She invited me into the yurt for a cup of tea Map of China , which was a welcome idea. On the old pot-bellied stove in the centre Map of China , a kettle was already boiling. The girl, who said her name was Bentilash, poured tea into two dishes and added some sour goat’s milk which tasted salty and warming. We sat on floormats of wool laid on swept earth. Two toddlers lay on sheepskins covered by blankets and a baby slept in a wooden cradle. Bentilash said that only one child was hers, the other two belonged to women who had gone off into the hills for the day.
A few questions were asked, but mostly we just sat and listened. The only sound heard was the wind swirling around the leafless tree. Thirty minutes later, we gathered our equipment and left. We never looked back.
Driving up to Calumet had been a quiet and pensive time for us. That was not the case going back. We chatted nearly non-stop and somehow made the eleven-hour drive in about nine.
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