Putting my phone away, I decided to take in the moment with my eyes, not my camera. No photo could do justice to the vast, untamed beauty of the Mongolian steppe. Herds of horses and goats roamed freely across the grassland, weaving between the scattered silhouettes of gers, the dome-shaped homes of local nomadic herders. The guttural grunts of yaks tickled my spirits. In the distance, mountains rose majestically from the plains. This deep sense of contentment was exactly what I had come in search of. I may have been travelling alone, but I felt far from lonely.
Before the trip, I’d become accustomed to the standard response from curious and slightly concerned friends whenever I shared my travel plans. “You’re going to Mongolia… alone? That’s brave.” Mongolia remains just far enough off the beaten track to prompt a quizzical raised eyebrow. Add the fact that I was leaving my husband and two children behind and heading out solo, and that eyebrow shot skyward.
Shorts
Solo travel had never been on my radar. It felt indulgent, unrealistic and, if I was being honest, a little intimidating. What if I got lonely? What if I felt unsafe? But in recent years, I’d felt an increasing urge to step beyond my comfort zones and carve out an adventure of my own.
