This winter marked my second journey to Mongolia, a country I first visited during the warmth of summer. Returning in the harshest season felt like stepping into a different world entirely. Our photography group consisted of five travellers from Mahacaraka, led by photographer and mentor Sandy Wijaya. The journey began with a transit through Incheon International Airport (ICN), before our plane descended into the icy landscape of Chinggis Khaan International Airport in Ulaanbaatar.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by freezing air and surprisingly heavy city traffic on the way to the hotel. To my surprise, Ulaanbaatar has grown remarkably modern; imported goods and vehicles are abundant, and nothing feels particularly difficult to find in the city. Dinner was enjoyed at a hotpot restaurant, where warmth and steam offered a brief escape from the bitter cold outside. Our hotel provided excellent heating and comfort, making the minus–30–degree temperatures outside feel almost unreal.
Before heading into the remote northern regions, we stopped by local shops to prepare for the extreme weather ahead. Winter clothing stores offered thick traditional garments, and we visited a Canada Goose outlet to acquire additional layers. Even back in Indonesia, I had already prepared winter–grade jackets, trousers, snow boots, gloves, and thermal hats—gear reserved only for temperatures dropping between –30°C and –50°C.
Later that afternoon, we boarded an overnight sleeper train bound for our next destination. Dragging heavy suitcases through thick snow proved to be far more exhausting than expected. With the help of our guide, we eventually stored our bags neatly above our bunks in the narrow compartment. Despite the limited space, the rocking rhythm of the train and the fatigue of travel lulled us into a surprisingly deep sleep.
We arrived the next morning and headed straight to a restaurant for breakfast. Afterwards, the journey continued in a well–maintained Toyota Prado 4×4. Asphalt roads stretched ahead, bordered by vast blankets of snow and grazing sheep—an introduction to Mongolia’s expansive quietness. But as daylight faded, I awoke from a short nap to a startling sight: the asphalt was gone. Our vehicle was now driving directly across a white, frozen landscape.
To shorten the travel time for the following day, we decided to spend the night in traditional Mongolian tents—circular gers heated by stoves, standing alone in the endless snow. Outside, the wind howled like an ancient voice across the steppe, but inside, the warmth and simplicity made sleep come easier than expected.
It was only the first day, yet already Mongolia’s winter had shown its raw, beautiful extremes. The promise of what awaited in the deeper north filled us with excitement, and a touch of nervous anticipation.
