But to me, Mustang is mountains.
Mustang is a dusty road and a river that is always close.
Mustang is legs that don’t wanna carry me anymore and lungs that need more oxygen than there’s available in the thin air.
Mustang is yaks and old villages and ruins from kingdoms in ancient times.
I have thought for a while from what angle I should write this blog. Maybe I should write about spending 4 days with 3 Swedes, who like to quote Seinfeld (Karma Kramer?) and talk about kebab pizza way too much.
Or I could write about how we lived on a diet of Snickers, boiled eggs and tea.
Maybe I should meditate on God’s glory and beauty.
I could write about the people we met, the conversations we had, the hotel with no rooms, the hotel with no cook, the bumpy ride in the bus…
but nothing will do justice to the experience. Even the pictures won’t. But here are some anyway.