Our journey through Mongolia begins as we land in Ulaanbaatar and meet our travel expert, then drive into the heart of the capital. 

The city reveals itself in layers as we pass Soviet-era facades, new glass towers, busy junctions and distant hill silhouettes. It feels like an in-between place, balanced between tradition and modern ambition, and we have the sense that beyond the buildings the land is already calling. 

After checking in at our hotel and taking time to refresh, we step outside to begin absorbing the city at an easy pace. 

We stroll across Sükhbaatar Square, where the statue of Chinggis Khan presides over wide stone terraces and the pale façade of the Government Palace. Office workers, students and families share the space, and the square becomes our first open window into contemporary Mongolian life. From here we drift into side streets of cafés, bookshops and small galleries, noticing how Buddhist motifs appear on doorways and murals even in the most modern corners. As evening draws in, we are welcomed into a private dining room by a Mongolian chef who has built a reputation for elevating traditional dishes. 

Tonight’s multi-course menu introduces the ingredients that will follow us through the journey: grass-fed lamb, handmade noodles, wild herbs, seasonal vegetables and rich dairy from nomadic herders. 

Between courses, the chef speaks about sourcing, seasonality and the quiet revolution shaping Mongolia’s food culture. It is intimate without being formal, and we feel more like guests at a home than diners in a restaurant. 

Walking back to the hotel under a wide, star-pricked sky, we sense that this first night has opened a doorway. We fall asleep knowing that this meeting of city light and steppe spirit is only the beginning.

Morning at Khovsgol Lake begins with pale light filtering through the trees and the sound of water lapping against the shore. After breakfast at the lodge, we set out by vehicle and, where terrain allows, on horseback toward the realm of the Darkhad people. The route carries us through birch and pine forests, across small streams and open meadows where horses graze freely. As we travel deeper into the valley, small traces of life appear one by one: smoke drifting from distant camps, the sharp bark of dogs, children guiding animals toward pasture. 

We arrive at a Darkhad family settlement and are welcomed into an ortz, the traditional tent used throughout this northern region. Inside, the air is warm with wood smoke and the gentle scent of drying hides. We sit together on low stools as our hosts pour bowls of salted tea and offer dried curd, homemade bread and, when available, preserved berries. Through translation, they share stories of seasonal migration, reindeer herding heritage and the ways the climate is reshaping long-held patterns. Their words carry both resilience and humour, grounding us in the everyday realities of life on the steppe. 

After farewells, we return toward the lodge, pausing at viewpoints where Khovsgol stretches beneath us like polished blue stone. The afternoon is deliberately unhurried. Some may wander along the shoreline collecting smooth pebbles, while others settle by the fire to read, journal or simply absorb the rhythm of the lake. 

As night approaches, we gather for a dinner of hearty northern dishes and perhaps a tasting of locally distilled vodka. Once darkness settles, we step outside again—not just to admire the stars mirrored across the water, but to join a shamanic fire ceremony led by a local practitioner. Dressed in garments adorned with bells and ribbons, the shaman offers invocations to land, sky and ancestors. We are invited, if we wish, to cast small offerings into the flames, releasing thanks or quiet intentions. When the drumming fades, a deep stillness settles over the valley, and we return to our rooms carrying the lingering warmth of both fire and tradition.

Our second full day in the Orkhon Valley begins with the slow brightness of dawn, the air cool, clean and still. After breakfast in camp, we set out by four-wheel drive toward Ulaan Tsutgalan, the immense Orkhon Waterfall. Here, water rushes through a volcanic canyon carved by time, forming a thunderous cascade into a deep cavern below. 

We take our time exploring the edges and pools, observing the movement of water and listening to its echoing voice—a living hymn at the centre of this fertile valley. 

From here, we continue onward to a nearby nomadic family’s ger. Inside, warmth radiates from the stove and bowls of suutei tsai are poured as a gesture of welcome. Lunch is served in traditional style: mutton stew simmered with wild onions, fresh bread and dried curds shaped by sun and seasons. As we share the meal, our hosts speak about their herding life—the care of animals, the partnerships within community and the familiar rhythm with which families move, remember and rebuild. 

In the afternoon we visit a Turkic monument site nearby—a sacred stone alignment where weathered carvings honour ancestors and spirits. Beyond the carved stones, the grasslands roll uninterrupted beneath a vast and distant sky. Here, the hush feels ancient, personal and profoundly still. 

Returning to our camp for rest and tea, the afternoon is unhurried. We may sit by the riverbank and watch light shift across the valley or simply reflect quietly beside the fire. As dusk gathers, dinner is prepared in the open air—perhaps khorkhog, cooked with hot stones, or roasted vegetables infused with herbs. 

The evening deepens into night. Blankets and cushions are arranged outside the gers, and we gather for stargazing, guided by our travel expert. Far from any lights, the night sky opens fully: constellations shimmer, planets glow and the arc of the Milky Way spans across the heavens. The river’s voice softens beneath this cosmic silence.

We begin the morning in the quiet of the Elsen Tasarkhai dunes, where soft light settles across sculpted ridges and the desert holds the last traces of night’s coolness. The silence feels expansive here, broken only by the distant call of birds and the faint rustle of shifting sand. It is a peaceful setting to explore one of Mongolia’s most accessible yet atmospheric stretch of desert. 

