A journey through the ‘dreamlike' Gobi Desert is one of the world's great adventures

Telegraph

5 days ago

While the roads in Mongolia are always a challenge, this one was especially dire – a catastrophe of jarring potholes and ruts that rattled our Russian van to the core.
We were lucky enough to shoot south of Ulaanbaatar – the country's gritty yet surprisingly charming capital – on a sealed two-lane highway, but after a couple of smooth hours our driver turned off onto the roughest of dirt tracks, where I gazed out of the dust-smudged window onto a wide landscape made surprisingly lush by ample summer rains.
We may have been in the Gobi, but for a time it resembled the sweeping, nearly-infinite prairie of North America.
Derrière-numbing van rides are just the price of admission in Mongolia, at least if you want to experience the natural splendour that the country offers in spades.
On my journey, it quickly became clear that all the jostling was worth it, as the scrubby green fields gave way to an expanse of stone rises and otherworldly rock formations known as Baga Gazriin Chuluu.
This 300-square kilometre nature reserve is the Gobi as I'd imagined it: dreamlike, arid, and starkly beautiful in its desolation.
Freed from the cramped confines of the van, I spent the next couple of hours spelunking the arroyos and wind-carved granite hills that make up Baga Gazriin Chuluu, keeping my eyes peeled for the elusive ibex (wild goat) that call the reserve home.
While I spied no majestic horned beasts, I managed to escape the relentless desert sun by ducking into one of the reserve's 34 known caves.
This was a welcomely cool recess where – according to my guide – local monks used to come to meditate for 108 days.
With monks on my mind, I ended my time at Baga Gazriin Chuluu by scrambling amongst the ruins of the Tsorjin Khureeni Khiid Monastery, which like most in Mongolia, was destroyed in the 1930s during the country's Soviet-inspired Buddhist purge.
The remains of the small complex lay crumbling amidst a grove of trees in a narrow gorge, and as I made my way up the precipitous path to the top of the rocky rise acting as the canyon wall, I paused to take in my surroundings, feebly attempting to ponder the vastness of the place.
The Gobi has long held a particular spot in our collective imagination as a place of mystery, rolling dunes, brutal heat, icy winters, and caravans of double-humped Bactrian camels.
During my travels to Mongolia, I was determined to see the place first-hand, a task which – given the area's ruggedness, size, and daunting logistics – is still best done by joining an organised tour.
I jumped on a 10-day jaunt that included a full week in the deep desert.
Despite the Gobi's size (it also extends well into northern China), seeing it in this amount of time is very possible – though bear in mind it'll involve plenty of time in a van or SUV grinding over dire dirt roads, and nights spent in gers, the ubiquitous yurts favoured by local nomads.
These accommodations range from luxury tourist camps full of comforts and amenities to bare-bones homestays with neither running water nor electricity (and pit toilets acting as commodes).
Where you'll stay depends on the tour you opt for, of course, but if you want to see how the nomads live first-hand, a homestay is essential.
On our second day we marvelled at the view from the flat top of Tsaagan Tsuvarga, known in English as the 'White Stupa'. One look at this mesa, whose gnarled, pale cliffs resemble a Buddhist tower from a distance, tells you why the locals assign the place a kind of religious significance.
We followed this up the next afternoon with a stop in Dalanzadgad, a dusty outpost that – along with being a mining centre and capital of South Gobi Province – is also home to a surprisingly shiny modern museum, complete with full dinosaur skeletons discovered in the area, as the Gobi has long been a paleontological hotspot.
The Gobi is also full of rock paintings dating back to the Bronze Age, and the Khavtsgait Petroglyphs are well worth the steep – but mercifully short – hike that it takes to view them. These stone etchings feature plenty of figures wielding bows and arrows while riding horses and chasing down bighorn sheep and other game.
However, as impressive as these windows into the distant past are, like so much of the Gobi, the vista from the top of the ridge is the real star of the show.
I was more than content to sit perched amidst the black and grey stones, soak in the breeze, and gaze out at the open landscape while clouds scudded across the sky, casting their oversized shadows on the earth below.
The desert has a curious way of playing with your senses – especially your perception of time – and the hours bled away until my days in the Gobi became a splendid, surrealistic blur punctuated by moments of sublimity.
I recall feeling like an extra in a science fiction film as I trudged up the golden rise of the Khongor Dunes while an incoming thunderstorm whipped up the sand in water-like sprays; spotting vultures far overhead as the gravel crunched underfoot in the narrow passage Yolyn Am gorge; listening to the idyllic gurgle of the Ongi River and climbing around the ruined monastery that shares its name (which felt like an abandoned gold mine) and – above all – the evening I spent at Bayanzag, whose legendary 'Flaming Cliffs' more than lived up to their name.
Over thousands of years, the power of water and wind has done its work, carving out this collection of channels, canyons and red sandstone bluffs.
While Bayanzag certainly looks impressive in the wash of daylight, it's not until the sun begins to dip into the sky that it really comes to life, turning incandescent as the dying rays set the whole cliff face afire.
And the sunset itself was a thing of pure magic. As the approaching night dragged it towards the horizon, an intense wind grew and lashed the land. The light went from blinding magnesium at the white-hot centre to tangerine, hot pink, violet, and nearly undetectable fingers of blue.
For a few moments the whole affair felt like an atomic blast taking place in slow-motion, and I thought that even the most jaded long-time resident of the Gobi must still pause to contemplate the pure enchantment of it all. Before I knew it, the daylight had receded completely, revealing a glittering dome of stars.
As I turned on my flash-light and made the hike back to my ger, I knew that I would carry this moment into my upcoming dreams, and then with me wherever I went – no matter how rough the road.
Essentials
The best way to experience the many splendours the Gobi has to offer is by joining an organised tour. Goyo Travel is run by a British-Mongolian husband and wife team who have more than 12 years of experience taking travellers deep into north-east Asia's great desert, both in groups and on private tours.
Their seven-day Gobi Loop itinerary, for example, costs from £1,500pp, taking in the Gobi Desert, Flaming Cliffs, Yolyn Am, Khavtsgait Petroglyphs, and the Khongoryn Els Singing Dunes, and including a camel trek, wild camping, and a homestay with a family of herders. Departures between June and September.