Arrival and bad news

Day: 284

Sunrise:
05:49

Sunset:
20:49

Total kilometers:
1361

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
20°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
12°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 8°C

Latitude:
51°39’155”

Longitude:
099°21’977”

Maximum height:
1858 m above sea level

I’m still waiting for Tanja and Bilgee. They actually wanted to be back here yesterday. Although I am fully aware that time is relative in this region of the world and that there are a thousand explainable reasons for delays, my mind starts to work. Yesterday the Tuwa tried to tease me by saying, “I saw Tanja and Bilgee riding towards Renchinlkhumbe. Ha, ha, ha”, they all laughed heartily and watched me to see if this joke would draw a movement on my face. The Tuwa like to make jokes at the expense of others. Of course, I wasn’t moved by their shenanigans. And yet I think of the river Bilgee and I crossed. Days ago it was still frozen over. In the meantime, however, it might be difficult to get across with heavily laden pack horses and a foal. “What’s going to happen?” Tsayaa asked yesterday. “Well, your relative died unexpectedly in an avalanche on a hunting trip and every now and then a rider falls off his horse. You never know what fate has in store for you in the wilderness,” I replied thoughtfully.

At 13:00 I hear dogs barking. I immediately jump up. They are coming. “I’m so relieved to see you. I love you,” I say and take Tanja in my arms. Moments later, I help unload the horses. Ask if everything went smoothly. “All clear. No problems. It was a good trip. Actually, we should have been there yesterday. But there was a raging river that we couldn’t cross. There was no way to pitch our tent because of the big grassy humps, so we had to go all the way back. We set up camp in a slightly better spot. As the ice was no longer bearing properly, we used the time that same evening to ride over it for the first time without packhorses. We let our horses pedal while stationary until the ice broke completely. This allowed us to see how deep the water was. As it was raging and over a meter deep, there was no way we could have let Tuya walk through. The poor guy would have been swept away. Bilgee suggested that we ride across the river the next morning holding Tuya in our arms. Thankfully, the water level had dropped this morning. The water was only up to the horses’ bellies. Tuya bravely followed his mom and made it across safely,” reports Tanja. “So our foal is doing well?” I ask. “Well, yes. He has diarrhea. Naraa doesn’t have enough milk. The grass is too poor at these altitudes and with the night frost. She can’t build up any strength. That’s why Tuya is already starting to eat snow and grass. We think this is too early for him and have cooked him some flour with a few spoons of sugar and some olive oil mixed in. Maybe that’s why he has diarrhea? I don’t know. The problem is simply that he’s not getting enough breast milk and has already bitten Naraa’s teats raw.” “Hm, I hope we can get a grip on that,” I say thoughtfully, helping to unload the horses.

A little later, we find ourselves in front of the tent in the sunshine at around 18 degrees. Tanja tells us about her experiences over the last few days. “By the way, the winter camp is under water. I had to put the wooden planks in the tipi as a floor because everything sank into the mud. The departure for the spring camp was just at the right time. It would be very difficult to live there at the moment. On the second day of your absence, a group of men suddenly appeared. Most of them in uniform. It turned out to be a special unit.” A special unit?” I ask, puzzled. “Yes, they were on their way to rescue the avalanche victim,” Tanja explains, “Oh yes. I remember. Hadaa and Gamba sent 25 reindeer from here to the winter camp. They were talking about an expedition,” I say. “Yes, I met Gamba’s son Sansar and Hadaa with the animals. The injured man’s brother was also there, by the way. He accompanied the special unit. He was a really nice person who asked me with interest what I was doing alone in the taiga. In the evening, five men came into my tipi. They all wanted to know what a German was doing in the wilderness? I treated them to tea and boortsog. They were really enthusiastic. Then they asked if I could help them out with oil. They needed it to prepare their dinner. Of course I gave them a bottle, even though we don’t have much ourselves. The following morning, shortly before they left, the brother of the injured man gave me two bags of cookies, wet wipes for my face, a lemonade and two chocolate bars. Isn’t that what you need for your expedition?” I asked. “We have enough,” he replied. “Was he quite upset about his brother?” I wanted to know. “You can’t see a Mongol’s grief. I said that I was very sorry that he had to go down this difficult path. And how impressed we were with his brother. He didn’t answer and looked at the ground. It was a sad moment.”

