The van moved northeast out of Ulaan Baatar and the landscape quickly changed from the mid-rise Soviet-era apartment blocks, smoke stacks, and wide empty squares of the city, to the mix of Western-style homes and gers in the small developments just beyond, to the low green and brown hills that were the beginning of the Khentii. There was more land here than I had ever seen. We tumbled along old stream beds, makeshift roads that zig zagged across the land. The grassy plains were deep green from a wet early summer. Hundreds of brown, black, and white yaks were bent head to ground to feed on the grass. In the distance, past the far bank of the Tuul Gol, I could make out a single ger and a satellite dish of approximately the same size. There were no fences. There were no permanent dwellings. What I saw as I looked out of the van’s window upon the sacred heartland of the ancient Mongolian people could have been just the same image Genghis Khan beheld a millennium ago.