Setting off on the last stage

Day: 386-387

Sunrise:
06:08

Sunset:
20:38

As the crow flies:
17

Daily kilometers:
25

Total kilometers:
2107

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
24 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
18 °C

Temperature – Night:
8 °C

Latitude:
49°36’413”

Longitude:
100°21’771”

Time of departure:
1:30 pm

Arrival time:
6:30 pm

On the day of departure, we donate equipment such as a tin bucket, large bowl, fuel canister, rolling pin and other small items to Ilchelaugsuren and his family in order to reduce the amount of luggage. Equipment that we had purchased for the winter and had transported from Tsagaan Nuur to Mörön by Saraa 2 ½ months ago. We had actually planned to sell our entire household goods at the market in Mörön. However, the time required for such a sales campaign is disproportionate to the profit generated. We are of the opinion that it is much wiser and more sensible to give everything we no longer need to those who are well-disposed towards us and treat us well.

Ilchelaugsuren, who returned from Ulan Bator yesterday, is delighted with the useful items. We are immediately invited into the yurt to drink tea. One of his cousins is a monk. Coincidentally present today. Sit down and fortify yourselves a little before you set off,” he says. We have a rudimentary conversation. Then he begins to sing in a low voice while Ilchelaugsuren sprinkles some incense on a small plate and lights it. The yurt is immediately filled with the pleasant scent of balsam, cinnamon, myrrh, sandalwood and musk. “I bless your journey and pray for your protection,” explains the monk and lets the smoking plate circle around his waist three times. Then he hands it to other family members who follow his example until the fragrant substance is served to us. We are also asked to let the small smoking plate circle around the center of our body three times. After ten minutes, the ritual is over. We would like to thank the friar for blessing our further journey and Ilchelaugsuren’s family for their hospitality over the past six weeks. We take a farewell photo together in front of the yurt amid much laughter.

“Daraa bajartaj, sain jawaaraj!” (Goodbye, have a good trip), they wish us. Then we make our way to the yurt of Rezindorj and Gadimaa. We also give them a tin bucket, a steel bowl of the best quality, a good water canister and other small items. As with the neighbors, we are also invited for tea and cookies. Gadimaa fiddles with the lid of her painted chest again and conjures up a fine jar of preserved strawberries. “This is for you,” she surprises us. “Thank you very much. We appreciate strawberries. They are something very special, especially out here. But we already have too much luggage. We can’t stow any more,” we decline in a friendly manner. Gadimaa nods understandingly and hands Tanja a bag of sweets. Tanja accepts the gift so as not to offend her. Then we take a few farewell photos here too, for which Gadimaa and Rezindorj change their clothes and dress up. “Come and visit us when you are back in Mongolia,” they invite us. “It’s a small world. Maybe we really will see each other a second time,” I reply with a laugh.

Although we have been preparing our departure for days, packing and loading the horses takes longer than planned. “We have too much luggage,” I groan, not knowing where to stow our belongings. “We need to tie a few bags on top of the duffel bags,” Tanja suggests. “How is that supposed to hold?” I ask. “You’re the packmaster.” “Why do we have so much equipment? A lot of it has been given away. Have you bought too much food?” I soon ask a little desperately because it seems impossible to get what’s still lying around onto the horses’ backs.

Rezindorj’s grandson Dorchuruu watches me tie up the load. “Why don’t you put the sacks crosswise on the horses?” he asks. “Because they hold better that way,” I reply. Apparently all Mongolians load their baggage in the same way, I think to myself, but don’t let myself be put off.

At 1:30 pm we performed the miracle and tied up all our equipment on the horses except for the shovel. We decide to leave them to Ilchelaugsuren who is just passing by on his moped to drive to Mörön. “Thank you very much. I can make good use of these,” he says, clutching the thing under his arm and rattling off towards the city. Then we get on our saddles and leave this wonderful place. Rezindorj and Gadimaa wave to us until we disappear behind a grassy hump a few minutes later. Because Bor often freaked out in the first few minutes of a riding day and even destroyed one of my expensive solar panels, Tanja leads him for safety’s sake. Tuya, who seems to be overjoyed to be moving on, soon behaves like a madman. He jumps on Tenger in such a way that he keeps stumbling with his heavy load. Tuya thinks it’s funny, races around his adult victims like a sprinter who wants to win the Olympics at all costs and shows them what a rake is. As if possessed, he bites incessantly into her legs, the base of her tail and the duffel bags. “If it goes on like this, he’ll turn the whole place upside down!” I say. Tanja laughs although the little one definitely takes it too far.