A camel encounter awaits, led by local herders whose families have worked with Bactrian camels for generations. Riding these calm, two-humped animals brings a gentle, grounded rhythm to the morning. As we move across the dunes, the landscape widens and contracts in slow waves, revealing pockets of hardy desert plants and tracks etched by wildlife. Along the way, we learn how these remarkable camels enabled trade, migration and survival in some of Mongolia’s harshest environments. Their steady pace offers time to take in the textures and scale of the dunes, and to feel a connection to nomadic traditions that continue today. 

By late morning, we leave the desert and travel west to Hustai National Park. This protected area is home to one of Mongolia’s most inspiring conservation stories: the successful reintroduction of the Przewalski’s horse, or takhi, once extinct in the wild. With a ranger, we explore the rolling hills and scrubland valleys where small herds now roam freely. Their stocky builds, dun coats and upright manes give them a primeval presence, and watching them graze or move across the steppe brings a sense of quiet hope for the resilience of wild nature. 

As the afternoon draws on, we continue our journey to Ulaanbaatar. Approaching the capital, the scenery shifts from wide open steppe to the familiar contours of the city. After checking into our hotel, the evening is left open to enjoy as you wish—perhaps a relaxed dinner, a walk through the surrounding streets or simply time to unwind. Even amidst the returning bustle, the stillness of the dunes and the wild clarity of Hustai remain with us.

Our first full day in the Altai begins with clear light pouring into the valley and a chill that encourages quick movement. After breakfast, we step outside the ger camp as the plains slowly warm and colours settle across the landscape. This morning is devoted to one of the region’s most emblematic traditions: eagle hunting. We meet a Kazakh eagle hunter whose family has practised this craft for generations, and he welcomes us into a world shaped by skill, patience and deep respect for the natural world. 

We learn how young eagles are chosen, how trust is built over months and how hunter and bird read the land together. Standing face to face with a golden eagle at close range is extraordinary—the weight of the bird, the sharpness of its gaze and the quiet command it carries. With the mountains rising behind us, the demonstration unfolds in an unhurried rhythm that reveals the deep cultural significance of the tradition. 

Late morning, we join the hunter’s family for tea, homemade bread and small treats that reflect the warmth of Kazakh hospitality. Brief stories of seasonal migrations and life on the steppe offer a gentle window into how these customs endure. 

From here, we begin an afternoon hike across low ridges and open grasslands. The terrain shifts between soft steppe and stony patches, each turn offering a new angle on the surrounding peaks. At a scenic lookout, we pause for a picnic lunch prepared by the camp, enjoying simple dishes amid quiet, wind-brushed views that stretch far across the valley. 

Continuing onward, the trail gradually descends toward camp, with the late-day light softening the slopes around us. On return, there is time to observe or join small camp activities—perhaps helping prepare dumplings, tending a fire or listening to local musicians rehearse traditional melodies. Everything unfolds naturally, without urgency. 

As evening settles, we gather in the main ger for a hearty dinner and easy conversation.

Today we join a nomadic herder family as they move their camp to new pasture, sharing in one of the core rhythms of Mongolian life. After breakfast, we travel to their current site, where animals are already being gathered and household items organised for the journey. 

The ger stands partially dismantled, its felt layers rolled and wooden lattice sections stacked neatly nearby. There is a sense of purposeful activity, each family member knowing their role and working with measured efficiency born from repetition. 

We help where we can, carrying bundles, tying ropes and loading gear onto trucks or pack animals depending on conditions. When everything is ready, the small caravan sets off across the landscape—animals at the front, vehicles or carts behind, people moving alongside according to pace and age. 

We walk for part of the way, feeling the land underfoot and understanding how distance reveals its true scale only when traversed slowly. The route crosses low ridges and open plains before arriving at a new site chosen for grass, water access and shelter from prevailing winds. 

Once there, reconstruction begins. The family sets up the ger in a practiced sequence: lattice walls raised and secured, roof poles fitted, central crown lifted, felt layers wrapped and tied. We assist as appropriate, marvelling at how a complete home can be built in such a short time. 

Lunch is cooked in the open air and shared on rugs spread over the ground, a simple meal of soup, bread and tea tasting deeply satisfying after work and movement. In the afternoon we spend time with the family, talking about education, marriage, livestock and hopes for future generations. 

As the sun lowers, we take our leave and drive back to our own camp. The day leaves us with a vivid sense of mobility as an organising principle—a life shaped not by fixed addresses but by an ongoing, responsive conversation with land and season. It quietly reshapes our idea of home and belonging to land.

Your travel expert meets you at your hotel and transfers you to the airport for your onward flight. Bags packed, documents checked, we head through the city one last time, taking in the familiar scene of Ulaanbaatar—its wide streets, Soviet-era buildings, and surrounding hills now part of our journey’s story. 

Over the past 13 days, we’ve travelled across a remarkable range of landscapes—from the spirit-filled Orkhon Valley to the dunes of Elsen Tasarkhai and the dramatic peaks of the Altai. We’ve stayed in private ger camps, ridden camels, watched the stars from remote plains, and shared meals in the homes of herding families. Whether by horseback, helicopter, or hot-air balloon, every mode of travel brought us face-to-face with Mongolia’s wild beauty. 

We’ve met eagle hunters, shamans and local guides whose stories shaped our understanding of the culture. We’ve walked through ancient steppe sites and watched reintroduced takhi roam free in Hustai. Each day layered new experiences and perspectives, leading us deeper into the country’s rhythms and traditions. 

We leave with lasting memories, a sense of space and quiet, and a connection to Mongolia that feels both personal and expansive. Boarding our flight, we carry with us the spirit of the steppe—vast, timeless, and unforgettable.

PROGRAM CONCLUDES