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 oday we head across the Southern Altai Gobi Nature Reserve. What we see is a place no different to the rest of the desert. There are no barriers, no fences, just a continuation of the same dry, burnt plains. The only reason we know it is a Reserve is because it shows on our maps. There are no signs or boundries -- and no trees anywhere -- a shady tree is but a dream.
Yesterday, Just outside the Reserve we erected our tent alongside a ger. We were treated to Nomad hospitality. We were fed salty tea laced liberally with goat milk. There was an endless supply of fatty goodies. Then just in time to save our stomachs from further insult we were given a bowl of traditional Mongolian soup which we ate with real delight. Surely there is not a race of people more kind and hospitable than the Gobi Desert Nomads.
These people survive searing heat, wicked sand storms and an extreme lack of water. In winter they survive minus 40 F. degree temperatures. The Gobi doesn't willingly tolerate humans. Until yesterday's encounter we had not seen people for several days.
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