These little guys were everywhere in Mongolia. Mostly they came out at dawn and dusk and fled at sight of people, in a strange bounding, dashing gait. I remember being woken one morning by a stream of angry chittering: we'd staked our tent so that the stay-rope interfered with his favourite exit.
We nicknamed them the mighty marmots, but only because we didn't see any real marmots. In reality he's a gerbil.
Why this spate in travel photos? Because tomorrow I'm booking plane fares for my next trip. Which will not be as exotic as Mongolia — Switzerland is far more … trodden — but it will not be here and it will involve MOUNTAINS. Huzzah mountains!