Not for the faint-hearted: Inner Mongolia

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Tourists watch on in Xilinhot as local men participate in 'bökh,' a traditional form of Mongolian wrestling. (GT/Céline Herren)

Having long dreamed of making my across vast grasslands with horses roaming freely, I decided to break from the city sprawl of Beijing for a mini-getaway to Inner Mongolia - and so, with the bare essentials in a light backpack over my shoulder, I hopped a 10 hour-plus bus ride to the coal-rich city of Xilinhot, just over 600 kilometers from the Chinese capital.

As we moved toward the independent region hugged by the rest of China and Mongolia, the landscape took on a multitude of forms and colors from dark green mountainous ranges in the north of Beijing to fields of aligned trees some hours in. And eventually, toward the end of our bus journey, our driver took us through radically unpopulated areas with the only sign of life taking shape in the occasional red-brick house and herds of sheep and sometimes horses, introducing us to Inner Mongolia from our bus window, presenting us views of large, dusty sandy dunes where we even sighted camels.

Finally, as we approached our first destination, Xilinhot, with an elevation of more than 3,000 feet, I could feel my heart pumping faster, excitedly, as we were welcomed by this energy cluster with giant fields of wind turbines. The sky had turned yellow while dark clouds suddenly inched in above the city and it began pouring rain without another warning. We stayed overnight in the character-lacking center, just long enough to rest up for another bus ride the next morning, which took us another 160 kilometers to our final spot, Xiwuqi, literally translating as "west wu flag."

After the last two-and-a-half hour leg, we were anxious to set out on foot and leave the wheels behind. With over 72,376 residents, Xiwuqi is rather spread out, sitting proudly in the middle of Inner Mongolia's prized grasslands. Far from what I expected though filled with empty steppes, like those I had seen in pictures before arriving, I marveled at the scenery that surrounded me as I stood in the village amid the endless horizon of grasslands.

I managed to find one English speaker, who suggested I stay at "Tent City," a sort of hotel in the grasslands. As it turned out, Tent City was a group of some 20 tents in the midst of a plain of lush greens, and each of them appeared surprisingly modern, like a comfortable version of the traditional yurt. Despite hoping for a more rugged experience, I asked if they had space for me, but when the lady scribbled down 300 yuan ($43), I quickly turned around and continued down across the road, where I found a "khan" or camp with six authentic-looking yurts. I showed the household head a bit of paper with the prepared Chinese phrase, "Can I sleep here tonight?" A smiling man ushered me into a rounded five-meter-wide dwelling supported by wooden poles that enabled easy dismantling; it seemed that the moveable tents were well-suited to the customary pastoral livelihood of the people here.

My yurt was cozy. Red carpets and a small table with a few wooden furniture fixings and delicate paintings completed the family photographs that made the place a real treasure in the middle of this idyllic location. Visitors here are invited by flat plains on each side and rolling hills in the distance.

A small lake and hundreds of sheep, horses and cows could also be seen closer by from my yurt. The scene urged me to embrace the nature around me. On my walk in a nearby pasture were men racing their horses while others were taking part in "bökh," a traditional form of wrestling.

When I returned, the entire family was gathered around the "dinner tent." In contrary to the slight apprehension I had felt about what would be served, the food was delicious. Locally grown greens, potato soup, raw cucumber and leeks were joined by mutton, a staple of Mongolian cuisine.

Unlike my European peers, Mongolians are much less picky about what they eat, leaving no part of the sheep's meat to waste. If the vegetables were carefully picked up with chopsticks, the meat was left to the company of washed hands, which held up the bones that were gnawed on with much anticipation. With an abundant quantity of Mongolian milk tea, made with sheep milk, leaving a salty rather than sweet taste on the tongue, the dinner, in which Mongolian was the predominant language, with only some members of the family having a grasp on Putonghua, proved a delicious feast, though quite challenging as a Chinese-language beginner.

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