Mongolia is a vast, untamed canvas, and for two weeks in October, I found myself immersed in its raw, unforgiving beauty. The trip began in Ulaanbaatar, but it wasn’t long before we left behind the clamor of the city and found ourselves swallowed by the steppe. With a private driver, guide, and translator—secured by sheer luck of off-season timing—we journeyed through winding backroads that seemed more like veins leading into the heart of the land. Every day felt like a step further into a world few get to see, a world where nomadic families live their lives against the backdrop of an unrelenting wilderness.

Mongolia feels like one of the last places where a traditional nomadic lifestyle still thrives. Most people here choose the vast open land over crowded cities, moving with their herds across endless horizons. It’s a place where time seems to stand still, shaped by a deep connection to nature and a rhythm that urban life could never replicate. This was especially clear in the Taiga region near the Russian border, where we spent eight days in a car and three on horseback to meet the Tsaatan, the last reindeer herders on earth. The frigid October air bit through every layer I wore, but the adventure was worth it—a realm of snow and silence, reindeer grazing under frost-laden trees, and a way of life so deeply rooted in the land that it feels timeless. It was the purest form of type 2 fun—the kind that’s miserable in the moment but unforgettable in hindsight. Mongolia wasn’t just a place to photograph; it was a place that demanded to be felt, a place that left me wondering if I’d ever truly see anything this wild again.