Why Time Feels Different in the Wild

Nomadic Road writer Tarang Mohnot explores how disconnection, discomfort, and newness in the wild can make even a single day feel infinite.

Two weeks in Mongolia can be quite happening: you tear across dunes and dirt roads in 4x4s, trade silence with eagle hunters, thaw your fingers over yak-butter tea in a nomad’s ger, and dance to throat singing inside a yurt you never thought would turn into a party. By the time you’re back on your flight, it feels like you’ve lived something far longer—like you’ve stepped out of another lifetime entirely.

Out there, time doesn’t behave the way it does back home—one of the many benefits of being in the wild. It stretches, deepens, and expands. It breathes.

In daily life, time can feel like a blur. Not in the "time flies when you're having fun" kind of way, but in the way entire weeks disappear without leaving a mark. Everything starts to feel the same. You blink, and it's already next month.

But step away from your carefully optimised routine, and everything begins to shift. Hours no longer tick by unnoticed. On a remote trail in Mongolia or beneath the starlit silence of the Puna de Atacama region in Argentina, every second becomes tangible.

At Nomadic Road, we’ve seen it time and again: the way a single day on an expedition can feel like a lifetime. Not because it drags on. But because it’s full. Full of sensations, challenges, discomforts, and awe.

The Psychology of Time in Nature

We see with our eyes, hear with our ears, but when it comes to time, we don’t have a specific sense for it. There’s no organ for time perception. Instead, it’s something the brain builds by stitching together moments, memories, and attention.

And here’s where it gets interesting: newness stretches time. Studies show that unfamiliar experiences create stronger memories, and strong memories make time feel longer.  That whole sensation of "the older you get, the faster time moves" comes from this. As a child, there’s new stuff to learn and experience everywhere. But as you get older, most of what you encounter, you’ve already experienced before. Unless you actively seek out something new.

That’s why a week on the road in a new country feels richer than a week at home in routine. It’s the same on an overland journey. Every shift in landscape, every strange cloud or quiet encounter becomes its own bookmark in your memory. 

Even a single day on a Nomadic Road expedition feels like an eternity. Sure, in the moment, it might feel like time’s flying. You’re in it, absorbed. But later, when you look back, that day feels huge. It holds weight. One of the lesser-acknowledged benefits of being in the wild.

Compare this to the predictability of everyday life, where routine dulls memory and the brain tunes out. No wonder it feels as though we’re always racing against time.

In Nature, Time Becomes Yours Again

A few years ago, I spent four days in Pin Valley—a remote, high-altitude desert in the Himalayas. There was absolutely no network, which meant hardly any screen time. I thought I’d love the change, and I did. But at first, it was strangely uncomfortable.

Time moved slow. I’d finish reading, go for a walk, eat, sit around... and it would still be morning. It made me realise how used to speed I’d become—how back home, I’m always running from one thing to the next without thinking. Out there, surrounded by nothing but massive, polychromatic mountains, I couldn’t escape the stillness. I had to sit with it. Notice it. Until eventually, I started to feel present. Awake, in a way that’s hard to explain.

Pin Valley is cold, remote, and unforgiving. Harsh weather, no network, and the difficult approach keep most people out. But those who do make it here find a kind of stillness and scale that stays with them.

Disconnected from screens and noise, the effects of nature on the mind begin to show. You're no longer reacting to constant input—you’re observing. On extreme expeditions or adventures, you start noticing the weather, reading the terrain, and listening for subtle sounds. This kind of mindfulness in nature sharpens your perception of time. 

Time starts to feel like it’s yours again. 

The Surprising Freedom of Physical Fatigue

I’ve often found myself craving a break when I’m mentally exhausted. But unlike most, I’ve never been drawn to the idea of checking into a resort, catching up on sleep, or being pampered. Instead, I tend to throw myself into something physically demanding—high-altitude treks, bouldering, and hitchhiking across long distances for the challenge of it.

People often ask how that could possibly be restful. Isn’t it just another kind of exhaustion? For a long time, I didn’t know how to explain it. I just knew that after days like that, I felt lighter. Clearer. Motivated.

I now realise that it’s because not all fatigue is the same.

Mental fatigue—of the everyday kind—comes from juggling one task after another. Physical fatigue, on the other hand, especially in nature, leaves a trace. You feel every step, every task, every hour. There’s growing research in the psychology of time in nature that backs this up.

Nomadic Road expeditions lean into that rhythm. Days are long. The drives are tough. Nature doesn’t always cooperate. But there’s a strange freedom in giving in to the flow of it all—of moving, adjusting, adapting, and being completely inside the day.

Natasha, one of the travellers on Nomadic Road’s 2023 Madagascar RN5 Expedition, speaks to this. “I took something positive from [the expedition]… that sometimes it’s good not to have control over time; to not look at the clock. It’s nice to let go and go with the flow.”

Days on Nomadic Road’s Madagascar RN5 expedition are long, with hours of driving on roads that hardly resemble roads. Factor in the inevitable natural or technical hazards, and it’s a real test of endurance.

Time Flies When You’re Not Paying Attention

​​Remember how time felt as a kid? Long, stretchy days. Endless summers. An entire afternoon to build a fort, read a book, get bored, and still have time left over. Then, somewhere along the way, time started racing. Whole months fly by. One year folds into the next. You blink and realise 2019 was six years ago.

We tell ourselves we’ll do that thing later. Open a restaurant someday. Take that trip when it’s the “right time.” But the truth is: days don’t slow down on their own.

If you want time to feel fuller, you have to fill it—with new experiences, challenges, and presence. That could mean an expedition into remote wilderness. It could mean a new hobby, an unfamiliar city, or simply paying attention to where you are right now.

Time doesn’t feel different in the wild because the wild does something to it. It feels different because you do.

Do things NOW.