When I let myself graze at an off-grid inn found by my nomadic husband, I realized how light it felt to be nobody

I have a Mongolian nomadic darling, that is, a husband. Perhaps because he was born and raised in the great outdoors, he sometimes shows an incredible ability to attract things.

“This place looks good.”
The inn for this trip to Mongolia was a new campsite that my husband found using Facebook and his wild instincts. Not a booking site, but Facebook. That alone is already different from the common sense of Tokyo.

When we actually headed there, we couldn't easily reach the destination in the vast grasslands indicated by Google Maps. The closer we got to nature, the weaker the signal became, and eventually, the map became meaningless. Our only lifeline was phone calls with the owner.
And so, at the place we finally reached, the owner said this.

“You are our first foreign guest.”

There is no bath or shower. There is almost no signal. There are no plans. What exists is time that is fulfilled just by lying on the grassland. Great nature. And warm encounters.
That is the story of such a trip.

An inn built by a couple who traveled the world

The owner couple was young, and both had wonderful smiles. The husband had lived in India for 7 years and Germany for 4 years, and seems to be someone who has traveled all over the world. He met his wife at a karaoke bar, and after a fierce pursuit of her when she was a staff member, they got married. To put it mildly, he is a master of romance.

On the other hand, the wife smiled a little shyly, as if to say she had succumbed to her husband's persistence. She was calm, kind, and yet seemed to have a core. She spoke to me warmly, even though I was a foreigner she was meeting for the first time. She loves traveling and showed me photos of her travels around the world.

The two had a 4-year-old son.
“Taninerkhinbe?”
When I asked “What is your name?” in the Mongolian I had just learned, he answered with a shy, small voice.
“This child, before we knew it, made it his dream to go to Japan. I don't know where he got interested in Japan.”
The couple laughed as they said that. They haven't been to Japan yet either, and it seems they have almost no experience interacting with Japanese people. In other words, I unexpectedly became the “representative of Japanese people” for them.

If I do something strange here, it will be recorded in their brains as “that's what Japanese people are like.” The responsibility is heavy.

The two, who originally lived in the city, bought this land a year ago and opened the campsite. Now, they live a two-base life within Mongolia while going back and forth to their city home.

“I used to work at a bank, but repeating the same thing every day was boring. When I came to this place, I thought, oh, I want to live here.”

The wife said that and laughed.
By the way, the husband looked a lot like the table tennis player Mizutani. I will call him Mr. Mizutani from here on out.

Suddenly to a ger

We arrived in the evening. It seemed they were fully booked, and there apparently wasn't any vacancy in the cottage for accommodation.
“If you don't mind, please use this ger tonight.”
The place I was shown after being told that was a ger that is usually a kitchen. I never thought I would end up staying in a kitchen by mistake. This feels like Mongolia.
It was chilly outside because of the rain, but it was warm inside the ger. Mr. Mizutani and the others called out to us, trying to host us in any way they could. The son ran up to us, who looked cold, took our hands, invited us inside, and gave us a rice cracker with a smile.
His hands were small and soft.

From the second day, we moved to a cottage. The cottage, which Mr. Mizutani said he built from scratch, was very beautiful. My husband, who loves making things, was impressed, saying “Wow, that's amazing,” and even enthusiastically asked to be shown the workshop.
When small, cute cottages were lined up, it was like a world from a picture book. By the way, a neat toilet was also attached to a place a little away on the premises. Although it is not a flush toilet, as someone who has been attacked by a dog while using an open-air toilet, I was grateful for even that.

My missing husband and my aimless stroll

Early morning on the second day. The weather was cloudy. When I woke up, my husband, who should have been sleeping next to me, was gone. The room was freezing, and I stayed wrapped in my futon like a bagworm, struggling for about an hour over whether to get up or not.
Then, my husband returned with a nonchalant look on his face.

“I went for a run on that mountain over there.”

Perhaps his nomadic wild side was stimulated by the great outdoors; it seems he had been running (or rather, dashing) since the morning and had done 100 push-ups at the summit.

“I could have actually done a lot more, though.”

He seemed dissatisfied with 100 and was frustrated. That’s plenty, so please, just calm down. By the way, that is not the kind of mountain you just “go for a quick run” on. It is absolutely impossible for me.
I also thought that I was really lucky to have a husband who seems like he could survive anywhere.

It started raining that day from the morning, so I spent the time listening to the sound of the rain without stepping outside once. However, around 3:00 PM, the sky cleared up unbelievably. My husband seemed sleepy and wouldn't wake up, remaining wrapped in his futon. Perhaps because I had been meditating to the sound of the rain as background music, I couldn't stop feeling restless and wanting to move. Since I had the chance, I left my sleeping husband behind and wandered (strolled) around the campsite alone for about two hours.

On the way, the Mizutani couple, who had returned from an outing, spotted me wandering around alone and waved “Hey!” from afar, looking worried. I waved back vigorously and conveyed, “I’m just out for a walk!” Body language really does go a long way.

It seems my husband, who had woken up from his nap, was also worried about me suddenly disappearing. I was completely unaware of that, and was busy observing herds of sheep and cows, throwing dried dung, and chasing after a calf only to have it run away from me.

Even so, the surrounding scenery was beautiful. Especially at sunset, the grasslands were dyed in golden colors, and it felt as if I were melting into them myself.

