My first fieldwork trip on this project was a short scoping trip, in which I ‘retraced my steps’ so to speak. In July 2026, together with my partner and daughter, I travelled along the same circular (clockwise) 2,000 km route I had driven a decade earlier in the central mountainous Khangai region west of Ulaanbaatar. I visited five of the same mineral springs I had been to in 2016, across Övörkhangai, Bayankhongor, Zavkhan and Arkhangai provinces. Alongside figuring out what conducting rural fieldwork would feel like with a 2.5-year-old, I was scoping two very basic questions:
What has changed and what has stayed the same at these sites?
What are my preliminary thoughts on access and social exclusion?
The most striking thing for me upon arrival to all five mineral springs was the commercial growth, either in the number of small and medium enterprises which offer accommodations, grocery stores and spas, or in terms of the sanatorium’s growth – additional patient accommodations, a children’s playground, a VIP café where only the those renting the most expensive accommodations are invited dine.
At first glance, some of the sites were unrecognisable; upon approaching Örgööt mineral spring, I recalled the valley’s distinctive shape, especially the southern mountain named Elstei mod uul, crested by a distinctive pattern of pine trees. But as we rolled into the campsite, nursing what was left of our second flat tyre within 48 hours, the site was now lined with yurt (ger) camps catering to the burgeoning visitor economy there.
As social anthropologists, we’re methodologically trained to conduct ethnography. One important piece of this is participant-observation, where we ‘live like’ our research participants while also gleaning something reflective to say about this experience. During this past fieldwork trip, it was certainly a mental shift for me to consider, what am I not observing? Who or what isn’t here, and why might that be the case?
During the state socialist period of the 20th century, hundreds of mineral spring sanatoria were geared towards resourcing bodies in the summertime so that they could work all year round – that is, so that labour could be extracted from them. Now it is precisely the workforce that is missing, while their children and pensioner parents come to stay over the warm summer months. Illness prevention was certainly part of story back then, as many of the sanatoria served herding and agricultural collectives. But today, it seems that these now privatized institutions chiefly treat bodies that have been worn out by work, after they’ve reached the point where they no longer need to work full-time (having reached the age to receive state pension) or no longer can work.
But there is a qualifying point to make here, which serendipitously emerged. Our trip fell during the national public holiday of Naadam, when most people have the five workdays of the week off. There was a notable difference in the sheer number of cars on the main tarmac road leading northwest from Ulaanbaatar, cruising towards the lush alpine region where a pocket of hot and warm springs concentrates. Car after car – many luxury brand SUV – was topped with camping equipment. The queue for petrol reached some 20 or 30 cars long. In Tsetserleg, we waited nearly 3 hours to re-fuel our car. (In hindsight we were lucky to have been travelling during that time, as by August a national petrol shortage had been declared.)
During the national Naadam holiday when Ulaanbaatar empties out, I spoke with people who relished the therapeutic break from work, many acutely needing the right treatment and rest to manage symptoms of their chronic condition(s). But in almost equal measure, I spoke with those who had come for amusement and recreation (zugaa) and to take in the beauty of the country’s natural environment. To my mind, this highlights the thin line between leisure and health at these natural sites and the institutions that manage them. I look forward to exploring this in more detail, especially set in proper historical context. How has the relationship between health and leisure changed with the influx of ‘wellness resorts’ (the term often written in English language), which have multiplied in recent years, and which cater to a wealthy elite?