We left Ulaanbaatar in darkness at 3 a.m. Home to about a million people, the city cradles half the population of this sprawling country. The great Mongol Empire that flourished here has long receded into history, leaving behind a frontier town in the midst of an industrial revolution. Cranes and smokestacks rise up from the crowded streets, which teem with cars and dust. Despite once controlling the largest land empire in history, the Mongolian people have been in something of a vacuum for the last 700 years, wedged between Manchurian and Soviet control.

A new country is emerging here — modern, stylish, and robust. But the evolution is slow. Beyond the bounds of the capital, the roads decay quickly and give way to the vast and rugged Gobi desert, through which we've been careening all day. Out here, the allure of the modern world hasn't yet infringed on the centuries of tradition and the nomadic herders who make their homes in this harsh land. Every so often I can see smoke rising from the ghostly outlines of gers, traditional circular tents.

Earlier today, we stopped in several nomadic enclaves to interview herders. They emerge from their moveable homes in thick, fur hats and old, colorful robes. The warmth these people exude is in stark contrast to the weather around them. They welcome us inside, and we sit on the floor and get warm around the tent's central stove. It's hard to stomach the heated goat's milk or the sheep's guts that are presented to us, but these honorific invitations to share the food and drink of people whose resources are limited are not to be dismissed. These nomads are so full of character and pride that though their entire world is contained within the sloping domain of their simple tents, they carry themselves like royalty, the deep lines on their faces the beautiful evidence of lives spent hard at work.