Winter has set in
N 49°28'51.6'' E 105°56'33.5''
Day: 97
Sunrise:
06:34 am
Sunset:
6:57 pm
Total kilometers:
14032.96 Km
Temperature – Day (maximum):
0 °C
Temperature – day (minimum):
-2 °C
Temperature – Night:
-5 °C
Latitude:
49°28’51.6”
Longitude:
105°56’33.5”
The wind howls around our small hotel as if the Mongolian winter had broken out. Tired, I get up and look out of the window. “I can’t believe it!” I shout in shock as I look out at the drifting snow. “Tanja, wake up. You have to see this,” I say. We both stand at the window and have difficulty believing what we see. Overnight, the early onset of winter brought ten centimeters of snow to the country. “There’s no way we can continue today,” I say. As we are having breakfast in the restaurant, we learn that the president of the country has declared a state of emergency and closed the highway that runs through the country to all vehicles. We hear that after a record harvest, a considerable proportion of Mongolia’s wheat was destroyed by the snowstorm shortly before the harvest. After breakfast, Tanja rushes straight to a small internet café and finds out that the weather is supposed to improve again tomorrow. We are curious to see how our journey will continue 230 kilometers from our destination and hope that the passes will remain passable for us.
I grab my Leica and head outside to photograph the unusually early onset of winter. The cold hits me like a punch in the face. From yesterday to today, the temperature has dropped from 25 degrees in the sun to minus five degrees. None of the people living here had time to adjust to the drastic drop in temperature. Whereas yesterday the streets were bustling with activity, they are now deserted. Only a few people hurry along the sidewalk wrapped in thick clothing and protect their faces from the harsh wind. The large playground in front of our hotel, where many children were still romping around 12 hours ago, has been swept clean by the icy broom. The ugly residential bunkers, which already look bleak and forbidding in the sunshine, now look like abandoned ghost houses from another world. Shivering, I seek shelter in a stairwell to change the lens. Poverty hits me here with full force. Someone has built a small wooden shed under the sloping staircase of the broken-down bunker. A small lock hangs on the low door. Curious, I peer through a tiny ten by ten centimeter window into the miserable abode. There are a few slippers in front of a mattress. I can’t discover much more and there isn’t much more space under the stairs. I’m thinking of our luxury room in the hotel which is about 20 times bigger. It has heating, hot water for showers, a toilet, large windows, a wonderful double bed and beautiful furniture by local standards. What a huge contrast just 50 meters from where we were staying. And the person under the stairs is still privileged, because some Mongolian beggars don’t even have a shelter like this to protect them from the cold of winter. When I step outside, shivering, I find myself right next to the house’s garbage dump. A Mongolian woman holding a puppy in her arms throws her garbage onto the overcrowded, smelly stop. Meanwhile, as she places the tiny animal on the cold floor, it begins to whine piteously. I watch in horror as she simply leaves the poor creature in front of the garbage cans and disappears back into the house. “She’ll be right back,” I think and wait. The puppy screams and cries to the point of heartbreak. It trembles all over and wobbles up and down on its little legs in front of the garbage dump. The woman does not come back. “I can’t just take the baby with me, can I? Maybe the dog mom will come after all? I can’t take it to our hotel and we’ll be leaving tomorrow,” I think. I stand in front of the garbage dump for a while and observe the sad situation. Then I start to feel so cold that I slowly make my way back to the hotel. My guilty conscience plagues me. “Should I have taken the baby with me? But what do we do with a small dog? There’s no room on the bike. Apart from that, there are many dogs in Mongolia that have to live in miserable conditions.” Half an hour later, I go outside again. I am relieved to no longer see the little one. “I wonder if he’s frozen to death by now. Someone must have taken him,” I ponder.
