Ask the sky.

It was three years ago in the mountain steppes of Hangzhou. Our small and unscientific expedition was slowly advancing on the terrible Mongolian roads, crawling in mud, forcing rivers, and lavishing between rocks and countless flocks of domestic animals.
One of us, Igor, was a nominee on this hot July day. Since the pre-starter campaign, a bottle of good whiskey was hidden in Deuti-Free, which was hardly, but managed to keep until the birthday. Whiskey was terribly warm, and even the wonderful views of Mongolian untouched nature could not improve its taste. We needed ice.
It is almost impossible to get it in Mongolia outside the cities, and the number of cities is disappearing small and the distances between them are calculated by several hundred kilometers. There was no city on our way that day. Asking for ice in nomadic settlements and even in small villages, which are hit 2-3 times a day, is useless - they do not have refrigerators. Meat is usually stored in the most reliable way – inside its own skin – and pasted nearby until it is needed. Fresh milk is also always at hand, and the rest of the fast-food Mongols do not eat at all, so historically it has been. Dirty attempts to ask for ice in the opposite jurts and small points of the catering ended in the same way – with a confused smile and the hands of the owners spread to the side. Birthday slowly climbed towards sunset.
The last chance was to seek the help of the higher forces. The religious affiliation of Igor and me was unclear to us, so to whom to pray was unclear. Eventually I suggested to him to turn to Huh Munh Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky, the supreme god of the Mongolian animists, since we are in the territory under his control. Igor accepted the idea with a proper skeptical smile, but there was no alternative, and he performed the miserable resemblance of the rite of appeal to Heaven (fortunately, no Mongolian shaman saw this "ritual"). It was only to wait and hope that suddenly, from anywhere in the middle of the steppe, a refrigerator connected to the solar battery will appear, bound with a tape "Igor from Hueh Munch Tengry with the best wishes", the freezer of which will be filled with fine pieces of ice in the form of a glass for whisky.
The sky ordered differently. Half an hour later, heavy clouds blinked on his clear blue face, and lightning shone in the distance. We were already going to tie the bottle with a towel and hang it out of the window, where it will be soaked in the rain and cooled by evaporating water at speed (an ancient method of cooling drinks in the train, developed by the Soviet travelers), but nobody dared take such a responsibility. The roads there are grounded, crumbling and rocky (three or four asphalted in Mongolia), and the crumbly tied bottle will inevitably fall and break, and it will be alone.
And when the thunderstorm went beyond the nearest mountain chain, we had to climb the crossing. Even from the bottom we noticed that the passage of some strange gray color, very unusual for the summer Mongolian landscape. And only when we got there, we realized that Heaven had taken up our prayers. The past thunderstorm has poured out a considerable amount of its moisture on the passage, and not in a liquid, but in a solid aggregate state! A piece of Mongolia with a radius of about one-and-a-half to two kilometers was covered by a rough white carpet of fairly hanging gardens. If we were here half an hour later – and our car would be damaged considerably. But the wise Heaven did only what was asked of him. And in ten minutes we drank whiskey with grass for Igor's health, and I give my head to the cut that the best ice I've never tried in my life. Since then, when filling out the questionnaires in the “religion” column, we both indicate “Tengrianism.”