Everyone in this kind of culture has to rely on one another. In such harsh conditions and scenarios, it is likely that their experiences and lifestyle make them all the more appreciative of their fellow man. I’d seen how quickly people who value family and help strangers became friends in this culture. I thought of the grandparents who had nothing but shared their biscuits with us anyway, all the families who welcomed us into their homes, Khongorzul helping at the border, and the many others who’d helped along the way, none of them expecting anything in return. I couldn’t forget their bountiful generosity despite their limited means. These were the most hospitable strangers I’d ever met. In all fairness I don’t think there is a word for ‘stranger’ in Mongolia. The closest translation would probably be, “friends that haven’t met.” After all, isn’t that what a stranger should be? I was beginning to wish I, too, lived in a culture where that’s what being a stranger meant.