Our last entry took us out of the amazing Uzbekistan and the great Silk Road cities, too hard to describe to your friends, and never done justice with a photo, just a must see experience. Then from the grandeur of human feats we crossed the border to the works of nature, a land hardly touched, and one of my favourite places in the world. Kyrgyzstan is a wonderful place, if ever anybody asks where they should visit amongst the Stans, it is always first on my list.
Crossing the border with all the usual formalities we met up with our local guide Asel. She is probably one of the best guides we have on this route, not only for her in depth knowledge of the flora and fauna, facts and figures, but for honest heartfelt love for her country and the easy and relaxed fashion she introduces this diverse place to you, and she is truly barking mad in the most wonderful way. Osh the first town we head into gives you a shock of culture, even though more than half the population is Uzbek, the easy smiles and relaxed way is definitely Kyrgyz. A night in town, the chance to change money, the lack of any mammoth tourist attraction gives way to this scenic country.
Given I’m now sitting in Laos, I’m not going to try and give you a blow by blow account of Kyrgyzstan but rather some kind of feel for the country and a taste of one or two of our adventures till the Tourgart pass and the mammoth that is China.
To try and explain the thoughts on Kyrgyzstan is too hard, but if I could choose another life maybe I would choose to have it here. Most of the country is one big pasture, short stubby lush green fields dotted by herds of goats, sheep (fat tail Asian sheep,) and some of the most sought after horses in the world, now banned from export, the countryside stretches to the base of peaks over 5000 metres, snow capped and dazzled by the summer sun. In winter I’m sure it’s not as idyllic, as temperatures reach 20 below and their world is blanketed by deep snow and freezing winds. But all these conditions have lead to a special and very nomadic way of life that influences every aspect of their being.
As the snow melts every year, the people leave the towns and villages and follow their herds to greener pastures, moving from their fixed abodes into traditional homes for the summer, the yurt.
A yurt is a photographers dream inside and out, constructed of a wooden lattice work, covered in felt, bound in rope and waterproofed with mutton fat, heated with a slow burning fire of, well sheep shit, it’s well worth a visit to enjoy the hospitality of the locals, but can be hard on the western nose if truly traditional.
The herders move higher and higher until the pastures are above 3000 metres. All this said and nothing of the people, open friendly and honest, a visit to a yurt will always see you fed even it is only an offering of a piece of bread or a full spread of honeys, jams, compotes and cream washed down with tea, or for the very brave, fermented mares milk, you have to try it to see if you like it.... But back to our route.
From Osh we start heading for the mountains and vast plains that make Kyrgyzstan so unbelievably scenic. Two bush camps, one at a massive hydro electric dam, saw swimming this year but rain the last, take it as it comes, but the sapphire blue water and harsh brown rock is a dazzle to the eye no matter the weather. Then, a slip face that is best explained with photos and then to lake Songkul.
The road to Songkul is never an easy one and Asel was frantically chatting to the locals in the villages all the way up. The season was later this year and the road we had hoped to pass was definitely closed with a massive avalanche, destroying some of the already precarious mountain pass, but another was open, so we would carry on to another village. Driving up the small track and winding through pastures into the mountains it was quite clear the weather was not in our favour, even though we were enjoying bright sunny days so early in the year, the snow had kept falling until only recently and snow melt was in full swing. At one point the road had been washed away but we managed to find our way round through a dodgy looking bit of mud that had the lads in the back strapping on their boots to dig the truck out. But Calypso, our faithful truck, bounced her way through the axle deep bog to regain the firm footing of the road. On we pushed through the mud and bumps until we met the end of the road, truly and completely. Two big trucks on their way to a quarry had been running ahead of us, one had gotten itself well and truly stuck trying to get around where the road had been washed away. Keen to turn and head for another road, a driver ran over to us and with a quick exchange of words, Asel turned and smiled at me... yes of course we would help.
We have been stuck before on this trip and a helpful local to pull you out makes light work of a big job, so tit for tat, we lent a hand and a tow rope and a little bit of our time and smiles all round we were on our way, but how were we to know we were setting a trend...
So around we went and started heading for another side of lake Songkul, if I didn’t love the place so much I may well have thrown in the towel at this point, but having been there before and knowing what we would miss we had to keep on going.
