For some reason, both Carrie and I had expected a coach. But our vehicle for this trip turns out to be a forty-year-old Land Rover Defender, the type you see in war movies. It’s filthy, the seats need re-springing, and after a very short period of time, it’s clear that there is minimal suspension. Our driver, Erden, is the man with the blue cap from the bar.

‘I take it you had this booked before we did,’ Carrie says to Martin, as we bump along the potholed roads.

‘We did … and we’d heard from a couple that we met in the shared taxi from the station that it was a bit full on. It was Rory’s idea to get you drunk…’

Rory snorts, but Carrie ignores him. ‘We were doing pretty well at that ourselves, to be fair. Anyway … no harm done.’ She balls up her sweatshirt and rests it against the window, followed by her head. She closes her eyes and smiles. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you back.’

‘Good luck sleeping like that,’ Rory pipes up. He smirks at me and turns back to face the front.

I watch Carrie as she tries to sleep, wondering if she’s really going to manage it, or if she’s just closing her eyes to avoid talking to the others. Past the city limits and the rows of tumbledown houses, we’re back in the landscape we saw from the train. I gaze out of the dusty windows, and the track seems to wind on forever. The landscape is pretty dull so far – that same sandy, hard-packed mud, sparse crops of bleached grass. A few piles of rocks here and there. Nothing spectacular. I pull the guidebook out of my bag and start flicking through.

‘So where have you come from?’ Martin says, swivelling around to face me.

Part of me wants to deal with my hangover in peace, but I realise very quickly that reading is not going to be an option with the constant bumping over the rough track. I put the book on the seat and give him my full attention. Who knows, he and his friend might be of some use to us out here. So far, Sarnai and Erden have not done much in the way of ‘guiding’ – instead chatting to each other up front in their own language and leaving us be. The chat is punctuated by Sarnai’s occasional giggles, and the attempted tuning of the radio every few minutes. Rory has copied Carrie and is leaning against the window, his head protected by his rolled-up fleece.

‘Beijing. This is our first stop.’

‘Ah,’ Martin says. ‘Explains why you arrived in the morning. We’re going the other way. We’ve been at Lake Baikal for a few days. Incredible place. Deepest lake in the world, you know—’