Painted against theft – The only source of light in the village

Day: 324-326

Sunrise:
05:06/05:05

Sunset:
21:38/21:40

Total kilometers:
1412

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
30 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
25 °C

Temperature – Night:
4 °C

Latitude:
51°20’982”

Longitude:
099°20’852”

Maximum height:
1572 m above sea level

10:00 am. Our new horseman finds Shagai’s yurt and introduces himself. His face speaks volumes. “A long drive and looking too deeply into the bottle to say goodbye,” is my diagnosis. A few scars and an injured ear bear witness to some scuffles. At around 1.68 meters and with an extremely slim body, he is a relatively small man. “Another new challenge,” says Tanja. “What do you mean?” I ask the man who is supposed to guide us through the thieves’ territory, looking at him scrutinizingly. “Well, I mean, now we have to get involved with a complete stranger again without knowing what kind of character is hiding inside him.” “That’s right. That’s the nature of traveling. We’ll know in a week at the latest whether he’s any good or not,” I say.

Bilgee stayed behind to give Odonbaatar the horses properly. He tells him in detail what tasks await him during the trip. He nods approvingly and willingly. Then we go to our horses to paint large suns on their left and right rumps. A few days ago I had the idea of making it more difficult for the horse thieves with this action, which is unusual in Mongolia. Who wants to travel through the country with a horse with an orange sun shining on its backside? Everyone would notice. And that’s a good thing. Thieves usually want to make easy prey and not be recognized. Their path would be traceable through the suns. We would only have to ask the surrounding yurts if they had seen such a sign. At first, Bilgee was completely against it. “They will slaughter the animals immediately,” he said. “Slaughter? And in this heat? Where are they supposed to put the meat so quickly? It will spoil. I think that’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” I replied. Bilgee thought about it for a while. “We don’t paint Ferraris, only horses,” I say and manage to get my way.

Tanja, Bilgee, Odonbaatar and I are now painting the suns on the fur. “We’ll have to replace this in a few weeks,” I say, assuming that the paint has faded or rubbed off.

Tsaya and Ultsan appear in the afternoon. “How are you?” we ask and warmly greet our former hosts. “Ultsan had his sore tooth treated and I got my check-up,” Tsaya replies. “And are you all right?” I ask. “The heart disease has improved a little. But the doctors say I have to take medicine for at least another two or three years.” “When are you going back to the taiga?” “This afternoon. We’ll get there by motorcycle. It’ll be a bit tricky because Ultsan has never ridden one himself.” “He’s never driven a motorcycle before and wants to cover the difficult route himself? Good luck then,” I say. As we have experienced a lot of strange and bizarre things with the Tuwa in the last six months, I don’t even try to dissuade Ultsan from his plan. Meanwhile, Shagai gives him a short briefing, shows him how and where to change gear and where the brake and clutch are located. Ultsan makes his first attempts at driving, which do not look very promising. “He cuts a better figure on a horse or his reindeer,” I say jokingly. After a few minutes, the driving lesson is over. “That should be enough,” Shagai calls out with a smile. We go into the yurt. Tsaya and Ultsan give us a big bottle of beer to say goodbye. “We hope to see you again soon,” Tsaya says again. “Who knows, it’s a small world,” I reply again, as we had already said goodbye at the spring camp. “We actually wanted to sell our spare battery, but it doesn’t seem to be one hundred percent in order. Do you want it?” I ask Ultsan. “I’d love to,” he replies happily. Then he gets on the borrowed motorcycle and, with some difficulty shifting gears, follows the other rider on whose back seat Tsaya has taken a seat. At least he rides alone,” I say with relief, looking after the two Chinese two-wheelers.

On Bilgee’s instructions, Odonbaatar has meanwhile driven the horses into the mountains so that they can eat there. Bilgee packs up his few belongings. The English tourist Guy returns from his Tuwa trip today and will take Bilgee with him to Mörön. From there, the two of them will travel to Erdenet together on a public bus. This way, Bilgee gets a free ride to Mörön and the Guy gets a local guide to the next town.

Ondonbaatar returns from the mountains at 19:00. We are surprised because the short time is not enough to feed our animals. “You have to stay out until 9 or 10 p.m.,” Bilgee admonishes him. “I’ll do it. Sorry,” says the new man.

The only source of light in the place

21:30. Saraa and Guy have picked up Bilgee. His absence leaves an unpleasant vacuum. Shagai warns us not to let the horses graze in the meadow opposite his property. “See all those mopeds? They’re young men who use this place to get drunk. They could get aggressive. The place is not safe for you tonight. It’s better if you lead the horses to the other side of Tsagaan Nuur. The grass is more lush there.” In fact, we can see how some of the revelers get into each other’s hair and start hitting each other. “As soon as Bilgee is gone, the first challenge has to be mastered,” says Tanja. “Quite a distance,” I say, scanning the hill to which we are to bring our animals with binoculars. “The best thing is to take the horses there right now,” Tanja considers. “And how? Judging by Odonbaatar’s snoring, he seems to be in a deep sleep,” I reply, pointing at the man lying on the sofa. “We don’t need him to lead the horses there. We can do that ourselves. I suggest you stay until 22:00. Then I’ll relieve you. Before you go to bed, you can eat something and send Odonbaatar to me. He can then start his shift at 23:00.”

