Mental agility and unconditional flexibility

Day: 247

Sunrise:
07:08

Sunset:
19:47

As the crow flies:
1311

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 5°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 12°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 15°C

Latitude:
51°21’781”

Longitude:
099°21’056”

Maximum height:
1554 m above sea level

There is also April weather in Mongolia. Yesterday we were spoiled with fantastic sunshine and today gale-force winds are howling around the log cabin. Temperatures have dropped to at least minus 12 °C. Bilgee, Tanja and I have fried eggs and homemade bread for breakfast. Bilgee then sets off to take the horses to a pasture outside the village. We use the day to get the rest of the food and supplementary feed for the horses. In the village we meet the mayor of Tuwa, who caused us a lot of trouble a few months ago. She greets us in a very friendly manner. “I was worried about you. But my tribe told me about your well-being and how well you got on with the Taiga people. That pleases me. Is there anything I can do to help you?” she says in a sweet voice. “Thank you very much. We have everything we need so far. Unless you can sell us meat. That doesn’t seem to be available anywhere in Tsagaan Nuur,” Tanja replies. “If you like, I’ll give you a goat. It’s been slaughtered, gutted and is frozen in my shed.” “Oh, that would be great. How much will it cost?” “88,000 tugrik” (€49), she replies. After a short negotiation, we get the goat for 80,000 Tugrik (45,- €). Since meat is twice as expensive in Mörön or other cities, Ultsii offered us a very fair price. Tsaya, who has now also reached Tsagaan Nuur after her hospital stay in Ulan Bator, wants to buy half of the goat from us. Since we don’t know whether Bilgee will eat a whole goat in the next six weeks, we are happy about the trade.

“These are the parcels and your passports that Saraa gave me for you. You know that Saraa couldn’t get a visa extension for you?” asks Tsaya. “Yes, we know. We were too early. The authorities only extend our residence permit one month before the expiration date. We are now forced to send the passports again. I don’t know how we’ll organize it when we’re on the road with the horses again, but we’ll think of something,” I reply and ask where Tsaya is. “I’m already feeling much better, but the doctors prescribed heart medicine for the next two years. After the diagnosis and the checks, they found that I had a rare heart disease and a small heart attack.” “A heart attack? For God’s sake. When was that supposed to have happened?” I ask, shocked. “Do you remember when Ultsan was away for so long building the fence?” “Yes, of course.” “One of the evenings I came to you and reported severe heart pain and a bad pulling in my chest. That must have been it.” “Oh man, you’ve obviously had a stroke of luck.” “Absolutely. But at the hospital, I was given a maximum of five years to live. I cried for days. My family were also in shock. They wanted to put a thing in my heart that you can’t live with for more than a few years.” “A thing? Do you mean a pacemaker?” I ask. “That’s what they say.” “But you can live with that forever. My father had one put in too. It’s a routine operation.” “It is for you in Europe. But it’s apparently different here. Whatever. I couldn’t come to terms with the diagnosis and went to another hospital. I already told you about it on the phone. The diagnosis there was more promising. “You are a young woman. Your heart will recover in a few years and you will grow old with it. Take your medicine and exercise a lot but moderately. Then there will be no further problems,” said a heart specialist. “A diagnosis could hardly be more different,” I am amazed. “Many doctors in Mongolia are only interested in making money. I’ve seen the doctors come into the room for ward rounds and point to the various patients and say: “You have to pay 3 million, you 3.5 million and you 4 million for your operation. One woman in our room was told to pay 2.5 million tugrik (€1,405) for her operation in the next few days. “If you don’t have the operation, you will die in a few days,” they said, whereupon the woman collapsed. “Where am I supposed to get so much money from?” she moaned. “Call your relatives. They should sell animals from the herd,” a doctor replied. It is not about helping people but about improving the economic situation of the hospital or the doctors. Often, patients are deliberately misdiagnosed only to have completely unnecessary operations performed. If you have the money, you can live. If you don’t have it, you’ll die,” she sighs heavily. “Or you’ll go on living because you won’t have the operation,” I reply. “I’m happy to be out and still alive,” Tsaya continues her hospital report. “One evening, a nurse administered my medication to the woman in the next bed and injected hers into me. The woman was terribly unwell. She then threw up all night and I fell into a coma-like deep sleep,” she says, visibly relieved to have survived that night. “It’s not only in Mongolian hospitals that patients die through human error,” I reply.

To change the sad subject, we ask Tsaya if she is going to drive to the taiga today and if she can take our luggage with her. “No problem. It looks like I’m going alone. If you share the travel costs with me, that would be fantastic. “Sure. We’ll do that,” Tanja replies. In the evening, Tsaya is still in the village. The Jeep owner is unexpectedly unable to drive for some reason. A normal situation in this country. What is still valid a moment ago is no longer relevant a moment later. Promises, agreements and arrangements change like the pulse of a pulse, and yet almost anything is possible in Mongolia. German thinking doesn’t work here and if we weren’t able to subject ourselves to the incessant change, we would most likely just go crazy. Mental agility and unconditional flexibility have been mercilessly demanded of us since the beginning of the journey.

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