From skeptical to touched: the extraordinary story of three guests at Altai

An unexpected encounter near Altai goes deep and shows how music, culture and genuine attention can influence lives. Sometimes it's the guests without expectations who are most affected.

At Altai, we have been lovingly welcoming guests from all over the country (and beyond) for years — young, old, families, couples, hikers, musicians, people with a fascination for Mongolia, or people who have never heard of it. And it is precisely this diversity that we think is the most beautiful thing there is. Because for us, it's not just about staying overnight — it's about connecting. And sometimes... a conversation happens that you'll never forget.

This is one such story.

Recently, we received a booking from three men — colleagues from each other. No special reason to stay with us, no interest in Mongolia. Just a convenient place to stay while working in Groningen. And that is of course completely fine.

Until one of them, the one who booked, sent me a message. After booking, he had viewed our website and became curious. Whether it was possible to try Saran's Mongolian cooking — a vegan dinner — during their stay. His colleagues said they were “real meat-eaters”, but were open to something new. Unfortunately, Saran was just in Mongolia. Too bad, I thought — it's these kinds of guests, skeptical but curious, that are often the most fun to surprise.

So I caught them myself. Alone — except for Raven, of course, our loyal Saarloos Wolfdog, who, as always, proudly fulfills its role as host.

On the first day, I had not seen them yet. But the next day, I was walking my usual round of the yard — feeding pigs, checking chickens — when I was approached by one of the guests. I soon noticed that this was not going to be an everyday encounter. He said that he was almost blind. Not from birth — but a year ago, due to a rare eye condition. He was still able to distinguish just a few shadows and contours.

Pretty soon, he spoke candidly about his life. A lifetime of extremes: set up multiple companies, made millions, traveled around the world, deployed multiple times — and, as he said, wasn't always a good person. Since losing his sight, he found life no longer worthwhile. He couldn't accept it, found no pleasure in anything.

On his birthday — in December — he had planned euthanasia. “It's been good this way,” he said. “Without eyes, I don't like it anymore.” What do you say to someone you've just met at a time like that? You're listening...

The next day, I saw all three guests, and I invited them to look around the back of the farmyard — and, of course, to see the yurt. During the short tour, I told you something about the nomadic life and the usefulness of the yurt in Mongolia. “The original tiny house,” I usually say. They listened carefully and looked around with great interest. The blind man also walked along and was visibly impressed. He himself works on the construction of modern, technical structures. That it was just an ancient, simple nomadic home that could touch him... that says something. The yurt takes you back to basics: one space, everything at your fingertips. The light coming in from the skylight, the smell of the felt, the wood you embrace — staying in a yurt is an experience in itself.

Meanwhile, one of his colleagues had looked up some videos of Mongolian throat singing on YouTube. I asked if they might want to hear it live. After all, it's my specialty. They wanted to experience that!

I got my Morin Khuur — the Mongolian horse-headed violin — and started tuning the instrument. The blind man came to see from inches away, his eyes firmly focused on the shapes he could just distinguish. The horse head at the top, the strings... That's when I started singing. A traditional Mongolian hymn, in various guttural techniques.

He stood completely still, listening almost breathlessly. And when I was done, I got up and he said, “I never expected to go through this. This... affects something.”

He later said that if his wife had known where he was going to stay — “a Mongolian-themed place, vegan food...” — she would have advised against him. “Not for you at all,” she had said. And yet... apparently this was exactly what he needed. Something unexpected. Something that got him out of his head and brought him back to his feelings.

The next morning, I had to pick up Saran from Frankfurt airport. It was early, six in the morning, and while I was taking Raven out, I saw him standing — by the road, with a cigarette.
We exchanged a good morning, and then he said, “What I've experienced here in three days has taught me more than anything in the past year. I don't know if I'll still implement my plan before December. Maybe I should go on and on. Maybe my life isn't finished yet.”

That touched me, and those words stick.

I told him that in recent years, we have already welcomed many people — with extraordinary stories, wonderful experiences. And although I don't think we're doing a perfect job here, I do know that we do everything with love and genuine passion. But strong words like these? I had never heard that one before.

A few days later, they booked again — this time Saran was back home, and she cooked a plant-based Mongolian dinner for them. While they waited for dinner, they laughed and showed me WhatsApp messages from other colleagues: photos of ribs on the barbecue with texts like: “Watch what we eat while you have to eat vegan there!”

But once dinner was served, we asked for their opinion. “Beyond expectations,” said the blind man. “Far beyond expectations.” “Honestly,” he added, “I was skeptical — Mongolian theme, vegan food... but I'm so glad I experienced this.”

In the evening, we spoke for a while. About his life, what we do here, about dogs, success and loss, financial challenges, buying cars, helping people, making a lot of money... and about the guts it sometimes takes to reach your goals. They were rough, honest stories. An extraordinary man. Special guests. And perhaps an encounter that should have been exactly like this.

Sometimes people just walk into your life. Without notice. Without expectation. And sometimes they leave something behind that stays behind. That's exactly why we started Altai — to create a place where such encounters can happen. Where music, food, culture and hospitality bridge the gap. Not just to Mongolia, but to each other.

Our conversation ended with looking ahead — about being confident, chasing dreams and sometimes daring to be stubborn, maybe even a little bit arrogant. Our place, as well as ourselves, are still developing. We are building an environment where unexpected encounters can occur, where culture, music and genuine attention can really touch people. That road has not always been easy, and there are still plenty of mountains ahead of us. But it is precisely these moments that give us the strength and inspiration to keep going. Because sometimes, without you expecting it, an encounter changes something — with them and with us.