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 he shimmering heat rose to 113 degrees. Ahead lay a short sandy area where the sun reflected back to us in skin-scorching waves even though we traveled with shirt sleeves pulled down to protect our skin. A camel and three goats lay dead alongside a salt-encrusted bog where the poor animals had probably tried to drink in desperation. Even a minor mistake in such a land can bring the torture of a lingering death from thirst.
On day 24 searing winds blew throughout the morning. By afternoon rising dust clouds had transformed the sun into a fiery red disk that was barely visible behind a screen of brown dust. Suddenly we saw ahead the sight of a welcome refuge; the white shape of a ger with a horse tied to a rail outside. We hitched our camels along side the horse and, observing the Mongolian custom of never knocking on a door, opened it and walked in. We were the first foreigners this family had ever met and became somewhat of a curiosity. Our hostess immediately added dried dung to the fire to heat water for tea. Dung, when dried, burns hot and odorless.
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