I woke up early that morning, my excitement having granted me just two hours of sleep the previous night. My pocket held a substantial portion of the money owed by Batsaikhan, a sum totaling around sixteen million Tugriks. It was likely that Dadu had harvested and sold the barley, as he was to transport the potatoes to Anak Ranch—a journey that would prove costly for him to undertake alone. The anticipation of returning to the ranch was palpable within me. Despite Mr. Temujin's repeated offers, I couldn't be convinced to have breakfast before departing. With heartfelt parting words, I dashed to the bus stand along Ulaanbaatar's main avenue. I quickly found my spot on a vibrant, colorful bus destined for Bodrak. Settling in, I armed myself with a stash of potato chips and mango juice.

The bus embarked just three minutes after my hurried arrival, whisking me away on a journey of approximately 550 kilometers along rugged, sometimes unmarked roads. The vast open desert stretched on, and my impatience grew. As night fell, the bus made two stops, both in the midst of this expansive desert. However, I was eager to reach my destination without further delays. Late into the night, the bus deposited me at a sparsely inhabited road in Bodrak before continuing its final leg to Murun, a town situated around a hundred and fifty kilometers to the west. Not a single two-story building dotted Bodrak's landscape; even brick-cement structures were absent. It was reminiscent of a larger version of Hatgal.

The town lay cloaked in darkness, yet the bus driver directed me to a place to spend the night. Venturing from the main road, my eyes were fixed on the highest peak of the northern hill range. As I walked roughly three hundred meters eastward from the path, the Badrakh Inn Saraikhana emerged before me, just as I had been informed. I vividly recall that the cost of my room was quite reasonable. Despite my protests, the innkeeper's passion for her work led her to prepare harshu and baj for me that afternoon. The next morning, I awoke from a refreshing sleep, ready to embrace the day ahead. The city of Badrak left an indelible impression on me. A series of hills stood to the north, resembling eggs perched side by side. Clay roads intertwined with clay inhabitants—a city seemingly made from the very earth it rested upon. Accompanied by her son, the innkeeper accompanied me to the edge of town, where vehicles for hire awaited. My journey now necessitated a 150-kilometer drive north, navigating treacherous mountain passes to reach Altentsetseg Firminbaishin, the nearest junction to our desired route. From there, an additional ten-kilometer trek lay ahead, leading me northeast along the sound of the Selenge stream, which converged with the Egin-Gol River emerging from the west. The journey was proceeding as planned, until a crisis struck right in the heart of our path—fifty kilometers north of Egur, the last human settlement before the road ahead became treacherous and outside help grew scarce. The front axle of our four-wheel drive vehicle splintered into two pieces.

My driver, a middle-aged man named Mr. Kara, had brought his endearing seven-year-old son along for the arduous journey. The potential danger to me was dwarfed by the peril faced by the young boy. Mr. Kara expressed that he had taken the only course available, and though he was not unprepared for such challenges, the situation was far from ideal. I was presented with two choices: proceed ahead on foot to my ranch, roughly forty-five kilometers distant, hoping to encounter nomadic families along the way and secure a ride on one of their horses, or venture fifty kilometers south to Egur town to seek assistance. While my inclination was to opt for the former, I couldn't bear to subject Kara's son to this perilous journey. Armed with some light provisions and water in my backpack, I began walking shortly after ten in the morning. Father and son remained in their vehicle. The path alternated between trails, terrain, steep ascents, energy-sapping descents, rocky stretches along the Akabaka mountains, moments of steady pacing, and intervals of intense absorption in the breathtaking surroundings.

As evening approached, I found myself nearing the end of my journey, having covered the distance at an unexpectedly brisk pace. That very night, following the directions provided by Mr. Kara, I located his father-in-law's home. Accompanied by Igor, Kara's brother-in-law and an accomplished rider, I retraced my steps on horseback to the accident site. The father and son were huddled against the cold, waiting for help. The boy's name was Odgerel, and Igor worked as a car mechanic in the city. Determined to assist despite his long day, he set out on his horse towards the south after wrapping up his work early in the morning. And so, our halted journey was resumed. Needless to say, my physical state was far from optimal. However, sleep eluded me, and I remained awake throughout the night. As dawn approached, Mr. Kara dropped me off on the banks of the turbulent Egin-Gol River. Before parting, he embraced me and seemed on the verge of tears, expressing deep gratitude. He declined any fare other than a nominal contribution toward fuel expenses for the journey.

