In the vast, wind swept plains of Mongolia, far from cities and clocks, a single night in a traditional yurt became a lesson in stillness, solitude, and the forgotten luxury of silence.
You do not go to Mongolia for noise. You go to forget it. I arrived in the Orkhon Valley with no real itinerary, just a craving for quiet. No one prepares you for how big the sky feels here, or how the wind seems to carry centuries. My host family met me with a smile and a thermos of fermented mare’s milk. They lived simply, spoke little English, and barely used electricity. But their warmth made up for every word we could not share.
The yurt I stayed in was modest but comforting. A wooden door painted in brilliant orange and blue opened into a round space that felt both ancient and alive. A small stove glowed in the center. Outside, there was only grassland and sky. No roads. No towers. No deadlines. It was the first time in years that my calendar had no purpose.
That evening, we shared a meal of tsuivan and hot tea by candlelight. A toddler toddled across the rugs while the grandmother softly hummed a folk song. When I stepped outside later, the stars spilled like silver across the black sky. There were no planes overhead, no headlights in the distance. Just the rustle of wind and the faint murmur of animals settling into the night.
I expected the silence to be unnerving. But it was not silence at all. It was a full bodied stillness, rich and grounding. I slept deeply, wrapped in layers of wool, with the fire crackling faintly beside me. I had no alarms set. No emails pending. Only the sunrise would decide when my day began.
When it did, I stepped out barefoot and saw a new shade of gold draped over the land. Horses grazed near the horizon. A child waved from across the field. And in that quiet, unhurried moment, I felt something shift. I did not need to do anything. I just needed to be.
That morning I journaled without writing goals. I watched clouds move without tracking time. I simply allowed myself to exist without the pressure to perform. It was healing I didn’t even know I needed.
Travel sometimes changes what you see. Mongolia changed how I listen. If you ever feel drowned out by the modern world, go somewhere where the wind has more wisdom than your phone. Let a place this quiet speak to you. You may be surprised by what it tells you.
Follow Travel Moves on Instagram and Facebook for more stories that reconnect you with the world, and yourself.
