In Mongolia’s countryside, the underrated joy of a bucket-list experience without phone reception

Singaporeans abroad frequently proclaim, with equal endearment and exasperation, that we can spot our fellow countrymen by hearing them before we see them. Personally, depending on what I overhear, I’ve found the Singlish accent can either ease the homesickness or make me extra sick of home.
But a work trip to Mongolia’s countryside in late August showed me another surefire method to identify a Singaporean in the literal wild: They flock to the sole Wi-Fi zone with their phone in the air, waving like a person drowning. 
To be specific, I was one of the sad souls searching for Wi-Fi at the Mongol Nomadic Camp after travelling roughly 55km from Mongolia’s capital Ulaanbaatar, during which my online access gradually faded into oblivion. 
A colleague and I were in the country for a preview of Mongolia’s first theatre production to go global, The Mongol Khan, before it comes to Singapore later this month. We’d caught the show the night before, and I hoped experiencing nomadic life firsthand, albeit in a popular tourist camp, would enhance our appreciation for the rich Mongol culture on proud display in the play.
Alas, I am but a Singaporean millennial. It didn’t seem to matter that I would be staying at the camp – which had little to no cellular reception, never mind data connection – for just one night before returning to a five-star hotel accommodation in the city. Nor that I was surrounded by the majestic landscape of the landlocked East Asian country I’d long desired to witness in person. 
Now that I was finally seeing Mongolia’s mountains up close, which were far more breathtaking than any travelogue or thesaurus could describe, I felt oddly compelled to… check social media. 
There is a famous mindfulness maxim that’s often used in travel writing too: “Wherever you go, there you are.” No matter where you are or what you’re doing, you cannot escape from yourself. 
And so it was. I found myself unable to disconnect despite a lack of connectivity. After several minutes of trying and failing to access Wi-Fi at the restaurant, the only connection point in the camp, I gave up. For now.
I shuffled somewhat resignedly to my “room” – a two-bedder ger, or yurt, that I would share with a colleague.
Upon seeing its unassuming exterior, I braced myself for a chilly night. The tail end of summer in late August typically sees temperatures range from 22 degrees Celsius in the day to 9 degrees Celsius at night, and I expected the temperature to dip further in the countryside.
Instead, it was surprisingly toasty indoors, I started perspiring after mere minutes. I’m now convinced a ger, constructed from a lattice of flexible wood and covered in wool felt, is the OG HeatTech. Like my Uniqlo down jacket I hastily stripped off, the yurt’s insulation belies its spartan appearance.
Already liking what was shaping up to be a cosy night, I figured I could look past the bathroom, or the semblance of a bathroom.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m cool with roughing it in the great outdoors. But the shower situation meant I had to figure out the logistics of filling the pail with water of the right temperature (yes, there is hot water) then using the scoop to wash my body and hair if I was feeling ambitious. And I had to ensure I rinsed off properly, all while sitting on a stepstool. 
It was too much mental gymnastics for one night, so I decided I’d skip showering completely. But I’m happy to report my colleague Joyee found navigating the nomadic facilities perfectly fine. 
Before long, I forgot that we’d been wrangling for Wi-Fi less than an hour ago.
I was in Mongolia, man. Every National Geographic photographer’s wet dream. A top-tier bucket list travel destination. Heaven on earth. 
How many chances would I get to taste a slice of Mongolia’s nomadic life? Okay, perhaps more than one, if you consider activities like the previous pop-up of a yurt in Yishun to be an authentic affair.
It’s quite possibly rarer to experience a foreign country, while being totally cut off from the world. Modern connectivity means going on holiday is no longer the same as taking a break. Even when I silence everything work-related, the constant access to social media and messaging apps often makes me feel like I never left Singapore.
To be fair though, I didn’t quite mind. Many places I’d been, from New York to New Zealand, were simple enough to navigate even on my first time there, and the journeys from Singapore were relatively straightforward. So this false sense of familiarity assured me that I could come and go whenever, easily picking up where I left off. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t totally present on holiday.
Mongolia, on the other hand, despite its allure, had always felt a little too inaccessible, both logistically and culturally. I didn’t feel I could return to its vast terrain “anytime” if I realised I missed something this trip. 
This 2D1N stay in Mongolia’s countryside could be all I got.
After unpacking, we joined other travellers for a “mini” Naadam Festival, held in our backyard, so to speak. The traditional festival is believed to have existed for centuries in various forms since the Khan dynasties, showcasing the “three manly sports”: Mongolian wrestling, horse racing and archery. These days, women have started participating in the games, aside from wrestling.
Some travel bloggers have written that the mini version of Naadam, while still a display of these sports, feels increasingly like a tourist spectacle rather than cultural pillar. 
But as someone who wasn’t clued in to the festival’s history or culture, my initial impression was one of sheer fun. It’s Sports Day, minus the Milo truck, set against the rolling hills of Mongolia.
Away from the main performance ground, there were various “stations” with carnival games and activities, including opportunities for spectators to attempt archery and horse riding. No chance to live out your WWE dreams here, unfortunately.
I was growing more certain, however, that I could give Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie a run for their money on The Simple Life. In this episode, I was quickly learning that my hand-eye coordination left much to be desired.
It wasn’t my first time trying my hand at archery. But after watching the Mongols coolly position their arrow before letting it whiz into the horizon in a perfect arc, let’s just say that if I ever had to shoot for my survival, natural selection would take over.
While I took to horse riding a tad more naturally, I was no match for the Mongol children who galloped down the plains as though they were born onto a horse. And they may as well have, as I later discovered; they learn to ride horses from as young as four years old.
As nomadic anecdotes go, it was fairly tame (unlike finding out some of the sheep providing me sustenance had probably been butchered mere hours before their tender meat lay on my plate). But horse riding was such an ordinary part of Mongol life that it blew my mind. It was easy to be enraptured by everything in a country where every corner felt unfamiliar.
My tastebuds never got used to the sourness of food and drink staples, aaruul and airag. Aaruul is a traditional snack made from boiled yogurt; airag is fermented horse milk, Mongolia’s national drink over the summer. 
Yet I remained endlessly fascinated by their fans, specifically my Mongol guides, who devoured every drop and crumb.
And I was particularly drawn to the simplicity and resourcefulness of makeshift carnival games that used shagai – a sheep or goat’s ankle bone – as dice or marbles. In one game, shagai pieces were flicked with the middle finger of one hand along a wooden board held in the other hand. The goal was to hit a target shagai piece several metres away. (Yes, that’s really it.)
Later at night, I learnt that the camp’s Wi-Fi was only switched on at certain times to conserve electricity – and presumably to cater to city tourists who wanted a break from cosplaying nomadic life.
As I was selecting photos of my day to upload onto Instagram Stories, I wondered whether I’d soon forget that the magnanimity of Mongolia’s landscape had rendered me speechless once I was back among creature comforts. Such an all-consuming feeling had only been possible because I was fully present, and I wanted to hold onto it.
But here’s the thing about living in the moment that its advocates rarely mention: The moment is beautiful precisely because it’s fleeting. It’s a way of life that’s always been at odds with my inherent need for control.
Yet many years ago, I promised myself I’d learn to let go a little. On my wrist, a permanent visible reminder, is a tattoo of mountains in reference to lyrics that now felt more apt than ever: “And instead of moving mountains, let the mountains move you.”CNA Lifestyle was in Mongolia at the invitation of BASE Entertainment, which is bringing The Mongol Khan to Marina Bay Sands from Oct 17. Shows are staged in English or Mongolian, with English and Mandarin subtitles provided for all sessions. Showtimes and ticketing details can be found here.