Better days?

(Roughing it)

It takes one a while to realize his current whereabouts when the dreams take him places.

That is exactly how my morning starts, far away from my travels, far away from here. If the surprise of spotting the continuous layer of ice covering the inside walls of my tent just inches from my face didn't distract my mind from the faraway dreams I could share them with you. Since that was not the case the above will have to suffice.

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The cold is biting when I unzip the tent. It is early morning and the position of my tent behind the house to the southeast does not welcome any sun rays. Thanks to the lucky foresight I slept very comfortably under the borrowed thick blanket. I think I might make a habit of this - camping near gers and borrowing blankets to supply the so wanted warmth my three season sleeping bag cannot provide.
As I am forcing myself out of the tent to release the abundant liquid in my bladder that was the yesterday's lager I feel rather different to all the previous merry mornings. Yesterday's struggles certainly left traces on my morale.
I can feel an old injury coming alive again too - while climbing down from a mountain on the trip to the Gobi I have almost lost a leg. The biggest and most securely looking rock came loose under me and I ended up surfing down some 3 meters before the rock stopped just in time not to land on my other leg that got stuck up to the knee in the gap created in front of me as I was turning around to see whether I am not going to be crushed by a proper landslide from above. Apparently it was quite a cool show as I was told by my then-companion Ian standing above me - the rocks gave out a series of sparks in the darkness of the late evening. All ended up well though and no broken bones or torn ligaments are there in need of healing. -

Morning coffee tastes nice and bitter and I smoke a series of cigarettes recollecting yesterday events as the village is waking up in the distance in front of me.
I can hear a lonely motorcycle passing by and the sound startles me. I am fairly good now at recognizing the difference in pitch different engines product but my nerves are a bit edgy. It's time to pack up and go before I have to relive the events again.

The packing is fairly slow as I have to wait for the tent to dry up. When it is finally dry and  I am packing it away my ears register a familiar noise. Deep, rusty, gritty sound of a large engine with many miles on it's account.
I leave everything be as I peak out from behind the fence to see the familiar old Russian lorry truck making it's way out of the village towards the petrol station. Shit!, I can feel a sudden rush of anxiety coming over me.
I disappear behind the fence as quickly as possible and take a moment to think what to do. My mind is too slow to come up with a decent plan and I settle for taking my camera out of the backpack and hiding it out of sight under a big piece of scrap metal. Next I take the half packed backpack and shove it close to the fence. Leave the rest there and shut up, I shout at myself in my mind as I hear the engine cutting out right there in front of the house.
Fuck! I freeze in my position as I hear the cabin door opening followed by a loud damped sound of heavy leather boots hitting the soft ground.
I make a few steps closer to the fence and look over my possessions lying around on the dry grass in front of me.
I have made the effort yesterday to distribute my money properly in case of any nighttime visitors. Some were put in my wallet, some left in my waist pouch that is this time securely tucked under my pants and the most money stored under the insole of my right shoe. I move my toes around to feel the the almost invisible lump. - The feeling of security flushes over me.
The feeling however does not last long as I can hear the door opening on the other side of the fence and the leather boots trampling on the wooden floor directly behind me. Another door opens and the person enters the house.
I find the courage to get out of my secure place when no sounds follow. I gather my things quickly and very quietly put them all into my backpack. After the straps are securely tightened and the backpack almost leaning against the fence I cannot resist checking what is going on.
I move to the other side of the house still safely hidden behind the fence and find two planks with a space in between. As I put my eye to the hole I indeed see the same car of yesterday parked directly in front of the house. I cannot see whether there is anyone inside the cabin and I do not have time to take a better look from somewhere else when I hear the loud smash of the door against the wall and a fast paced steps on the wooden floor of the hut. I tuck my head in and do not make a peep.
I follow the sound of the steps to the car. The cabin door opens and shuts with a loud bang. As I hear the engine start I peek out again to see the car set in motion.
The driver makes a strong left turn and for a second I think I have been given away! I can almost see the face of the brute with a sick grin right there in front of me! The sound of the engine however seems to be fading away rather then closing on me and after a few seconds I find the courage to peek out from behind the fence again.
The car is driving away! Away from me, away from the station and away from the village!
So they finally set out for their journey. I am sure it is the same car, a blue lorry truck with an additional train.

