Millions for horse feed and conversations with Mother Earth

Day: 84

Sunrise:
07:41

Sunset:
18:28

Total kilometers:
777

Soil condition:
Dust/gravel

Temperature – Day (maximum):
20°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
15°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 4°

Latitude:
49°38’671”

Longitude:
100°11’496”

Maximum height:
1220 m above sea level

As I do every morning, I put wood in our cannon stove and light a warming fire. Bilgee didn’t return with the horses until 11pm yesterday and is still asleep and huddled up under his deel. At 8:30 a.m. Saraa comes to the yurt as agreed yesterday to translate the conversation between Bilgee and us. “Oglooniimend” (“Good morning”) is how she greets us as she bends down through the low entrance to the yurt and lifts her feet over the threshold. “Sachen ama Sno?” (Did you sleep well?), we ask her. “Sachen ama la”, “I slept well”, she replies with a smile. “Bilgee must have been late yesterday?” she asks, pointing at him. “Yes,” I say, waking our hard-working helper with friendly words. Tired and yawning, he pulls himself up. “Sachen ama sno”, “Did you sleep well?”, “Sachen ama la”, (we slept well) we answer him. “Do you have any idea whether you want to take the horses to Erdenet or Mörön?” I ask him a little later over a cup of hot tea. “I can only decide there. It depends on the weather,” he replies, furrowing his brow. “Maybe we should put the horses up in Mörön. It’s only half the distance and much easier for you. What do you think?” “Maybe,” he replies, not really deciding. “If the horses are going to be in the care of the prison, we’d have to make the decision today, since there’s still a lot to organize. But let’s assume you’re taking the horses to Erdenet. That should be a distance of between 700 and 800 kilometers. With winter just around the corner, that’s a long way and not without risk,” Saraa translates my words. “No problem for me,” he replies confidently. “Good, then we should talk about your salary again,” I change the subject and explain again, as I did days ago, that he will receive his full salary from us until the horses are in Mörön or Erdenet. “If you only take them as far as Mörön, you’ll get paid for the bus ticket to Erdenet and the time it takes to get there. Next year you’ll earn full wages again from the day you ride the horses to us,” I explain. Bilgee thinks for a while and tells us that he had expected to be paid in full during the months he was tending the horses. “That was certainly a translation error Bilgee. We can’t afford that. In that case, we could easily buy six new horses,” I translate with friendly words. “I see,” he nods without negotiating further. “Of course, we could imagine compensating you for looking after the horses with a smaller salary. Tanja and I were thinking of 100,000 tugrik (€57) a month. This means that you will receive 700,000 Tugrik (€400) from November to May. So you will still have a regular income.” As the average income in this country is around 188,000 Tugrik (€107) per month and the time required to look after the horses is limited to a maximum of two hours a day, our offer is generous. “That’s fine with me,” he replies, to which we are relieved. “Good, then we should clarify what the horses need to eat and how much money we need to invest,” I continue our conversation. Bilgee calculates for a long time and comes up with a total price of one million tugrik (€571). “Phew. With your salary, that would be around 1.7 million (€971). You could soon buy four horses for that,” I groaned, thinking that the horses would be put out to pasture and herded together with other animals. But Bilgee’s idea is to bring the horses to his home. He will build a shelter there and feed them hay, oats and rice. This option is much safer than leaving them with his nomadic relatives in the countryside. Saraa even warned us against this, as the horses are usually used as workhorses in winter and therefore lose a lot of weight. “They are no good for an expedition in spring. It is also not uncommon for the nomads to slaughter one or more horses and tell you that they have fallen ill and died or have been stolen,” were her words. Since we trust Bilgee one hundred percent, we would much rather know that they are in his home. “I miscalculated,” Bilgee interrupts my thoughts. “How did you miscalculate?” Tanja and I ask. The horse feed doesn’t cost 1 million but 5 million Tugrik (€2,857),” he says, as if this sum were the price of a bottle of beer. It takes me a few seconds to realize the magnitude of the sum he has just said. “Five million!” “Yes. A horse needs about 4,000 tugrik (€2.28) worth of food a day. That’s 120,000 tugrik (€69) a month. For six horses that would be 720,000 tugrik (€411) a month. If we keep the horses with me from the beginning of November until the end of May, the sum will be 5 million,” he calculates. I type the figures into my calculator in disbelief and read the confirmation on the display. When I regain my speech, I say: “And then there’s your salary of 700,000. That means it will cost us 5.7 million tugrik (€3,257) to get the horses through the winter. If you buy a good horse outside a city, it will cost between 350,000 (€200) and 400,000 Tugrik (€228). So we could buy 14 or at best 16 new horses for the total amount. That’s bordering on massive nonsense,” I say without wanting to offend anyone. “I’m sorry. I should have calculated the prices beforehand,” Bilgee apologizes. Because of our bad experiences with money, we are now completely insecure. We wonder whether this bill is based on a real reason or whether Bilgee has promised himself the deal of a lifetime with his brother-in-law Tovuu. At Bilgee Camp, at the beginning of our trip, Tovuu showed himself to be greedy. He immediately wanted to talk me out of my old, broken storm lighter and take possession of the broken, expensive charge controller. On the way to Erdenet, he increased the agreed fare by a whopping 25 percent and immediately started talking about money when we wanted to borrow a chain from him for Mogi. In order not to jeopardize our hospitality, we accepted this and that comment and action without comment. As Bilgee’s son Orgio lives with his sister and her husband Tovuu while he is away, Bilgee talks to Tovuu on the phone almost every day. So it could be that Tovuu doesn’t have the best influence on his brother-in-law and is putting fleas in his ear about how to gallantly rip off the rich Germans. Even if such trains of thought cause us downright physical pain, we have to play them out. It is always useful to know what kind of character we are traveling with. There is certainly not a single Mongolian who would make such a huge financial investment in a normal horse. Unless it’s a Mongolian racehorse, with which you can earn horrendous sums in horse races during the traditional Naadam festival. To be honest, this sudden asking price has really sawn at the pillar of trust. But it’s always easy to make a premature judgment. Perhaps Bilgee has actually given us the right price? As the Mongolians are incredibly inventive at making money out of nothing, it could well be that he takes the horses to a nomad, pays him a fee and makes a good deal himself. Tanja, Saraa and I think back and forth. We can’t come to a consensus on the matter and don’t want to offend our man, who has done an excellent job so far, with our mistrust. “Bilgee,” I say. “Yes?” “Under these circumstances, there’s no need to bring the horses to Erdenet. You understand that, don’t you?” “Sure,” he replies. That means we can’t set off tomorrow as planned. We have to think about plan B now.” “What would that be?” “Saraa, Tanja and I have to talk to the prison warden to see if he’s willing to take our horses over the winter,” I explain.

