“Chuu!” I called – the Mongolian version of “giddy up,” but the half-wild horse I sat upon either didn’t understand or didn’t like my American accent.
I was with horse wrangler Bundhorol Dolgor and his ten-year-old daughter, Urantuya, on an endless, windswept steppe in Mongolia, some 45 miles from the nearest paved road. On my third chuu, some inflexion in my voice clearly resonated, and suddenly we were off, moving at a fast, short-stepping gait that nearly unseated me. Urantuya, wearing a clay-red deel tunic and a wind-battered cap, was giggling at me as she rode her own horse. In her hand was a whip with a handle that looked like bone, though she had no need to use it. These horses liked to move.
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I travelled to Mongolia in August 2025 to see some of the country’s most beautiful, wild spaces – land where many of the country’s nomadic herders, like Bundhorol and his daughter, still roam. Roughly one-third of the country’s entire population, which in itself is sparse, since Mongolia is twice the size of Texas with a population of just 3.5 million, is nomadic. These communities move at least two to three times per year, corralling sheep, goats, horses, camels, and occasionally, yaks.
Nomadism is an integral part of Mongolia’s ancestral identity, but as weather and international markets fluctuate, so does the appeal of this challenging lifestyle. When prices for meat, wool, and cashmere are high, nomads with hundreds of livestock can reap significant profit. It’s not uncommon for nomadic families to own apartments in the capital of Ulaanbaatar and send their children to universities. But harsh environmental realities can flip a nomadic family’s fortunes overnight, from severe drought to the dreaded dzud winters, in which temperatures can drop to -50 degrees Fahrenheit. And when the prices for animal products dip, things become even harder.
Meanwhile, Mongolia’s tourism industry has offered a strong source of economic growth. This year marked a turning point in the already rapt attention of international travellers keen to visit Mongolia. In May, United Airlines launched a new flight route to Chinggis Khaan International Airport via Tokyo, making it the first US airline to operate regular flights to Mongolia; the year prior, in October, the Eagle Hunter Cultural Center opened as a permanent space where traditional heritage, wildlife conservation, and tourism could overlap. Due to the increasing number of visitors, many tour operators are now considering expanding their operations during the shoulder season. During a moment of change like this, there’s a potentially valuable opportunity for the tourism industry to help to preserve nomadic traditions and the natural environment – if the players involved are respectful of community values and wishes.
Nomadic Expeditions, one of the longest-running tour operators in Mongolia, with accommodations in the Bayan-Ölgii province and the Gobi Desert, maintains ongoing relationships with some 15 nomadic families to foster respectful exchanges with visitors to the region. In activities ranging from eagle hunting and felt-making to camel riding, travellers can learn about traditional nomadic life, and the partners are paid fairly for their time and expertise. But founder and CEO Jalsa Urubshurow makes it clear that nomads are not overly reliant on tourism.
“I don’t think it’s accurate to say that tourism helps support the survival of Mongolia’s nomadism,” he tells me one evening in Ulaanbaatar. “Nomads are extremely resilient. This culture has survived thousands of years. We’re lucky enough to witness and learn from it.”
Changing times are an inarguable fact, though, especially as younger generations of nomads find themselves reluctant to commit to this harsh way of life, with many opting to pursue a university-level education. A half-hour’s drive from Nomadic Expedition’s Three Eagle Camp, over bites of dried aaruul cheese curds and sips of milk tea, I met 17-year-old Myagmarsuren Batmunkh, who, when she’s not milking goats and watching sheep, plans to study forensic science in college.
Some nomads have found a middle ground by working in tourism, such as Bundhorol, the horse wrangler. He previously owned large herds of livestock, including hundreds of horses – short, bright-eyed creatures with coats as varied and tempers as flighty as mustangs. But with his children either headed to university or still relatively young, he pivoted to working part-time with Nomadic Expeditions, which has allowed him to manage a smaller number of animals.
Along with the lifestyle itself, specific regional aspects of nomadic culture have become at risk, such as eagle hunting in the western reaches of Mongolia. The tradition is threatened by climate change, mining, and the shift to modern, more sedentary lifestyles. Meanwhile, wild golden eagles must navigate dangers from growing human infrastructure and shrinking habitats.
