The way over ice and arrival at Tsagaan Nur

In the rising sun pauses the thermometer on minus 25 C.
After a hot meal we pack up the camp like in slow motion. At these extreme temperatures the only survival chance is an activism. Giving up, sit down and cry, remain lying and wait for better times, would lead here fast to the sure death.

Bilgee is a fantastic example like one a winter here outdoors survives. He is always in movement. Bilgee has turned out on the whole trip as a very diligent and helpful person. Undoubtedly he is a very good partner. “Daraa bajartaj majhan”, (goodbye tent) Bilgee says goodbye to his stiffly frozen tent. We laugh at his humor and I also say goodbye confidently to our tent. I fold up the tent squares they have become hard by the frost. Already since many days we have no more chance to let them thaw in the sun before packing.

About midday we sit in the saddles and want to ride as Bilgee without comment or explanation disappears. What should this mean?, asks Tanja freezing. If I knew this, I answer. Ten minutes later Bilgee comes ridden towards us in company of the Mongol he has talked yesterday evening so long. “Oglooniimend”, (good morning) we welcome him. “Ogloonimend”, he answers friendly and takes Tanja Sharga and Bor from the hand to lead them. He will show us a sure way by the sea labyrinth, explains Bilgee smiling. But the ice cover is not safe. It will perhaps not carry us, replies Tanja to me directed. No notion, I answer indecisively. Maybe we should accept the detour and go via Renchinlkhumbe? Then we could follow the track and would not have to ride over the icebound lakes. Would be quite stupid to brake in the ice and die only to save two or three hours. Bligee would absolutely like to shorten, I answer. And what do you want? What do you feel? Today my feeling is neutral. I think by the last cold night the passage over the lake is frozen. What do you mean? I ask Tanja now. Today the idea to cross the ice feels better than yesterday. We make what you decide, she answers confidentially. “Okay”, I say to Bilgee. Let us try it. Bilgee smiles and rides ahead with the shepherd. Few minutes later we meet again the Mongol who yesterday was drunk and wanted to help us over the ice. Today he is sober thank God. My name is Batsog from the tripe of the Tuwa, he says cheerfully and joins to our group. Tuwa? Tuwas are also called Tsataans or? Tanja asks. “Yes”, I answer. It does not last long and we reach the place were we yesterday already wanted to cross the lake. The men do not wait long and enter the ice. At a distance of approx. 100 meters Batsog, the shepherd and Bilgee lead each one horse over the ice. Tttzzuuuunng! Tttzzuuuunng! Tttzzuuuunng! Sounds an eerie noise like as thunder would race under the ice surface and sprinkle it to pieces. But nothing happens. The men reach safe the opposite shore. Now Tanja follows. Because I film and take photos I am the last one. It lasts only 20 minutes till we have all horses safe and unscathed on the opposite land. Quick the men swing themselves into the saddle and trot in a hurry over the hilly country till we reach the big river which we also could not cross yesterday. In a bend of the stream which is completely covered with ice we want to venture the river crossing “Wait!” I call to Tanja as the men everybody together ride over the ice. “Tttzzuuuuuuunng!”, it crashes under the hoofs of the horses that they shy and the men solidify in their movements like salt columns. After nothing broke our companions ride carefully further. Then Tanja and I follow. “There are no more lakes and rivers which can become dangerous for you. From here it is only approx. 15 kilometers to Tsagaan Nuur”, explains the helpful shepherd, shakes our hand and rides back to his home. Batsog also has to go to Tsgaan Nuur and leads Sharga and Bor. In a quick trot we ride up a mountain. While I lead Mogi, Tanja drives Sharga and Bor. Bilgee and Batsog laugh at her being so committed. At the highest point of the mountain is an Ovol. We surround it three times and show our respect. The view of the sea country among us is fantastic. Slowly comes up the feeling which a winner shortly before the sure aim feels. “Today we will reach Tsagaan Nur”, says Tanja beaming with delight. “I am sure”, I answer smiling. At the foot of a other mountain Bartsog hands over the leadership rope of Sharga and Bor to Tanja. “I live over here”, he says on a small village pointing and gallops of. Without any hurry we climb the hilltop of the mountain. On top an Ovol receives us again. It is the Ovol of Tsagaan Nuur. We rise from the horses, bind them to a shelter built of wood and look at our aim. The snow-covered place lies peacefully in a wide valley. “There it is”, I say and feel in myself climbing gentle waves of a deep satisfaction. “Yes there it is. Looks nicely”, believes Tanja. “Our home for some time”, I reply. “Until we go to the Tuwa”, Tanja agrees with me.