Relieved but not entirely relaxed I properly repack my backpack and warily make my way to the front of the house. The man of the house is nowhere to be seen so I leave my backpack out of sight inside the front fence of the property and position myself on the old familiar spot. I light up a cigarette and take a deep breath. Ok, here we go again, I tell myself as I resume the hitching.

Every time a car approaches I have to suppress a strong feeling in the gut to turn around and run away. But there is no where to run away to. The nearest village, whichever direction I decide to go, is some fifty kilometers away.
So I muster up my courage and warily approach the incoming vehicles.
I inspect the passengers carefully before I step forward and offer the usual stuff. Three cars in the two hours of waiting bring no further incidents and I am starting to feel more relaxed.
The people I talk to appear friendly and do not seem to possess any threat. No one however shares the route I am going and I am not yet prepared to abandon my plan. I am thus stuck for another hour but at least the sun is high up and the clear sky does not seem to hold any recollection of yesterday's events.

When after three hours a big truck appears carrying a father and a son and a big load of unidentifiable cargo I am finally on the way.

In the 150 kilometers we cover in five hours we pass through a wide selection of landscapes raging from steppe to high mountain peaks. At some point we drive along an earthquake fault twenty meters wide and sixty meters deep in the most extreme points.

When we stop for the father to take a driving break in a valley with yellow forests covering the hills on both sides of the road and sit ourselves in a circle sharing food and drinks it almost feels like a family reunion. I boil water on my portable cooker and offer my fellows coffee. We dine cans of fish, me using fingers to dig the big pieces out, the father a blade of an old knife with the handle broken off and the son a rusty nail his father dug out of his toolbox. Welcome to Mongolia, I cannot help but smile.

With the sun nearing the horizon we finally arrive to Tes (for some reason pronounced tys). As we drive into the town I notice a long line of deciduous trees in the distance following what surely must be a river. What a lovely camping spot, I think to myself and I am eager to get out of the car to make it there while the sun is still up. I feel compelled however to wait with my fellow passengers until we find the receiver of the cargo. As it turns out it is a director of a school and as I get out I am greeted with a hearty laugh and Russian welcomes.

The car is parked in front of the school and the boy starts working on uncovering the mysterious contents we were dragging around all those mountain passes. And..

It is school desks! New desks for the children. As I learn in a bit it is a gift from the school in the Uliastai city to Tes for the school's 50th anniversary next summer. Why the gift arrives this year then eludes me but I do not really care as I am signaled by the father that all three of us can stay for the night in the director's house.

The director laughs after the father whispers something in his ear and soon I can hear the word rubles and dingy, a Mongolian slang for money, coming my direction. I can feel the warm feeling of compatriotship from not so long ago surely melting away. Here we are again, no friendly service but a trade instead. I feel this disappointment much more close to the heart than any before and I sigh over how alone I am.

I am not entirely sure I want to spend time with any of this people, alone in their company, and after yesterday I would rather stay hidden away truly alone in a lovely setting with trees and a river but since the sun is touching the horizon now there are not many other options.

I am also very wary of being in anyone's gratitude from what seem to be a constant negative experiences. Nothing appears to be given for free in this country. When I am called off from helping unloading the desks by the director and not being allowed to take my possessions from the car first I am giving up.

What will happen will happen. My mind is too tired to keep worrying anymore and I feel a wave of calm wash over me. Take me and take all I have, I give up!

We get in the director's car and after a 5 minute drive with a few stops with me completely oblivious to the reason of our journey we finally pickup a lovely looking little woman called Handa. She is a Russian teacher and speaking much better then the director she is 'enrolled' as a translator and a company to the mysterious traveler that arrived into town.

I am well pleased with the new company and dig out my Slovak Russian from the back of my mind. The talking is going surprisingly well and I can feel my mood picking up. I have not talked properly with anyone for almost a week and this surely is a welcoming change.

As we arrive back to school I see the unloading progressed a fair bit. As I am about to get back to work I am called off to meet the rest of the teachers that turned up. Another Russian teacher, a few others teaching small children and an English teacher at last!

After a few sentences I realize my best bet for a good conversation is Handa. This English teacher and another one can hardly put two sentences together and I am amazed at how they can teach even little kids: virtually non-existent grammar, vocabulary of a beginner but at least there is will to speak, I guess.

After the unloading is finally finished with most school's kids helping out to store the desks away we are finally on our way to the director's house.

I am gradually stopped by at least three teachers that translate director's words that I am welcome to stay with him for the entire duration of my being in town and I do not know whom to thank. These words were never spoken to me directly by the director himself but I appreciate the gesture.

