Bilgee is delirious

Day: 87

Sunrise:
07:46

Sunset:
18:22

Total kilometers:
777

Soil condition:
Dust/gravel

Temperature – Day (maximum):
0°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 2°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 5°

Latitude:
49°38’671”

Longitude:
100°11’496”

Maximum height:
1220 m above sea level

In the morning, the landscape is covered in a thin layer of snow. The sight makes us shudder. “Strange irony. We’ve now had three weeks of good weather. It was relatively pleasant and the sun’s rays spoiled us with their warm light. And now? One day before the final onward journey, Mrs. Holle shakes out her beds,” I say, shivering a little as I step back into the yurt. “I hope we haven’t spent too long preparing for the upcoming trip and missed the right jump,” Tanja replies. “Oh no. We had to prepare everything well. We didn’t allow ourselves a single day of rest and leisure. We were always working. The time was simply necessary. We can’t blame ourselves for that. The success of an expedition usually lies in the preparation. What slowed us down the most were the people around us. Their permits, regulations, paperwork, conversations and… not forgetting their abrupt changes of mind. That’s what often turns a trip like this into a real challenge,” I say, pointing to Bilgee, who is still lying under his deel snoring like a dead man at 10:00 in the morning. “I just don’t recognize him. He built fires, chopped wood and fetched water without being asked. Whenever there was something to do, he helped. Of his own accord and now, since our conversation about the tiresome wintering of the horses, he has changed so drastically,” says Tanja. “The yoyo game of emotions and insecurities continues. Tomorrow we finally want to leave and now he’s going crazy,” I reply.

A short time later, our man opens his eyes, yawns loudly a few times and lifts his legs over the rusty bedstead. “Oglooniimend” (“Good morning”) is how we welcome him into the new day. Bilgee answers something unintelligible and eats some of the breakfast Tanja has prepared for him. He leaves half of it in his pot, drinks just a few sips of tea and, to our amazement, rolls back into the squeaky bedstead. “I can’t believe it,” I say quietly and feel anger spreading through me. Tanja looks downright bewildered at the body turned away from us. “Maybe he’s ill?” I try to excuse his behavior. “Do you think so?” Tanja takes my comment seriously. “Who knows? Sara’s brother had a fever of 42° yesterday. He has severe angina. Saraa spoke of rheumatic attacks and gave him an injection. Maybe there’s something going around and Bilgee picked up the virus? I mean, he was out there without a tent and sleeping bag. He was probably lying on the ground all night. At 51, he’s no spring chicken either. Maybe he’s got a chill and is breeding the flu?” I breathe with a groan and rub the flats of my palms over my face.

Just minutes after the conversation, I meet Saraa in the courtyard. She creeps along as if she has suddenly aged considerably overnight. “Oglooniimend” (“Good morning”) I greet her and ask how she is. “Apart from getting my 2.2 million back, I’m not well at all. I’m suffering from stomach pains and a bladder infection,” she replies as she walks past. Thank goodness you’ve got your money back. That’s very good news. Do you have an antibiotic to cure the inflammation?” I ask anxiously. ‘I’ll try a cup of tea first,’ she replies weakly. ‘Well then, get well soon,’ I wish her and ask myself in the same breath how we are going to communicate with Bilgee about our departure tomorrow and, above all, whether he is still in the boat at all?

Tanja carefully wakes Bilgee and asks him how he is. He speaks completely incomprehensible stuff. Then he crosses his arms defensively in front of his upper body, from which I conclude that that’s it. “He’s not going to Tsagaan Nuur with us,” I say. “Bi öwtschtej bajna” (“I’m sick?”) he stammers as a heap of misery sits on his bedstead. Tanja puts the flat of her hand on his forehead and feels. “No, not sick,” we understand him. “Do you need a doctor?” she continues. He croaks out “Ügüj” (“No”). “Are you in pain?” Tanja doesn’t let up. “Tijm, Ügüüüj!” (“Yes, Neiiin”) he soon croaks in despair. Then Tanja gets a clinical thermometer and wants to put it under Bilgee’s arm. He leans back helplessly, waving his arms around. Even though we hardly speak Mongolian, we understand that he is babbling nonsense. He forms his right fist and places his middle finger under his thumb. Then he flicks his middle finger against his throat. “Vodka, Wooodkaaa, sorry, sorry”, we understand. “Man… he’s drunk!” I say. “It’s starshark blue,” laughs Tanja, visibly relieved.