So bumpy, bumpy around the town and villages we headed for the road that was sure to be open and gladly enough it was. Slowly we climbed the dusty track, dust turning to mud, rain turning to sleet, sleet turning to snow. Praying for no opposing traffic we climbed from 1000 metres above sea level to above three, through walls of ice and snow and washed out roads to eventually reaching the top of a mountain and then slowly back down onto the plains, but of course not without a bit of adventure. Along the road a man was standing, waving, pointing, at his truck, stuck in the mud... Asel smiled, we complied..., and accepted his invitation for us to camp near his yurt. The welcome of his warm fire if it was still snowing when we arrived was very appealing (snow cancels out the smell of sheep shit fires and mutton fat damp proofing).Around a bend and over a hill we hit the plains surrounding the amazing Lake SongKul. Held holy by the locals, not even fishing is allowed, vast green plains hemmed by sparkling snow capped peaks, herds and yurts dotting the awe inspiring landscape, horsemen riding wild ...Well nearly, as the weather was so late this year only a couple of white yurts dotted the landscape, though beautiful, huge storms could be seen building in the west before they barraged down the 90km lake. The weather was kind now, but it could soon become very angry, and, well, it was just bloody freezing.
Fair is fair we plan for this weather and the Odyssey group got things rolling, tents were pitched, the kitchen tent went up as well as the kitchen tarp, a fire pit was dug and the rain seemed to hold off. The sun went down along with the temperature as a warming curry was prepared on the fire, an early night for most apart from the few who spent some time drinking by the glow of the last embers.Not to get us down, even Odyssey can’t plan the weather (though we do try really hard, apologies in advance), Asel and I headed off early the next morning to speak to some locals and see what fun could be organised. Trekking is very possible in this part of the world, walking along the lake edge is easy going, straight up a mountain is a bit harder, but both will be an experience you will never forget amongst all this nature, horse riding for those who are able is a great way to explore this paddock that stretches to the lower reaches of monster mountains, but the biggest thing to see up here is goat polo. The national sport of Kyrgyzstan it is a sight to behold, not easy to explain, probably impossible to describe, photos can only do it so much justice, but it is something you have to see while you are here.
After walking for too long, we got to the first yurt, a gift of bread but no horses to hire, we set off again, so it went on for several hours. What was becoming quite clear is that the people had not gotten this far up the mountain yet, and their thousands of animals were still making the slow trudge up the hills around us. People and animals trek for weeks to nourish themselves on the lush surroundings after summer snow melt. We were just too early for the season this year. So back to the truck, only two horses in tow after the ten we had wanted, it was time to make some decisions.
We had seen Songkul even if we had not experienced all it had to offer, the weather was changing too fast for trekking, and after the photos of last year’s game of goat polo and horse riding, a quick vote was cast. The quickest de-camp in the history of Odyssey; we left only foot prints and were gone. Back down the mountain, back through the snow and sleet into the dust, nobody to rescue, following tiny roads in incredible scenery we headed for the valley of yurts and horses.
Planing works, but luck sometimes falters the best plans, 6 hours later we were heading up a narrow gorge, the road was bad, worse and worse still, until even our Calypso said no more. Maybe with a few hours of filling in the water-washed gulley we could have gone further, but walking the road a few kilometres, while everybody pitched camp, revealed a definite no-truck-road that would have scared the wits out of the best jeep in the world. So an amazing camp with a vista over mountains and farm fields got us no closer to Goat Polo.Sometimes you just have to phone the boss, well that what I explained to Asel, which she duly did, and got shouted at for even contemplating taking our group up into the valley, but it worked out okay, as she merely explained that it was all my idea and she had said no, but I insisted. If she hadn’t been such a wonderful person, and told me exactly what she had just said to her boss, I may well have thrown her off a cliff, but Asel, well you will just have to wait till you meet her (to be fair we had spoken to some locals who had said my truck would make the road without any problems and this was definitely the place to go).
So bad calls all round, but our agency sourced some good advice, and as it turned out, a distant meadow we watched the sun dance over as it set, was guaranteed to be jam packed with yurts, smelly goats and good times, so off we went the next morning.
Lunch time found us clawing slowly up a grassy hill, a few rivers crossed, now only at 2000m, the weather was far kinder and the scenery and surrounds were dotted with goats, sheep and herds of beautiful horses, some a hundred strong, this is what we had signed up for. Pitching camp in the afternoon warmth we headed up for a meeting with the head honcho which leads me to try and explain the game of goat polo.
