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I gers (round tents known elsewhere as yurts) and Buddhist monasteries ist with modern Soviet-era high-rises. Nearly three years have elapsed Mongolia's transformation to a democracy in 1996, and more nges are in the wind. The country may be free, democratic and red is ng its past, but it's broke. The Asian economic crisis hit Mongolia nnll rp,"tlv, through drops in world commodity prices. The price of copper, olia's largest foreign-currency earner, fell by nearly a quarter in the four months of 1998. Prices for cashmere and gold, other major also declined. Demonstrations calling for the government's resig are on the rise. Sandwiched between Siberia to the north and China to the Mongolia is home to only 2.4 million people, giving it one of the population densities in the world. Landlocked by desert, moun iga and steppe and, until 1990, isolated by more than 50 years of '<;r,v,,'t-,;tvlp communist rule, Mongolia only opened its borders to out- iders in the last decade. Leaving Ulaanbaatar, our small caravan of Russian jeeps nces across the steppe-a wide open expanse of undulating land that away to a distant horizon of hills. The landscape is devoid of wire, power lines, signs, graded roads and gas stations. In a hun- miles out here you may meet another vehicle. Or you may not. What evidence there is of humanity comes from infrequent clusters of Near the simple but utilitarian dwellings of felt and canvas, groups horses, yaks, sheep and goats graze. For two-and-a-half days we journey over obscure dusty trails nd it is a festive moment when we traverse yet another hillock and gaze into a sweeping valley. A narrow, shallow river-more like a creek lies like a coiled snake in the valley's folds. "The Chuluut, " declares Badral, 28-year-old Mongolian translator and fellow river runner. "At last, we re here." The next morning we launch four inflatable canoes on the ern slopes of the Khangai Nuruu Range-the country's second high ntain range-and head north into the gaping jaws of the basaltic We are, by all accounts, the first party to canoe the Chuluut (which, means "River of Stones" in Mongolian), but not the first to run it: that honor goes to some Russians who rafted the river in the 1980s, followed a few years later by a small party of Mongolians. Below the 30-mile-long gorge, the river valley opens into Big Sky country-the Mongolian kind. Overlooked by pine and birch-studded mountains and treeless rolling hills, the clear, fish-filled Chuluut could be mistaken for a river in the wild hey day of the American West. But the stunning landscape, varied wildlife, uncharted rapids and leisurely flat-water stretches were only part of the big picture. Perhaps most memorable are our sporadic encounters with nomadic families-herders and horsemen-who live their lives far from cities in virtually the same manner as their ances tors. A more welcoming, warm and self-reliant people I have never met. No matter what time of day, we are always greeted with smiles and waves as we paddle past the isolated ger camps. Invariably, greetings are followed with offers of salty tea, airag (fermented mare's milk-Mongolia's national drink) and bowls of dried milk curd, sharp fermented cheese and a thick, yogurt like cream. "Nomad hospitality is legendary, " explains Badral. "Every Mongolian believes that the courtesy extended today to a stranger will be repaid in the future when the situation is reversed. " It takes us seven full days to run the Chuluut-a hun dred miles of waterway-and nearly as long to shuttle back to Ulaanbaatar over what can only loosely be called roads. But bumping over the steppe in a jeep for hours on end is all part of the fun. After two river trips to Mongolia, and another coming up, I've learned that patience and a sense of humor are just as important as the proper paddling gear in preparing for this ''''''+'Ⴀ䊉!II!II!'II. untamed and enchanting land.