On the way to Aksu-Zhabagly 6th August

Hot. Hot and dusty. I can't work out if I can see properly because there is so much dust in the truck or so much dust on my glasses.

The dust is hot and sweet and dry. The smell of it reminds me of the billiards room in the attic of my great-aunt's house. And the little cupboard at one end that I once locked my brother in when we were playing and we were children and therefore evil. It reminds me of the crawl space at the other end of the attic. It was hot in there, too, right up under the roof, and the dust was sweet.

Through the dust we can see rolling fields seared sun-coloured.

In the truck everyone is slowly becoming the same colour. Although, that could be my glasses again.

We are apparently going to walk three hundred metres down the south side of a canyon to a stream we will not be able to swim in and, because the guide was late, we'll be starting about an hour after midday.