We sit under the shelter on the wooden bank and drink tea. “Should we go now?”, I ask Tanja and Bilgee. “Yes, lets us ride down”, they answer. As we ride in the village of Tsagaan Nuur curious looks of some inhabitants follow us.
We stop at a small food shop. Bilgee calls Ayush, the cousin from Saraa to inform him about our arrival. It does not last long and a young Mongol lady comes to the log cabin and waves to us friendly. “Come along please. It is not far”, she tells us to follow her. Only 200 meters farther we reach a wooden shelter. Some cows stand in its protection and eat hay. The woman who has introduced her self to us with the name Tsendmaa opens an old gate. We lead our horses in an about 1,000 square meter court which is completely surrounded by a typical wooden fence. Beside the big log cabin, next to a Russian truck, our baggage train comes to stand. An old, active man, who must be Ayush, helps his adopted daughter Tsendmaa immediately with unloading the horses.
After the horses are unloaded I happily turn to Bilgee, shake his hand “We have created it really to Tsagaan Nuur”. I say “Tschin setgeleesee bajrlalaa”, (“many thanks”) and embrace him for the first time. Bilgee is also obviously happy and presses me laughing to his chest. Then there comes Tanja, embraces him also from whole heart. ÑWe are a great teamì, I say overjoyed.

“Come to the house”, demands Tsendmaa to us to leave the cold of the evening. With pleasure we enter the log cabin. A wall of heat meets us like a wave. Because of the last weeks which we have lived outdoors we are not accustomed to warmth any more. “Take a seat”, says Tseden-ish the 89 year old Mrs. from Ayush. Happily and contently we sit near the stove, drinking tea and try to have a little conversation, which is not easy because of our limited Mongolian. Paled light gleams by the partly broken window panes on which the cold has painted frost flowers. ÑHurray, at the moment the cold is no danger any more to usì, I quietly whisper. “What have you said?”, asks Tanja. “Oh the cold can do nothing any more to us. We sit in the nest. We have created it”, I am glad. “Yes, we have created it”, says Tanja with happy expression.

“Come I show you your ger”, says Tsendmaa. We follow her behind the log cabin and stand before a nice small ger. “Our home for the next seven months”, says Tanja and steps inside by the small wooden door. Inside burns our small stove which we had bought in Mörön and had already used in Saraas ger. Shagai, a friend of Saraa, has put a new wooden floor in the ger and has rolled out our carpet. “Many thanks for putting the fire on”, says Tanja to Ayush and Tsendmaa. “Is our equipment already here?”, I ask. “Yes, except from a few little things everything has already come.” “We have kept everything meanwhile in our Ambaar (Small house)”, Tsendmaa says. Unfortunately she speaks no word of English. But this is no problem in connection with Bilge we have developed our own language and we understand what we need to understand.

For dinner we are invited in the log cabin. Tsendmaa has cooked a strong rice soup with meat, potatoes and onions she wanted to cook specially for Tanja because she is a vegetarian. Because one can not survive as a vegetarian in Mongolia Tanja decided already weeks ago definitely to eat from time to time meat. “When we are home I stop eating meat again”, she says. I am glad that Tanja is so relaxed about this matter and makes therefore survival and traveling
more easy. It is quite late as we go to our ger. We roll out the isolation mats on the ground and creep in our sleeping-bags. Only at 1:00 o’clock in the morning it becomes cold in the ger. I get up, light the fire in the stove once more and enjoy having the luxury of a warming fire in the tent.