As we are seated in the house, me and the father taking the only two armchairs in the room, signifying the most important guests, we are offered the milk tea, something any occasion couldn't go without, and wait for the dinner to be served.

Soon enough I am savoring a traditional Mongolian meat and vegetable soup. It tastes like heavenly mana and as the first round of vodka is offered I am smiling widely feeling rather at comfort in my new company.

The room is full of people. There is the director merrily leading the conversation, the father and the son I arrived with, another two male visitors, Handa sitting close to me on a stool on my left and the director's wife and her sister standing in the door.

As I am finishing the soup Handa takes it out of my hand and soon reappears with another full bowl. Spasiba, devuška!

When I am finally finished, not being able to take in another spoon, we are at the third round of vodka. Thank you sir, I raise the glass to my forehead in sign of respect and wishes of good health. Nazdarovie!

After the vodka is irreversibly gone the director stands up and in what is a three minute monologue where at one stage he points his finger one by one on every single person in the room he thanks the driver for bringing this gift all the way here and hands him the fuel money wrapped in a traditional Mongolian blue scarf.

I learn that my riding companions decided to leave instead of staying for the night and the time has come to settle the accounts. When I am asked 30000 togrog (20$) for the 150 kilometers I cannot believe my ears. I must be looking rather appalled when Handa follows translating the father's words that anyone else would charge me 50000 for the same distance. I am fairly disgusted by this clear attempt at extortion but still feeling the merry mood of the previous half an hour and not wanting to offend my host I accept the next offer presented by Handa. She feels proud at the achievement of reducing it down to 25000 so I leave her in it.

As we follow the father and the son out to the truck to give them farewell I hand him the money. He offers a hand in a handshake and I cannot suppress a smile and the comforting words in my home tongue: 'Tu máš, ty vydryduch!'

As we are all finally left to our own business I chat away the time with Handa. I cannot help myself flirting fueled by the vodka spreading in my veins. She is single after all at her late 26 years of age and everyone was sort of putting us together. She however does not seem to be particularly observant and I cannot even get her to switch from the Russian vy to ty. Soon enough however she is driven away by the director and I am finding myself setting up a bed on the living room floor.

Oh, how tired I am.  
Thank you for this, I aim the words at the smiling director's wife. I am not left alone for another long while though as she sits herself in the room phoning a friend or someone. Her little boy comes into the room and I pass the time entertaining him. He is the most clever and non-possessive little kid I have ever met. Everything he likes and I voluntarily offer him he returns back into my hands. I cannot resist taking a few photos of what turns out to be looking like child pornography. Ehm.. I should remember to erase it later not to end up in jail when crossing borders to China.

I cannot keep my head up any longer and lay my self down to sleep. I have already drifted into a shallow dreams when I am woken up by the director loudly breathing above me. His having troubles to stand straight suggests that there has been more vodka involved in his evening. As my mind fully awakes the director has already seated himself down and is trying to converse with me. Apparently he's been drinking with the driver father after we've parted. I make a joke about the father driving drunk into the night.

After the drunken laughter fades away the director comes up with a brilliant plan of calling his daughter who studies English in Ulaan Baatar. As I am sighing over being a forced witness to his phone conversation I am suddenly being passed the phone and expected to join in.

'Eh.. Hello?', is what I manage to come up with off of the top of my head.

'I am not entirely sure what's going on but I am staying at your father's and he's just handed me the phone to talk to you.'

'Hello?'

'Hi, who is this?' a reply comes out.

I explain the situation again expanding on the details of who I am.

'What? Sorry?' comes from the other side as I am being convinced again that Mongolians and English do not mix.

I try to slow down and go through the motions once again with a similar result. I am still being watched by the drunken father but I am no longer willing to entertain him. I apologize to the girl and hand her back to his father. I shrug my shoulders as a form of explanation and do not bother adding a vocal representation as well.

After a few more minutes of drunken banter with his daughter he hangs up and suggest a vodka. I kindly refuse, being already set in the sleeping mood but he insists. After a two minute conversation revolving around alcohol I finally say yes. I am no wuss and I would not like him to think so. My mind is wide awake now so why not continue the pleasantries! Ok, bring it on!

The director, apparently a bit startled, gets up and his wife follows him into the kitchen. I can hear them talking quietly but the only thing I catch is a laugh raised in a complaint and the word dingy again. When after two minutes nothing is brought back and the director does not appear again I realize how things are: the director is a big mouth and his hospitality stretches only as far as his subordinates are there to witness.

