Monday, September 17, 2007


Chugchillan is barely a village, one that we reached after a gripping bus ride. The bus had a fishtailing tendency that sent knuckles white and sweaty as we rounded the narrow sandy corners atop sheer drops of unconscionable heights. Yes, it really felt that dramatic. Visions of the bus somersaulting down the cliffs played out in my mind and my eyes wandered over the bus searching for emergency exits.

Sheep sleeping on a hill

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