The second leg of our flight from Seoul, Korea to Mongolia is four hours of uneventful travel. The last hour is turbulent. Our team was warned that the winds might make for a rough landing. The sprawling capital of Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia is ringed by mountains in a natural bowl shape. This geographic feature is not conducive to a straight forward, smooth landing. The four of us, Pam, Shawn, Chaz and me, have traveled halfway around the world to spend ten days traveling to three cities in central Mongolia. Our task is to interview nine missionary families, gather information about their projects, and report our findings to our small Wisconsin church. Our church is interested in supporting one of the endeavors.
The ladies, Pam, Shawn and myself, are experienced travelers. We are on the last leg of 24 hours of travel; sleep deprived, excited for our journey ahead of us, and enduring a stuffy, noisy cabin. Chaz hates flying. He held up well on the 13 hour flight from Chicago to Seoul by sleeping, but this flight clearly is making him anxious. We are sitting side by side enduring the bumps and dips. When I looked over, his face is paper white and his breathing was shallow.
“Are you feeling sick, Chaz?” I ask, ready to find a sick bag. He shakes his head no. Another sharp dip that made my stomach flip. I hear the sound of someone getting sick behind us. We are at the back of the plane which intensifies the bumps and dips.
The captain just made an announcement, “Folks, we are not yet cleared for landing but anticipate a safe arrival soon.”
Chaz’s death grip on the arm rest turns his knuckles white. His occupation is a county jail deputy. He has the stature and intimidation factor that is typical in law enforcement. I know I have to divert him from his terror of the impending plane crash or things will go Western fast.
“Hey, Chaz…hey, buddy, look at me! Tell me how you first met your wife, Jean, again?” After answering me with several sentences, he looks away and squeezes the arm rest tighter, if that is possible.
I continue, “Hey, Chaz, look at me, please. Tell me again how you felt when you looked at your first newborn son?” A small smile plays across his face as it dawns on him what I am doing. Talking a large law enforcement man down from the knife-sharp edge of terror is my God-given super power for Chaz!
After another circle or two around the airport (and they are big circles), we land with a jarring bump and hit every Mongolian pothole on the one-landing strip. As we taxi to the only gate, Chaz’s fear dissipates as he crumples in on himself. His relief at being alive is palatable and his breathing starts to return to normal.
As we disembark to immigration, we are met with a poorly lit, dirty room. We shuffle toward the border stations to get our passports checked and stamped. Behind us there is a ruckus as people duck and shout. Something is flying around the room. A lost but friendly Mongolian bat greets us with swoops and dives. The four of us look at each other and bust out laughing with relief. The airport employees finally find a box and broom, and trap the bat after a long, loud discussion in Mongolian; a guttural, loud, slavic-sounding language. As we clear immigration and head down the steps to the baggage claim area, members of the host team, Erik and Jason, find us in the chaos of the small international airport. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s population is 1.5 million out of a total country population of 2.5 million. I am expecting a large, modern airport but Pam, who traveled to Kiev, Russia, said Mongolia reminds her of Kiev.
As we step out of the airport, it is almost midnight and raining. Erik and Jason pulled two Land Rovers up to the front to load our luggage. The trip to the host apartment is another wild ride. I climb in with Jason, a young Korean missionary, and Chaz on the left side of the vehicle. The steering wheel on this European vehicle is on the right side but driving is also on the right side. When Jason wanted to change lanes to the left, he can’t see. Chaz had to tell him whether it was clear to change lanes.
Jason’s English isn’t good, so Chaz would shout at him, “No, don’t change lanes yet.”
“What, now?’ Jason asked.
“No”, Chaz shouted!
“Yes, now”, Jason asked?
We both yell, “NO!”
We are all holding our breath until we drive down into the underground parking at the 17 story tall apartment building.
Thank God for running elevators! Unpacking and settling into the comfortable 15th floor apartment is a blur. Jet lag will continue to dog us during the first part of our trip.
After a fitful night’s sleep, the regional director, Peter and the office assistant, Rene’, arrived at the apartment for orientation, to put our passports into their office safe in the apartment across the hall and exchange currency. I nod off several times during the presentation.
After a short rest that afternoon, Erik asks us if we want to take the short walk to Sukhbaatar Square, a gathering place for artists with felt-art and paintings to sell. Something important happens on that walk. Safety is not a priority on the sidewalks and roads in Ulaanbaatar (we quickly abbreviate the name to UB). The traffic is chaotic, and lacks defining traffic patterns. If you can’t get around a slow lane of traffic, then go on the sidewalk or anywhere available. Personal vigilance is important as you walked. The uneven sidewalks are trip hazards with stones sticking up and pot holes to avoid.
Pam and Shawn with Erik are ahead of me, with Chaz and I bringing up the rear. Chaz is only a step behind me. I just pass an intersection and step up on the curb by a two-story building when I feel hands on my back and a quick shove forward. As I look back to see who shoved me, brick and debris rained down on the spot I stepped away from. Chaz jumps back and narrowly avoids injury. The workers on top of the building dump the debris down to the sidewalk without warning. There are no orange cones to caution us or tape to divert us away from danger. Chaz, our law enforcement protector is on the job!
When he catches up to me, he said, “Whew, that was a close one. You could have been injured!”
I was so overcome by gratitude and relief, I hugged his neck tight and said, “Thank you so much. I know what your main job is on this trip: our body guard.”
“You saved my butt from freaking out on the way down in that plane, Nancy. Now it’s my turn to keep you all safe, by God’s grace”, he said with a full smile. And he did!
Story taken (and embellished) from a trip to Mongolia in August 2009 for Leslie Leyland Fields class - Your Story Matters
