Bilgee arrives eight days later
N 49°42'773'' E 100°11'497''
Day: 358-361
Sunrise:
05:29/05:33
Sunset:
21:21/21:18
Total kilometers:
1722
Soil condition:
Grass
Temperature – Day (maximum):
22°C/29°C
Temperature – day (minimum):
15°C/18°C
Temperature – Night:
6°C/10°C
Latitude:
49°42’773”
Longitude:
100°11’497”
Maximum height:
1492 m above sea level
In the morning, Tanja is taken to Mörön by Ilchelaugsuren, our neighbor who lives in the yurt to the east of us. After nine months without contact with the outside world, there is a lot to do. She sorts our equipment in Saraas shed, checks emails, facebook, our website and buys groceries.
In the evening she will probably bring Ilchelaugsuren back to me. With a serious expression on her face, she gets off the moped and says goodbye to the nice man. “And how was it?” I ask curiously. “Bilgee is coming later and I bruised my hand in the garage door of Saraa. It was a really modest day.” “You bruised your hand?” I ask, startled. “Yes,” Tanja answers in a weak voice. “Oh, that doesn’t look good at all. Did you disinfect the wound?” I ask, examining the palm of my hand. “I have. But it was a lengthy procedure to find a pharmacy. Only the third pharmacist immediately understood what I wanted. The others just didn’t think about it even though I showed them my hand. Oh man, I might be fed up.” “That’s a bit many injuries for just under a week. Don’t you think? First you get bitten by Sharga, then by the neighbor’s dog and now a garage door jumps on you,” I say, looking at her. “I know. Need to be a bit more careful.” “Yeah, don’t want you to get really hurt in the last quarter of the trip. But your hand will heal. You were really lucky not to have crushed a finger. That’s easily possible with that massive gate. But what did you just say about Bilgee?” “He’ll be here eight days later.” “What, you’re kidding.” “No. He’s taken another job and wants to take part in a shamanic festival. One of his brothers is a shaman and plays an important role in it.” “And that’s why he just thinks to postpone us for eight days?” I ask. “Yes.” “That can’t be right, can it? And if we really are waiting for him, who can guarantee that he won’t postpone his arrival for another week? In winter, he arrived a full three weeks later than agreed.” “But he left two months earlier,” I say, continuing: “We can’t afford such a delay now. We have to move on. By the beginning of August, the days will be getting colder again and I don’t really feel like another winter at the moment.” “His behavior is typically Mongolian. It just doesn’t exist today. It’s always magadgüj or margaasch,” (maybe or tomorrow) I get annoyed. “Tomorrow wouldn’t be a problem, but since he promised us he would come on July 20 and now doesn’t want to show up until the end of July, that’s really weird.” “That’s right, we don’t actually need his services any more. We can manage very well on our own,’ I think aloud. “Yes with packhorses, but we need a third man for the horse-drawn cart,” Tanja points out. “We’ll just leave the horse-drawn cart here and travel on with packhorses. We should be able to manage that.” “Okay, then we’ll have to reorganize everything. We’ll need new saddles because of the pressure sores on the horses, we’ll have to sell the horse-drawn cart, we’ll have to find out who can help us sell the horses later and so on.” “That’s right. But why should we pay Bilgee a salary if he does what he wants, sets the schedule and leaves the expedition early, no matter where we are? Actually, we wanted to do him a favor with this trip to Erdenet. After all, we invited his children to accompany us. Don’t know if that’s a good idea anyway? The trip is far too strenuous for ten-year-olds. Bumbayr has given up and he’s fifteen. The serious question is whether we shouldn’t just cancel Bilgee? I think that’s better for us, for him and for the children. School starts on the first of September. The delay means we’ll never get to Erdenet on time. It’s going to be really stressful. In the end, he makes us rush every day. I really don’t need that,” I blurt out. “We should give him an ultimatum,” Tanja suggests. “What do you mean?” “We’ll just set July 25 as the departure date. Let’s see how he reacts.” “That’s a good idea. If he doesn’t come by then, we’ll leave without him.” “It would be a shame about the children.” “Maybe so. It’s not our decision, it’s his. And he’s the father,” I point out.
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