A night in a Yurt

I’ve always dreamed of going to Mongolia and living in a yurt under the twinkling stars. Emerald green open meadows as far as the eye can see, and the only sounds- that of gypsy ladies clanging their freshly-filled pails of milk, peeking out at the curious foreigner. And then a group of Mongolian men gallop past on their horses, laughing into the wind.

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