The request for a conversation with Mother Earth is fulfilled

Even if we are not very physically challenged here, the organization of this expedition with the constantly appearing unknowns is a challenge that really gets on our nerves and psyche. I have been suffering from severe back pain for a few hours and don’t know what to do at the moment. We had everything organized, everything in place except for the little things, and suddenly the tide turned. It’s almost a miracle for me to have made it this far. I initially thought the visa would be the biggest hurdle. But it looks like this trip is a series of soon unsolvable tasks. And that’s the crux of the matter. They are just “soon” unsolvable challenges. This means that they can be solved with the necessary energy input. A spiritually wise woman prophesied to us years ago that the Mongolia trip would not take place on the surface of the earth like many of our previous expeditions, but would go into its depths. Tanja and I often talk about it. Perhaps the constant difficulties, the countless tasks and hurdles are the path to the depths of this earth? The path to a world that we have not yet reached? Perhaps we gain important life experiences here that we would otherwise not get? Of course, the journey is the destination. Which makes me understand that a destination does not necessarily have to be the arrival. On previous trips I had regularly had conversations with Mother Earth. This happened suddenly in the first third of our 7,000-kilometer walk through the outback. In our last books, which I wrote during the four-year cycle trip from Germany to Mongolia, I talked about this several times. Here, however, I have so far been denied access to the conversations. Mother Earth simply no longer responds. Sometimes I really miss it because it often helped me a lot. Especially in situations where I didn’t know what to do. Is her silence perhaps due to the fact that we have always found a solution without communicating with her? Have we matured and no longer need their help? But I can hardly imagine that we no longer need Mother Earth’s help. “Maybe you’ll just watch and only get in touch when things get really tight? When we can no longer manage without your help?” I ask into the silence of my brain. “Maybe I’ve lost the freedom and trust in our communication?” I continue to ask. “Or have I worked so much in the past year that my brain can no longer find the right fine-tuning? The right setting for the right frequency. Just like you tune a radio to find the station you want. In moments when the unknown hits me or us, it’s a wonderful thing to have a powerful advisor on your side. Since the year 2000 I have almost always been able to call on this advisor, but now in 2011 my beloved Mother Earth is silent. I am not offended or disappointed by this. I have no choice but to accept this fact. Right?” “That’s right,” I suddenly hear when I listen carefully inside myself. “Is that right? Did I hear right? You gave me an answer?” I ask. “Yes. I said it was true. It is right of you not to doubt facts but to accept them. But it’s also important to differentiate. If I don’t give you a verbal answer, that doesn’t mean we’re not with you. As you have hopefully understood by now, we are always there. We will always guide you on your path. No matter whether you think you will hear an answer from me or not. Our possibilities to communicate with you humans are infinitely varied. Back in Australia, I explained to you that the rustling of falling leaves, the whispering of the wind, the call of a wolf, the sound of the waves, the trickling of snow, the fluttering of flapping wings can give you signs and answers. All you have to do is look or listen, preferably feel. Then you will always understand me, us. Your communication with me is now on a different level. A level that works without words. So please don’t question our communication. I will always keep in touch with my messenger and speak to you with feelings, emotions and encounters of all kinds. As I said, the possibilities are endless,” I hear in this moment of stringing together these letters and words. “Do you also communicate with me through other people? I mean through their behavior?” is the question running through my head. “Yes.” “Well, that means if Bilgee quotes a crazy sum for the wintering of the horses shortly before departure, is that also a sign? A kind of communication?” I want