And for Surob and the villagers the search goes on. "There is man who go up to mountains. Maybe he got a Yeti lady up there. We just need micro-sensors and web-cams. We can prove it. He's out there." 

We drive back towards Dushanbe, the beauty and the sadness of Romit Valley swiftly disappearing as Surob hits 100km an hour. We are back in an unhappy land of power cuts, slums and damaged roads. When it transpires that my name is Jewish, the mood instantly sours. A difficult conversation ensues. After an hour or so we manage to agree to what we have both known all along: people are people and we are both nice guys. "The kings are fighting, people crying," Surob announces. 

"Let me tell you something, the leaders are so corrupt. Salt, trade, petrol, they control it all. If I am now a good Muslim, I never take. If I were President, people would stop taking. But when the leader takes, everybody takes." We stop so he can pray in the dusk. A hot wind is blowing from the south and the dry valleys await its spark.