Mongolia – 2025 & 2026
The first person who welcomes me to modern Mongolia is a young man working on the airport bus between Ulaanbaatar and the city centre. During the ride, he tells me that he has been working since the age of nine. Over the years he has done everything from hotel jobs and factory work to DJing, which he describes as the most fun, and guiding, which brings in the best money but also demands punishing 240-hour months. His practical advice for travelling Mongolia’s countryside is simple: never count on finding toilet paper. His role model is Elon Musk, a name I hear surprisingly often throughout my travels. Only hours later, I meet another ambitious young Mongolian. Fifteen-year-old Chinggis Khan (yes, that’s his real name), the son of my Couchsurfing host Yanjid, already owns around ten horses which he uses for racing and guiding visitors.
In his free time, Chinggis teaches himself coding and dreams of studying abroad in an English-speaking country. Having spent part of his childhood in Australia, he almost forgot how to speak Mongolian before returning home. Like the airport bus host, he looks up to Elon Musk and sees technology and entrepreneurship as a path to the future. Another young Mongolian I talk to is Ichtng, a 20-year-old medical student from Mörön. I sit next to her on the bus from Ulaanbaatar to her hometown. Like many young people from rural Mongolia, she spends most of the year in the capital for her studies before returning home during the summer. She misses her family, loves anime and is navigating the same challenges and opportunities faced by students everywhere, despite living thousands of kilometres from the world’s major population centres.
The adults, especially the women, I meet lead equally impressive lives: Yanjid is a self-employed single mom who takes me on a tour around the outskirts of UB. She also introduces me to her sister, who like Yanjid was born in the Gobi Desert but has since built a life spanning several countries. After studying for a PhD in Kanazawa (my chosen hometown in Japan), she married a Mongolian meditation teacher who spent years in India. Their daughter was conceived during their time there before the family eventually returned to Mongolia. Today, she runs a meditation retreat in a ger camp (fully vegetarian) outside Ulaanbaatar during the summer months while spending winters between Nepal, Japan, Cebu and other parts of Asia. Her story perfectly captures the balance many Mongolians strike between preserving tradition and embracing an increasingly international lifestyle. No discussion of Mongolia is complete without mentioning Davaa and her family, who welcome me into their lives around Lake Khuvsgul.
Davaa is one of the most energetic people I have ever met. She has been guiding tours across Mongolia since she is fifteen, runs the Mongol Ujin Camp in Khatgal, organises major events such as the Mongol 100 ultramarathon and somehow still finds time to pursue her passion for skydiving. When she is not fixing something at the camp, guiding visitors through the wilderness or climbing Mongolia’s highest peaks, she is likely preparing for her next jump from an aircraft somewhere in the world. Her father remains her biggest supporter, while her sister helps manage the camp during busy periods. The entrepreneurial spirit runs through the family. Her eldest son regularly helps with Daava with guiding guests, while also operating several hospitality businesses in Ulaanbaatar and doing his own international trading. Like so many Mongolians I meet, the entire family goes out of its way to ensure visitors have an unforgettable experience. Some of my favourite memories from both summer and winter in Mongolia come from time spent with them.
I also learn that most people who at some point leave Mongolia usually in pursuit of work opportunities later return home for good. Sunny, who runs HostelOne in Ulaanbaatar, and Baysa, a driver I meet on Lake Khuvsgul, both spent years working in South Korea. Another driver based in Khatgal studied abroad in France to perfect his language skills. Yet all of them eventually returned home. Despite the opportunities abroad, they share a common conclusion: there is simply no place like Mongolia. I would agree with that statement, especially thinking of the experiences I had in the vast countryside. Again, what make those memorable are the people I meet. Many of them being part of the nomadic families who continue to live across Mongolia’s vast countryside. While roughly half of the country’s population lives in Ulaanbaatar, the other half is spread across an enormous landscape of grasslands, mountains and forests.
During summer, I stay with yak herders. During winter, I visit Tsaatan reindeer herders deep in the taiga. In both cases, I am welcomed into homes without hesitation. Whether it is a ger, a teepee or a simple wooden cabin, guests are always offered milk tea and food. Hospitality feels less like a custom and more like a way of life. These families are remarkably self-sufficient, moving their camps several times a year to ensure their livestock have access to food and suitable grazing conditions. The animals always come first. If protecting a herd means spending several nights awake guarding reindeer from wolves, that is exactly what they do. What strikes me most is how early children become part of daily life and responsibility. Young boys and girls help herd animals, care for livestock and assist visitors. Zaya’s children in the taiga speak English with surprising confidence, while Degi, the son of a yak herder, guides horse trekking tours and regularly helps Davaa with projects around Lake Khuvsgul. It is another reminder that community, cooperation and personal relationships remain essential for life in Mongolia’s remote regions.
The final group of people who shape my experience are fellow travellers. Mongolia seems to attract a particular type of adventurer. Along the way, I meet three Norwegians attempting to travel the country on horseback with minimal outside support, a Colombian-English couple driving their own vehicle across continents, and an Italian woman who studies abroad in Siberia. We all arrive in Mongolia for different reasons, but share a willingness to embrace uncertainty. Plans change constantly. Distances are longer than expected. Vehicles break down. Weather shifts without warning. Yet nobody seems to mind. The adventure is the point. Each of these people introduces me to a different side of Mongolia. Together, they reveal a country far more complex than the stereotypes of nomads and endless grasslands. Mongolia is changing rapidly, yet many of its defining values remain intact: resilience, hospitality, ambition, adaptability and an extraordinary sense of community. Long after the details of individual destinations fade, it is these people I remember most.
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