Bid farewell to father and son and sat down in the chilly water to chase away sleep. As I unpacked, a surprise discovery awaited me—Mr. Temujin had secretly left his camera in my bag, a fact he hadn't mentioned. A wry smile curled at the corner of my lips. Donning fresh attire, I activated the camera, capturing the beauty of the valley through its lens. Retracing the path that had brought me to Altentsetseg Firminbaishin on a bicycle three months prior, I noticed that nothing around me had changed. How could it change, even if one ever touched it? Not only did the snow on the great northern mountains now glisten under the sun's rays, but my eyes were dazzled by the lush dark green hues.

Upon reaching Jamgachthala, the same Oito still visible, the reflection of the enchanting lake, and the vibrant houses of Altentsetseg Firminbaishin, I positioned myself within the frame and snapped a photograph. Unbeknownst to me, a mishap occurred, and the picture instantly ejected from the camera. My excitement was akin to a child receiving a new toy. Summer had taken hold of the jujube trees, yet they remained fruitless. The memory of the delectable jams that had filled my pockets on my previous visit left a pang in my stomach. When was the last time I had eaten? My memory failed me.

Departing from the wild horse trail, I descended via a footpath into the valley below. As I walked, my thoughts wandered. I contemplated the imminent end of my farming life in Mongolia, and my heart weighed heavily. Firstly, my departure from the ranch was imminent, and yet I had grown attached to it in an unprecedented manner. Secondly, I might have unwittingly heard the magical laughter and sweet words of the girl who had cast the enchanting spell for the last time. My plans involved heading directly south after completing my duties at the ranch, bordering the Gobi Desert before arriving at the Russian border in the west. My journey would then encompass Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, ultimately leading me to Iran—a land I had long dreamt of visiting. There, I envisioned exploring Isfahan, Siraj, Bandar Abbas, Yazd, Persepolis... recalling that thousands of years ago, legends like Alexander the Great, Darius, and Xerxes had traversed these deserts.

After many days, the nomadic spirit within me reawakened. My mind wrestled with a curious blend of wistfulness and serenity. Lost in deep thought, fatigue weighed on me as I trudged along. Suddenly, without any warning, an otherworldly sensation washed over me. The sweetest voice in the world reached my ears from the open southern desert.

"Sinoooooor" Margarita

The utterance marked one of those moments I could forever close my eyes and relive—the countless colorful fragments of my life's memories converged into this singular instance. When Margarita Alvarez emerged beside me, her simple visage, her ethereal smile, and the touch of her hand infused with playful scorn left me with a sudden emptiness in my chest. My mind overflowed with new emotions. Only moments ago, my mind had been a canvas painted with vast skies, thoughts of traversing the globe, rendering everything seemingly insignificant. All my grand expectations halted in that instant, coming together within the enchanting aura of that magical girl.

A surge of warmth akin to lightning coursed through my chest, forming a deferred moment of connection. My fingers gripped Margarita's cold, delicate hand firmly.

"I thought I would scold you, sir... but, but... when I saw you from that hilltop, tell me, why... I...," Margarita's voice faltered, her eyes sparkling as we stood together. How complex the tapestry of emotions!

"You know, Margo, I went to Ulaanbaatar. I've earned quite a bit of money. Don't worry about the lost barley. You'll see! Whatever needs to be done, we'll manage it. No evil shall befall us," I spoke with conviction.

Margarita's effervescence escalated further upon hearing this. Having teetered on the edge of tears for a while, they finally spilled, warming my hands.

"And you know," I said as I swiftly retrieved the camera from my bag, "a city gentleman gifted me this camera!" I suggested that we capture a photograph together. Margarita vehemently shook her head. As for me, I struggled to distance the camera from our faces, ultimately flipping the lens and urging Margarita to laugh. As she giggled, eyes moistened with tears and lips curved into a smile, I pressed the shutter.

Observing herself in the developed photograph, Margarita expressed her dissatisfaction. She quickly urged me to take another shot, then another, and another, exhibiting the charm of a little girl discovering a newfound plaything. Unbeknownst to us, the camera's battery drained, interrupting our fun like a child who suddenly loses interest in a toy. Nonetheless, that particular image held a special place in my heart, and I vowed to safeguard it regardless of the hardships and losses that life may throw my way.

Without wiping away a tear, Armonia's rider remounted her noble steed, guiding me back to Altentsetseg Firminbaishin.

"You're missing your camera strap today, Señor. What now?" Margarita inquired, her smile ever-present.

I smiled. Avoiding Margarita Alvarez's thousands of curious questions, I remained silent as if numb in the realm of her messy hair, an ancient fragrance wafting from somewhere... sweet and charming like a lilac flower.

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