Five days in Kyrgyzstan
By Solange Hando. Solange is a professional travel journalist and photographer, editor, public speaker and facilitator. She has contributed to National Geographic and Reader's Digest travel books and published features in 96 titles worldwide. She travels widely but her specialist subjects are Bhutan, where she attended the coronation, Nepal and France. She is a member of the British Guild of Travel Writers, Travel Writers UK and the International Travel Writers Alliance. Her latest book is the Berlitz Guide to Bhutan. She is also the author of, 'Be a Travel Writer, Live your Dreams, Sell your Features' which has been endorsed by Hilary Bradt (founder of the Bradt travel guides) and best selling author Simon Whaley. Search for Solange Hando at http://www.amazon.co.uk
'Anyone for the view?'
Of course…
Suddenly we're plunged into total darkness, scrambling up the spiral stairs, so narrow and steep, no rails just grappling around with hands and feet and hoping no one's on their way down. Then comes the ultimate challenge, extricating your body, all dirty and bruised out of the small opening before stumbling onto the platform scorched by the blinding sun. So there we are in the middle of nowhere, on the top of Burana, a honey-coloured minaret and last remains of a medieval city, just over half its original 40 metres but looking right across the Chui plain framed by the snow-capped peaks of Tien Shan. Wow…Far below horsemen round up their cattle and eerie statues and gravestones beckon in the nearby archaeological site, listed by UNESCO but deserted.
We knew Kyrgyzstan would be different. Bishkek, the pretty capital, had greeted us almost like a village with green trolley buses, flowers and trees and wide boulevards with barely a car in sight. I enjoyed the toy-like Changing of the Guards, the fermented mare's milk sold along the streets and the lively Osh bazaar, a vast local market brimming with fruit, spices, nuts, multi-coloured bread, traditional clothes and more.
Close to Bishkek, we trekked in the Ala Archa National Park, a wonderful place draped in alpine scenery. Rushing river, wild flowers, yurts, fragrant conifers and juniper- the 'archa' which keeps evil away -, snowy tops and glaciers rising to over 4000 metres, I wished I could have stayed all night and slept under the stars.
Of course…
Suddenly we're plunged into total darkness, scrambling up the spiral stairs, so narrow and steep, no rails just grappling around with hands and feet and hoping no one's on their way down. Then comes the ultimate challenge, extricating your body, all dirty and bruised out of the small opening before stumbling onto the platform scorched by the blinding sun. So there we are in the middle of nowhere, on the top of Burana, a honey-coloured minaret and last remains of a medieval city, just over half its original 40 metres but looking right across the Chui plain framed by the snow-capped peaks of Tien Shan. Wow…Far below horsemen round up their cattle and eerie statues and gravestones beckon in the nearby archaeological site, listed by UNESCO but deserted.
We knew Kyrgyzstan would be different. Bishkek, the pretty capital, had greeted us almost like a village with green trolley buses, flowers and trees and wide boulevards with barely a car in sight. I enjoyed the toy-like Changing of the Guards, the fermented mare's milk sold along the streets and the lively Osh bazaar, a vast local market brimming with fruit, spices, nuts, multi-coloured bread, traditional clothes and more.
Close to Bishkek, we trekked in the Ala Archa National Park, a wonderful place draped in alpine scenery. Rushing river, wild flowers, yurts, fragrant conifers and juniper- the 'archa' which keeps evil away -, snowy tops and glaciers rising to over 4000 metres, I wished I could have stayed all night and slept under the stars.
But for us, nature lovers on a tight schedule, there was no time to linger. In this small landlocked country where 90% of the land is above 1500 metres, it's all about mountains, canyons and lakes, including Issyk-Kul, the third largest body of water in Central Asia and the second largest alpine lake in the world. It was a long leisurely drive to our hotel right by the lake, perfectly blue and garlanded across the water with a snow-covered ridge which looked like the Himalaya. With its red roses and parasols, this large holiday resort could have been anywhere in the world but away from it all, it was a convenient stop along the straight northern coast with magnificent views, especially at sunset and sunrise.
Next morning we were off across Issyk-Kul's biosphere reserve on a spectacular journey to Karakol at the eastern end of the lake. This was a quiet place, though popular for winter sports, with two unusual attractions, a wooden Orthodox church and a mosque like a Chinese pagoda. We stayed at the Green Yard, a traditional guesthouse dozing among the apricot trees, dined on 14 dishes in a family home where we made our own noodles and got up soon after dawn to explore the southern shore.
Next morning we were off across Issyk-Kul's biosphere reserve on a spectacular journey to Karakol at the eastern end of the lake. This was a quiet place, though popular for winter sports, with two unusual attractions, a wooden Orthodox church and a mosque like a Chinese pagoda. We stayed at the Green Yard, a traditional guesthouse dozing among the apricot trees, dined on 14 dishes in a family home where we made our own noodles and got up soon after dawn to explore the southern shore.
Closer to the mountains, it's much more dramatic than the north and even though the minibus couldn't make it all the way, it was my most exciting day. First the meandering coves and bays with fine sand, the water in ever changing shades of turquoise and blue, snow on the tops then we ventured into the Skazka canyon, climbing through a sandstone wilderness of eroded rocks and cliffs, flaming red, not a tree in sight but a few lucky clumps of juniper and distant views of the lake. Later we reached the fabulous Barskoon Valley nestling among barren and wooded slopes, ending below towering peaks of glistening ice and snow. We picnicked in a yurt, checked out the memorial to Yuri Gagarin (he came here to rest after his spatial adventure) then I sat on a rock and enjoyed it all, the tumbling stream, the long silvery ribbon of a waterfall, the mountains, a nomad riding his horse but what was that? Thunder, lighting, I was drenched before I knew it but it didn't matter at all. There was still time to see the Broken Heart mountain and the rocks of the Seven Oxen, the brothers petrified for displeasing their father.
Our final day meant a long drive back to Bishkek but guess what happened at the airport?
'Can't check in, madame, your name's not right…'
'What do you mean?'
'Look, surnames, you have two, gap on passport, no gap on ticket…'
How could I explain the intricacies of a French lady's passport ?
Well they sorted it out eventually and, like it or not, I had to leave, my head full of dreams but promising to return one day soon.
For more information, visit http://www.discoverkyrgyzstan.org
'Can't check in, madame, your name's not right…'
'What do you mean?'
'Look, surnames, you have two, gap on passport, no gap on ticket…'
How could I explain the intricacies of a French lady's passport ?
Well they sorted it out eventually and, like it or not, I had to leave, my head full of dreams but promising to return one day soon.
For more information, visit http://www.discoverkyrgyzstan.org
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