After 35 years of working in a theatre production company, Turginbek Ajken forewent a typical retirement route and instead took up traditional eagle hunting. He now works part-time at the new Eagle Hunter Cultural Center, in the western Bayan-Ölgii province.
Turginbek is a member of the Kazakh community, a traditionally nomadic ethnic group that has been, along with other nomadic peoples, hunting with golden eagles for more than 3,500 years. In his work with the centre, he shares the processes and intricacies of eagle-hunting to visitors, along with its cultural – and, at times deeply personal – roots.
“When I was a little boy, I would go eagle hunting with my father—this coat and all the equipment I’m wearing right now is from him,” Turginbek told me outside the centre, which is built as a rounded ger, or yurt. In the distance, the golden Altai Mountains stood more than 13,000 feet into the air, as surreally steep as CGI imaginings. As he spoke, Ajken stroked the shining brown feathers of his golden eagle, Tirnek. “It gives me such a feeling of pride that I’m keeping the old tradition. Our ancestors used to live this way – and we’re still doing it today.”
While the Golden Eagle Festival, which takes place over two weeks in the same region each fall, has garnered much coverage for its celebration of this UNESCO-recognised heritage, the new centre is a year-round establishment where travellers can participate in eagle hunting workshops, learn about Mongolian horsemanship, shop for regional arts and textiles, and arrange overnight homestays in the area. In addition to hosting visitors, the centre also serves as a community gathering space and the headquarters of the Kazakh Falconry Association, which supports traditional falconry in Mongolia along with healthy populations of wild eagles. One of the association’s current efforts, for example, is to create a modern database of registered, licensed eagle hunters.
“Our responsibility is to keep the balance,” the centre’s director, Atai Ayatkhan, told me as we stood next to a case exhibiting hand-hewn biyalai, thick falconry gloves made from deerskin. “Future generations of eagle hunters are decreasing. We want to train and educate them. We want to build research and data about Mongolia’s eagle populations, and welcome young wildlife researchers. And we want to show this traditional sport to locals and foreigners alike.”
Balance is a key concept as the lives of Mongolia’s nomads and travellers continue to intersect. An hour’s drive outside Ulaanbaatar, Hustai National Park is the home of 311 Przewalski's horses, an animal that went extinct in the wild but was reintroduced to this land in 1992. Park manager Batzaya Batchuluun, who grew up in a nomadic family not far from the capital, told me about the careful negotiation of maintaining a healthy park, which also hosts species such as Pallas cats and grey wolves, while collaborating with the nomadic families that graze their livestock nearby.
Occasionally, as the weather dictates, these families will move their animals through the park’s fenceless boundaries. But rather than reprimanding them, Batzaya and his team prioritise educating the young children of nomadic families about the value of the ecosystem, the incredible animals that live there, and the importance of maintaining a thriving place for travellers to visit.
“Working with the nomadic families around us is key,” Batzaya tells me after I’d spent a morning peering through my binoculars at Przewalski's horses and dramatically plumed bearded vultures. “We want to foster future biologists and guides amongst the nomads who were born and raised here.”
Many travellers, including myself, visit Mongolia specifically in order to experience these uniquely wild places. As tourism to the country continues to grow in importance, operators have the opportunity – and the responsibility – to help maintain this delicate balance between the new and the old, between sharing beauty and preserving it. It is because of these authentic, collaborative efforts playing out quietly in the background that I was able to spend an afternoon with Bundhorol and Urantuya not thinking about any of these things, the ceaseless flow of travel and change. Instead, I focused on my own balance as the horse’s strong legs moved smartly beneath me. Taking in the endless steppe, I felt that singular combination of adrenaline and awe wash over me, the jingle of tack mingling with the whip of the wind.
Moments later, a light, spitting rain started to fall. I looked at Bundhorol and Urantuya, who were both grinning at me – neither spoke a word of English. Bundhorol motioned to the direction of the camp questioningly, then in the opposite direction, out into the empty grass. I paused, then jerked my head to the latter. We turned and kept riding, horses snorting, into the Land of the Blue Sky.

Published Date:2025-09-26