Yurt camp

I wake up this morning without energy. A cold attack makes me move as if in slow motion. Tanja gives me two zinc spirulina & acerola capsules from Sanatur. “Take this every two hours and your cold will be history tonight,” she says. “I hope so,” I say meekly.

We say a quick goodbye to Ivan and leave his bus station guestiniza behind us. After 30 kilometers we reach a small rest stop, of which there should be several on the route ahead. Two truck drivers are already sitting at a narrow table watching us approach. As soon as the steaming bortsch is served, two more truck drivers rumble through the entrance. One of them immediately orders ßto grams of vodka (ßto is the term for 100 grams of vodka) and a beer. “That promotes virility!” he says laughing loudly, clapping his flat right hand on his left fist, which makes the other men laugh really dirty. This seems to motivate him and he cracks more dirty jokes. “Hchö! Hchö! Hchöööö!”, the other men comment in deep, smoky voices. The vodka drinker speaks a few words of German and tries them out incessantly. “Hchö! Hchö! Hchööö!” is the answer. “Uh, why are you riding your bike? That’s stupid. You should be driving a truck!” “Hchö! Hchö! Hchöööö!” laughs from the back rows. The joke counter orders a second vodka and a little later a third. He quickly gets going. He gets up, buys an apple and gives it to Tanja. “ßpaßiba (thank you),” she thanks him. Although the man seems friendly, we hurry with the food. “Da ßwidanja (See you again)”, we say goodbye. “See you on the road!” he calls after us with a laugh. “Hchö! Hchö! Hchöööö!”, booms from the pub as we sit on our bikes and ride on.

We are once again standing at the side of the road, adjusting my saddle, when a truck thunders past, honking loudly. “Hey! Hey! Heee! Have a good trip!” shouts the vodka drinker from the open passenger window. “So thank God he doesn’t drive himself,” I say with relief. “They seem to work in shifts,” says Tanja. “From the looks of it, yes. Apparently that’s why there are often two of them. Our husband is on a break now and has used the time to have a drink,” I assume.

Johann meets us on the way. He was in Kustanai to buy for his building materials business. “How are you doing? There’s a lake on the right-hand side of the road in about 20 kilometers. There’s a rest stop and a yurt there. Why don’t you ask if you can sleep in the yurt,” he suggests. We say thank you and say goodbye to the nice man. “Maybe we’ll see each other again. It’s a small world,” he says and drives off

It is 17:00 when we reach the yurt. A few people give us friendly looks. “You are welcome to spend the night in the yurt,” the owner named Sabib offers us. “How much does the overnight stay cost?” “Nothing, of course. Get some rest. Recover yourself. You can put your bikes and equipment in the yurt,” he says. Relieved, we carry our equipment into the shade of the felt tent, which keeps us cool in the 46 degree sun. We huddle on the pillows and lie almost motionless for the first 20 minutes. Then, after we have recovered a little from today’s 100 kilometers in the monkey heat, we eat another bortsch served to us by Sabib’s lovely wife Galina. After the meal, Sabib asks if he can join us. “Gladly,” we invite him. We have a chat. It turns out that he, like many of the Kazakhs and Russians, was stationed in East Germany for two years as a soldier. He also has positive memories of that time and even speaks a few words of German after 20 years. Sabib studies our map with interest. He is absolutely fascinated by our bike trip and wants to know everything. “So you want to go to Irkutsk? That’s about 4,400 kilometers from here. I know that reasonably well because I’ve been there by car before. It’s a very long distance and if you want to make it before the Siberian winter you’ll have to hurry. The roads in Kazakhstan shouldn’t be a big problem, but the stretch from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk is completely unpaved.” “How unpaved?” “Well, there’s no asphalt. It’s all gravel and clay. When it rains, the traffic sinks into the mud. The route is also very hilly.” “Well, that doesn’t sound good. How far is that approximately?” “I think it’s probably around 1,000 kilometers.”

