I remember last year, a female teacher from Henan wrote a resignation letter to her boss: “The world is so big, I want to see it,” quitting her 11-year teaching career. Netizens hailed it as “the most poetic resignation letter ever.” Everyone was in awe, but I could only chuckle—after all... ever since university, I’ve gone through this drama every year. Though the result is always the same—I end up going back to work somewhere else... I just wish my wallet were more cooperative...
They say travel is addictive, and I wholeheartedly agree—with both hands and feet, in fact—because I’m living proof. I guess I’ve been too wild for too long; I just can’t settle into a desk job. The first few months are fine, but after half a year, I start feeling suffocated and restless. Eventually, I realized—it’s a condition, a terminal illness called “I’ll-die-if-I-don’t-travel.” Enough rambling—last month, I quit again.
Actually, I didn’t want to leave so soon at first. What held me back was summer vacation—after all, it’s student season, and I didn’t want to join the crowd. But then the company switched to a single day off, and even extended daily working hours. That was the last straw. Who says summer vacation is bad? When else do you get to meet pretty young female students? Isn’t chatting about life with a few cute girls along the way a nice change?
So, if I’m leaving, where should I go? Over the years, I’ve traveled all over—slept in countless hostel bunks, hitchhiked, gone budget traveling—but I’ve basically covered the whole country and seen most kinds of landscapes, except grasslands. And isn’t summer the best season for grasslands?
To be fair, I have been to a grassland before—it was in the autumn of my first year in Beijing. Maybe it was the wrong season, or the wrong lighting, or maybe I just didn’t experience it right. The photos I took looked like this.
And this.
In short, I was deeply disappointed...
This is definitely not the grassland that should stay in my memory. So, I decided to head to Inner Mongolia and refresh my impression of grasslands. As a broad-minded, good-hearted youth of the new era, I decided to give the Xilingol Grassland—home to the Zhangbei Grassland—another chance. So, I bought a flight to Xilinhot, aiming for the heart of the Xilingol Grassland: the Xiwuzhumuqin Grassland.
Day 1...
As a broke soul, I could only afford an early morning flight. Woke up too early, so I napped on the bus. The bus ticket from Xilinhot to Xiwuqi was 45 yuan. The train would’ve been 28.5 yuan.
I thought the grassland hinterland would only have yurts, but urbanization is surprisingly high—people live in buildings just like us. But that’s fine—modern conveniences are really handy. I mean, I can’t live without air conditioning in summer, heating in winter, or WiFi every day. How can I impose my expectations on others?
After checking Dianping, I decided to have dinner at Ruyi Restaurant. I ordered fried milk tofu, milk tea, and hand-grabbed lamb. I’ve always wondered—whose lamb is the best among Ningxia, Xinjiang, and Inner Mongolia? I was finally going to find out here. Haha.
After eating, I randomly found a place to stay.
Day 2...
The first attraction I visited was the Mongolian Khan City, the most famous site in Xiwuqi. It’s said to be built based on Genghis Khan’s coronation ceremony, so it’s really luxurious.
Since I woke up late, I took a shared ride there and arrived around mealtime. Might as well eat first. Though I’m from the south, I’ve loved history since childhood and have always admired Genghis Khan for sweeping across Eurasia and building a vast Mongol Empire. Ever since, I’ve idolized him, hoping one day I could be as strong and free-spirited as a Mongolian man.
Whole roasted lamb
Fermented mare’s milk
As soon as I walked into the restaurant, the aroma of meat hit me. I swallowed hard, quickly found a nearby table, flipped through the menu, and saw the price of the whole roasted lamb—2800 yuan. My heart sank as I patted my wallet. But how could I come to the grasslands without having whole roasted lamb? While hesitating, I noticed the family I’d shared the ride with entering the restaurant. I immediately called them over to share a table and enthusiastically recommended the lamb. After a long spiel, the cart finally arrived at our table. If we hadn’t carpooled from the city and looked obviously like southerners, they might’ve thought I was a plant.
But it was totally worth it—the aroma, the taste—those who’ve had it know.
There was also a Mongolian song and dance performance during the meal—long tunes, dances, horsehead fiddle music. I didn’t understand the words, but the Mongolian voices were amazing. Maybe only such vast grasslands could birth such music.
After the meal, there was a Naadam performance at the scenic area. Naadam is the grandest Mongolian festival, featuring archery, horse racing, and wrestling. Back in the days of the Mongol Empire, the annual Naadam was when Mongolian men showed off their skills.
Besides watching, the Naadam at Khan City also lets you join in. I rode a horse, shot arrows (though missed every target), and watched wrestling. Seeing those burly Mongolian men, then looking at my own skinny arms and legs, I figured it was better to just watch.
Then I headed back to the city.
Actually, Khan City also offers accommodations—it’s even considered the top choice for staying on the Xiwuqi grasslands. It’s not that I didn’t want to stay, but it’s a bit too luxe—probably even better than what Mongolian nobles used to live in. For the sake of stretching my travel budget further, I’ll just have to come back another time.
Luckily, lots of people visit the grasslands in summer, so finding a shared ride was easy. I ended up going to the Genghis Khan Statue with a few students on summer break.