When I come back at 10:20 pm, the man is still snoring. I wake him up. It takes him an eternity to get up and relieve Tanja, who doesn’t actually have a guard shift. “Take the headlamp with you,” I tell Odonbaatar so that he can find his way and check on the horses at night. At 23:15 my cell phone rings. “Yes? What’s up?” I ask Tanja. “Did you send him off?” “Of course I did. Isn’t he with you yet?” “No.” “Oh man, this isn’t starting well. Maybe the whistle didn’t find you?” “I showed him where the horses are. I’ll wait a little longer. He’ll come,” says Tanja. A little later, he reaches Tanja and takes over. “I think he really didn’t find the way,” she explains as we sit together again in the yurt and eat soup that Dalai has cooked for us. At midnight I lie down, exhausted. At 1:00 a.m., my watch goes off. I get up, get dressed and trudge into the complete darkness of the moonless night. Scanning the horizon for the light signal agreed with Odonbaatar at this time of day, I let my gaze circle in the direction in which I suspect the hill to be. However, there is nothing to see. “Is Odonbaatar asleep?” I ask myself.

Following the beam of my headlamp, I stumble along the path with no direction. At the end of Shagai’s property, I turn right. My first mistake. As only a few contours can be made out in the blackness, I keep close to the wooden fence. “Where’s the damn fork in the road?” I’ve been asking myself for about ten minutes, trapped in a kind of corridor bordered by planks to the left and right. Then I suddenly find myself in front of one of the simple wooden huts, whose sign above the door tells me that I have reached one of the stores in the town center. I briefly think about turning back, but at the first opportunity I turn into another dirt track, which is again bordered on both sides by wooden fences. My second mistake. From this point on, I lack any orientation and turning back would no longer make sense as I don’t even know where I came from. Because of the huge forest fire that has been raging around Tsagaan Nuur for weeks, the sky is obscured by clouds of smoke, which is why no star can show me the direction. I am aware that I might have to wander around here until dusk in an emergency. The memory of getting lost in the deep winter of the taiga on my way to relieve myself makes me smile. “Specialist in bizarre aberrations,” I whisper, walking on and on through the night. In the beam of the headlamp, I recognize a few street dogs barking at me. Armed with my walking stick in my right hand and a pepper gas spray in my left, the dogs can’t harm me. “Come over here. I’ll beat the living daylights out of you,” I murmur at them in a dangerously bad mood. Then I reach open land. The houses are at my back. I stand still. Concentrate. Try to regain your bearings. I spot a light about a kilometer away. The only sparse source of light in this village. “Is this the petrol pump?” I ask myself thoughtfully. I decide to assign this light to the petrol station and cross the plain in a north-westerly direction. “Turn on your stupid light,” I curse indignantly to get confirmation that I’m on the right track.

1:45. Panting and relieved, I find the horses and Odonbaatar. “I’ve lost my bearings in this darkness. Why didn’t you turn on your headlamp?” I ask him without getting an answer. “Will your dog find its way to the yurt?” he asks. “Hardly. We’ve only been living there for a few days. I don’t think he thinks of the yurt as his home,” I explain and think about how he can find his way back without also wandering around disoriented. Following a flash of inspiration, I call Tanja. “Yes?” she asks sleepily. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up but I need your help. Please go to the path in front of Shagai’s yurt and shine your headlamp in our direction. As we’re on a hill here, we should be able to spot him,” I explain. Sure enough, minutes later we see the light come on. Odonbataar now runs off, guided by the beam. When I am relieved by Tanja at 3:10 am. I walk back without a guide beam. After I enter the yurt, I am greeted by extreme snoring. Odonbaatar saws the entire taiga to pieces. Although I’m dog-tired, sleep is out of the question. I lie awake until 4:00 a.m. and ask myself whether it wouldn’t have been better to travel to Mörön without this new man.

That morning, our husband snores until dawn. Meanwhile, Tanja drove the horses from the mountain to the pasture in front of the yurt, watered them and took care of breakfast. Her shift was from 3:00 am to 8:00 am. This would never have happened under Bilgee’s horse management. He would never have missed the opportunity to water the horses in the morning and thus relieve Tanja. We look slightly annoyed at the man who is still chopping down trees like a madman and not thinking about waking up to drive the horses into the mountains to eat. Tanja wakes him up at 10:00 am. “Here’s tea, milk and sugar. There’s bread and chocolate cream,” she explains kindly and asks if he would like a tin of fish. Then she packs a generous snack and sends him into the mountains so that the horses can eat long enough. “And please don’t come back until 9 pm. Our animals need to catch up,” I say. “No problem,” he replies good-naturedly.

During my shift today, I wait impatiently for my replacement and call Tanja. “Sorry to disturb your short sleep again. Is our man still asleep?” “Yes. Deep, sound and loud.” “Wake up the pipe, please.” “I will,” she replies.

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