A Small Excerpt from a Big Adventure

I stood up straight, rolled my shoulder and let the pack drop from my back. We had made it. Standing at approximately 3900m, a wave of triumph came over me as I surveyed the surrounding peaks. Mount Palatka stood covered in snow whilst others oozed green with thick grass. In the distance, grey veins of melt water meandered through the hills from a glacier slowly crawling away from the waters edge. Some 400m below lay the turquoise surface of Lake Ala-Kul, nestled between the mountains of the Tien Shan range, Kyrgyzstan. A distant thunder groaned as boulders tumbled down the adjacent mountain into the mass of water. Ripples hidden below the ever-changing tones of green and blue.
Craggy peaks on either side encircled the valley in a bowl of coarse rock. We began to traverse the steep slope, my boots pushing the deep gravel aside, ploughing through like skis in fresh powder. As the ground began to level, Alec our local guide took us along the banks of another stream. Still elated from our early morning summit the group set a fast pace. We followed the curved metallic rock face shimmering in the sun, until the ridge dropped underneath the green pastures of a neighbouring valley. At the bottom stood the broad peak of a defiant mountain, its sides perforated by tall spruce trees. Smoke rose from distant huts on the forests edge.
Our arrival in Altyn-Arashan (famed for its hot springs) was marked by the friendly wave of Valentyn. Owner of Yak Hotel in Karakol where we stayed previously, he also owns a cabin in this picturesque gorge that sits at 2200m. We settled down for the evening in an alpine meadow overlooking the Arashan River as it ran from the Palatka Glacier. The undisturbed tranquillity gave this lush green valley a serene yet intangible atmosphere.
It wasn’t long before the infectious good nature of the Kyryz people was felt. Valentyn’s friend trundled off, his ATV enveloped by a cloud of dust, to fetch beer from nearby Karakol. In exchange for food and beverages we offered a hand in the construction of a new hot spring. Despite others in the area, Valentyn already had his own private bath. Hidden on the very edge of the fierce river, carved underneath overhanging rock, sat a small steaming bath fuelled by sulphur. The smell, as we had been warned, was something else. But not nearly as pungent as the fermented mares milk ‘kumis’ that I have been offered on so many occasions.
As we departed for Karakol the following day I couldn’t help but reflect on the past four weeks in Kyrgyzstan. From the dusty tarmac of Bishkek to the alpine spruce forests in the Terskey Alatau ranges. The culture and scenery this country had to offer never ceased to amaze me. I felt pleased that many of their nomadic traditions were still being practised and left with the certainty that it would not be my last visit to Kyrgyzstan.