to know. “But of course. If the rustling of falling leaves, the whisper of the wind, the call of a wolf, the sound of waves, the trickle of snow, the fluttering of wings can be signs, then so can people and their behavior.” “Oh, that sounds complicated. How am I supposed to tell when you’re talking to me and sending me a sign and when you’re not?” I ponder. “You should know that everything that happens is signs and communication. Everything that happens around you and in the universe is communication, is signs. It is important for you to understand them. You must constantly work on learning the language of signs. To learn the language of feelings. The language of other people’s gestures and facial expressions. I admit that this is a long way for a human being. But you have been on this path for a long time and have been learning since you were born. With every step you take ahead of others, you learn more. Your horizon expands. Your powers of deduction. Your emotional world is constantly being nourished with new food. It grows and grows. Most of the time you don’t think you’re aware of it. But believe me, you are learning with every breath you take. This is important for you as an ambassador of Mother Earth, but it is not a privilege because every person on this planet is subject to our laws. The laws of Mother Earth. Every person on earth has a task to fulfill. One in this way, the other in that way. Everyone has the opportunity and the ability to learn with every step. This is a universal law. This is nothing new for you. But it’s important for you, as it is for everyone, to find the right path and to stick to it once you’ve found it. You Denis have long since found the path and are progressing along it. It will therefore take you into areas and regions that are still closed to you today. It is a wonderful path with peaks and valleys. But you know that valleys are not to be seen as negative. Valleys are often also periods of rest. Phases without strenuous altitude meters. They can be phases of recovery. It just depends on what attitude you have towards a valley. Whether you see it as negative or positive. That is your choice. A valley has no emotion, just like an altitude. It is only you people who put your own feelings, opinions, judgments and condemnations into an experienced event. So go through valleys joyfully. The treasure of wisdom is usually buried in them. The valleys or lows that you humans describe are enriched with tasks from which you humans can learn a lot. You just have to want to,” I hear the flow of words from a voice I haven’t heard for a long time. “That means that the high price of horse feed is just a task for us to learn from? From which we draw conclusions to bring about a new decision? As I understand your words, Mother Earth, this experience with Bilgee is an important part of our path. It is not a valley, so it is not a disappointment. If it is, then I am only giving this situation an emotional evaluation. Only then does the situation become disappointing or not. According to your statement, it should be assessed neutrally. Preferably without emotion. Is that right?” “Exactly like that.” “Hm, that sounds good. So it doesn’t matter what happens. Every experience is fundamentally part of our journey through life. It’s not disappointing either. Only if I want it to be, if I evaluate a situation and turn it into a disappointment?” “Exactly. You’ve understood. That’s exactly how it is.” “That would mean there would be no unhappiness?” “Yes. That’s what it means.” “Hm, wonderful. Then anything can happen. I don’t need to be sad anymore. But the whole thing has a small but not insignificant catch for me,” I ponder. “And that would be?” “I’ve understood you so far. I don’t need to be sad about Bilgee’s price. But I am. That’s where theory differs from practice.” “Then learn to turn theory into practice. If you manage to do that, your self-bent hook will have smoothed itself out,” I hear Mother Earth’s advice. “Okay, I’m working on it. Bit by bit. Minute by minute and day by day.” “Well then, you’ll continue on this path and at some point you’ll only live in the now. In a now that leaves no more questions unanswered. A now in which you have learned to place your emotions correctly. In which you decide whether you suffer or not. As I said, that is always and always your own decision,” I hear, which for the moment satisfies my need for learning tasks.