Goat polo is not for the faint hearted, it is the traditional and national sport, but not played every afternoon like kicking around a ball. It’s an exercise in the amazing skills of horsemanship these people learn from a very young age (you start on a donkey and slowly move up); they are truly born in the saddle. A horse is one of the most important things they own, cars are run down and poorly maintained, horses are groomed, fed and loved to perfection. A good polo horse is worth a fortune and revered by all.
The playing field is as far as the eye can see, the rules are few and far between, if at all. The controversial point is the ball, and where the goat comes in. Its not a waste and it’s not cruel, animals are killed for food every day and at some point this poor little bugger is going to get eaten, ask Paul, he chose to visit a yurt after the game and got served half a goats head. Anyway a goat is killed in the normal way. A small prayer is offered, you respect animals if you spend all your time looking after them, the head and lower half of the legs are removed and the carcass becomes the ball.
For the goals a small blanket is laid some distance off from the spectators. In terms of spectators all the local people have been invited, this is a game saved for celebrations and festival, so when we arrive and offer to pay for the goat it is a true treat for everybody and a great chance to have a practice. So the ball or goat is taken off some way and placed on the ground, the word is given and two teams of two go charging off into the distance, reach out of their saddle in a superhuman act, grab the goat and start to make their way back to the mat or goal on the ground. The point of the game is to reach the carpet and toss the goat onto it, normally at full gallop. What happens in-between is anybody’s guess, as the two teams wrestle, barge and fight to gain control of the goat. Amazing to watch. I’ll let the photos try and give you some idea of the goings on. After the goat polo the players joined us for a game of Volley ball which was a scream, even though they had all been riding and wrestling they still managed to score a few worthy points against us.
So another afternoon of fires and food and one of Cheryl’s incredible fire baked breads, we all settled in for an early night before another day of Kyrgyzstan.
With the weather calmer than at Songkul people headed off for treks in the morning, rolling hills reach on and on and a good compass is important to find your way back to the truck, Tee and Le were gone for most the day and Paul enjoyed a short walk over a hill and far away.
Horses are another great draw card, so we hired several. Louise and Corrie headed off into the distance while Alex in his always relaxed manner swung himself astride and gently cantered around the camp only to return a few moments later, Denis had his first horse experience too, at full gallop bare foot.... Odyssey does not condone this reckless behaviour, but Dave was off next in his sandals riding like a pro, I think it was the stopping that ended up as the main problem. But a good day of fun and relaxing, with a bit of excitement thrown in, and the most incredible lamb shank stew, saw us heading for Bishkek.If Tian Shan had us too relaxed, Bishkek can quickly fix that. Driving through the country side you would never believe the thriving metropolis that is Bishkek, four lane roads packed with Mercs and Beamers, horns honking all around at the throws of people busily walking en route to who knows where, flashing neon lights and five storey malls, with fast food joints on every corner.
Happily we were staying just on the edge of the madness in a quiet little hotel. Just a hop and a skip from a large mall or short taxi journey into the full swing of things. Three nights here and I think we were all quite happy to be on our way, stocked up with luxury items we headed once more for the expanse of the countryside.I’m not going to run you through all our other adventures, in the hope I can get this blog up this afternoon, but a brief run down is from Bishkek we headed to lake Issy kul, the second highest alpine lake in the world.
Then to a small town called Karakol and then to Diety Orgus.
Diety Orgus is another alpine retreat for herders with their yurts, completely different from before, we camp in a deep valley. Surrounded by green forests and rolling lawns, another great place for trekking and horse riding. As it turned out we were not the only overlanders on site, camping some way down was a Drago group. Unfortunately they had had some truck hassles, and were in two minivans making the best with what they had (mostly a large bowl of punch). Always keen to show our hospitality we invited the lot around for a Pub quiz evening kindly put on by Amy and Emma. It was a great night with two bonfires roaring around the camp and plenty of punch. The final winning team was a combination of Drago and Odyssey travellers which only fuelled the party lasting on into the small hours of the morning.Then down the mountain again, across some awful bridges, to Kochkor and another lovely homestay. One more sleep till China had everybody on the edge of their seat as we headed for the Tourgart Pass.
