Tanja in Mörön

Day: 350-351

Sunrise:
05:21/05:22

Sunset:
21:27/21:26

Total kilometers:
1722

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
29°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
20 °C

Temperature – Night:
10 °C

Latitude:
49°42’773”

Longitude:
100°11’497”

Maximum height:
1492 m above sea level

In the morning, Tanja is called by Gadimaa, who is about 65 years old. “I wonder what she wants from me?” “Maybe Bilgee called and wants to tell us something?” I suspect. Tanja gets up and visits the yurt on the west side of our tent. It doesn’t take long for her to reappear. “Gadimaa invites us to breakfast and wants you to come too.” “Oh, how nice,” I say happily. There is white bread, cookies, salted milk tea and rancid butter that is spread on everyone’s bread with just one spoon. We report where we come from and where we are going. “Did your tent withstand the water?” asks Rezindorj. “No, it came from all sides and almost drowned us,” I explain. “Ha, ha, ha. That’s what we thought. It was a heavy rain. It flooded our yurt too,” he explains, pointing to the wet carpets now hung out to dry, the cleared wooden cupboards and the firewood dripping with moisture.

In the course of the conversation, we learn from the family’s son, who came by car from Mörön this morning to visit his parents, that he is about to drive back to the city. Tanja spontaneously decides to come along to make the important calls and run errands.

While Tanja is in Mörön, I set about clearing up the mess caused by the storm. Everything is full of sand and mud. Without further ado, I decide to clear out all the equipment, take down the tent and set it up again on higher ground on the slightly sloping meadow. Of course, not without carefully studying the ground for hidden small valleys in which watercourses can form.

The narrow, raging river from last night has almost dried up. The stream that had formed a lake in our tent has also disappeared. Only on closer inspection can you see how sand and soil carried along by the water has become entangled in the lush green grass. It takes a whole four hours to erect and set up the tent 50 meters further up. The strong sun helps to dry the equipment.

Because our food supplies have run out and there is hardly any fuel left despite a long search, I prepare a ready meal with cold water. “I hope Tanja comes soon so we can get something sensible to eat again,” I think.

At 19:00, a car pulls up in front of our tent. It belongs to Chicierbaad, the son of Gadimaa and Rezindorj. Tanja gets out with a beaming smile. “I got everything. Even beer and nuts,” she says. “Great. Then we can celebrate our arrival,” I say, in a decidedly better mood today than I was a few days ago.

That same evening we decide to stay here and not go to Bligee’s friend, who is still in Ulan Bator. That means we can rest tomorrow because the Naadam doesn’t start until the day after tomorrow. Despite all the adversity, we made it in time for the big spectacle. The only question now is how to get to Mörön. In an emergency, I ride Sar into town to document the festival photographically. Tanja will stay in the camp and look after the horses.

We look forward to your comments!