Around midday we start to worry about the horses. They urgently need something to eat. “Should we ask Tulgaa? Maybe he has time and would like to take her out to pasture,” Tanja ponders. “I think that’s a good idea. But… how are we supposed to reach him? Saraa is also lying in bed and is unresponsive,” I ponder. In the late afternoon, I go back to the log cabin to check on Sara’s condition. Gonchig is on duty and won’t be home all day. Her baby Erkhenbayar is staying with her sister. Because of a party last night, the house looks terrible. As I enter the kitchen, I take a look at the bed in the small adjoining room. Saraa is just about to get up. “How are you?” I ask. “I’m fine,” she replies with a tired smile. “Can I ask you something?” “Yes, just ask.” “Can you call the young guide and ask him if he can take the horses to the pasture tonight? Bilgee has gotten terribly drunk and is in no condition to do so. I don’t know when he’ll wake up from his semi-coma,” I explain. “Guide?” “Well, I mean Tulgaa. He would be willing to accompany us as far as Tsagaan Nuur. Maybe he can step in today and help us. We’ll pay him a day’s wages for it,” I add.

It doesn’t take long for Tulgaa to arrive in Saraa’s courtyard wrapped in his summer dandy. Without much facial expression or communication, he and Tanja get the horses ready to lead them into the nearby mountains to feed for at least a few hours. He has just left when Bilgee wakes up and leaves the yurt with a crumpled face. Puzzled, he looks at the empty fence. “Where are the horses?” he asks. “Tulgaa led them to the pasture. No problem. Go back inside and get some more rest,” I reassure him, whereupon he chops a mountain of wood, smiles briefly at me and disappears back into the yurt to lie down on the bedstead. “His smile does me good,” I murmur.

We use the evening to continue packing our equipment. We have to restrict ourselves severely. Only the most important things can be included. Nevertheless, we must prepare ourselves for the coming, possibly extreme cold. So we must not make a mistake. Bilgee hardly notices anything of our action. Every now and then he groans softly. “How much do you have to drink to shoot yourself up like that?” I ask. “A lot. But you know what surprises me?” asks Tanja. “Nope, what?” “When did he get so drunk? He didn’t talk to us much last night, but at least he spoke.” “That’s right. And above all, he didn’t sway a bit” “Or show any other signs of being drunk,” Tanja ponders. “Well, as far as I know vodka also has an afterburn effect. It could be that yesterday, when he was out with the horses, he downed a bottle of the stuff, rode back, tied up the horses and lay down before the alcohol could really spread through his body,” I suspect. “Yes, probably. He hardly ate anything and left his tea,” Tanja remembers. “Will he be able to ride tomorrow?” I ponder. “The question is whether he’s going tomorrow?” “Could be. Why would he stop here? Now that we’ve handed over the return transport of the horses to Tulgaa,” I muse. “But he doesn’t know anything about that yet,” Tanja replies. “Well, we’ll tell him in the morning when he’s clean again. If he then decides to go home, Tulgaa will step in.” “But I’d much rather go with Bilgee. We’re a great team. Besides, we don’t get on too badly,” says Tanja. “I agree with you there. The language we’ve developed together is amazingly good. With signs, gestures, the phrasebook, some English and our meagre Mongolian, we really do get on well. Let’s see what happens tomorrow? Maybe I’ve just imagined that he doesn’t want to go any further. But something else. The vet was supposed to come today to examine Naraa. But he didn’t come,” I change the subject to another explosive issue. “Yes, unreliable man.” “So, what do we want to do with Naraa now? If she really is pregnant like Tulgaa said, then we can’t take her on the trip?” “Yeah, I don’t know either. What do you think? How do you feel about it?” asks Tanja. “I wish I knew that. But I could imagine that Tulgaa was wrong. Bilgee would have warned us too. And he knows horses like no other. I think Naraa will make it one way or another. Apart from that, we’ll ask Bilgee first thing in the morning. If he also assumes that she is pregnant and her unborn child is at risk, we’ll have to think about something again. In that case, we should postpone our departure again,” I conclude, yawning. “Well then, good night. And… sleep well.” “You sleep well too.”

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