Drunk people terrify us

Day: 210

Sunrise:
08:30

Sunset:
18:43

Total kilometers:
1281

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 15°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 31°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 35°C

Latitude:
51°33’336”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

“What do you think of pound cakes?” asks Tanja as the first rays of sunlight peek through the roof of our dwelling. “Pledge cake? Oh yes, absolutely. I can’t think of anything better,” I reply in anticipation of my favorite dish. As Tsaya and Ultsan brought us 30 eggs and 3,500 tugrik (€2) of UHT milk from Tsagaan Nuur yesterday, there’s nothing to stop us enjoying the treat. At 10:00 a.m. I sit at our wooden table and enjoy the first pound cake spread with jam. I drink a cup of very rare cocoa with it. I feel like I’m in gourmet heaven.

Although we have brought enough food supplies for our wintering, the choice is very limited. We have been short of vegetables, fruit and everything fresh for months. Because the milk powder from Korea is made from palm oil and corn syrup and has nothing whatsoever to do with milk, we leave it out of our consumption. Almost all food is imported from abroad. Much of it comes from China. These products in particular should be enjoyed with caution, as they are usually contaminated with pesticides, artificial flavors, colorings, flavor enhancers, preservatives and countless other artificial additives. In China and also in Mongolia, food is not controlled like it is here in Europe. So it’s a real challenge to eat a reasonably healthy diet. Well, anyway, it’s tedious to rack your brains over it. Despite the artificial taste of Russian UHT milk, I enjoy my pound cakes and think they are excellent. I eat at least seven of them in total. Because it’s not easy to keep the temperature constant on our oven, my feast takes three hours. Only when Tsaya comes into our yurt and tells us that we are going to Tsagaan Nuur to the hospital today do I break off my gluttony.

“I’m feeling bad. I woke up again tonight with heart pain and a pulse of 130. I’m finding it difficult to breathe. My immune system has been weakened since my birth drama almost six months ago. I’ve become vulnerable,” she explains, extremely dejected, while Ultsan takes care of my axe to sharpen it. “Can you please look after our hut again and feed the dogs?” “We’d be happy to,” Tanja replies helpfully. “Oh yes. There’s something else. We have no money to pay for the trip to the hospital. Can you lend us 60,000 tugrik (€34)? You’ll get it back after we’ve been to the bank in Tsagaan Nuur, of course.” Although we have had bad experiences with lending money in Mongolia, I get my wallet to give Ultsan the 60,000 Tugrik. He thanks me with a friendly smile and hands me the now sharp axe. “Don’t chop your finger off,” he laughs amiably. As soon as we hand over the money, they jump up and leave the yurt. “We still have to pack a few things for our departure!” Tsaya calls as we walk.

In the early afternoon, Ultsan’s brother-in-law arrives in his jeep to pick them up. “Please make sure that the door to the log cabin is always closed! And keep away from the drunks!” Tsaya calls out. “Let’s do it!” answers Tanja. As soon as the four-wheel drive vehicle is swallowed up by the needleless tree trunks of the larches, we set off again to fetch wood from the forest with the sledge. We walk past Suren’s tipi number one with every load. Loud laughter and a babble of voices penetrate the water-repellent, olive-green canvas panels. “They’re already partying hard,” says Tanja, pointing to the Urz. “For days now,” I mumble quietly into my beard, hoping that the heavily intoxicated men will leave us in peace. “They’ll be fine,” says Tanja confidently.

In the evening, the camp’s dogs attack again. They bark as if a hostile UFO is about to land at any moment. “Does another car seem to be coming?” says Tanja. “The way the four-legged friends are getting excited, yes,” I reply, wondering who else is visiting our camp at this hour. An expensive white jeep stops on the almost treeless square in front of log cabin one, two and our yurt. “It’s the second mayor of Tsagaan Nuur!” I say in amazement. After the short, friendly man has visited all the tipis, he also drops in on us. “So, how is your stay in the taiga treating you?” he asks us, smiling benevolently. “Very good,” replies Tanja. “I’ve heard you get on quite well with the people here.” “Yes, we were very well received and I think people have taken us to their hearts by now,” I reply. “That’s good to hear,” says the man with his big fur hat, nodding. “What are you doing here at this time?” I want to know. “As part of my duties, I pay a visit to the people in this region before the festive season and present the families with small gifts,” he explains. “Ah, that’s nice. I’m sure the Tuwa will be delighted.” “Of course they are. They are,” he confirms and stands up. “But now I have to go again. It’s still a long way to Tsagaan Nuur,” he says, pulling my head down towards him and smelling my left and right cheek vigorously. Also smelling his cheeks, I return the farewell greeting. Then the man disappears into the dark night. “A nice person,” I say after his footsteps slowly become quieter in the loud crunching snow. “Yes, much nicer than the mayor,” says Tanja.

It is 9 p.m. when the community leader’s vehicle leaves our camp. Loud laughter and shouts emanate from Gamba’s log cabin and a few tepees. The pre-party seems to be in full swing. We keep to ourselves as much as possible, lock the yurt door and hope we don’t get any night-time visits from drunks. So that our yurt looks uninhabited and no glimmer of light from the roof canopy penetrates outside, we extinguish the candle and lie down on the Wanda early that evening.

