Bilgee’s bumpy start

Day: 241-242

Sunrise:
07:22/07:20

Sunset:
19:37/19:39

Total kilometers:
1281

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 5°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 15°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 18°C

Latitude:
51°33’336”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

We have been talking to Bilgee on the phone every day for a week about his departure. Since cell phones only get sporadic reception in this remote corner of the world, this is a laborious undertaking. “So, is it working?” I ask Tanja, who tries again. “No. I’ll try outside. Maybe I’ll have better luck there,” she says and takes her cell phone to a thin tree in front of our house to hang it in a branch for a few minutes. Sometimes this effort is rewarded with one or two reception bars. Unfortunately, Tanja has no luck this time. “Is he on his way yet?” she asks. “I hope,” I reply. Although Bilgee promised us last year that he would come immediately if we needed him, the reality was different. Bilgee took a job weeks ago in a grocery store where he worked seven days a week. When Bilgee wanted to resign, his new boss wouldn’t let him go. The store owner withheld Bilgee’s salary and threatened not to pay him if he terminated his employment early. At least that was our assumption. Bilgee postponed his departure three times. No problem, but in the meantime a military soldier was on his way to drive our six horses to Mörön. “The shepherd can no longer stay in Mörön. If Bilgee is not there tomorrow, he will have to return to the military camp and take the horses back with him,” Saraa told us on the phone. So we were under pressure. At times we toyed with the idea of organizing another horseman in case Bilgee didn’t manage to get to his destination in time. It was a challenge to organize all this from a yurt in the remote taiga with poor reception.

When Bilgee finally managed to leave his job, he didn’t get a ride for two days. “The minibuses don’t leave Erdenet because there are too few passengers,” he told us. Yesterday morning our man finally reached Mörön. The horses were now 25 kilometers from the city again. “Bilgee will go to the horses with a military man,” explains Saraa, who uses her organizational skills to solve problems that seem unsolvable. “But we have other problems.” “What?” I asked, pressing the cell phone to my ear and sticking my head out towards the yurt roof to try and maintain the weak connection. “Bilgee has no money with him to buy something to eat. He asks who will pay for his food?” “Bilgee is employed by us for five to six months and he has no money for the journey?” “That’s right.” “He should withdraw money from his bank account. We’ll reimburse him for his meals when he gets there,” I said as calmly as possible. Two minutes later we found out that he had no money in his account. “Unfortunately, I can’t lend him any money because our account is also empty. But I can ask the grocery store near us if I can write to them,” Saraa suggested. “Wait a moment. I’ll talk to Tanja,” I replied.

“He has no money and his account is empty,” I said to Tanja, shaking my head. “Do you believe him?” she asked. “Never. He’s been working for the last few months. I don’t think he’s already spent everything. His reaction is typically Mongolian. He’s trying to get more money this way,” I replied. “Phew, that’s really disappointing. We’re already paying him a great salary and he’s still not getting enough.” “Okay, there’s nothing we can do about that. Should he write to the grocery store at our expense? What if Saraa gets it sorted out?” “Do we have another chance?” “No. Apart from that, it’s not about a lot of money.” “It’s not the amount of money but the fact that he doesn’t seem to trust us to get his money back that I find sad from a purely human point of view. But what the hell. That’s just the way it is,” she finished, whereupon I picked up the phone again. “Saraa?” “Yes.” “How much money will Bilgee need to buy enough food?” “20,000 tugrik. (€11.23) That’s more than enough.” “Well then, let him get what he needs. But no alcohol and no cigarettes. We’ll transfer the money as soon as we get to Tsagaan Nuur.” “All right Denis. But there’s one more challenge.” “And that would be?” “Sharga is very weak.” “You mean he won’t make the journey to Tsagaan Nuur?” I asked, startled. “Maybe.” Again, I had a quick chat with Tanja. “Good. If Bilgee is of the same opinion as the military herdsman, he should leave Sharga at the military camp. We’ll pick him up in the summer when we’re in the Mörön area. Hopefully he’ll have recovered by then,” I call into the radio because of the poor connection. “A wise decision,” Saraa replied, audibly relieved that we were obviously taking this difficulty in stride.

The next day we try to call our husband again to ask if he is finally on his way to us and how Sharga is doing. Unfortunately, the connection keeps dropping out and shortly afterwards his cell phone can no longer be reached. “That can be a good or a bad sign,” says Tanja. “You mean he could be on the road and out of range of the cell phone network?” I ask. “Yes, but it’s also possible that he’s going to have a good lift there first.” “Why is that?” “Do you remember when we visited the military camp? There was a lot of moonshine there.” “So what? Then he’ll sleep it off and come back a day later. That’s not what matters. The main thing is that he reaches us healthy and preferably with all his horses.” “That’s true. What should we do if Bilgee only brings five horses?” “We have to try to buy one in Tsagaan Nuur. The only problem is that the many jade finds have made horses and everything to do with them very expensive in this region. Shagai spoke of at least 500,000 tugrik (€281) for a normal riding horse,” I mused. “Do we still have enough cash here?” asks Tanja, whereupon we immediately do a cash check. “Enough to buy a horse, stock up on new food and an emergency reserve,” I realize with relief a little later.

“Now that we haven’t ridden for over five months, I’m really looking forward to seeing our horses. How are you? Are you happy to be on the road again soon?” asks Tanja. “It won’t be for long, then we’ll be at the Tuwa spring camp. But after the endless winter, I feel the same way. A change of scenery will certainly do us good now. Especially now that there’s hardly any snow left here to melt. It won’t be long before the Tuwa are forced to ride to the river ten kilometers away to fetch ice for their water needs. It would be good to have our own horses in camp at this point. Then we can stay independent and get our own ice,’ I reply. “Maybe it won’t happen and the tribe will move the camp before the snow runs out completely. We’ll see,” Tanja ponders.

Suddenly I am overcome by an unpleasant feeling of dizziness. I turn my gaze away from the display of my laptop and feel inside myself. I feel an unpleasant feeling running down my spine. I even feel the uncomfortable sensation in my rump. Then I let my gaze circle around the yurt and see the cups on the hooks, Mogi’s muzzle and the laundry hanging over the line swinging back and forth. “An earthquake. It’s another earthquake!” I say. “What?” “Well, can’t you feel the floor moving? And look at the cups and the other stuff. Everything wobbles,” I say. “Oh yes. Indeed it is. And it’s getting stronger!” “Wow, it’s good to live in a yurt. I wouldn’t want to be in a house right now,” I reply, watching our shaking home with fascination. Then, all of a sudden, the spook is over. “Kind of scary,” I think.

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