How truly sad, I think to myself but being tired as I am I have no longer any will left to really care. I lay my head down, tuck my head deeper into the sleeping back and within minutes I am finally safe and sound asleep.

-

My body is wishing for another two hours of comfortable sleep in the relative warmth of the house but it is not meant to be.

I half awake at half seven to notice the director and his wife standing in the living room observing me but my mind is not yet ready to give up the realms of sleep. I thus manage to sneak in another three quarters of an hour before I am properly woken up by loud noises and banter, clearly an effort to get me out of the bed.

I turn around not particularly pleased and check the watch: it is half eight. Definitely too early after getting to sleep so late. So this is how far the hospitality stretches, I think to myself recollecting the events of yesterday evening.

I am now fully awake and meeting the gaze of director's wife I realize there is no more kindness in her eyes - if there was any yesterday at all. So I get up and start hastily packing my stuff.

What a morning, I look outside and realise it is going to be cold and probably wet. A big set of clouds have spread themselves over the town and the stillness of the branches in the yard suggests there is no wind to blow them away anytime soon.

When I am all packed and ready I feel still half asleep. Miss director has already put mascara on and have been looking ready to go take on the day for a good ten minutes now. I wish for some water to splash over my tired face and possible give my teeth a good clean but there is no space to ask for that.

As I am just about to put my backpack on I am forced into the kitchen to have a bowl of the morning milk tea and some breakfast - a visitor leaving without breakfast is quite unthinkable.

I am chewing some dry bread not willing to spread what looks like mutton fat in a jar over it flushing it down with the super hot milk tea. I can begin to feel the tip of my tongue tingle but it is too late, the damage is done, and so I continue pouring the hot liquid down my throat.

Soon I am done and off we go, me following her steps out of the house and towards the school. There is the director giving out instructions to the kids running around with the desks we brought yesterday.  

'Good morning, sir', I share my thoughts as I light up a cigarette in the morning cold.

Damn, it is definitely too early to be out! I stand around for a minute caught in observing the kids at work. The time says nine o'clock sharp when Handa appears from around the corner. We have agreed yesterday on her showing me around. It might be fun and I could use a day of rest, I thought in my merry mood of yesterday hoping we will go for a little trek to the river and maybe climb the nearby hill. It might turn out to be a quite a romantic little stroll, I was hoping the least.

Spotting her coming out from behind the corner I however realise that her plans might  be just quite abut different! She is all done up, her best clothes on accompanied by a lovely pair of red leather boots on high heels. Nope, no trekking today, I think to myself as I greet her as she approaches.

I throw a smint in my mouth, the last of the stock, to take the edge of my morning breath and soon I am being led into the school building with kids running around. I am leaving my backpack in the teacher's 'lounge' and without being prepared to take on the day at all the tour can begin.

In the next hour I am being lead around the town listening to Handa's presentive, longwinded and slightly emotionless description of what the city has to offer. After covering all buildings belonging to the elementary school and the kindergarten, which I am very glad to see, I am soon being led into a few shops, the post office building, the bank where we even go see the director, a town hall in which all the doors are opened by Handa for me too peek in and the town's exhibition hall. None of the latter places really offer much interesting to see.
So this is the tour you had in mind, I sigh over in how boring a company I found myself. I do however try to make the best out of it.
It is quite interesting still to see the inside of a Mongolian town. Tes is one of the prettiest I've seen here. It is a district capital town so it sees many kids from other towns coming to school here. I'm even lead into a  Mongolian version of the school dormitories (see the last photo above) where kids actually spend their whole week. Slightly chilling a thought but recollecting my university time at Strahov, Prague, there is no need for that!

I take back what I said before, Handa's descriptions are not emotionless, instead her speech is filled with a certain pride at how well established their sum (town) is. I am being a good listener - from a certain point I am being good at pretending to be - but I would much more enjoy just talking about something not related to the village. There is no place for that with her however and not before an hour of walking around listening to the monologue we have finally covered it all.

As we sit ourselves on the bench near by the school where I light a cigarette I try to start up a more personal dialogue. Her responses are however quite vague and there aren't any questions directed at me. It takes a further few minutes for me to realise we are not really having a conversation, instead she's just enjoying being able to talk in Russian. And so I do no longer strain my ears to catch her difficult accent to make sense out of her words when what appeared to have been a conversation turns into a straight out monologue.

