Living the Nomadic Life in Mongolia Changed Everything for Me
Let me tell you a story that might sound like something out of a travel documentary—but I lived it, for real. Imagine swapping your cozy bed and the buzz of city life for a sleeping bag under an ink-black sky in the middle of the Mongolian steppe. That was me, armed with layers of clothing, trying to see what I was really made of, on the G Adventures Nomadic Mongolia tour.
It all started with a whirlwind of travel: crossing the Gobi desert, hiking through the yak-dotted Yolyn Am valley, and climbing the massive sand dunes of Khongoryn Els. But the part that truly stuck with me? Living with a Mongolian nomadic family in the Uvurkhangai region for two days—a true, immersive, and at times chaotic, life-altering experience.
My hosts—Dejidmaa, Batbayr, and their daughter Byambasuren—welcomed us into their world with open arms. Their white ger stood proudly among a sea of 500 animals (well, 499 by the end), and the experience was as real as it gets. On day one, I attempted to pitch a tent, terribly. I used a drop toilet for the first time and had goat milk all over my sleeves before the sun had fully set. I even fled the camp at one point, hands over my ears, trying to escape the imminent sheep slaughter that would become our dinner. That was a little too real for me.
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But something shifted. Within hours, I started leaning into the lifestyle. I learned to milk goats, then transform that milk into yogurt, cheese, and even rice pudding—yes, after sifting out the fur. I herded sheep on foot and bike, built fires from dried cow dung (who knew that worked so well?), and even sheared sheep with just a pair of scissors—no injuries, I’m proud to say.
Evenings were the stuff of legends. We'd sit by the fire with the group, sip homemade milk vodka, and talk under skies so clear you could see every star in the galaxy. And when bedtime came, we’d throw on every single layer we owned just to stay warm in the freezing steppe night.
And while I couldn’t bring myself to eat the fresh mutton from the catch-and-kill dinner, my hosts quickly whipped up a vegetarian khuushuur just for me—a deep-fried pie that warmed both my stomach and my heart.
The impact of Mongolia was profound. There’s something about the simplicity, the hardiness, and the generosity of the people that wraps around your soul and doesn’t let go. It’s not just a destination; it’s a place that becomes part of you. I still find myself dreaming of gers, wide-open landscapes, and days without Wi-Fi but full of purpose.
I may have come from the city, soft and unprepared, but I left Mongolia with a bit of nomadic spirit in my bones. And next time, I’ll bring my own snacks—just in case.
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