I went to the circus last night, and despite, or maybe because of, the 300 or so empty seats, many of which were broken, the occasionally ear-piercing sound system, the obviously cheap and stained costumes, and the pervasive scent of horse dung, I was charmed. It was the enthusiasm, ingenuity, and skill of the performers in the face of a less than optimal showcase for their talents and efforts, that got me; they are putting on, at the moment, a historical tale of “The Great Shuteen,” and they were able to be proud and campy at the same time. That got me, and the plain old thrill of the circus!
Cameras were prohibited inside, but I got a photo of the decaying circus hall.
I don’t know what it is about decay, but it moves me. It, paired with the sky, is the chief beauty of this city; the land reclaims the once imposing Soviet buildings, and the crispness of the sky contrasts with the softening hues of their chipping coats of paint.
the symbol of the Mongolian state
the smokiest train I've ever seen