We sat on the freezing bus for an hour and a half before leaving the parking lot and in the process lost any feeling we had in our toes. Reports were that the road to Galtai was closed because of the snow. Once we finally got rolling, we didn't get very far before the engine died and the driver had to pull over. He ran out to the back of the bus, fiddled with something and soon we were off again. The scene repeated itself several times through out the trip. Somehow, the bus survived long enough to make it to our stop, the village of Khoshun-Uzug.

Dogs barked wildly as we approached, announcing our unexpected visit. Peeking through the cracks of high wooden fence that separated us from the house, Lisa could see an old Buryat man standing on the porch.

"What do you want?", he called out.

"We have a letter for you," Lisa yelled, trying make herself heard over the dogs.

"Well, come in then!" he shouted back.

The old man held back the not-so-ferocious farm dogs as we passed through the gate. He nodded to confirm that this was the home of Baldama Shagdanovna and without another word led us into the house. Standing in the kitchen, Baldama greeted us with a warm smile and told us to take off our coats and sit down, before she even had any idea of who we were. She giggled like a schoolgirl when she found out we were Americans, telling us that the only foreigners she had ever met were Mongols, which she said didn't really count because they are just like Buryats.

Her knees stiff with arthritis, she wobbled from side to side as she searched her living room for a pair of glasses to read the letter from her friend, Tsyren-Dulma. Reading the message made her giggle again. Occasionally she'd raise her eyes from the paper and look at us, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course she would help us, she beamed, but first we must sit down and eat.

The old couple poured us cups of steaming beef bouillon and laid out sliced vegetables, pickles, meat, smetana (sour cream), jam, honey, bread and butter. She proudly told us that everything on the table was the result of the work of their own hands. She explained that they were lucky to live out in the villages, as they were able to produce everything they need: the radical economic changes that have devastated many Russian families in the cities have had a little effect on their self-sufficient way of life.

Over lunch, Baldama mentioned a farmer she knew who lived in Galtai. She thought we might be able stay with him and his family. To our surprise, Baldama and her husband had their own car: a Soviet-made jeep, which she laughingly called "our Mercedes." Lisa and I bounced around in the back while Baldama's husband negotiated the 20 kilometers of dirt road to the remote village.