You are good people – Further travel planning

Day: 213-228

Sunrise:
08:24/07:52

Sunset:
18:48/19:15

Total kilometers:
1281

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 5°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 15°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 31°C

Latitude:
51°33’336”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

There is no sound this morning. Everyone in the camp seems to be getting a good night’s sleep. The peace and quiet is soothing. “Are the holidays over?” asks Tanja. “Who knows,” I reply. We go about our routine work. While Tanja fetches snow, I type our experiences of the last few days into the laptop. Around midday, our most loyal visitor Saintsetseg drops by for a coffee. We learn from her that Gamba, Purvee, Monkoo and a few others drove to Tsagaan Nuur in a jeep last night. “Gamba wants to be present at his friend’s funeral and the others took advantage of the ride to visit relatives in Tsagaan Nuur during the holidays,” we understand.

In the evening we hear the sound of engines again. As always, the camp’s dogs race along the snow-covered forest path to greet the vehicle with loud barking. When the jeep stops in front of log cabin number one, many people tumble out as usual. “Hello Tsaya! Hello Ultsan! Nice to see you again. We hope you had a good trip,” we greet them. Our two neighbors are in a good mood and invite us to a party this evening. “We thought the party was over?” I ask in surprise. “Because of my illness, we couldn’t celebrate Tsagaan Sar. We absolutely have to make up for it,” they reply.

At 20:00 we sit in Tsaya’s log cabin. According to custom, we are welcomed by our hosts, eat cookies and drink milk tea. Then there are the obligatory buuz followed by vodka. This time it’s Ultsan who keeps the cup spinning and asks us to drink. “We looked pretty deep into the bottle yesterday. I can’t take any more,’ I say. “It’s Tsagaan Sar Denis. You have to celebrate with us,” replies Ultsan.

During the course of the evening, Tsaya tells us about her treatment. “I was given an injection every eight hours for the last four days. Because there was no bed available at the hospital, we had to go there twice a day.” “With your illness, you should actually be in bed. It’s certainly not a good idea to walk long distances in the sub-zero temperatures and cold wind,” I reply. “That’s true. But what should I do if there’s no bed available? Apart from that, the doctors were not present during the Tsagaan Sar. Ultsan and I went to see one of them at home. Thank God he treated me anyway.” “Are they good doctors?” “Ha, ha, ha. There are no good doctors in Tsagaan Nuur. As far as I know, most of them haven’t even studied but have received three years of short training,” Tsaya explains. “And they’re allowed to treat you in hospital?” I ask in dismay. “Yes.” “Then wouldn’t it be better if you had been examined in Mörön or Ulan Bator?” “Yes, but the journey to Mörön takes at least ten hours. To Ulan Bator even three days. Apart from the effort, it costs a lot of money, which we don’t have.” “Hm, I see. And how are you now?” “Quite well. I think the antibiotic is working. I have to inject myself for another two days. After that, my shortness of breath and lingering cough should go away. The doctors promised me a speedy recovery.” “That sounds good,” we say happily.

Before the second bottle of vodka, we leave the party at 11pm and retire to our yurt. When I head out under the clear starry sky at 2:00 a.m., the party is still in full swing.

The next morning is quiet again. However, it is not long before the first camp residents arrive at Tsaya and Ultsan. Word has spread that they have opened up another source of vodka. Reason enough to extend the New Year celebrations.

It’s 3 p.m. when our peace is disturbed. Nyam Dalai and Ovogdorj stumble into our dwelling. “Hello Denis! How are you?” Ovogdorj asks, greeting me according to custom. “Good to see you. How was it with the reindeer?” I ask, leaning over to sniff his cheeks according to custom. “Hujten”, (“Cold”) he says, pressing his moist lips to my cheek and drawing air through his nose as if he were a vacuum cleaner. Ovogdorj laughs heartily while Nyam Dalai slowly sits down on the yurt floor, swaying and babbling unintelligibly. I catch Tanja’s gaze in the corner of my eye. We have to get through this now, I tell her with a gesture, to which Tanja smiles knowingly. “Would you like tea or coffee?” she offers in a friendly manner. “Vodka. Do you have any vodka?” asks Ovogdorj with a laugh. “Sorry, we don’t have one,” I reply. When Ovogdorj realizes the implications of my statement, his laughter seems to tense up for a fraction of a moment. “Never mind,” we are surprised by his casual reply. He taps the heavily drunk Nyam Dalai on the shoulder and tells him. “Come on, unpack it.” “Ooooohhhhuuuuu, oookaaayyy,” he slurs, which means “okay”. Then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a bottle that is still full. “Oh no,” I whisper. Tanja’s eyes speak volumes. “Then you have to drink our vodka with us. But please don’t tell Darimaa that I’ve been drinking,” says Ovogdorj, immediately opening the bottle.

