A long train journey deep into a windswept wilderness: isn’t this travel at its most romantic? If such an idea immediately summons thoughts of fur hats and Doctor Zhivago, you’re probably one of the many people with the Trans-Siberian railway on your bucket list.
Russia is, alas, firmly off limits for the time being. Fortunately, though, there is a more than viable alternative – the Trans-Mongolian Express. Somewhat shorter than its more famous cousin to the north, these days its route (for westerners at least) is curtailed by the fact that after the Mongolian capital, Ulaanbaatar, it ventures into Russian territory and continues to Moscow. Nevertheless, it still more than fulfils that promise of the emptiest of landscapes: deserts, mountains and steppe.
Russian influence in Mongolia may have ebbed away since the 1990s, but the two railways have much in common, and the Trans-Mongolian still holds firmly to the old Soviet model. Each compartment has its own fierce, uniformed guard who hold their flags out of the door at a precise 45 degrees in each station until they are given leave to, well, leave.
At the Chinese/Mongolian border, passengers are locked in until soldiers posted on the platforms let them out; alternatively, they’re locked out and left to roam an empty local station for hours at a time. Officials board the train to check passports repeatedly (five times during one stop).
Luggage is taken out and regularly inspected. Compartments have four bunks that may or may not be provided with sheets, which are then collected half an hour before arrival, typically as you are trying to find your shoes; and a reasonable level of athleticism is required to reach the top bunk (no steps). Hot water (one tea bag per person) comes courtesy of a wood-fired stove in the corridor. If it’s luxury you’re looking for, I’d recommend the Orient Express.
It’s a journey, though, that’s not without its compensations. After arriving in the middle of the night in Sainshand – where for some inexplicable reason, we are disembarked onto the track rather than the platform – I found myself close to the Gobi Desert. Here, herders milk their Bactrian camels three times a day, half for the family bucket, the other half suckled by the calves. Camel milk, sadly, didn’t feature in the lunch of mutton dumplings I shared with the herders, but I did get to learn a new variation of the game of knucklebones, as well as how to make a rope from camel hair.
The desert is full of surprises. There’s a museum dedicated to Danzanravjaa, the fourth reincarnation of the Noyon Khutagt (or “Lama of the Gobi”). A writer, composer, painter and physician, as well as a monk who took his vows at the age of six, he went on to found the Khamar monastery in 1820, standing eerily alone in the windswept desert. It follows the traditions of Tibetan Buddhism and is surrounded by dozens of prayer wheels and caves, where monks still meditate continuously for 108 days.
Within the monastery lies the Khoid Shambalaa, a sacred site that promises to cleanse you through the earth’s energy. Nearby is Mount Bayanzurkh, a “black mountain” that is believed to grant wishes if you climb to its summit.
The Mongolian desert
The Mongolian desert is ‘full of surprises’ Credit: Moment RF
From the desert, it took a further 12 hours for the train to reach the capital where, even on the outskirts of the city, horses grazed by the side of six-lane highways. An hour outside of town, and here was the Mongolia we all picture – endless, windswept grasslands, rolling hillsides and animals everywhere: horses, cattle, sheep and goats. There were yurts (known here as “gers”) in the fields, on the hillsides, even in the backyards – the Mongolian equivalent, perhaps, of the garden shed. A little further on, and the animal numbers increased tenfold, the herds of horses surrounded by little foals, some barely a week old, but already steady on their reed-thin legs.
Among nomadic people, wealth is measured in the number of animals you own. While it would have been impolite to enquire too intently, the Divà family with whom I stayed for a couple of nights, admitted to having over a thousand. Because they are not allowed to graze in the Hustai National Park which lies near to the Divàs’ traditional camping ground, some of the family take their herd on a continuous migration.
Meanwhile, other family members have stayed home to run a business offering visitors a ger for the night. These turned out to be surprisingly cosy, with a stove (fired by dung), candles, scarlet-painted furniture and golden hangings around the perfectly circular walls, made of canvas rather than the traditional felt.
The Divàs were preparing to open the camp to visitors for the first time as I arrived, and still had the finishing touches to administer, including a door for the outside loo. “We’re just making it,” they explained. You learn to be resourceful out on the steppe.
The National Park permits no domesticated animals, but it does have plenty of wild ones, including red deer and eagles, wolves and gazelles, lynx and, most symbolically of all, the wild horse. Also known as Przewalski’s horse, or in Mongolia, the takhi, this is the world’s only true wild (as opposed to feral) horse, the difference being wild horses have never been domesticated.
The takhi have an extra set of chromosomes compared to the domesticated horse, and were wiped out from their natural habitat on the steppe in 1969. They were successfully re-introduced in 1992, when just 15 were released from a Dutch zoo. There are now over 300. 
Naturally shy, these beasts are not easy to find, so a certain amount of off-road driving through the park is required to track them down. Small, stocky and with a large head (rather like a donkey’s), they have Palomino-like colouring, with light-coloured bodies and dark manes and tails, and are thought to have split from the ancestor they shared with the domesticated horse at least 40,000 years ago.
This time spent on the steppe – with its days of soughing wind and sky larks, and nights of rain pattering on canvas – was undoubtedly the highlight of the trip.
It felt a long way from where it had all begun, ten days earlier in Beijing, where I had met up with a small group of fellow-adventurers, for a tour arranged (appropriately) by Intrepid.
From there, a very different mode of transport from the Mongolian Express – the Chinese bullet train – whisked us away on the first stage of our journey into Chinese Inner Mongolia. We hurtled past haunting mountainous landscapes, extraordinary “stone forest” rock formations created by two million years of wind and rain, huge lakes with tens of thousands of migrant geese and swans, and vast grasslands of its own.
Legend has it that the Mongol people are descended from the progeny of a deer and a wolf. That combination of speed and resourcefulness would, of course, be the perfect traits for a people that spends its life mostly on horseback out on the steppe. The land of Genghis (or Chinggis) Khan still holds him in the highest esteem, and there are countless statues to him (and those beloved horses), including the world’s tallest equestrian statue. Made of stainless steel and 130ft tall, you can climb up the horse’s back legs to eventually emerge out onto its mane to enjoy the view.
Navigating your way round Mongolia is surprisingly easy. The Chinese character signs of Inner Mongolia give way to English, and Mongolian Cyrillic, once you cross the border, even though, outside the cities, westerners are rarely seen. Indeed, such is our novelty value that, when stopping for petrol, we were surrounded by locals asking for selfies, and children daring each other to stand close to the strangers.
On the other hand, some things are surprisingly familiar. I’d swear most Mongolian recipes are based on variations of Liverpudlian scouse (most feature mutton, potatoes, onions and carrots). But there again, perhaps this makes perfect sense. Comfort food is surely just what is required for a nomadic life on this wild, magnificent steppe.
Essentials
Intrepid Travel offers an 11-day TransMongolian Railway trip from £2,321pp, starting from Beijing, China and ending in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Price includes accommodation, transport, selected meals and a local guide throughout. International flights and tips for guides aren’t included.
BY Anna Selby

Published Date:2025-07-18