Last tasks before departure

After talking to Saraa, Bilgee and Mother Earth, Bilgee repairs the pack saddles of the draught horses. Sharga and Bor will not be pulling a horse-drawn cart for the next 300 to 400 kilometers. We will leave him on Sara’s farm until next year. So we use the two cart horses as pack animals. At the moment I’m not sure how we’re going to fit our equipment onto three packhorses, but it will work out somehow. We have to limit ourselves to the absolute essentials. This means that there will be no more reporting. There is not enough time for that. Nevertheless, we will have our cameras and a laptop with us to back up the daily short recordings.

Because we have thick winter boots with us for survival in the taiga, we have to replace our stirrups. Due to the circumference of the shoe, it does not fit inside. Saraa asks around everywhere if anyone is willing to sell his Mongolian stirrups. They are much wider and might fit our monster shoes. As always, Bilgee works diligently and incessantly. So that our wide straps can be pulled through the iron eyelets, he files on one of the now organized Mongolian stirrups. Then he repairs our axe. We replace the worn straps of the pack saddles, cut new ropes for the horses, pack equipment and carry box after box into Saraa’s little shed until it almost bursts.

Mongolian tactics to drive up the price

Then the Russian minibus we agreed on yesterday arrives for the test packing. Like busy bees, we drag the boxes of food and equipment that Tanja has packed back out of the shed and put them in the minibus. We are relieved to see how all our belongings fit into the off-road vehicle. “Very good. Then we just have to make an appointment for when you pick up the load here and drive it to Tsagaan Nuur,” I say to the owner of the vehicle. Suddenly, he’s talking as if he no longer wants to transport our household goods. “What’s going on again?” wonders Tanja as Bilgee, the driver, his wife and Saraa get into a never-ending discussion. After an eternity, Saraa informs us. “Denis. The driver and his wife don’t think your equipment will fit in the bus and you should hire a second one.” “Why is that? Almost everything is inside. All that’s missing is the carpet from the yurt, two chairs, a table and the stove,” I reply. “It won’t fit,” the driver’s wife says to me businesslike. “Well, you promised to remove all the seats from the bus. They are still in there and yet around 90 percent of our entire load is already in your vehicle,” I reply, thinking to myself that the statement about the second bus is an excuse to demand more money. “It doesn’t fit in,” says the woman stoically. “We are all witnesses to the fact that everything can be accommodated there,” I reply, pointing to the bus. “Or does anyone here disagree?” I ask. Now the tide is turning a little, which is why the driver’s wife says: “Your things are too heavy.” “How many passengers can you accommodate when you drive from here to Tsagaan Nuur?” I want to know in response to the woman’s soon to be stupid statement. “13 people plus driver,” we hear. I pull out my calculator and type in the average weight of 70 kg per guest. “That’s 910 kg of passengers alone without luggage. I assume that each of your guests is traveling with luggage?” “Yes.” “Well then, let’s calculate 15 kg per person, which is just under 200 kg. I arrive at a total weight of 1110 kg. Our entire load shouldn’t weigh more than 500 to 600 kg. So that takes care of the weight and the second minibus.” The answer is hearty laughter. “I don’t think they want to remove the seats so that they can transport passengers on the way back from Tsagaan Nuur and thus do double business,” I say, looking at the two of them kindly. Again, the answer is laughter. “The value of your equipment is too high. We have to send security personnel to ensure that everything arrives without loss,” says the driver without batting an eyelid. “Why is that? Does the driver have to sleep somewhere and leave the bus?” “No, he doesn’t have to.” “Are there armed robberies in the region?” “Ha, ha, ha. No, there are not.” “Then what do we need security staff for? To protect the goods from the driver?” “Ha, ha, ha,” he laughs again. “Please Saraa translate the following word for word.” “I will,” she replies, waiting for my renewed offer. “We are all adults here and know what we are talking about. The simple task is to transport a load of approx. 600 kg from A to B…” “Did you translate that Saraa?” “Yes.” Nodding heads is the response from those present. “All right then. Everything fits in the bus and it’s not too heavy. Right?” “Yes,” Saraa replies and the driver and the woman nod again. “None of us need to make up any fantasies in order to drive up the price agreed yesterday. And that’s what it’s all about. So do you want to take the load to its destination or not?” “We do,” replies the woman. “Well then, let’s not beat about the bush and waste a lot of time, just say what you want for it. We can then negotiate in concrete terms,” Saraa translates for me. “We want 450,000 tugrik (€257), which is 100,000 tugrik (€57) more than we discussed yesterday,” says the woman. “Aha, I knew it. As always, it’s about the money,” I say, to which there is more laughter. “We pay 350,000 Tugrik”, (200,- €) I also laugh. As always, the answer is laughter. It goes back and forth for a while. At the end, the woman comes to me and says: “400,000 Tugrik. Here is my phone number. Please call me tonight and tell me what you decide,” she concludes the negotiation and writes her number on a piece of paper. As the two of them get on their bus and rattle off, Saraa says: “I’ll arrange transportation for you. Don’t worry about it. The equipment is sure to arrive safely with my cousin in Tsagaan Nuur,” she reassures us. In unmentioned conversations with Saraa and her cousin Ayush, we agreed to have the yurt set up next to his log cabin in his yard. This means that when we reach Tsagaan Nuur with our horses, the yurt should also be ready, so we just have to set it up. That would be the ideal situation. The 85-year-old Ayush will also take our equipment and store it with him until we arrive. In this way, our contacts through acquaintances, friends and, above all, Saraa’s family soon networked across the whole country. It looks like these contacts and ever-expanding connections are an essential part of our expedition.

