Flying back across the South Gobi last night was a world away from the heady parties, fine banquets and consumerist excesses that have marked my last month in Europe. Despite having gained some ten pounds and spent considerably more enjoiying myself with friends and family I readily changed currency and by the time the last snow capped mountain loomed out of sight I was safely in the land of the tugrik.My wonderful wife had her birthday while we were in St Jean de Luz; the Basque port town definitely remains our intended eventual home. I recall the evening well. We sat outside on Place Louis XIV, ate freshly caught seafood and quaffed a delightful grand cru. How different to wake up two weeks later in an ice filled -38C landscape.
Despite the wonder and ferocity of winter in Mongolia I confess that I actually found it colder in Britain. It must be something to do with the wind or wet but the -5C I experienced while sitting in Murrayfield watching Edinburgh beat Glasgow at rugby felt a darn site colder than my bracing walk over the river this morning.Mongolian of the day:- return :: butsaj irekh
