They say that time travel has yet to be invented but that’s a lie - every time I smell garlic and onions frying in the wok I am transported back to the day I met my dog Frieda.
We’d flown to China and were heading back to France by car, via the Silk Road on the world’s longest road trip. Approaching the outskirts of Mongolia we stopped for a bite to eat, pulling up beside a ramshackle hut. In front, an elderly woman tended a fire, inside, the sound of whimpers.
We placed our order then the woman went into the hut to get the ingredients. To my shock and horror, I glimpsed a mangy dog inside a cage.
The woman returned a moment later with garlic, onions, green leaves, beansprouts, and a plate of dark meat.
My stomach churned and my appetite disappeared in an instant.
I know that each culture is different. The English frown upon us for eating horse, just as I now felt repulsed by the thought of eating dog.
“No meat, please,” I said in broken Mandarin.
The woman returned to the hut with the plate of meat.
Again, I saw the cage, this time long enough to see the sorrow in the dog’s eyes.
“How much for the dog?” I asked.
“You say no meat. You want meat or no?”
“No, I want to buy the dog. How much?”
“You crazy?”
“Yeah, I’m crazy.”
We left with our new travel companion, my beloved dog.