Equestrian Statue of Genghis Khan

Listen first. Out here, east of the capital, the wind moves across the steppe almost without stopping. It pulls at your jacket and carries the smell of dry grass. Somewhere nearby a horse may snort, or a car door may slam in the car park. Then you look up. Above the open grassland, a giant rider in polished steel sits on his horse. He faces east, and the low sun flashes across his chest.

This is the Equestrian Statue of Genghis Khan, at a site called Tsonjin Boldog. It stands roughly fifty kilometres east of Ulaanbaatar, close to the Tuul River. Most visitors arrive after about an hour on the road. The city slowly thins into fences, then scattered gers, the round felt tents of Mongolian herders, and then open hills. The statue appears long before you reach it, a bright point on the horizon that slowly grows into a horse and a man.

The numbers are hard to take in. The figure and its horse rise about forty metres. The whole structure is covered in stainless steel and weighs well over two hundred tonnes. Work was completed in the late 2000s. It was a private Mongolian project, built by local designers and engineers. Today it is often described as the largest equestrian statue in the world. Standing below it, you understand that claim with your neck before your head.

Why here, in this particular stretch of grassland? Local tradition gives an answer. Legend has it that the young conqueror found a golden whip on this spot. In Mongolian culture, finding a whip like that is a sign of good fortune. So, according to the tale, he took it as a blessing on his campaigns. Historians cannot confirm the story. But it explains the choice of site, and the golden whip appears in the rider's hand.

Now look at the direction he faces. The rider looks east. Many people explain this as a gaze toward his birthplace, in the hills of the northeast of the country. It is a quiet detail, and many visitors miss it. The statue does not look toward the capital, or toward the lands he conquered. It looks toward home. Seen this way, the monument shows a man looking back as much as it shows a man riding forward.

A little history helps here. The man the world calls Genghis Khan was born with the name Temüjin. In 1206, a great gathering of the steppe tribes proclaimed him Chinggis Khan, a title often translated as universal ruler. He united rival clans that had fought each other for generations. After that, Mongol armies moved across Asia and into Europe. Before his death in 1227, he had laid the foundations of the largest connected land empire in history.

Here is the surprise many visitors do not expect. For much of the twentieth century, this man was not openly celebrated in his own homeland. During the socialist period, Mongolia was closely tied to the Soviet Union. Public praise of the great khan was discouraged, because it was seen as dangerous nationalism. After the democratic changes of the early 1990s, his image returned everywhere. It appeared on banknotes, vodka bottles, the airport and hotels. This statue belongs to that return.

Look down now at the round building under the horse. This is the visitor centre, and it forms the statue's base. It is ringed by thirty-six columns. Each column represents one of the khans who ruled after Genghis, from his sons down through the later line of Mongol rulers. Walk around the base slowly. The columns give the giant rider above a kind of family tree, a line of power set out in stone and metal.

Inside, the scale changes again. Near the entrance stands an enormous traditional Mongolian boot. These boots have upturned toes, and people say this shape kept the wearer from disturbing the earth as they walked. The building also holds a small museum. It shows objects from the ancient peoples of the steppe, including Bronze Age finds and artefacts from early nomadic states. There is often a gift shop too, with felt crafts, cashmere and small figures of the khan himself.

Then comes the moment most people remember. You can go up inside the statue. A lift and stairs carry you through the body of the horse. You come out onto a viewing platform on the horse's head and mane. Suddenly you stand beside the rider's steel chest, with the wind in your face. The surface of the steel shows its panels and seams up close, details you could never see from the ground.

From the platform, the land opens in every direction. Low, rounded hills fold into each other. In summer they are green, and in autumn they turn gold and brown. In winter they can be white and silent under a pale sky. You may see gers, grazing horses, or a dirt track running toward the river. This view matters as much as the statue. It shows the open country that shaped the people who once rode out from here.

Back on the ground, give yourself a few minutes outside. Many visitors try traditional Mongolian costume, hold an eagle for a photograph, or sit on a horse or a camel nearby. These are popular, informal experiences, and they change with the season. You may also smell mutton cooking or hear Mongolian throat singing from a speaker. Some feel touristic, and some feel heartfelt. Together they show how the country now celebrates its founder.

It is worth asking what this monument is really for. It is not a tomb. Nobody knows where Genghis Khan was buried, and the secret of his grave is one of history's great mysteries. It is not an ancient site either. It is a modern statement, built by a young democracy about an old empire. It says that Mongolia remembers who it was, and wants the world to remember too.

Before you leave, step back one last time and look up at the rider. Notice how the steel changes colour as clouds pass over it, from silver to grey to almost white. Feel the wind again, the same wind that has crossed this grassland for centuries. As you walk to the car park, turn around once more. The figure grows smaller with every step, but he keeps looking east, toward the hills where his story began.