Andreas came to a halt on the gravel landing strip of Gobi-Altai, 1100km west of Ulaanbaatar, When our Fokker 50 turboprop I had the distinct feeling of having landed in the exact middle of nowhere. Our team of two drivers, a pathfinder and a cook, who met us at the airport looked like the cartoon version of a crime gang: the tiny guy wore a gray chequered trilby hat which he never took off, the tall guy had a leather jacket and safety boots, the podgy guy was wearing a tracksuit, a baseball cap and plastic sandals, and the guy with the black riding boots, the felt beret of indefinable colour and the de- meanour of a people’s commissar was robed…Continue Reading