I pull away from her, and give her a small smile. ‘I’m glad I experienced this with you. I don’t know if it’s too much alcohol, or the chanting or what, but I feel like … I don’t know. I feel like I’m somewhere else right now.’

Carrie laughs and takes a swig from the bottle, seemingly snapping back into reality. ‘It was wild. I’m not keen on all that milk-throwing though.’ She mimes retching, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes. She hands me the bottle. ‘We need to get another one of these … Also,’ she glances around, ‘there’s definitely something being smoked here that’s not cigarettes.’ She gestures towards a bank of gers people seem to be flocking towards. ‘Shall we?’

I finish the bottle of schnapps without even a grimace. It’s funny how you can get used to something vile so quickly, especially when it makes you feel like you’re floating off the ground. For a moment, I’m concerned about smoking something too. My past experiences with weed haven’t been particularly pleasant. I usually throw a whitey and pass out after the first puff, but maybe this stuff will be different.

Carrie is still grinning, and I have her all to myself.

‘Let’s do it,’ I say. ‘Oh … and let’s do a private reading after it. Can we?’

‘Not sure about that.’ Her face darkens. ‘Might be mumbo-jumboing it a bit too far, eh? Let’s go and check out the other stuff first.’

As we walk towards the tents, I think I hear someone calling my name, but I ignore it.

We follow a trickle of revellers into the first tent. Inside, fairy lights have been strung around the wooden beams, and there are people sitting on floor cushions in small huddles, some chatting quietly, others staring straight ahead, peaceful expressions on their faces. The tent is filled with smoke, but it gives the space an ethereal, mystical feel – unlike the dense, cloying fog that I’d expected.

The aromas are strong, yet delicate. Sweet, yet sharp. Whatever they’re smoking, it doesn’t smell like the weed I’ve been offered anywhere else. Not even in India.

‘Good evening, ladies.’ A good-looking young Mongolian man appears in front of us. I’m not sure where he came from. We haven’t even touched the stuff yet, but I feel disorientated. I turn to Carrie, and she looks as bewildered as me. We both gaze at the man, wondering if he is actually there.

He laughs, revealing perfect white teeth. ‘I’m Altan,’ he says. ‘I can be your guide. You’d like to try some?’ He turns, gesturing at the smokers. ‘It will be nothing like you have ever experienced. You cannot get this anywhere else in the world.’ He winks. ‘I think you’ll love it.’

‘I, um … we were thinking about having a reading … with one of the shamen.’