At this moment, Tsaya enters our home. “Oh great. Good to see you. We need you as a translator,” I say. Can you please explain to them as carefully as possible that I can’t drink any more vodka because of my stomach?” “It’s no good translating something like that. Just spit it into a glass,” she says. “How is that supposed to work? The men are sitting right in front of me and will notice?” “They’re so blue, they won’t notice much,” she replies, leaving us again. “I’ll be back in 20 minutes. I just have to get something from the baishin (log cabin),” she explains quickly and disappears. “She’s leaving us here with the two of them,” I realize. “From the looks of it. But I can understand Tsaya. She’s still ill and has had her house full of guests since last night. She certainly doesn’t feel like spending this afternoon with drunks,” says Tanja. “Neither do I,” I say and laugh as hard as I can when Ovogdorj hands me the first cup.

“Tanja and Denis, you are fantastic. You are good people. I like you. You’ve become real Tuwa. Because of me, you can stay as long as you like,” he says in a hymn of praise. “Oh, thank you very much,” Tanja and I reply at the same time. “Drunks and children tell the truth,” I say to Tanja. “Well then, let’s take his statement as a serious compliment.” “Yes,” I reply and hand the cup back to Ovogdorj. “We are Tuva without reindeer,” Tanja suddenly says. “Tijmee, (yes) reindeer nomads without reindeer. Ha, ha, ha. Exactly. That’s very funny,” he literally cringes with laughter. “We have to drink to that!” he shouts. Nayam Dalai and he each shove a glass down their throats, pour the stainless steel cup half full again and pass it to me. “How were the reindeer? Are they okay?” I ask again, trying to make a little conversation. “The reindeer? No, they’re not doing well. We’ve lost five deer to wolf attacks. I managed to shoot two, but there’s a whole pack roaming around. The fence we built didn’t hold up. We will drive them all to the camp in a few days. There may not be enough lichen here, but at least the reindeer are safe,” he explains. In the meantime, I took a hefty swig of vodka, stored it in my cheeks for a moment and spit it into my tea cup at a convenient moment. Since I pretend to drink tea in between, nobody noticed. Tanja, who is also constantly asked to drink, also spits her drink into her coffee cup unnoticed

Now our self-invited guests begin to sing. The vocals are absolutely weird and sound more like an elephant having a cough. Nyam Dalai conducts the unconventional concert with uncoordinated hand movements. It is only interrupted by the circling of the cup. “Tanja and Denis, you are good people! I like you! Sain, sain, sain! (Good, good, good!) You should stay forever,” Ovogdorj repeats. “We are Tuva without reindeer,” Tanja answers again. “Ahhh, ha, ha, ha. Exactly. Tuva without reindeer,” he bursts out laughing again, as if he hadn’t heard the joke a few minutes ago. “Gamba is muu”, (bad) he suddenly says quite angrily. “Tanja and Denis sain. (good) Gamba muu,” he repeats, clenching his fists and letting them whirl through the air. We try not to go into it or ask why he obviously doesn’t like the shaman. “Saintsetseg is sain. Gamba muu”, he says, whereupon his fists whirl through the air again like in a shadow fight. Without further ado, he gets up from his chair and leans over to me. As it is very warm in our yurt and he is still wearing his winter coat, he sweats a lot. His face is dripping with sweat and his pores are steaming with vodka. He unabashedly pushes his lips, nose and cheek along my cheek to literally inhale me. He repeats this greeting ritual every five minutes or so, while Nyam Dalai gets up each time to shake Tanja’s hand. “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” she complains as he squeezes her hand like in a vice. “Uutschlal” (“sorry”), he apologizes only to squeeze tightly again a little later.

After an hour my nerves are on edge and after 1 ½ hours I’m close to collapse. The incessant singing, the wet sniffs, the endlessly repeated jokes and hymns of praise for our person knock the strongest man off his feet. Thank goodness the bottle is empty after 1 ¾ hours and as there are no more refills, the men get restless. “We should go to my tipi. We can continue the party there,” Ovogdorj invites us to join him. We try to pretend we don’t understand and laugh. “Ha, ha, ha, reindeer nomads without reindeer,” he suddenly roars, remembering the joke. Then he gets up, swaying slightly, and leaves our home. “You’re good people,” he says, still chuckling to himself, and staggers off to Tsaya and Ultsan’s log cabin to continue the party there. Meanwhile, Nyam Dalai is lying in our yurt and keeps looking sheepishly at Tanja. “Oh no, he didn’t fall for you in his drunken stupor, did he?” I say with a look on my face that Nyam Dalai can’t interpret. “You shouldn’t have shaken his hand so often,” I say. “I didn’t shake his hand, he shook mine. What was I supposed to do?” Tanja defends herself. “And how do we get rid of him now?” she adds questioningly. “No idea,” I reply. “I’m going out, maybe he’ll follow me,” she muses. “Good idea.” Tanja gets up from her stool and leaves our felt tent. As soon as she is outside, Nyam Dalai scrambles up and follows her. I am amazed. Tanja did exactly the right thing. When Nyam Dalai is outside, Tanja walks a short distance and re-enters our home. Nyam Dalai in tow. Tanja turns 180 degrees, leaves the yurt again and heads for Tsaya’s log cabin. “What does he want from you?” asks Tsaya, pointing at Nyam Dalai. “I have no idea. He just follows me,” Tanja replies. “Go home to your tipi,” Tsaya urges the drunk in a firm voice. “And you should go into your yurt immediately and lock it behind you,” she recommends to Tanja. “Okay,” she replies. As soon as she is back in our home, we lock the door. Just a few minutes later, there is a rattle at the entrance. Nyam Dalai tries to get in. In vain. Five minutes later, he makes another attempt. To be on the safe side, I hold the door shut from the inside. It takes a while and the man gives up.