“You’ve set up the tent really nicely Denis.” “It was a bit muddy. That’s why the logs in the awning,” I explain. “Glad to be back with you,” she smiles. “I’m also glad to have you with me unharmed,” I reply in a good mood. “We will have a great time here. It will be a good end to our wintering. Nevertheless, I’m really looking forward to finally being on the road again. Six months in Tuva and its harsh winter are quite enough for me,” I say with a laugh. “You Denis?” “Yes?” I reply, waiting for something unexpectedly unpleasant to happen because of her tone. “I have to tell you something.” “Now go ahead and don’t keep me in suspense.” She crouches down and makes a face so that a few tears flow. I shudder. “Bilgee.” “What about Bilgee?” “He told me yesterday that he was leaving us in three weeks.” “Phew, I thought it was something serious,” I reply until the tragic nature of her statement slowly seeps into my consciousness. “He’s going to leave us? Are you serious?” “Yes.” “Irrevocably?” “Irrevocably. He won’t be dissuaded from his decision.” “Why is that?” “He’s been offered a job that he obviously can’t turn down. I was really upset about it yesterday and spoke to him for a long time. He said we’d be back in Germany in October and we’d forget about him. But then he still has to work. He has to look after his children and can’t turn down this offer. It’s apparently a job that will last for a long time.” “And he’s telling us this when we’re in the middle of nowhere?” “That’s what it looks like.” “I don’t believe it. How long has he known about it?” I want to know. “Apparently for a long time.” “There’s no contact with the outside world here. No mobile phone contact. No car can reach this place. Surely that can’t be true? What was he thinking? He can’t leave us in the middle of the wilderness with tired horses, a very weak Naraa and an equally weak foal? Does he have no sense of responsibility? Does he know what that means?” I ask, getting angrier by the minute.

In the meantime, Tsaya and Ultsan have arrived to help us put the canvas around the teepee frame. I immediately speak to Tsaya and explain the new situation to her. Tsaya translated. I repeat my questions as calmly as I can. The same answers. Now that I fully understand the implications of his decision, I am speechless. “And why didn’t he tell us this when we were together in Tsagaan Nuur? There we would have had the opportunity to react appropriately. Why didn’t he tell us when he was still in Erdenet? At that time, we would definitely have had the chance to organize a replacement?” I ask. “Not answering my question, Bilgee replies; “I brought your horses from Mörön to Tsgaan Nuur and helped you bring the horses and equipment to the spring camp. I got you on your way.” “And now you’re leaving us in the middle of the road. Everything is designed for three men. Loading the heavy equipment onto the horses’ backs alone is a challenge. How are Tanja and I supposed to manage that without help? How are the two of us supposed to look after the horses at night? In a country where almost everyone warns us about horse theft? How are we supposed to get away from here? Our horses are far too weak to carry everything on one ride,” I ask one question after another. “There are many good horse men in Tsagaan Nuur,” says Bilgee. “But we’re not in Tsagaan Nuur, we’re in the taiga,” I reply matter-of-factly. “I’ll take you to Tsagaan Nuur. From there, I’ll take a bus to Erdenet the next day.” “And where are we supposed to find a reliable man in a hurry? A man who won’t steal the horses overnight? Or abandon us again? A man who isn’t a drunk? A man who can take responsibility?” I answer just to fire off a small part of my questions. In the meantime, I am no longer sure whether Tsaya is translating my questions correctly. The answers simply don’t fit. “I have to go to Erdenet. Maybe I can convince my new employer to let me travel with you for an extra month? If so, I’ll come back,” says Bilgee. “And we’re supposed to wait in Tsagaan Nuur until then?” “Yes.” “And who will look after the horses during this time? I mean, one of us has to ride them into the mountains while the other takes care of organizing the rest of the expedition. Should I leave Tanja alone with seven horses in the mountains? Or should she take care of the organization alone while I take care of the horses?” I answer. However, I come to the conclusion that any further question makes no sense. Tanja and I are letting it go at the moment. I try to come to terms with the classic Mongolian situation. Offended and sad beyond all measure to be let down so unexpectedly by a man with whom I have friendly feelings, I help to set up the tipi. I would have believed anyone else to have this boundless selfishness, but not our Bilgee. Even if a part of me understands his existential angst, it remains incomprehensible to me what could motivate him to offer us his truth only in a place where we don’t have the slightest chance to react appropriately.

The mood for the rest of the day is gloomy. I don’t feel like talking to the man anymore. I’m just too hurt and I know that it won’t do any good except make the situation even more difficult. It looks like the personnel carousel is spinning again. There is simply no constant in this country. Everything is constantly different. In the land of nomads, in the land of instability, even the best plan is constantly thrown overboard.

In the evening in the tipi, Bilgee suddenly says that the feeding grounds here will be grazed out in a week and we have to move on with the big tent. That too. Even if the Tuwa are not exactly reliable either, they are the only support we have at the moment. If we had healthy, strong horses, we could go anywhere. But in this situation we have to stay in one place until our animals have recovered. The Tuwa will only leave their valley when the meltwater stream dries up. According to Ultsan, this should be in six weeks at the latest, i.e. from June 20. By then, we hope the horses will be fit and we will be mobile again. “We won’t go to any other feeding grounds. That’s far too risky. What if the horses aren’t strong enough for a trip to Tsagaan Nuur in three weeks and you have to leave? Then we’ll be alone in the wilderness. That wouldn’t be a problem either, except that our food supplies will run out in three weeks at the latest. How should we continue then? I don’t have a rifle to shoot us a gazelle. No, we stay. I think there’s enough food here for many months,’ I say, to which Bilgee remains silent.

Tanja and I can hardly sleep that night. Independently of each other, we both ponder our problem. Problems that didn’t exist a few hours ago. When Mogi strikes, Tanja leaves the tent to see what’s going on. “It was the Tuwa horses, they’re all stallions that are harassing Naraa. I shooed them away,” Tanja explains as she re-enters the sleeping cabin of the tent.

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