Journey Through Mongolia: Beyond Borders, Within Ourselves

Mongolia was chosen just a few days before returning from Nepal, a journey that marked the beginning of a new era for Esplora.

The Lung-ta, Tibetan prayer flags whose name literally means “wind horses”—inspired us to seek new lands to explore.

We had just experienced an adventure that gave us the thrill of feeling free again, following the wind on our bikes like horses galloping without a destination, discovering ever-new horizons. This journey became the natural continuation of an exploration that began among the world’s highest peaks, blending the energy of the Nepali mountains with the freedom of the Mongolian steppe.

The first impact with Mongolia was overwhelming.
In just a few hours, we found ourselves catapulted into a completely different world. The effect of landing in an Asian country, with such contrasting culture, traditions, architecture, and ways of life, is always disorienting at first. It reminds us how little we actually know about the world and how much there is still to discover.

We started in Ulaanbaatar, which greeted us with a mix of charm and confusion. A place outside of time, almost part of another dimension we’re not used to. The streets, marked by the passage of Soviet-era trucks, wind between massive grey buildings, typical of that time, and Cyrillic signs on walls and storefronts. Slowly, fear and uncertainty settled, replaced by a sense of balance, thanks to the smiles of the people and their warm hospitality.

Leaving Ulaanbaatar felt like learning to breathe again. The steppe stretches endlessly, a green carpet dotted with herds of wild horses galloping free under a vast sky. The sense of freedom is tangible, and we begin to enjoy simple moments as we cross these open landscapes.

As with every one of our journeys, it seems that the first step is always relearning how to appreciate and marvel at the authentic and the simple, like children playing in the mud.

Our first morning began in a clearing, waking up in an agricultural field. The night before, we were hosted by a family of farmers, and from the very first moment, a natural bond formed, something that often happens when travelers meet locals in Asia, where hospitality is a core value.

Even more so here, in Mongolia, where nomads have always followed the rhythm of the seasons. A house is more than just a shelter, it’s a place of sharing, a point of contact with nature and the divine, it is everything that surrounds you.

The great sky above welcomes all under one reality: the great Tengri, “the god of the blue sky,” as they call it.

It brings to mind a parallel with Tibetan Buddhism (widely practiced in Mongolia) and the Lung-ta, representing the five elements, earth, water, fire, air, contained within the vast Blue, the ether.

The riding becomes more demanding; strong winds push against us, slowing us down.We are alone, surrounded by endless land and sky, and yet we never truly feel alone. The presence of wild horses galloping beside us in the steppe makes us feel part of something greater—an endless cycle. It’s as if nature itself were urging us forward.

Unlike Nepal, here we cover hundreds of kilometers without seeing houses or villages, only the occasional yurt offers a moment of rest and welcome.
This place is fertile ground for reflection, vast and desolate, it offers the chance to listen to our inner voice. In the silence, we come to understand how small we are, and how much we are part of something far bigger.

Here, silence is ever-present, so much so that it becomes its own sound, growing clearer and more powerful.

The silence holds the sound of wind, of flowing water, of breath growing with effort, of clouds shifting, of tree branches swaying, of blades of grass brushing, of animals calling in the night.
It is life, pure and simple, revealing itself in its rawest form.
It’s as if our ears, finally freed from noise, could pick up the most subtle vibrations of the universe.

We wake to bitter cold; mornings begin with shivers.
The crackling fire is our salvation until dawn stretches across the horizon and the sun rises, warming us with its rays.
On days like these, the heart feels light and the legs are ready. We ride on, feeling as free as the wind.

Mongolia is, in many ways, a harsh land.
As we climb higher toward Lake Khuvsgul, our final destination near the Russian border, we understand why.
Fifteen days have passed and we’ve covered around 800 kilometers.
The roads heading north are rough; human presence is rare, and the Siberian cold blowing south makes the nights brutally hard.
And yet, in this harshness and fatigue, we encounter people of such strength and resilience that they leave us speechless.
Tough men, working in often extreme conditions, living bold yet kind lives.

Then we understand why the greatest empire in recent history was born here: the Mongolian people are warriors.With a lump in our throat and winter setting in, we leave Hatgal, the last outpost of civilization before the vast stretches around the lake.
We estimate three more days to reach the northern tip. But on the third day, we are stopped by a 40km stretch of sand dunes, an impassable barrier.
The thought of the imminent first snowfall convinces us to turn back, fully aware that here, nature is always in charge.

On the way back, we are lucky to be welcomed into a nomad yurt by a family herding yaks.
They offer food and shelter for the night, and we spend the day together.
Communication is difficult, we don’t understand a word of each other’s language, but through the simplicity of gestures, we slowly begin to connect.
Eventually, someone pulls out a pen, and we start drawing together!
That moment marks a powerful bond between us. Through drawing, we dive into their stories and local culture. For a moment, language is no longer a barrier, imagination becomes a bridge.
And that is the true meaning of an experience like this: connection.

Pedaling south, heading home, we still feel the warmth of the yurt’s fire and the sound of that family’s laughter.A quiet melancholy sets in, as we realize we will likely never see them again.

Bike travel allows you to rediscover parts of yourself, not only of the places and people you meet, but of your own inner landscape.
These feelings last forever, both in you, and in those you cross paths with.