confined inside walls, everything fascinated me. Black business suits, flowing dresses, sky blue
jeans and slanderous t-shirts; the plethora of figures who drifted in and out day by day, and the
faces of those who watched in surprise as my eyes widened at every word they said, blurred into a
fast-paced dream that fed the hunger inside me.
One day, a very ordinary looking man came in and bought a bottle of water. The moment I
look at a customer, I can usually tell if they’re the type to divulge stories or those who like to stay
silent. This man seemed to belong to the latter group. So, imagine my surprise when he started
a conversation with me. Wearing old, faded jeans and a plain red shirt that was as boring as his
expression, everything about him screamed normal, but the words that he spoke brought excitement
into my heart. The towering Himalayas mountains… the roar of the South China Sea… the majestic
sand dunes in the Gobi Desert – his adventures awakened my dormant spark of wonder.
“–it sounds weird, but it’s when I travel that I feel the most at home,” the man says. He stays
silent for a moment, and I stare at him, willing him to go on, to make me understand where I will
be able to find my home. But he takes his bottle of water and leaves me hanging, his last words
echoing in my mind.
That day, I pictured the images of his words all around the train station as I was leaving.
Suddenly my haze was lifted and I found myself standing in front of the board that displayed
departure and arrival times for the trains. As I looked the name of each place, a surge of
exhilaration rushed through me. This is my chance, I thought, but where should I go? My eyes
skimmed across the board, finally resting on the very last name: Mongolia.
Over the next few days, I gathered all the earnings I had saved over the months. I had just
enough to reach the capital, Ulan Bator. Every second on the train built up my anticipation for
my arrival. I spent the whole ride praying that I would finally find my home here, as if I wished
hard enough, it would come true. When the train stopped, I literally ran off, dragging my light
backpack behind me. When I stepped out, I prepared myself for the sight of exotic animals
and yellow sand swallowing my feet, but all I saw was a concrete ground and a few cars here
and there. The anticipation had obviously been anticlimactic. I suddenly realized that I might
have gotten myself into a very big mess. I had come to a different country without researching
anything, I didn’t have much money left and I was unfamiliar with the native language; my
naivety had gotten the best of me. I sat down on the edge of the pavement and let myself wallow
in self-pity. I felt I was entitled to that at least, after all that I had been through.
Suddenly, while I was in the middle of my thoughts, I felt a sharp pain in my side and I fell
onto the ground. Only when I sat up again did I realize that someone had tripped over me. That
man commenced to roar at me, asking why anyone would sit in a place like that. I turned my face,
meek and embarrassed, quietly saying that I only wanted to see the desert, but realized that I
didn’t know how to get there. He glared at me for a few seconds before finally sighing.
“Come with me, I’ll bring you to the Gobi Desert.”
I was very aware that this was a stranger and that a very comprehensive list of dangers was
involved, but I gave in in the end, because I realized that I didn’t really have anything left to lose.
As we climbed into his jeep, he told me that he came from a family of Mongolian nomads, and he
was going back to visit home. What odd luck, I thought to myself, and what a great fortune too.
The journey took a few days, and it was much more boring than I had originally imagined.
Neither of us was in the position to indulge in the luxury of a hotel, so we slept in our seats when
he couldn’t drive anymore. Slowly, the concrete roads faded to dirt roads and before I realized, we
