As we get closer, I see that she has tried to make an effort with the garden. Despite the scorched patches of grass, there are planters lining the wall under the window, a mix of flowering and spiky cacti, and a few coloured rocks in the dry soil. She sees me looking.

‘Best we can do in this climate. Nothing grows, you know. You might have noticed the fields – if that’s even what we can call them. I’m Geriel,’ she says. ‘It means a bright light in Mongolian. We like to choose our names carefully in our culture. It’s nice, to do this, is it not? And you must be Carrie—’

‘Actually, I’m Carrie.’ She steps forwards and the woman at the door beams. ‘This is my friend, Violet.’

‘Hello,’ I say, feeling shy all of a sudden. I don’t know why, but I hadn’t expected this kind of welcome. This kind of accommodation. Meeting Carrie in the Beijing International Hotel, I had assumed that she would be staying in places like that all the time, but it looks like I misinterpreted that. It’s unlike me to get it so wrong.

‘Come inside, you must be desperate for some tea … and perhaps a shower?’ Geriel says.

‘In that order, definitely,’ says Carrie.

We follow Geriel into the house, and it’s clear that she has put a lot of effort into the interior. I suppose I shouldn’t have judged the place by its exterior, but it’s a natural reaction. I saw something I liked in Carrie, and so far, she doesn’t disappoint.

‘This is the kitchen, and the lounge off it. Please come and go as you please. We like to gather here at the end of the day to chat, to drink tea. To talk about our day … and to give thanks.’

There are various prints on the walls, Buddhas and sunsets. Beaches. Beautiful women in impossible yoga poses. Various words of wisdom printed in a pretty typeface on top of the images:

‘It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles.’

‘The root of suffering is attachment.’

‘Speak or act with an impure mind and trouble will follow you.’