Benedict Allen is one of the few remaining writers for whom the term 'adventurer' holds true. His quest, through the deserts and steppes of Mongolia, made with open eyes and an open mind, is not simply a travelogue, nor is it yet another so-called adventure story in which one man sets out to 'conquer' some part of the globe that got along beautifully for centuries without him. Instead, this is a kind of love story -- a day by day chronicle of hopes, fears, the inevitable setbacks, the kindnesses encountered, the breathtaking landscapes, the almost unimaginable feats accomplished. Benedict keeps the 'why' always before us -- he is searching for the 'why' of his journey too, but it never becomes ponderous or pretentious. Every person he meets is carefully noted; their temperaments, their family ties, their customs, the way a grandmother makes tea, or a young girl smiles, the way a blue silk scarf flutters against the sky, token of the exchange of goods and gifts in a faraway land. I, for one, shall never again see a blue scarf (Mongolia's symbol of Blue Heaven) without remembering this lovely book -- a thinking person's travel guide to the adventurer in all of us, an inspiration to find our own lands to explore.