“4:00 in the morning. A hand suddenly rests on my mouth. “Shh, there’s someone outside the yurt,” whispers Tanja as there’s already a heavy pounding on the door. Tanja and I jump in shock and listen. “Let me in!” it roars loudly. We remain completely calm without consulting each other. The only sound to be heard is Tanja’s thudding heart. Then it bangs against the door again. Louder and louder than before. “Open up now!!!” it roars. It only takes seconds for the drunk man to shake the door so much that we are worried the thin barrier wire might bend open. “Oh God. He’s breaking down the door,” Tanja murmurs, frightened. I creep quietly across the creaky wooden floor to the door, holding it shut for safety’s sake. Then we hear a distant crunching in the snow.

“Oh man, my heart is beating so hard I think the man could have heard it,” whispers Tanja. ‘I heard it,’ I reply quietly. “Will he get an axe to break down the door?” she asks excitedly. “I don’t know,” I reply, unsure and now on high alert. “He probably wants vodka,” says Tanja. “Maybe,” I say as the footsteps approach again. A crashing blow hits the door, making it vibrate in my arms. Startled, I pull back both hands with which I was pulling on the door handle. If the drunk actually uses an axe to smash the door, I don’t want to be hit by it when it splits the wood. I fumble feverishly for the apron string. Not to defend myself from the possible intruder, but to push it between the door handle and the wooden frame. This makes it impossible to open the door. Slowly, without making the slightest noise, I bring the apron bar into position as it bangs heavily against the thin wooden door again. “Let me in!!!” it roars louder than before and with a high level of aggression in its voice. “Have you got the pepper gas to hand?” I whisper into the absolute and eerie blackness of the night. “Yay,” I hear Tanja’s quivering voice. “Wuuummm! Wuuummm! Wuuummm!” it shakes the door. Like a panther ready to pounce, I crouch right behind it. Ready to attack and kill the intruder if he makes it inside. My heart is now also hammering like a rolling mill. My body trembles. It’s one of those moments in life when I wish I was somewhere else. In which I ask myself what we are even doing here in the remote wilderness? It is the moment when I start to pray and ask to survive this situation with my skin intact. Without wanting to, I think back to the robbery when a drunken Mongolian tried to beat me to death from his horse. It was 16 years ago and still sticks in my craw. The present moment makes me feel like it was only yesterday. The memory is so fatal that I start to tremble all over. Fear creeps through every cell in my body and tries to paralyze my brain cells. I shake my head to keep my thoughts clear.

Suddenly we hear the crunching footsteps of a second man approaching our dwelling. I think about our chances. Is it good to give the men more vodka in their condition? This could possibly help. But what about tomorrow? What if the men then suspect that we have more vodka reserves? No doubt they become rabid when they think we still have vodka but don’t get any because we don’t have any left. Oh man. What are we going to do? What is the best behavior? We know that the substance makes most people aggressive and sometimes violent. They lash out, fight and the next day they know nothing more about it. Here in the Tuwa camp, however, the men have been drunk for almost a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. No one has been sober for many days. They fluctuate between coma intoxication, drunkenness and being drunk. They were still friendly to us. Of course, we also try to avoid them all the time during these crazy festive days, to behave as inconspicuously and quietly as possible. And yet the drunkenness has now progressed to such an extent that two well-trained hunters are standing in front of our house demanding more alcohol. I have no reservations about winning this unequal battle. In an emergency, I would flatten them. They wouldn’t even notice what was rolling over them. But to be honest, this is the very last thing I want. We want to live here peacefully with the Tuwa and not beat some of them. Something like that is dangerous. Can go in the eye. A fight like this can have fatal consequences too quickly. No, that is not a solution.

My brain center is running hot as the voices suddenly move away. “Are they leaving?” asks Tanja. “Sounds like it.” “I hope they don’t come back.” “I think we’ve got through it for now. But we’ll have to think about what to do tomorrow,” I say. “What do you mean?” it whispers almost inaudibly. “The festival will last for days. Maybe we should leave the camp for that time and get to safety?” “Maybe, yes. Now come back to bed. It’s freezing at the door,” Tanja urges me. I was so excited that I couldn’t feel the cold. The thermometer shows minus 12 °C in the yurt and minus 31 °C outside. Shivering, I slip under my sleeping bag and look up with widened eyes at the slice of sky that is dimly visible through the closed plastic sheeting of the roof. A thousand thoughts race through my brain; “Stay away from the drunks, Tsaya advised. Of course we do. But what should we do if they want to break into our home at night? She didn’t tell us that. Is it a good idea to go to Tsgaan Nuur tomorrow? It’s really unfortunate that Tsaya and Ultsan aren’t there right now. What if we leave the yurt alone? Is our equipment safe? Or will it be stolen? Anyone can get into a yurt with ease. But what is the equipment against our lives? But, but our lives are not at risk if a drunk bangs on our door? This train of thought is surely exaggerated. Perhaps we overreacted? And what would have happened if the men had broken in? Oh boy. Now everything was peaceful and suddenly we’re talking about escaping. But it’s not escape, it’s just sitting out the situation,” one thought follows another.

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