Fields of Dale · Ulan Maodu | Summer Pasture Reborn
Take a deep breath—the mix of sun-dried grass, moist earth, wildflower sweetness, and even the distant scent of livestock rushes into your chest with the force unique to the steppe. “Grassland, long time no see.” (highlight) Last year's hurried farewell was merely the turning of a page in nature’s book. Wherever hoofprints lead, there is homecoming; wherever your eyes land, everything feels like a first encounter again.
When horse hooves once again shatter the morning dew, you realize the grassland never bothers to be sentimental. It simply reconnects torn grass stems, clears a path for wandering rivers, straightens the fences knocked over by wind, and sprinkles a handful of *sarilang* flowers into the very pits where you fell last summer. Reunion, after all, is just a blink of the grassland’s eye. As long as wind flows down the Hanuula mountains, as long as the seeds of *sarilang* wake in spring, this vast “once in a lifetime” will always point toward its next, fuller “one more time.”
Reuniting with the grassland is hearing the private whispers of wind and grass
Grass is the true protagonist of this feast. No longer the shy pale yellow of early spring, it has stored the power of summer—deep, lush, and unknowingly abundant. Green spills outward until it touches the sky, layer upon layer, shifting subtly in hue. And then, there is the talking grass wave—running, leaping, shimmering. Dew on the tips refracts sunlight like tiny rainbows, echoing the glimmer of distant rivers.
Watch the grassland weave its wildflower carpet
Ulan Maodu’s “flower carpet” is woven freely, following nature’s unwritten laws. *Sarilang* blooms on sun-facing slopes, scarlet petals curling upward like leaping flames scattered across the green. Dandelion puffs glow with soft yellow, and when the wind rises, they drift like floating stars—just like Monet’s lively strokes.
More touching are the nameless wildflowers: indigo *iris* standing tall like cobalt brushstrokes; golden wild chrysanthemums forming sheets of “gold dust scattered across a jade carpet.” Bend down and you’ll find blooms blazing fiercely atop the grass tips, sparkling like crushed diamonds. Every flower blooms in its ecological niche, cut into organic color blocks by hoofprints of cattle and sheep and the meandering river bends.
Summer on the grassland is like free Wi-Fi: full signal, senses wide open, beauty loading instantly with no need for buffering—just roam freely.
We are travelers on the grassland—and family in the summer pasture
Alpine meadows, wandering herds. Grass is a wild green blanket, clouds are strolling cotton candy, and lying down earns you an entire sky. Tired of the Mongolian blue? Flip over—sun on your back feels like free moxibustion, and one cool breeze recharges you instantly. In the summer pasture, there are countless things to keep you “busy,” which makes doing nothing the easiest wish to fulfill. And yet, the “advanced play” of the summer pasture is irresistible to city dwellers.
Riding across the land—lazy, unrestrained, utterly free
Ride a Mongolian horse and explore the steppe. Gallop uphill and watch the Ulan River coil like a silver chain, its curves reflecting drifting clouds. Scattered yurts appear from afar, cattle and sheep tiny like dots, and in moments when smoke rises and the sky turns gold, you suddenly understand the line “When the wind blows, the grass bends, revealing livestock.” Cross streams and hills, and reach the *aobao* at sunset—beauty may genuinely render you speechless.
If riding feels intimidating, city dwellers can choose something even easier—grassland ATVs, chasing a ribbon of wind.
Grassland American-style coffee × Mongolian bread
By the Ulan River, nothing beats an afternoon tea blending nomadic wildness with modern leisure. Boil water, spread freshly ground coffee, watch the silver-thin stream weave through the grounds and drip into the sharing pot. On the side: “native” dairy treasures—cheeses sweet and salty, as though stealing the calves’ entire pantry to treat distant guests. Sip your grassland Americano with cheese and Mongolian big bread—suddenly the whole air tastes like freedom, rest, and the joy of being well fed. Anxiety? What’s that? It simply doesn’t exist here.
Step into the romance and freedom of herders
Forget PPTs and 996—become the tiniest labor unit on the steppe, a real herder. Visit friends living near DaLeZhiYe (Ulan Maodu Grassland Retreat), experience nomadic life: milk cows, thread lamb skewers, herd sheep, or listen to migration stories. After sunset, gather by the bonfire next to the yurt for a night of celebration. The horsehead fiddle hums, homemade liquor burns warm, and under the moon, people laugh, sing, dance. Exhausted? Lie down and let the stars become your blanket.
The grassland summer needs no exaggeration—its gentle beauty is already overflowing into your arms. Sheep scatter like white sesame seeds, horses swish their tails like handheld fans, and all that’s missing here— is someone who wants to sit, breathe, and do absolutely nothing.
Stay quietly within the scenery
feel memories grow familiar again
live in stone houses and meet the herds from the sunken dining hall.