Playing with children without words

It seems many families come to the campsite from Ulaanbaatar in search of nature. For children raised in the city, grasslands and forests are not part of their daily lives. That is likely why they come out into nature like this on weekends and holidays.

The campsite also had play equipment prepared. That said, no matter where you look, the surroundings are all great nature. It is a luxury to be able to run as much as you want if you feel like running, and to be able to lounge around to your heart's content.

In the midst of this, perhaps because Japanese people were a rarity, the children approached me saying, "Yaponfun!" This means "Japanese person!" Looking around, I saw a basketball hoop. Having only been in the brass band in junior high and high school, and merely invited to join the basketball team, I asked to borrow the ball and took it.

(I'll show them the hidden potential of a middle-aged Japanese person)

My image of myself was at least top-notch. The ball I shot with a flick of my wrist drew a gentle arc, and to my surprise, I sank a three-pointer on my very first try.

The children erupted in a collective "Whoa!!" I think they were saying something like, "Amazing! Who is this Japanese person?" No one was more surprised than I was. From then on, I was recognized at this campsite as "the Japanese person who is mysteriously good at basketball."

After that, we played volleyball together, messed around with rackets, and watched the children start a game of Mongolian wrestling. Even when it started to rain, not a single child went inside. Although they played like old friends, I heard that they had actually just met for the first time at this campsite. If you grow up running around from noon until 9 p.m. without being rushed or scolded by anyone, you're bound to become tough.

We barely spoke the same language. Even so, just by laughing together and throwing the ball back and forth, we somehow understood each other. I think I definitely left my mark as a Japanese person. Mostly with that three-pointer.

Beautiful forests and wildflowers. A paradise for animals

This was my first time visiting Mongolia in the summer. The lush green grasslands are covered in tiny flowers, which are very beautiful. Yellow, light blue, pink, and white. They stand out beautifully against the green grass.

On the third day, the Mizutanis took us to a place where they said delicious spring water flows. It was a protected area where cars were prohibited, and the animals looked even more relaxed. Walking on the bumpy ground, you could feel that it was soft and contained a lot of water. When we reached the spring, the Mizutanis used a ladle to scoop water into the plastic bottles they had brought.
"Drinking this is good for your digestion," they told me—I couldn't tell if it was true or not—but I drank it just as they said. It was cold and simply delicious.
Both the horses and cows were eating grass, making a pleasant munching sound.

The feeling of my body coming into alignment.

There was almost no cell service. Around the second day, Wi-Fi was installed, and I was finally able to connect a little. My phone battery was also kept to a minimum. As a result, I spent almost no time looking at my phone screen.

Water, electricity, and gas are all precious here. There are no baths or showers yet, so I washed my body with hot water in a basin. This felt absolutely wonderful. It seems they dug a well and use groundwater. Every morning, I wash my face with cold water drawn from the well. A life where you don't just use water freely as if it's a given should be inconvenient, but for some reason, it feels good. For heating, we burn firewood to stay warm. On the second night, the temperature dropped to minus 4 degrees Celsius, and my husband and I slept wrapped up in blankets together. Depending on how you look at it, it's quite harsh. But for some reason, it makes me feel centered.

Meals consisted of freshly squeezed milk, freshly butchered sheep, and soup with meat and vegetables. Most of it was simple, using only meat broth and salt. Because there are so few unnecessary things, each one sinks deep into you.

There is a forest on a nearby mountain, and my husband and I visited it in the morning. While feeling the dazzling light and fresh greenery with my whole body, I sat on a log and meditated. There was a silence filled only by the sound of cows mooing in the distance and the rustling of the forest trees. Perhaps because I strain my eyes in Japan, when I arrived, my shoulders were stiff and heavy. "Are you okay?" My husband worried about me many times and gave me a head massage in the forest. Breathing in the pure air, it felt as if new energy was circulating deep within my body. "Ah, that feels good." For some reason, whenever I return from Mongolia, my skin and hair are in good condition. I stretched out long, as if to flush out everything that had accumulated inside my body.

At the destination we reached, there was white steam and kind people.

I was born and raised in the city. I like the city because it's exciting. But when I'm in Tokyo, my mind is always working for someone else. Roles, notifications to reply to, things to get done. The space for myself tends to disappear before I know it.

In Mongolia, I am nobody. The horses don't look at me, and the children don't even know my name. At most, I'm recognized as "the Japanese person who throws dried dung and is mysteriously good at basketball." There is a comfort in being able to place yourself in nature. But more than that, the lightness of being able to just be myself, not for anyone else's sake, might be what is irresistibly pleasant.

The Mizutani couple, the animals that wander by, and the small flowers blooming in the meadow—these are things you can only encounter if you actually go there. While drinking warm salted milk tea, I thought about this vaguely.

Come to think of it, when we entered the ger on the last day, the Mizutani couple were boiling milk. White steam rose softly inside the ger. The wife looked at my husband and me, smiled, and said, "You really are a lovely couple," and continued: "In Mongolia, it is said that people who enter a house while white things are being boiled are people with white hearts."

The fact that I've taken the liberty of calling them the Mizutani couple already makes it highly questionable whether my mind is truly a blank slate.
But the time we were welcomed in that ger was undeniably warm.

I hope that one day we, too, can create a place where someone can just wander in like this. A place where you can lie down on the grass, drink something warm, or just listen to the sound of the rain. A place where you can empty your head and let your heart unwind just a little.

(Bonus) Photo Gallery