In the evening, we do without candlelight and flashlights and keep quiet. This is the only way to avoid attracting attention. We lie down on the Wandan and listen to the lively celebration in Tsaya and Ultsan’s wooden house. At 9 p.m., we hear crunching footsteps approaching in the snow and coming to a halt in front of our entrance. A slight tug on the door tells us that someone is trying to visit us. We hold our breath. A few moments later, the footsteps move away again. “Was it him?” asks Tanja. “Who knows. But maybe it was just Saintsetseg having her evening coffee,” I reply.

After a total of nine days, the Tsagaan Sar comes to an end. The Tuwa celebrated almost the entire time. During the day we always had visitors who behaved in an extremely peaceful and friendly manner. After three months, it is clear that we have been accepted into their community by the reindeer nomads. We are accepted and some actually speak of us becoming part of the tribe.

Further travel planning

As it is not appreciated when people work during the festive season, we didn’t get any wood from the forest or chop any during these days. Our timber stocks are correspondingly low. So we use the sunny days to stock up on firewood. Although it is now spring, night-time temperatures still drop to minus 31° C in March. When the sun shines, which is usually the case, the thermometer rises above zero. The weather is also a daily topic of conversation here in the taiga. As a result, the Tuwa are increasingly discussing the date of departure for the spring camp. “When will that be?” we ask Saintsetseg. “I don’t know. If the days get any warmer and the snow melts, we won’t have any drinking water here. Then we’ll be forced to move. “So you might have to take down the tents in two to three weeks?” I ask. “Tijmee. However, it is quite possible to be hit by heavy snowfall or even a blizzard in April. In that case, we would have enough snow and we won’t leave until April 20th. This is also the time when our reindeer give birth. In short, we have to be at the spring camp by that date,” she explains. Tanja and I look at each other. “That means we urgently need to contact Bilgee,” says Tanja.

Because we have been in constant contact with him by text message since his departure from Tsagaan Nuur, we know that he has been working in a grocery store for a few weeks. It is therefore important to let him know in good time when our expedition will continue. We also need to talk to Saraa. Our horses, which have hopefully survived the winter in a prison camp about 100 kilometers outside of Mörön, must now be brought to Mörön. From there she is to ride Bilgee to Tsagaan Nuur where we will meet him. According to our plan, we take part of the yurt equipment to Tsagaan Nuur in a four-wheel drive bus to store it in the log cabin of the old miser Ayush. We will also equip and prepare for the coming months of the trip there. As soon as this is done, we ride the horses back to the Tuwa winter camp and wait in our yurt for the day of departure. When the time comes, we will go to the Tuwa spring camp with Bilgee and our friends to live in a tipi until the beginning of May. After Father Frost takes a break for several months to gather strength for the next winter, we set off to ride around 1,500 kilometers through the northeast of Mongolia. On this second leg of our journey, we want to further explore this wonderful, adventurous and unique country.

“It’s always amazing how quickly time flies,” says Tanja thoughtfully. “Yes, amazing indeed. We’ve been in this area of our Mother Earth for over seven months now,” I reflect. “It’s half-time,” says Tanja. “Half-time?” I ask. “Do the math. We’ve been here since the end of July 2011 and are expected to stay until October 2012. In case our visa extension is okay,” she explains. After thinking about it for a while, we realized that one year would not be enough to complete our trip as we had planned, so we sent our passports to Saraa in Mörön on a four-wheel drive bus for an extension. She is currently taking care of forwarding the documents to the immigration authorities in Ulan Bator. According to her, the chances of the three-month extension are not bad. After living here in the taiga, it has become strange for us to have to deal with this kind of bureaucracy. However, we cannot spend the rest of our lives in isolation from the world. But we’re not there yet. We are still allowed to share our lives with the Tuwa who have grown close to our hearts. We are excited to see what the next few weeks will bring and how the move to the spring camp will go.

Tsaya’s condition seems to be deteriorating from day to day. Only a week after their stay in Tsagaan Nuur, Ultsan and she decide to leave the base in the taiga again for some time in order to make the arduous journey to Mörön. “I’m going to have a check-up there. If I’m unlucky, the doctors will send me to Ulan Bator. Let’s see. Can you take care of our dogs again and look after the Baishin?” she asks meekly and visibly dejected. “I’d love to. Don’t worry about it. The most important thing is your health,” she reassures Tanja.

A few days after the festival, some men drive the entire reindeer herd to the base. It is an impressive sight. Hundreds of light-footed legs trot over the hard snow. One of them has a large bite wound on its butt. Obviously from a wolf. The Tuwa are relieved to have their animals back in camp. The hustle and bustle is busy. Everyone is out catching their possessions to tie to the trees overnight.

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