Dusty air, no hot water, crock pot to help

Day: 8

Sunrise:
05:28 pm

Sunset:
8:29 pm

Temperature – Day (maximum):
28 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
23 °C

Temperature – Night:
20 °C

Latitude:
47°55’513”

Longitude:
106°55’559”

Maximum height:
1315 m above sea level

Today I wake up with a headache. The dry, dusty air in U. B. is most likely the reason for this. Many of the city’s residents suffer from allergies and eye problems. Unfortunately, we can’t just shower off the dust in the apartment after a busy day at work. For some reason, the hot water has been out for weeks. We see workers welding pipes in a construction pit not far from our house. “That must be the pipe for our hot water,” says Tanja and looks down into the deep hole to greet the workers below. At first they are shy and probably wonder why the foreigners are waving down into their hole in such a friendly manner. In the meantime, however, we greet each other every day and our shyness towards each other has disappeared. In the evening, we put our landlady’s large crock pot on the stove and boil water for our scoop shower. “So we’ll get used to life in the steppe,” I say, although to be honest I miss a nice hot shower after the dusty days in the city.

“What’s that?” I ask myself out loud and suddenly see it dripping from the ceiling in the bathroom. “I think the washing machine is leaking in the apartment above us!” I shout. Tanja comes rushing in immediately and also looks up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t look good,” she says, “That’s right. It’s a good thing we’re at home right now,” I say and grab the big saucepan to catch the water. “I’ll go upstairs and ask,” says Tanja. “And how are you going to make yourself understood?” I want to know. “I have no idea. I’ll manage somehow.” It doesn’t take long before Tanja comes into our apartment with a completely intimidated young girl to show her the damage. “The little girl is home alone and has flooded the bathroom. It looks like you were right. Some hose from the washing machine burst,” Tanja explains and disappears upstairs with the girl. I follow the two of them and see Tanja helping our neighbor to empty the bathroom. It doesn’t take long and Tanja comes back. “Mission accomplished,” she says with a laugh. “

Waiting for our parcels

Half of all the packages sent by our sponsors, Rapunzel, Sanatur, Travellunch and Tedilo, are still missing. There are two or three packages per company. What is strange is that all the parcels were always sent at the same time and only one has ever arrived. “I hope there’s no system behind this,” I ponder. “What do you mean?” Tanja is interested. “Well, if the parcels were always sent out at the same time, they should also arrive at the same time. That’s surprising, isn’t it? I mean, it could be that customs or whoever is on the wire there always lets one of our parcels disappear?” “You mean they’re so generous and always let a parcel through?” “Could be. But that’s probably a fabulous theory. I think the things will still arrive. Hopefully it won’t take too much longer. We can’t spend the whole summer dealing with visas and parcels,” I say.

Our new website is online

At lunchtime, I accompany Tanja to the public Internet to look at our new website, which our provider put online as promised on the first of August. Tanja and I are delighted with the successful design and implementation. “Considering that this site is one of the most comprehensive websites of its kind in the world, the girls and boys at Netzone deserve a big compliment,” I say happily, surfing from page to page. We are still discovering small errors which we will correct in conjunction with the programmers and graphic designers in the coming weeks. Then, as so often since we have been in Mongolia, our cell phone rings. “It’s me, Ganbold. I’ve brought a saw and a hammer for your crate. I’ll be at your apartment in ten minutes,” he says. We immediately set off to rush to the apartment. There we meet our Ganbold who shows us the tools he has brought with him. “No, I don’t need a hammer. The saw should be enough,” I say, and we go into the apartment.

Cracking our trailer box

A few days ago, Ganbold brought us our bicycle trailer, which I pulled behind my bike from Germany to Mongolia. On the trailer is a large Zarges aluminum box in which we had packed some of the equipment. After arriving in Ulan Bator with our bikes, we left the trailer and other equipment with Ganbold. At this point, we realized that we could use a lot of it for our upcoming horse expedition. So why transport all this stuff home to bring it back here later? Unfortunately, we had locked the aluminum box with padlocks at the time and now forgot the keys in Germany. “Do you think the saw can penetrate the hardened steel?” I ask Ganbold. “No problem,” he says with a laugh. In fact, it only takes me a few minutes to saw open the locks. “It’s amazing how quickly you can pick something like this. Thieves have real fun with locks like this,” I realize. “Finally, now we can start packing,” says Tanja. “Yes, all we need now are the parcels from Germany,” I say, thanking Ganbold for the tools and his speedy arrival.

Togtokh, descendant of the youngest son of the last Mongolian emperor

We meet Togtokh in the evening. The reunion is a great pleasure for all of us. Togtokh speaks good German and we talk about our recent experiences. “Did you get your visa?” She is very interested because she initiated the whole process and played a major role in it. “No, not yet, but we’ll get our work permit on Thursday and then the visa. That will definitely work out now,” I reply. We find a restaurant and spend the whole evening chatting. “On Friday, the German ambassador will be bidding farewell in the Piano Lounge. It’s part of one of the meetings of the Mongolian German Bridge. You absolutely have to go. The contacts can be very useful for you,” Togtokh says urgently. “I don’t know. What are we doing there when the ambassador is being seen off?” I ask, a little doubtfully. “This is a good opportunity to meet important people. I think it could be very important for your expedition,” she tries to convince us. “What is the Mongolian-German Bridge?” I ask. “This is an organization with over 1,200 members who, among other things, help our compatriots who have lived and worked in Germany for a long time to reintegrate into Mongolia. But see for yourself. “Okay, if we have time, we’ll go to the piano lounge,” I say. “I wonder if we’ll meet anyone there.”

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