Listen to your feelings!

Looking out of the window could hardly be more depressing. It rains in torrents. The wind howls and blows around the house. The thermometer has dropped to 12 degrees. Driving on under such circumstances is out of the question. Is that him? The beginning of winter in July? Actually impossible. And yet? Who knows? We are here in Siberia. A country with extreme weather. One of the most unconditional weather conditions of our Mother Earth. Tonight I had to go out five times to go to the outhouse. Not that this toilet block here is disgusting. No, on the contrary, it is very well maintained and the distance to the excrement is at least two meters. And yet it’s still unpleasant to have to go out at night to walk to the cottage in the rain. I was drenched every time I slipped back into bed. In winter, at minus 40 or 50 degrees, that must be a real challenge. However, the cold rain and the storm whistling around the house are eating away at my morale. There is still a long way to go and I hope that this trip does not develop into a break-through phase.

I get up, sit down in my camp chair and write about the past few days. It’s already 12:30 and there’s still nothing going on in the kitchen below us. My stomach growls loudly with hunger. If we weren’t guests here, I would just go to our trailer and get something to eat. However, I don’t want our hosts to catch me doing this. That could come across as rude to them.

Tanja is sitting next to me in bed reading a book. She also doesn’t understand why no one calls us for breakfast. “Are we no longer welcome here?” I ask. “Hm, who knows? But I can’t imagine. Maybe they don’t want to disturb us on Sunday?” Tanja replies, watching the rain and thinking; “What do we say at home? A guest who stays longer than three days starts to stink like a fish.” “But, we’re only here for the third day. That would be a bit early. Maybe it’s customary among the Buryats not to have breakfast on Sunday?” I reply. “I don’t know. I think they were eating over in the winter house. I heard someone fetching something. But can’t you smell it? Something delicious baking in the oven?” says Tanja, and I can actually smell the fantastic aroma of fresh bread. “We should definitely set off tomorrow. Whether it rains or not,” I continue to think. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality under any circumstances.” “Me neither,” I say and try to concentrate and write a few lines despite my growling stomach.

It’s 2 p.m. and it’s still quiet among us. As a cyclist, the body burns its food quickly. You also have to feed it constantly on rest days. My hunger increases to unbearable levels. I think about the hospitality and different customs and traditions of different peoples. Small gestures and actions can unsettle and even offend people from another culture. Over the last 290,000 kilometers of travel, we have learned a lot in this respect. We have become highly sensitive and attentive and take care to avoid the slightest behavioral error. And yet every situation is different. Despite some basic rules, there are nuances of differences. And sometimes you make a big mistake without even realizing it. In extreme cases, such errors can be fatally dangerous. I remember Pakistan when Tanja and I rode our camels through the villages. Each house was surrounded by a two-meter high clay wall. As a rider, I could see over the wall into the courtyards and catch a glimpse of family life. I didn’t think about the fact that, as a stranger, I am not allowed to see unveiled women under any circumstances. Above all, I didn’t think that this act could be enough to hang me from the nearest pole. Fortunately, a Pakistani enlightened me. From then on, I got off the camel in front of every wall, while Tanja was allowed to stay in the saddle. We experienced countless idiosyncratic customs, some of which were incomprehensible to us, and entire networks of complicated sets of rules.

Although the view over a mud wall in a Pakistani village has nothing to do with this situation here with our Buryat family and we are not in the slightest danger here, it is still worth thinking about why we suddenly have nothing to eat. “After two days, have we really been here too long? But Nikolai specifically asked us to stay longer. However, this house is not his. It belongs to his grandparents and his sister has to look after us. Maybe it’s Sonya’s fault? Maybe it’s too much for her? It can’t be the cost. We did a lot of shopping at the grocery store yesterday to balance things out. Tanja gave Elya pretty earrings and Sonya a set of face cream. Small gifts for guests that we always have in our luggage for such occasions. Hm, what’s the reason,” my brain is churning. “Tanja! Denis! Dinner’s coming,” Elya suddenly calls out, interrupting my thoughts. “Oh, great!” I reply, jumping up and climbing down the chicken ladder with Tanja. It is 2:30 pm when we satisfy our hunger with suup lapscha (homemade traditional noodle soup), freshly baked bread and pancakes.

“Have we just imagined everything now?” I think again. “Listen to your feelings. They are never for nothing. You wrote about having developed your sensitivity over the course of your years of travel. Feelings are no coincidence. Feelings are language without sound. Not always what is loud, what makes noise corresponds to the truth. Sometimes it is the quiet voices, the gestures, the facial expressions, a wink or a feeling that warn you. Sometimes it is your inner voice that tells you what is right and what is wrong for you. You know that very well. So listen to it. Listen to your feelings in this noisy world. Take them seriously. Then you will always do the right thing. You know that. I don’t have to convince you about this,’ I hear Mother Earth speak to me for the first time on this journey.

What the conversations with Mother Earth are all about

For those readers who have only recently started following our travels, I would like to take this opportunity to explain how the conversations with Mother Earth came about. Since our 7,000 kilometer walk across the Australian continent, I have communicated with Mother Earth from time to time. At first it was a barely perceptible voice. Over the course of the three-year march through the deserts, it became louder and at some point I could no longer ignore it. I realized that these conversations had a very real background. Whenever I’m feeling particularly bad or have big problems, I hear this voice. Always except in Germany. Strange. Perhaps my challenges in Germany are of a different nature. Perhaps I don’t have access to her, to Mother Earth, in my home country. Who knows? On some trips, I often had these conversations that replayed in my head. Here in Siberia, the voice of Mother Earth has not yet been heard. Maybe I’ve already learned a thing or two? My life has become easier. I no longer take some things too seriously. That could be the reason why I now only hear Mother Earth very rarely, because she has always acted as a helper. There was never a conversation purely for pleasure. Who knows whether this moment of brief exchange will be the only one during our trip to Siberia. That remains to be seen. In any case, the fact is that we’ll be turning our wheels to the south-east again tomorrow. Off to new adventures, experiences and stories that life writes.

We look forward to your comments!