When she suggests going to eat I accept but I am already thinking of getting out of town today. I don't think there is any space for me to stay with the director again so I really should. She mentions there is a ride tomorrow morning at ten in the direction where I am going so I should stay and leave then. I try to inquire about the price but she just shrugs her shoulders.

After we're done and there are still two hours left before she has to take on her afternoon class we go to see the autumn harvest show that takes place in the exhibition hall. It is nothing but an indoor market with local produce being sold. The products range from airag - the fermented horse milk -, yogurt, clotted cream through vegetables, pastries and preserves to leather and wool and clothing made out of them.

When Handa comes to me asking for money explaining she has forgotten hers at the school I voluntarily take out my wallet and complain I have only 10000 on me. She take is out and says it is ok. So I assume it is ok indeed and do not worry about it. She goes around an on a shopping streak and I, having enough of the loud and stuffy atmosphere, get out of the building and make a phone call to Lukas.

Ah, the joys of sharing your hardships with someone who cares and understands! Lukas is very interested and understanding about what I've been through and indeed very pleased to hear from me. After a 15 minute conversation that ends abruptly when Lukas' phone battery dies off I feel quite reinvigorated when I meet up with Handa again.

'Ok, I am leaving today. I will try to catch a ride tonight and if it fails I'll catch the one you were talking about tomorrow.' I share my plan with her not seeing what else is there to do for me in this city. She understands and as we are leaving the teacher's lounge with my backpack back on my back it is half past one. Still plenty of time for hitching.

As we are standing in front of the building observed by at least a dozen children I am thinking of the money I have given her not an hour ago. I am a gentleman and the thought of asking a woman for money disgusts me. When she however starts saying her goodbyes and asking me whether I will call her tomorrow and later there is nothing else on my mind.

Is she really that rude to forget about a clear loan? I have mentioned to her yesterday that my money runs very short and that is the reason I cannot afford to hire a car with a driver to get out of here. Or she simply trying to rip me off after I have bought her lunch and a treat?

I am very anxious at this point and the fact we are surrounded by 15 other people does not help. I give the kids the evil eye and as they slowly start to move away I, my nerves really pushed by this clear ignorance from her side, bring up the money question.

'What money?' she replies to my surprise.

Not caring at this point I follow: 'The money I have given you at the market.'

'Ja nepanimaju. Ja anglijski negavariu. Kake dingy?' she asks me clearly understanding I am talking about money.

I can't believe this. What money? The fucking money I gave you not an hour ago. 

There is no way she could not understand! If she at least explained that she took it as a gift rather than a loan I could understand.. But this?

I am disgusted beyond words. When she asks me about whether I will call her again I have nothing left in terms of kindness for her or anyone anymore.

'You..' I whisper to myself and quickly wrap up this pathetic little dispute with the most emotionless 'Good bye. Take care.' Without waiting for a reply I turn around and cursing in my mind I walk away.

Extortionists. All of you! You people disgust me..

I am angry and I feel anxiety over how alone I am again.. 
The experiences of the previous days are clearly taking their toll and I am in the worst state since I have left for my big trip over two months ago.

When I get to the shop and buy a bottle of water for three times the price I buy it usually I bark at the female clerk 'Here, stuff yourself with it!'.

No, no kindness is there left in me when I am continuing to another shop to buy bread and other supplies.

After the short walk with the heavy weight on my back calms me down a fair bit I consider buying a bottle of vodka for the director. I would not like to be remembered as ungrateful. Before I do so I go back to the school building and ask around for him. He is not there I am told and when I assure myself that I truly do not care about what these people think of me I turn on my heels, exit the building and finally head off into the direction of the peacefully looking trees in the distance - something I should have done long ago.

When I finally set up camp after a half an hour long depressing hitching session which I was forced to wrap up prematurely for the lack of the 'right state of mind' I feel totally and utterly like shit.
There is no more credit on my mobile to call a friendly soul to make the loneliness go away.
Loneliness and sadness over how two-face people are.
The hot evening meal does not make it better, nor does my ceremonial evening brew and the countless cigarettes I smoke sitting on the river bank watching the waves and the occasional bird swinging away.
The knowledge that I have in a way brought it on myself is of no comfort either.
And thus I am falling asleep wrapped up in my anxiety feeling that there is very little hope that tomorrow is going to be any better.