Tanja and I look at each other. “You should definitely call riese und müller about your saddle,” Tanja suggests. “Definitely,” I agree with her and grab my cell phone. We are lucky, there is a reception here. I find out that Heiko Müller is on vacation but the workshop manager Kay Katzik is there. I am delighted to have him on the line and explain the situation. “We’ll manage Denis. We’ll send you a saddle to Kustanai. When you get there, please give us the exact address,” I hear his words and am glad to have such reliable partners as sponsors. “And Denis!” “Yes?” “Tanja should take care of her Achilles tendon. It’s not to be trifled with. It’s best to stiffen the sole of your shoe. Find an orthopaedist who can make a rigid insole. Tanja’s tendon needs to rest and she should be put under as little strain as possible.” “Thanks Kay. That’s a good suggestion. But we still have 4,400 kilometers to go. Resting will probably be difficult. Nevertheless, we’ll do what we can,” I reply, to which he gives us lots of useful tips on regeneration.

Horse milk with resounding consequences!

After dinner, Sabib treats us to a bowl of fermented horse’s milk. We remember the alcoholic drink from Mongolia a few years ago when we crossed the country 1,600 kilometers on horseback as part of our “Great Journey”. We were often offered the Kumys there. At the end of our expedition, however, I had an allergic reaction to it, so now I just sip a little and pass the cup on to Tanja. After she has emptied the container with the mare’s milk, we get ready for bed. Because of the countless mosquitoes, I hang our Brettschneider mosquito net in the yurt, put the sleeping mats underneath and go outside again. As soon as I pull down my pants, the stinging bloodsuckers attack me in large numbers. Cursing, I stand in the tall, damp grass and try to defend myself. “Ahhhhh!!!”, I shout and flee into the yurt, waving my arms around like a helicopter. Tanja is already asleep in our mosquito-proof camp. Because Sabib and Galina have gone home overnight and we are now alone at the truck stop, I lock the tin yurt door with our bike locks to be on the safe side. Then I, too, grab under the safety net, dog-tired.

“Denis, let me out quickly. Unlock the door! I have to throw up!” Tanja’s voice pulls me out of the land of dreams. “Uh-huh. What? What’s going on?” I try to think clearly while sitting down. “Open the door! Quick!!!” I hear and shoot out from under the net. I’ve only just got a meter behind me when I’m startled by a big choking noise behind me. “Too late,” says Tanja, holding the dinner in her hands. I dart around like a startled chicken, find a serving tray on the table and hand it to her. Tanja then unloads her hands. In order not to contaminate any more of our bed for the night, she crawls outside lying on her back. There she has to empty herself a few more times. In the meantime, I try to clean our warehouse. “Poor thing,” it goes through my head as I hear her continue to choke. Then I remember that she is out there, exposed to millions of bloodthirsty mosquitoes. I immediately grab the Jaico anti-mosquito milk, run into the night and spray her body. Whole swarms set off for the first time. Now they are circling above our heads, waiting for an opportunity to attack again. “It was the horse’s milk. I’m quite sure of that,” says Tanja. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t drink much of it,” I tell her, stroking her back tenderly. “Just go back to the tent. I’ll be right back. I have to take a shower first,” says Tanja and goes to the small shower house made of sheet metal where the truck drivers are allowed to wash themselves for 100 tenge (0.54 euro cents) a day.

Something different!!!

Dear reader of our diary!

Please don’t forget our green streak. We don’t want to be intrusive, but it has only grown a little in the last few weeks. Together with you, we want to give life to 25,000 trees during our Trans-East expedition. One tree for every kilometer covered. A tree costs only ? 5,-. The trees are used to regenerate degraded and non-viable forests in Germany. We need healthy primary forests. This means that there are hardly any surviving primeval forests left. Forests are being cleared all over the world. We want to do something about this with our joint efforts. Giving something back to Mother Earth that we take away every day. We believe that the children of future generations should also have a chance of survival. Please help us to create something. So that people in the future will still be able to hear birds chirping and stand in the shade of a tree.

You can find information about the Green Vein on our website.
www.denis-katzer.com

The donations do not benefit us financially in the slightest. Everything you give goes to Mother Earth!!! We guarantee this with our life project and our name.

Donations are very welcome at:
Bergwaldprojekt e.V.
Keyword:Green vein
GLS Community Bank
SORT CODE 43060967
Account number 8022916200

Mother Earth is alive!

We look forward to your comments!