Plagued by diarrhea

Day: 45

Sunrise:
06:33

Sunset:
19:40

As the crow flies:
20,39

Daily kilometers:
25

Total kilometers:
549

Soil condition:
Meadow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
16 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
3° C

Temperature – Night:
minus 8

Latitude:
48°56’100”

Longitude:
102°47’691”

Maximum height:
1464 m above sea level

Time of departure:
12:30

Arrival time:
18:20

When we leave our tent in the morning, the sun’s rays have licked away almost all the snow. I use the time before breakfast to send the written texts and pictures to our website via our satellite phone. Everything works fine until the laptop suddenly displays a hard disk problem and asks me to back up all data immediately and have the hard disk repaired immediately, otherwise all recordings, pictures and programs are lost. Despite the cold, I get hot with fright. This is the super disaster of a computer and our transmission. Another challenge that I can’t solve out here in the Mongolian wilderness. Even in Ulan Bator this problem could not be solved, as I will never get the right hard disk for this Durabook there. Fortunately, I backed up all the texts and images on an external hard disk yesterday. These are not in danger at the moment. But what caused the problem? I’m now sitting in our little tent and brooding to myself while Bilgee, Ulzii and Tanja have their breakfast outside. I switch on the spare computer that Tanja uses to translate the texts into English. Suddenly a warning comes here too. On closer inspection, I read: “If you start up the computer, you are endangering the hard disk. Bring your laptop up to operating temperature first.” That could be it. It’s just too cold and since I didn’t get a warning with our Durabook, I worked with it. “What a bummer. Now I have to continue working with our replacement computer after just six weeks. But as all the data is still there and the main computer still seems to be working, I could take the risk of continuing to work with it. I click away the warning and run a few tests. Everything is running smoothly. “Denis, come and have breakfast. We have to get going!” Tanja calls me, so I stop my tests and pack up the laptops. Learned something again. I’m not allowed to use them above 0 degrees or I have to warm them up to body temperature in my sleeping bag first.

When we reach the highest point of the pass at almost 1,700 meters, we see a simple restaurant. “What do you think? Should we invite our men there for dinner?” I ask Tanja. “That’s a good idea. As I don’t eat meat, I’ll look after the horses until then,” she suggests. Bilgee and Ulzii are clearly delighted with the invitation. They choose goat meat in dumplings while I get a goat meat soup with fat-free meat. Hungry, we eat our dish. Then I try to get something meat-free for Tanja, who is waiting for us outside and is freezing. Apart from two hard-boiled eggs and a bar of chocolate, there is nothing. “Oh, thank you,” she says happily without a trace of irony. “I’m sorry. There was nothing better,” I apologize. “No problem. I’m glad you thought of me. As you know, I like to eat the eggs. It’s something special here.”

We leave the pass in bright sunshine. A friendly-looking young dog follows us, limping on three legs. “The poor guy has a stiff hind foot. He must have been hit by a car,” says Tanja. As he poses no danger to Mogi, he seems to accept him. “He’ll soon turn around again,” I say, because he makes quite a well-groomed impression, which is down to his owner. But when, after several kilometers, he is still scurrying back and forth between our horses, acting as if he has been a member of this travel group for ages, we start to worry. “He won’t have chosen us as his new masters, will he?” I ponder. “It’s a lovely looking dog,” says Tanja. “Maybe, but we can’t go around with two dogs. It’s hard enough to feed Mogi,” I reply. “Sure, we can’t feed a second dog. But how do we get rid of him?” “I’ll chase him away,” I reply and drop back to keep the stranger away from the group. “Go home!” I shout, pointing to the top of the pass. The black four-legged friend stops and looks at me trustingly. But as soon as I ride on, he follows me. “Now go home!” I shout again. He stops again, waits until I turn Sar around to follow me unabashedly and faithfully. Then I gallop off. He takes up the chase with a limp and arrives at the horse-drawn cart only a little after me. “The only way to chase him away would be to throw stones. All the dogs here understand that. But I don’t have the heart for that,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

We reach a semi-abandoned hamlet. There are a few very dilapidated wooden houses and a half-destroyed petrol station that still seems to be in operation. To solve our energy problems, we buy three liters of gasoline. Bilgee finds a large plastic bottle in the ditch which we fill with fuel. In the meantime, Hinkebein has made himself comfortable next to the horse-drawn carriage and is obviously waiting patiently for the tour group to start moving again. “What are we going to do with the dog?” I ask Ulzii. “I’ll do it,” he says. “But don’t hurt him,” urges Tanja. “No, no,” he shouts, picks up a stone from the ground and throws it in his direction. “Baffled at being treated so rudely by his new masters, he jumps up. As the second stone flies past him, he puts his three working legs under his armpits and makes off with his tail between his legs. “Apparently he was really serious about finding a breadwinner. I hope he survives the coming winter,” I say a little sadly.

We are riding into a wide valley. Herds of cattle, sheep, goats and horses, along with a few yurts, populate the green valley surrounded by mountains. I take a few photos when a severe stomach twinge forces me to dismount. I pull down my pants as fast as I can to relieve myself. As soon as I’m back in the saddle I have to get down again. “The soup in the restaurant is really something,” I say agonizedly to Tanja, who looks at me a little sympathetically. Bilgee and Ulzii are now out of sight. So we are forced to gallop behind. The physical exertion immediately takes its toll. Suffering and weakened, we reach our companions. We ride a few more kilometers through the beautiful pastureland and set up camp next to a stream at 6:20 pm. As the sun sets at 7:40 p.m. and the thermometer quickly drops to minus eight degrees, we have to hurry. I put up our tent with the last of my strength and prepare it for the night, while Tanja boils water for hot tea and dinner. “I can’t eat anything,” I say weakly, crawling into the tent. “If you like, I can swap shifts with you. You can do mine from 22:00 to 24:00 and I’ll do it from 24:00, Tanja offers. “That would be great,” I say happily, cursing the restaurant at the top of the pass at the same time.

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