the millionth time that day.