Into the Wild
Jane Dunford takes a wellbeing adventure in Mongolia, one of the most remote places on earth
There are some places on Earth with names that evoke mystery and adventure: Africa’s Timbuktu, Colombia’s Ciudad Perdida, Chile’s Atacama Desert... High on this list for many is Mongolia, Asia’s last frontier, a country of vast open steppes, mountains and desert, home to horse-riding nomads and golden eagles, often called the ‘land of the eternal blue sky’.
As I sit watching the sun set over the lunar landscape of the Gobi desert, the wonder of this mysterious country feels very much alive. That endless azure sky is turning gold, setting the strange rock formations aglow, and soon the Milky Way appears in full glory, undimmed by light pollution. An ancient Buddhist mantra carved onto the rock nods to the sacredness of this spot. Caves where wolves sleep in winter tell of its wild nature.
I’m here with Reclaim Yourself Retreats, a company that specialises in wellbeing holidays in some of the most beautiful places on earth. I’d chosen Mongolia, their most remote adventure, for a proper break from the world. Landlocked between China and Russia, with a population of less than 3.5 million people in a land more than four times the size of Germany, it’s one of the least densely populated places on the planet.
Most journeys begin, as ours does, in Ulaanbaatar, the traffic-clogged capital where over half of all Mongolians live. Tower blocks and huge squares bear testament to the 70 years of Communist rule, which only ended in 1990. The real adventure starts the next day when we board the TransMongolian Express on its journey towards Beijing and venture deeper into the infinite flat horizon. There’s a sleeper option but the seven-hour day-time journey allows us to watch the unfenced landscapes unfurl and chat with new companions. Our group of 20 from Germany, the UK and the US easily bonds over shared travel tales.
We arrive at our off-grid camp in Ikh Nart nature reserve, on the desert’s northern edge, under a full moon. The round white yurts (known as ger), central to nomadic life, are dismantled each season to leave no trace. With woodburners, proper beds and painted wooden furniture they’re spacious and cosy—and separate ger are set up as bathrooms and dining and yoga spaces.
The bright cloudless morning and wide-open views bring a sense of liberation as Nergui, our camp manager, takes us to explore. This seemingly hostile, scrubby landscape is home to ibex, curly-horned argali sheep and varied birdlife, and nomadic families still wander with camel and livestock. We climb huge rocks and spy a baby vulture in its nest, pass remains of Bronze Age burial mounds and see petroglyphs dating back thousands of years.
It’s easy to disconnect from life’s complexities here, engulfed by silence, far from technology. Twice-daily yoga classes, led by London-based Zephyr Wildman, shape our days; a more dynamic morning practice complements a grounding evening session, both woven with philosophy and meditation. Our meals are delicious and vegetarian, and a massage therapist is on-hand for treatments.
After three days it’s time to move on. Our next camp in the Khan Khentii Strictly Protected Area is a day’s jeep ride north. Slowly the desert, the scrub, the wind-carved rocks and the dunes morph into rolling verdant steppes under an ever-changing skyscape of clouds, sunshine and heavy rain. We cross swollen rivers and off-road across plains, where herds of horses, sheep and goat roam, to our camp on the banks of the Tuul River, surrounded by wildflower meadows. Our luggage is delivered to our gers by yak.
Each morning, swirling mists add magic to the scene and between classes we hike into the wilds, relax in the sauna ger or dip in the river. We try an activity central to Mongolian nomadic life too—horse-riding. The Mongol empire was founded on the prowess of their horseback warriors under Ghengis Khan and horseracing is one of the three sports revered in the annual Naadam festival (alongside archery and wrestling). Local herder Jagaa, dressed in traditional deel tunic, takes us out on semi-wild horses across land flecked with multi-hued wildflowers, alongside the river, up into the hills.
One afternoon Jagaa invites us to his home, where his daughter serves us cheese and salty tea. Almost 30 per cent of Mongolians still live nomadically, in tune with nature, moving with the seasons, selling meat and dairy produce, wool and cashmere. But life is getting much harder, Jagaa tells me. Climate change is bringing devastatingly harsh winters, killing livestock and threatening traditional life, and urban migration is high.
“It’s hard, but it’s a blessing to live like this in nature,” Jagaa tells me. “This land, my animals, my family… it’s all that matters.” As we prepare to leave the next day and I take in the energy of this wild place one last time, I know he’s right. This country and its people have cast a spell on me and I’m in no rush to return to the rush of the outside world.