Apart from Tuya’s exaggerated play instinct, everything goes smoothly for the first 500 meters. Then Sharga’s load slips. We rein in our mounts, unload Sharga and repack his load. Let’s move on. Then Bors and Tenger’s load slips. Again we stop. As we are busy hitching up our horses so that we have our hands free for packing, Bor and Tenger make their way back to our old campsite. “Oh man, I don’t believe it,” I say. “I’ll get them. In the meantime, keep an eye on Sar and Sharga,” Tanja decides, releasing Naraa’s horse fetters and galloping after the two runaways.

Over the next few kilometers, the sliding load forces us to stop again and again. “It’s always worked out, hasn’t it?” I wonder, adjusting my luggage for the umpteenth time. “It’s probably because of the extra saddlebags. It’s just too much,” I grumble. Despite initial difficulties, we move steadily away from the old camp site and after riding around the mountain range behind which Mörön spreads out in a valley, we leave the town on our right. Again and again I look at the village, with its many log cabins and wooden houses, which has become so familiar to us. “I’m happy to finally be able to continue riding,” Tanja suddenly says. “Me too. It’s about time. We’ve been here long enough,” I reply, now only looking ahead.

Just under five hours later, we discover a small stream in a lush, green valley. Not far from a yurt, we pitch our tent in the middle of a huge herd of goats and unload the horses amidst loud grumbling. “25 kilometers. Not bad for the first day,” I say, looking at my GPS. “Despite the load constantly slipping,” says Tanja, also satisfied. “That will be better tomorrow. I will shorten the belly straps of Shargas, Tengers and Bors saddles. The new saddles are too loose. That’s one of the reasons for the slipping,” I realize.

As soon as the tent is pitched and the horses hitched up, we get a visitor. Tanja offers the friendly Mongolians tea and a few sweets. “Is there a problem with horse thieves in this area?” I ask. “No, not with us,” says the shepherd. “That’s very good,” Tanja replies.

Just a few days ago, Tanja met a young German and a Czech woman. Anna and Marcella are working as volunteers at the tourist information center for three months. They reported horse thieves. “We had complaints from a couple of tourists who rode their horses to Khuvsgul Nuur,” says Marcella. “They had been traveling for several weeks and had no problems. It was only when they reached Khatgal that all their horses were stolen on a rainy night. They hadn’t heard the thieves because of the heavy rain drumming on the tent. Only when they galloped off with the animals did they storm out of the tent. But by then it was already too late.” “What time did the thieves arrive?” asked Tanja. “I think they were talking about 4:00 in the morning.” “Exactly the same time they tried to steal our horses. Khatgal is really a hot spot. We were told that all tourists who go there without a Mongolian escort lose their horses,” Tanja mentioned. “Yes, but it seems to affect the whole of Mongolia,” Anna replied. “Why? Have you heard of any other incidents?” “Well, we’ve only been at this information center for a few weeks and we’ve already heard of several cases. A couple from Austria, for example, lost horses in a very bad way. The man fell off the horse and injured himself. He needed medical treatment. Somehow they managed to organize transport for him. I think he was taken by a minibus to the nearest town while his girlfriend looked after the horses. A shepherd came by and said that their horses needed to eat. I’ll look after them and you can rest a little in our yurt, he offered. She was delighted with the generous offer. Later, when the two of them went to pick up their horses, they were told that the horses had run away,” she ended the story.

This is precisely why we don’t really feel comfortable that night. Thank goodness we have Mogi in our team who reports every movement with a loud bark or growl. As far as we have heard so far, none of the foreigners from whom horses were stolen in this country had a good, reliable guard dog. And yet we still need to be on our guard in the coming weeks.

We look forward to your comments!