He is a good person at heart

Day: 109-111

Sunrise:
08:30/08:34

Sunset:
17:42/17:39

Total kilometers:
1146

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 13°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 18°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 27°C

Latitude:
51°21’785”

Longitude:
099°21’046”

Maximum height:
1475 m above sea level

Until now, it was soon the rule in Mongolia that horse sellers, workers we hired or travel companions renegotiated at the end of the handshake agreement. They usually invented some flimsy reason to suddenly get more money out of us. I’m a little nervous about this on Bilgee’s payday today. He receives his salary plus the agreed bonus for three months. Even though we got to know him as a reliable, honest man, apart from the one thing in Mörön, I feel a vague sense of insecurity. Greed and avarice destroy friendships and established relationships. The renegotiation is often disproportionate to the emotional damage caused.

“Here’s your well-deserved reward,” I say and hand him a thick wad of banknotes. Bilgee takes it, beaming with joy, and wants to pocket it. “Please count them,” I say to him, whereupon he counts the bills and pockets them again. “It’s a lot of money. Thank you for a great time,” he says. “Thank you for the fantastic trip with you,” I reply kindly. “I’ll be back. Next year, when you ride around Lake Khuvsgul and then go back to Erdenet, I’ll be happy to accompany you again,” he says euphorically. “We’ll let you know when it starts,” I reply.

After breakfast, we get down to the finishing touches. Bilgee and I put a plastic sheet in the roof crown of the yurt so that it doesn’t get wet inside when it snows. We neatly cut a hole in the plastic for the sheet metal stove pipe. “So, now your Mongolian house is sealed. The plastic sheeting lets in less light, but it also stops the heat from escaping too quickly,” explains Bilgee.

The climate in our office suddenly changes. Because the heat can no longer escape as quickly as before, it immediately becomes roaring hot. Tanja and I shoot out into the open. The minus 20 °C quickly chills our bodies, so we flee back inside. “Well, that could be fun. Out, in, out, in. Always on the move to save yourself from certain heatstroke or death by frostbite,” I say, somewhat helplessly. A little later, we decide to push the plastic film to one side if necessary. So when the fire in the cannon furnace gets out of control and it just roars away. When it gets too cold, we close the hole in the roof crown. Even though we enjoy our stay in our Mongolian home, I sometimes long for central heating that is set to 22 °C and then the apartment or house is at the set temperature. In a felt house, it is quite possible for the temperature inside to rise to plus 35 °C while it is minus 45 °C outside. The 80 degree difference is a real challenge for the human circulatory system.

When we wanted to start building the doghouse, we didn’t count on Ayush sitting on every piece of wood like a mother hen. “Maybe I should buy the few old boards from him?” I ask Bilgee. “Oh no. You don’t buy things like that. He shouldn’t be such a cheapskate,” he says with a good-natured grin on his lips. It is exactly as Saraa predicted. “My cousin often grumbles. He’s an old-school communist. But he’s a lovely man at heart.” However, I didn’t find it particularly endearing when I took wood from his woodpile a few days ago to be able to heat the house. Grumpily he came limping out of his baishin and told me to chop my own wood. As one of the two truckloads of wood agreed with Ayush and paid for in advance had only recently arrived and his stepdaughter Tsendmaa had expressly allowed us to use Ayush’s wood, I was naturally startled. Well, I hope we can manage our stay here without any interpersonal conflicts. The old codger, who has all his lights on and was mayor of Tsagaan Nuur for a long time, is certainly not easy to take.

Tanja plays a game of chess with him. After a lengthy back and forth and much to Ayush’s delight, she loses. “You won’t believe it,” says Tanja afterwards. What won’t I believe?” “He cheated.” Who cheated?” “Well, Ayush. He jumped three fields with his farmers instead of two. At first I thought it was an accident and let him go. But it happened again and again,” she says.

The weather gets really uncomfortable towards the evening. A strong wind blows small ice crystals through the air over the White Lake. It howls and sighs around our yurt. Inside, however, it is called and thanks to Bilgee’s work it is absolutely windproof.

Because it’s our last evening with Bilgee, Tsendmaa, Tanja, Bilgee and I cook buuz (stuffed dumplings). We have a lot of fun together and very much regret having to do without our lovable idea machine and helpers in the future.

Bilgee’s journey home

As there is no official bus service from Tsagaan Nuur to Mörön and it is not easy to get a lift, Bilgee left his phone number at a few stores. If I’m lucky, someone will get in touch today,” he says and packs his things. He then collects a few boards that he has actually talked Ayush into buying.

As the temperatures continue to drop and Mogi has to sleep outside on the cold floor every night, the dog house is important. Many of his colleagues in this area have to get by without a roof over their heads, but Tanja and I can well imagine that these extreme temperatures are causing premature illness.

Bilgee immediately starts with the carpentry work. Tanja helps him. He is not quite finished when suddenly everything happens far too quickly. A small Russian four-wheel drive bus stops in front of the wooden fence with squealing brakes. It honks several times, whereupon Bilgee sprints into the baisin and fetches his bundle. On the way across the yard to the bus, we run after him excitedly. There is no time for a big farewell. The driver stows his flour sack, packed with his few belongings. Then a quick hug and Bilgee is on the bus. “Sain jawaaraj!” (“Have a good trip!”) we shout as the doors slam shut and the vehicle starts to move, only to disappear behind a few log cabins a little later.

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