Farewell to Mogi – Apartment

Day: 418

Sunrise:
06:39

Sunset:
19:19

As the crow flies:
4,5

Daily kilometers:
7

Total kilometers:
2517

Soil condition:
Asphalt

Temperature – Day (maximum):
21 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
15 °C

Temperature – Night:
minus 3 °C

Latitude:
49°01’138”

Longitude:
104°00’125”

Maximum height:
1312 m above sea level

Time of departure:
21:15

Arrival time:
22:00

The sun squints through the tiny window and casts a ray on my face. In the first few seconds of waking up, I don’t know where I am. Everything seems strange. Then I recognize the space that has been thrown over us. My eyes fall on the Buddha altar and Tanja, who is sleeping on the bed slightly above me. “Are you awake yet?” “Yes.” “How are you feeling?” “Pretty good. And you?” “I don’t know. I have to get used to living in walls. It feels strange,” I reply. “Feels strange. Yes, that’s right.”

An hour later, we are sitting at the table with Erdene Ochir and Urtnast. The TV throws pictures and loud music at us. Urtnast has prepared buuz especially for us. “Tastes delicious,” I praise. It’s filled with chamois. Erdene shot it last winter. The meat is fat-free.” “How do you know I don’t like fat?” I ask her. “Bilgee told us.”

Tovuu and his wife Baatar appear in the afternoon. They invite us to spend the next few nights in their apartment. “Do you have any idea why we can’t stay here for a few more days? The house is big, isn’t it?” I wonder. “They said we could stay but we would have to move into the tent overnight,” Tanja replies. “In the tent?” “Yes.” “Strange, but I’m not in the mood for that right now. Especially not if we have to set it up in this courtyard.” Bilgee, whose half-ruined hut is only a few hundred meters away from here, has come back to help us move. We manage to get all our belongings into Tovuu’s little car.

Because Mogi is not allowed in the apartment, he has to stay here. Bilgee will take him in later and in two days he and Tanja will travel to Mörön to hand him over to Badamsuren. “The time has come, my friend,” I say, scratching Mogi’s chest. Mogi enjoys the caress, throws himself on his back and wags his tail. “You did a damn good job and kept the thieves off our backs. What can I say? I may never see you again, my dear. Believe me, I don’t feel comfortable just dumping you. But we have found a good home for you. Badamsuren likes you. You know that. We would have loved to take you to Germany with us. Unfortunately, the dice fell differently. But who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t have liked it in my country? There are no sheep to hunt here. At least not as many as here. Besides, you would sweat terribly here in winter. That would be terrible for you. At Badamsuren you can at least fight with other dogs, especially with your new colleague Beck. He’s Badamsuren’s first dog. You’ll get along with him, won’t you? Just don’t get me into trouble. Do you hear me? Oh my dear Mogi. You were exhausting, but you’re a fantastic dog. The biggest and best of all time. You were born here and you’ll live here. I’m sure it’s better for you,” I say to my dog and feel the lump in my throat rise higher and higher. “Take care, my boy,” I say, patting the insides of his thighs for the last time, which he holds out to me willingly, and get up. Suppressing my tears, I get into the car with Tovuu. “Okay, we can go,” I say, not sure whether it’s a mistake to leave Mogi in Mongolia.

Apartment

10 minutes later, Tovuu parks his car in front of one of the ugly apartment blocks in the city center. “This is my home,” he says proudly. We carry the equipment through the dilapidated stairwell to the third floor. Baatar opens the heavy iron door to a furnished one-room apartment. A little poodle jumps at her, whimpering with joy. “You remember Sissi from last year, don’t you?” asks Tovuu. “But yes,” we laugh and pat the female dog who lived with Bilgee, Baatar and Tovuu at Bilgee Camp last year. “Come in,” Tovuu invites us to enter the accommodation. Tanja and I look at each other, a little startled. Should we live in this little place with Tovuu, his wife and Sissi? We enter the kitchen, which is about seven square meters in size. “This is the tap for hot and cold water,” explains Baatar. “Hot water from the tap?” I ask, puzzled. “But yes. And here is a small electric hotplate. It’s only for one pot but it works great. Come on, I’ll show you how to use it. Under the sink is the bin, there’s the fridge with freezer compartment and that’s the remote control for the TV. In case you want to watch TV while you cook,” Baatar laughs at Tanja. “Wonderful,” says Tanja. I can see how insecure she feels in the presence of luxury, which we haven’t had for over 13 months. Tovuu shows me his living room, the flat screen TV, the remote control, the light switch and how to turn the second couch into a bed. “Fantastic,” I say, not feeling at all comfortable in my own skin. “You can stay here as long as you like. Baatar and I will move out for that long,” I can’t believe my ears. “You’re going to what?” “We’re moving in with relatives. Don’t worry about it. We don’t want any money from you. Stay here and make yourselves at home.” As if struck by lightning, I settle down on a folding chair. “You mean we can live here and you can move out?” “But yes. Asuudal bisch. (No problem) Make yourselves at home and rest up from the exhausting and dangerous journey. Here’s the key to the apartment. When you leave, please always lock the door properly. Otherwise, I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

After the two of them have packed a few more personal items, they actually leave us alone. We are still sitting there stunned and can’t understand why Baatar and Tovuu are giving us such a gift. After a few minutes, we recovered a little from this positive shock. I switch on the TV and run back and forth excitedly around the small apartment. “I simply can’t believe it. Tovuu was always so stingy and now this. I wouldn’t have expected such a generous offer from him in a thousand years. Can you make sense of it?” I ask Tanja. “I don’t know. I told Bilgee back then how bad Tovuu was. Especially when he and Tovuu left me in the car on a trip from Erdenet to camp to go drinking in a yurt. That time I got out of the car and continued on foot. The two of them noticed and immediately stormed out of the yurt and asked me to get back into the car. I took a long time to comply with their friendly request. This incident is certainly not the reason for getting the apartment now, but perhaps it contributed to it. I can’t say. Maybe Bilgee feels guilty because he lost the horse and we still paid him his salary? Maybe he asked his sister and Tovuu to do us this favor? Whatever the case may be. They invited us to stay in their little kingdom. That’s a wonderful gesture of hospitality.” “You can say that again,” I reply, going into the bathroom and running hot water into the bathtub. “What are you doing?” “I wonder what? I’m taking a full bath after abstaining from water for over a year.” “That’s a good idea.” “Yes, a damn good idea.”

When I let my tortured body slide into the hot water, I would love to scream out loud with pleasure. “Oh man, this is beautiful! There is nothing more beautiful in the world! Oh it’s so pleasant! Yes, yes, yes, yes! If a person is dissatisfied with his life, let him walk through the wilderness unbathed for 13 months. After that at the latest, he will be reformed and appreciate the luxury of a full bath. It’s unbelievable!!!”, I cheer to myself and hope that the neighbors don’t think there’s a madman on the loose. It doesn’t take long for the water to turn from light brown to dark brown. Then I wash my hair three times in a row. When I get out of the bath half an hour later and dry myself off, countless shreds of skin rub off my body. I slip into the old slippers that Tovuu has put out for me and wander into the living room. Meanwhile, Tanja has cooked some pasta which she serves with a delicious pasta sauce. Afterwards, there’s a cold beer with potato chips, sausage, cheese and bread. A blockbuster is playing on the TV in English. We enjoy the evening as if it were our last, or rather first, in life.

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