Ain't No Mountain High Enough

The terrain in Mongolia changes rapidly as you drive through it. You're staring out the window of a Mitsubishi Delica van. Bouncing over pot holes because you're stuck in the jump seat. Hours pass. Mongolian pop music changes from novel to grating. And outside turns from forest to prairie to steppe to bald-faced desert.

When the van finally abruptly stops and guide exclaims “we're here,” its hard to know what to do with yourself in the space available. What came naturally to Ed and me was climbing to the highest point of whatever was around. By day 3 some basic human need to be on top of the world, lookin' down on creation took hold and we found ourselves scurrying up rock faces, sand dunes, grassy mountains, and red cliffs. The views were great, but we climbed for the sake of it. Just so we could stand atop, panting, covered in dirt/sand/dust/bugs and feel like we'd conquered one tiny bit of the wild open. You know, like Genghis would have done.

And thus, a sampling of shit we climbed up:

(this last one looks super tame but was probably one of the hardest hikes we did - in Hustai national park.  its so ginormous that it looks flat, leading Ed and I to foolishly go "we can do that!"  blergh)

Delightful sidebar; we've both shed quite a bit of weight. Mongolian food is edible at best, you sweat like a gallon a day, and you exercise like you're at training for something. An enterprising soul (Oprah, can you hear me?) should start a fat camp here.

Possible names (help from Ed on these):

“Mutton & Muscles”

“Girls Gone Gobi”

“Thin Blue Sky”

“Yoga with Yaks”

“Skinny Nomads”