The Chinese patrolled their borders and the Russians theirs, and the wind patrolled them both sweeping down the snows from the Hindu Kush with a fine disregard for political terrain. Ben Conyan wondered what idiotic impulse had led him to bribe his way on a camel train to follow the old silk road across the roof of the world, just so that he could go home and write about it, if he survived. In this part of Afghanistan there could be energy for only one thing, Survival.