‘And can we have something to drink? A Coke or something, maybe?’ I ask, furious again that we’ve been stupid enough to come without anything. Apart from a few sips of Martin’s water, we’ve had nothing for hours, and I’m starting to get the clamping head pain of a blood-sugar dip. I need something sugary before I pass out. Carrie looks over at me and gives me a slightly pained smile, and I can tell she’s feeling exactly the same.

‘Of course. We’ll be having a lovely dinner with the nomadic family right after this, but of course we can have a drink now. I think there will be some water and some tea over at the visitor centre.’

Carrie groans.

‘Might have something for you in my bag, ladies, if you play your cards right.’ Rory winks, and picks up his backpack before jumping off the bus. Martin shrugs and follows him.

‘We’re such idiots,’ Carrie says, as we follow them off the bus and up the dirt track towards the biggest yurt, which is apparently serving as the visitor centre.

‘I’m never drinking again.’ I mean it, at this point.

‘So you might be wondering a bit about the nomadic family we will be staying with, right?’ Sarnai says, as the truck bumps across the steppe again. ‘The buildings are similar to the ones you just saw – and I am sure you think you know these buildings to be called yurts, but actually these ones in Mongolia are called gers…’ She pauses, grinning at us. She obviously enjoys this story. ‘Basically, these are exactly the same thing.’ She giggles. ‘In Turkic, the word yurt means “dormitory” … and in Russian, the word is yurta. But in Mongolian, the word is ger, and it just means “home”. This is the home for the nomadic families, who will set up camp and live there for many months, until…’ She’s saying something about a circular wooden frame and a felt cover made from sheep’s wool but I have mostly zoned out. As long as the beds are comfortable, I don’t really care too much. I’m knackered.

I glance over at Carrie; she is using her sweatshirt as a pillow again, and she appears to be sound asleep.

‘So are the nomadic tribes shamanic?’ Martin asks.

‘Of course,’ Sarnai says. ‘But I will let them tell you all about it. They are peaceful people, who tend to their livestock and live with nature. They are wonderful hosts, and they will be happy to answer all of your questions. If there are things that they don’t understand, I will also translate for you.’ She turns back to the front. ‘Oh, we are nearly there.’

I look out of the grubby window, trying to get a better view. In the near distance, I can see a cluster of gers, plumes of smoke snaking up through their chimney-holes.