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Mongolia: Adventures in You-Cut Hairstyling

February 10, 2008


There were a dozen of us, riding the immense central Asian grassland on sturdy Mongolian horses. When I glanced back for a view of the glacier and the sacred mountain we had just visited, I saw two tiny specks inching down the steep windswept hillside, moving in our direction. I turned on my horse and glassed the hill with a little four-power Russian monocle. The pursuing riders were coming toward us at a stiff trot. They were at least two miles back and about a thousand feet above us. Each man held something in his right hand. I could plainly see the glint of metal.
“They carrying?”, one of the Americans asked.
“Yeah”, I said. “Both of them.”
Bayaraa Sanjaasuren, our translator, conveyed the information to the Mongolian wranglers. This was serious: We had yogurt riders on our tail. Again.

I regret opening this book before the trip because I know it will be finished by the end of the weekend.

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