Two hours after we left Beijing, our plane touched down in Ulaanbaatar, a world away. Mongolians speak a guttural language that sounds closer to Russian than to Chinese and it is written in the Cyrillic alphabet. Almost nothing is translated into English, and the Soviet-era architecture renders the buildings indistinguishable from each other, so our first impressions were surrealistic and disoriented. However, as time passed and we got used to their ways, we fell in love with this country. The people we met were gentle, kind, and friendly; the landscape breathtaking. A 360-degree horizon, rolling hills and valleys, pristine mountain lakes and streams, vast prairie grasslands, and untrodden deserts reminded us most of Wyoming and Montana east of the Rockies, but without any fences or roads and even fewer inhabitants. After centuries of subjugation under the
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