Branding and high loss of money

“Before you put the horses out to pasture, we should brand them,” I say to Bilgee. “We will,” he replies. A strong fire has been burning in our cannon stove for an hour now. The branding iron is placed inside to achieve the right heat. Saraa had it done for us by a blacksmith. It is a crescent, at the same time it is a D for Denis and the other way round it contains the T for Tanja. Although we wanted to spare our horses this procedure, many Mongolians advised us to do so because of the latent danger of horse theft. When the iron is hot enough, Bilgee takes it, hides it behind his back, goes to my horse Sar and quickly presses it onto his backside. It hisses and steams. Before Sar really realizes it, it’s already happened and it’s Tanja’s naraa’s turn. Then the other four. Bilgee keeps things short and sweet. He is really good at everything he does. There is somehow nothing he can’t do. Finally, he rubs cold water onto the scorched area of the fur with the flat of his hand. “So now your horses have your mark. That’s good,” he says with satisfaction and gets ready to lead them out to the pasture to eat. Because we needed almost the whole day for the many meetings, the test loading and preparation work, Bilgee will stay outside with the horses overnight. “Won’t it be too cold?” asks Tanja, as the thermometer is already dropping to minus four degrees at night and he doesn’t want to take a tent or sleeping bag with him. “I’ve got my Deel. I use it to cover myself. That’s all right,” replies Bilgee. Like every day, Tanja gives him a well-filled lunch bag. So our horseman has sausage, bread, chocolate, cookies, a tin of fish and hot tea.

As soon as Bilgee has ridden out of Mörön with the horses, Saraa comes into our yurt. She looks quite dejected and sinks heavily onto Bilgee’s bed. “What’s wrong? You look like you have bad news,” I ask. “Yes, indeed I do,” she moans. “What happened?” asks Tanja. “Just imagine. I lent money to my sister’s daughter yesterday. She and her husband own a store in the market. She urgently needed money to buy goods in China. As she didn’t get anything from the bank, I stepped in.” “So what? What happened?” she asks me curiously. “She disappeared.” “Disappeared how?” we want to know. “Well, she promised to give it back to me today and now she’s disappeared. I looked everywhere for her. They told me she went to the country.” “What amount is involved?” I ask. “2.2 million tugriks (€1,257),” she groans. “What? That’s a fortune?” I reply. “It is. It was the money from the log house we built for a family in Erdenet,” she explains. (Saraa and her brothers have another business. They build log houses and sell them in Mörön and Erdenet. Her sister, Naraa, is always finding customers and orders for them). The bad thing is not having a receipt. I handed her all the money in cash. I’m just too gullible. If my husband Gonschig finds out, he’ll be very angry.” “Who knows what happened. Maybe she’ll come back tomorrow and give you your money back,” I try to comfort her a little. Saraa drinks another cup of tea and then goes back to her log cabin while we sit around our cannon stove and warm ourselves. “It’s strange what we humans do to each other all the time to enrich ourselves because of money. I think if it weren’t for money, mankind would be a bit happier,” I reflect, listening to the crackling of the fire.

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