Have you ever read the book in the image below?
If not, the synopsis is simple. A Fortune Teller Told Me by Tiziano Terzani, an experienced Asia correspondent, tells the story of his decision not to fly for an entire year after being warned by a Hong Kong fortune-teller in 1993. Instead of taking to the skies, Terzani re-explored Asia by foot, boat, bus, car, and train as he made his way back to Italy. This self-imposed travel restriction allowed him to experience the world from a different perspective, slowly moving through the landscapes he had previously rushed over.
One of the aspects of the book I always enjoy is that, by choosing not to fly, Terzani was reminded that life is about the journey—not just the destination. The act of slowing down, of taking the time to truly immerse oneself in the surroundings, brings an entirely different kind of understanding.
“Every place is a goldmine. You have only to give yourself time, sit in a teahouse watching the passers-by, stand in a corner of the market, go for a haircut. You pick up a thread – a word, a meeting, a friend of a friend of someone you have just met – and soon the most insipid, most insignificant place becomes a mirror of the world, a window on life, a theatre of humanity.”
This quote resonates deeply, not just because of its wisdom but because of its reminder that life, in its truest form, unfolds in the in-between moments—the ones that happen when we allow ourselves the time and space to truly observe. The world is not only found in grand destinations; it can also be found in the seemingly mundane interactions and places that we might overlook in the rush to get from one point to another.
However, there is another layer to the book that I find thought-provoking: Terzani also speaks about the impact of modernity on the places he visits, particularly Asia, and how it seems to be losing its authenticity in the face of globalization. He describes how everything is becoming westernized, homogenized, and how many of the cultures he once admired seem to be slipping away, overtaken by the tides of progress and western ideals.
Interestingly, this idea is being echoed today when talking about Mongolia. Just like in Terzani’s reflections on Asia, there is a growing conversation about Mongolia’s shift towards modernity and progress. This drive for modernization, fueled by economic growth, is evident everywhere—from urban developments in Ulaanbaatar to the adoption of smartphones and other technologies by the rural herders. Yet, it’s important to recognize that modernization does not necessarily mean westernization.
The presence of smartphones in the hands of Mongolian herders doesn’t mean that Mongolia is becoming westernized, nor does it imply that the country is losing its cultural identity. It’s more about access—access to communication, information, and opportunities that were previously unavailable. The Mongolian flag itself symbolizes progress and prosperity, which speaks to a deep desire for development, economic growth, and the material possessions we often take for granted. It’s not so much about abandoning the old in favor of the new, but rather about finding a balance between tradition and innovation.
This creates an interesting debate. Can modernization coexist with cultural preservation? Should one necessarily come at the expense of the other? As Mongolia continues to develop, its people are navigating this intersection of tradition and modernity, striving to create a future that embraces both the past and the present. It’s a delicate balance, and one that I believe will define the country’s future path.
Ultimately, this discussion reflects broader global themes of how modernization is reshaping the world. Terzani’s reflections on the loss of authenticity in Asia seem to parallel the conversations we are having about other parts of the world, where the influence of the West often feels like a tide that’s hard to resist. But as Mongolia—like many other places—continues to evolve, it’s clear that modernization doesn’t always mean the end of cultural uniqueness; rather, it can represent the beginning of new forms of cultural expression and resilience.
In the end, whether in Asia or Mongolia, the question remains: can we embrace progress while preserving what makes a place truly special? It’s a question that continues to shape the way we think about travel and the world’s evolving landscapes.