The statue is the local highlight. I heard that back when it was first built, many locals didn’t think much of it. But now, it’s become a must-visit spot. Standing beneath the towering statue, you can’t even see the grassland from the base—you have to climb quite a way up before you can truly take in the surrounding nature. That’s when I finally got a sense of the grassland’s vastness.
I have to say, the scenery of the Xiwuzhumuqin Grassland is truly stunning. Standing at the foot of the Genghis Khan Statue and looking out, you can’t see the grassland at all—only after climbing a few hundred steps do you realize how much wildlife surrounds you. Only then did I truly appreciate the beauty of the grassland.
According to the driver who brought me here, in late June, the meadows at the foot of the mountain are covered with peony blossoms, creating a vast sea of flowers that’s truly stunning. I later looked up some photos online, and they really are gorgeous.
But with the blooming period lasting only about two weeks, first-time visitors probably won’t get the chance to see it. So, if you’re hoping to catch the sight, be sure to plan your timing well.
Day three...
I carpooled again with the same students from yesterday, and today we headed to Habqiga. Ultimately choosing this spot, I have to give credit to the driver’s quick thinking. At first, when we heard it was a rafting spot, none of us were impressed. Take me, for example—I’ve rafted on Guilin’s Yulong River, Wuyishan’s Nine Bend Stream, and Enshi’s Shennong Stream... So a little rafting trip in Inner Mongolia? Not impressed. But then the driver mentioned there’s an old legend about a young Mongolian couple who eloped here. The moment the girls heard the word “elope,” their eyes sparkled, and they were dead set on coming—like they were the ones eloping. Well, since I hadn’t planned anything anyway, I just went along with it, though I remained skeptical about the story’s credibility. After all, how could a boat outrun horses across the vast grasslands?
But the moment I got on the bamboo raft, I was convinced. The narrow river was lined with thickets and unknown wild grasses, so dense they blocked out the sun—forget about horseback pursuers, even a helicopter might struggle to spot anyone hiding on the river. And sitting face-to-face in an inflatable raft, drifting slowly with the current, the story added to the atmosphere, giving it a real sense of elopement.
After lunch at the scenic area, we visited a local Buddhist holy site in the afternoon—Wulan Wutai, said to have been as renowned as Shanxi’s Wutai Mountain in history.
But what really captivated me at Wulan Wutai was the “World’s Largest Obo” in the scenic area. Originally, obo are sacrificial altars of Shamanism, the native religion of the Mongols. This so-called World’s Largest Obo at Wulan Wutai, however, clearly shows influences from Tibetan Buddhist stupa architecture. Under the blue sky and white clouds, atop the boundless grassland, the massive white obo is surrounded by colorful prayer flags—it’s truly beautiful.
Genghis Khan’s ability to establish the vast Mongol Empire spanning Eurasia was inseparable from the empire’s inclusive religious policies. Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, and other faiths spread widely across the empire’s territories, and emperors even personally participated in various religious ceremonies. This greatly eased internal conflicts within the empire—after all, even today, many people are willing to die for their religious beliefs, and terrorist attacks are rampant. Imagine how it was 800 years ago. Though later scholars often criticize the Yuan Dynasty as barbaric, in truth, the Yuan Dynasty was remarkably open in both economy and culture.
Day four...
The students I carpooled with were leaving Xiwuqi, but my goal for this trip hadn’t been achieved yet. After all, it’s not every day you come to Inner Mongolia—if I didn’t stay in a yurt, I’d never be able to call myself a travel lover with a straight face. But wandering alone into the grasslands and asking a herding family for a place to stay? That’s just not my style. So for two straight days, I wandered around Xiwuqi’s urban area, reading books, sipping on drinks, and sampling local delicacies.
Day five...
I was sitting alone in a tavern in Xiwuqi, nursing a drink. I hadn’t even finished my bottle of Yanjing Beer when an uncle sat down across from me and ordered one too. “Kid, why are you drinking beer in Mongolia? Come try some of our Mongolian man’s airag,” he said. I took the cup and started chatting with him. You know how it is with guys—after a few drinks, we warmed up. I took the opportunity to ask him where I could find a yurt to stay in the area, preferably something affordable.
Then I followed the uncle to his car—he said he’d take me to see a real nomadic tribe.
But after driving for over half an hour, we still hadn’t seen anything. Add in the spotty phone signal, and I started to get confused... Had I been kidnapped? Okay, fine, I did follow him willingly... But, uncle, you can tell just by looking at me that I’m broke...
Finally, after another ten minutes or so, the car stopped near a hillside. The uncle told me to get out. There wasn’t a single trace of a yurt, let alone a nomadic tribe... My heart sank instantly. I braced myself for whatever was coming and mentally prepared to run if things turned ugly. But instead, the uncle just said, “What are you standing there for? Climb up that hill and you’ll see.” Then he laughed and drove off.
I stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds before realizing it probably wasn’t a robbery—but I was still pretty bewildered. Then I started walking toward the hill. As soon as I reached the top, I was blown away by the view: rolling mountains stretched endlessly at the edge of the grassland, and in the distance, I could make out a patch of birch forest. Looking down the hill, a small river wound like a bright jade ribbon through the plains. Nearby, a few yurts dotted the landscape, with herders riding horses at varying speeds, and flocks of cattle and sheep grazing peacefully. I immediately decided to stay the night here. Oh, and by the way, uncle... my sincerest apologies... Amitabha.
Descending to the foot of the hill and entering the nomadic settlement, the owner warmly welcomed me into a yurt. Right in the center of the yurt was a portrait of Genghis Khan. The owner explained that to the Mongols, Genghis Khan is not just an ancestor but also a spiritual symbol.
Due to the unique structure of the yurt, the bottom part covering the roof felt and wall felt is designed to be liftable. This not only blocks sunlight but also improves ventilation. In winter, since the yurt’s door faces southeast, it avoids the cold Siberian winds. With a stove lit inside, it gets nice and warm. The simple construction of the yurt keeps it cool in summer and warm in winter—extremely comfortable.
The owner also told me that because iron couldn’t be produced on the grasslands in the past, the yurt’s frame was secured using nails made from camel hide, and the ropes holding the yurt together were woven from horsehair. This resourceful, locally-sourced approach really opened my eyes, and I couldn’t help but deeply admire the wisdom of the Mongolian people.
In the evening, I joined the herders from the nomadic settlement to ride horses and herd sheep. They would drive their flocks to another pasture in the south after this summer—that’s their winter camp. To protect the grasslands, nomadic herders migrate their camps with the seasons, and they’ll return here around this time next year.
It was dinner time again. The food on the grasslands is not only incredibly delicious but also extremely hearty. There’s fresh, tender lamb and beef, as well as pure dairy products. Since I’d been eating meat for the past few days, I decided to switch things up tonight. So I ordered five jin of airag, and paired it with milk tofu, milk skin, and hand-pulled flatbread for dinner. Let me tell you, the dairy products here are seriously amazing—no wonder Yili and Mengniu have their ranches here. Poor me, I had to agonize over every meal about whether to eat more meat or more dairy. I wish I had a few extra stomachs so I could eat more meals every day.
After dinner, I stepped out of the yurt alone and lay on the vast grassland, staring drunkenly at the starry sky. I realized that ever since I came to the grasslands, I’d been getting drunk every day... But no worries—I quit my job anyway, and I don’t have to work tomorrow.
Day six...
As per yesterday’s agreement, the owner woke me up early. As I yawned and stepped out of the yurt, I heard the plaintive mooing of a calf. That’s because if you want to experience milking, you have to starve the calf first. I silently apologized to the calf in my heart—because before milking, the calf needs to nurse, but it has to be taken away just before the milk flows out... Kind of cruel, right?
Milking isn’t easy. Before you start, you need to wet your hands—dry hands might not only fail to draw milk but could also hurt the cow and get you kicked. Then squat on the cow’s right side at a 45-degree angle. Definitely don’t sit behind the cow, or you might still get kicked. Most importantly, it’s all about the position: use both hands to cradle two of the cow’s four teats, extend your thumbs, and gently pinch the teats between your thumbs and index fingers. Then squeeze the base of the teats, pressing downward with both hands to extract the milk—be as gentle as possible.
Despite the thorough instructions, they were pretty much useless. Maybe my technique was off, but no matter what, the cow’s teats turned red and swollen, and not a single drop of milk came out. The cow’s owner looked on in distress—if I weren’t a guest but her son, I probably wouldn’t have gotten dinner that night.
There were also piles of dried cow dung near the yurt. Since there’s not much wood on the grasslands, dried cow dung is the main fuel for Mongolians. Because the cows eat natural grass, the dung gives off a unique aroma when burned—not only does it provide warmth, but it also has an invigorating effect.
I even saw a girl pick up a piece of dried cow dung and sniff it close to her nose, looking utterly delighted... Alright, I believe it—maybe it doesn’t smell bad at all.
Each herding household produces dozens of pounds of milk every day. The herders can’t drink it all—after all, not everyone can drink milk like the characters in *The Martian*, who survived on it. The leftover milk is fermented into yogurt. If not consumed in time, the yogurt is then further fermented into cheese.
Making milk tofu first involves skimming off the solidified curd from the top. Then the remaining yogurt is placed in a pot and simmered over low heat while being stirred constantly. Once the water separates from the milk, the liquid is filtered out, and the remaining mixture is stirred vigorously over high heat. Finally, it’s poured into molds to set. The whole process takes about an hour.
Day 7...
Today I managed to get up early, so I decided to watch the sunrise. The destination was Yaolu Hairhan Mountain.
Watching the sun slowly rise over the grassland, I was reminded of that online topic that went viral not long ago about why we should read — it said that when you see the glow of the setting sun on the horizon and a line of wild geese flying south, your mind conjures up the poetic lines: “The rosy dusk clouds fly with a lonely duck; the autumn river merges with the boundless sky.”
But faced with the scene before me, after turning my thoughts over, I found myself at a loss for words. It’s just so beautiful, truly breathtaking...