Ulaanbaatar’s Smog SOS: From “Lung Tea” to “Oxygen Cocktails”
Picture this: the heart of Mongolia, a city that’s colder than a Siberian snowflake, suddenly turns into a toxic soup of soot and exhaust. Ulaanbaatar, the capital, was named the world’s dirtiest capital in 2016, and little did its residents know they’d become pioneers of a new, questionable health fad.
Why the air feels like a burrito of poison
- The “ger” (slum) districts are coal‑burning hotspots – where folks cook and heat their homes with steam‑thick stoves, even when temperatures plummet to -40°C.
- Road traffic and power plants add the finishing touch, creating an indoor‑air‑quality nightmare.
- On 30th January, the city’s air pollution spiked to 133 times the WHO’s safe limit.
- Respiratory infections tripled, and pneumonia surged to become the second leading cause of death among children under five.
When panic meets the market
Enter “Life Is Air” oxygen cocktails – a bright blue can that promises to turn a simple juice into a frothy, oxygen‑laden drink. The official claim? Just one cocktail is worth a three‑hour walk in a lush forest. The product, priced at $2, sells in pharmacies and markets for a lazy $1 each.
Pregnant women, the most frequent buyers, shop for it because their doctors allegedly recommend it. Meanwhile, a 34‑year‑old accountant named Batbayar Munguntuul admits she spent more on oxygen cocktails than on actual medicine during pregnancy. “Every winter we buy medicine,” she says, “and oxygen cocktails have become a household staple.”
For those lamenting the rising cost of household health hacks, a $300 air purifier was the next logical purchase. Even though the average PM2.5 level was 75 µg/m³—a gut‑watering three times higher than WHO’s 24‑hour recommendation—many keep buying gadgets to stay safe at home.
Tea‑time to cleanse the lungs
Other vendors hawk teas called Enkhjin, Ikh Taiga, and Dr. Baatar. The marketing buzz: they “strip toxins from the blood,” convert lung toxins into mucus, and boost immunity with herbal goodness. Sales reportedly jump by 20‑30% in the winter when smog peaks.
Dr. Baatar’s CEO, Baatar Chantsaldulam, swears by the tea’s benefits. But the WHO’s public health chief, Maria Neira, says there’s no research proving these products work. The only real fix? Reduce pollution itself.
Parents take a stand
NGOs like Parents Against Smog argue that citizens should not be forced to bankroll “air‑cleaning” gimmicks. A sit‑in protest early this year highlighted the decade‑long neglect of genuine solutions: more than just offering clean stoves and cleaner coal.
The group demands a 200,000 ger‑resident loan program to fund insulation and shift to cleaner heaters. They also criticize the sluggish relocation plans for gers.
Government efforts – and why they’re still a shallow fish
From 2008‑2016, the government poured a staggering $120 million into smog‑reduction, half from aid. Half the money went to distributing low‑emission stoves.
Last year, Parliament granted tax breaks to air‑purifier manufacturers, and the Prime Minister ordered $1.6 million worth of units for schools. NGOs like Smog and Kids handed out air‑ventilation systems to kindergartens in the worst‑affected districts. The inside–outside air quality difference was immediate.
But critics argue these are empty gestures. Tumendalai Davaadalai of Smog and Kids said mobile purifiers don’t supply oxygen and merely subsidize business profits without real benefits.
Bottom line
Even in the coldest city on Earth, the battle against smog is a fierce one. While “oxygen cocktails” and “lung teas” sell like hotcakes, the real solution remains the same: cut the emissions, clean the air, and stop selling pseudo‑miracles.
