KUMIS [the Kyrgyzs logbook, pt. II] | andrejrusskovskij.com

For PART 1

Kumis is an alcoholic beverage made from fermented mare’s milk. This drink remains important to the peoples of the Central Asian steppes.

DAY 6 (08.9.2019): Journey to Jyrgalan

The alarm buzzed at 5:45 AM to kick off our Sunday plan: a visit to Karakol’s animal bazaar, the largest in Kyrgyzstan. The bazaar was a heart-wrenching sight: animals mistreated and distressed, with eyes full of fear. The humans were equally appalling, kicking, pulling, and separating babies from their mothers. It was an hour of profound sadness and it made me question the decision to go there in the first place. Animal rights have a long way to go in this part of the world.

Back at the guesthouse, we had a quick breakfast before grabbing another taxi to the bus station. The marshrutka was ancient and unbearably dusty, but after a 1.5-hour bumpy ride, we reached the small village of Jyrgalan by early afternoon. The weather was on our side, and Jyrgalan, fresh on the tourism map, greeted us with stunning mountain vistas perfect for summer trekking and winter sports.

We checked into Alakol Guesthouse, a bit pricey by Kyrgyz standards (25 euros each for one night plus dinner), and set off for a hike to Turnaly Köl. Planned as a 17 km loop, our tendency to follow cow tracks instead of the official path turned it into a 22 km adventure. Despite getting lost countless times, this mountain trek became a holiday highlight. We hardly saw another soul but had memorable encounters with wild horses and grazing cows. The breathtaking mountain scenery was unforgettable, especially during our lunch break on the slopes leading to Turnaly Köl, where we watched horses wade through swampy shores and graze peacefully.

That day, my dad and I shared deep, meaningful conversations, revealing long-hidden family stories. There’s nothing like some good old family gossip to bond over!

As the sun set, we finally made it back. After a much-needed shower, we endured an awkward dinner with an Israeli father and son, both insufferably full of themselves. My dad’s disdain was palpable, which made me, a pathological people pleaser, extremely uncomfortable.

Exhausted, we collapsed into bed and slept like logs.

DAY 7 (09.9.2019): Jyrgalan to Karakol

We braced ourselves for miserable weather, but the alarm woke us to a sunny surprise. Breakfast was shared with the Israelis, who kindly offered us some of their freshly brewed coffee (a dream after days spent drinking tasteless instant coffee) and even gifted us a bag of real ground coffee to take home, a gesture that left me and my dad pleasantly surprised.

Despite the sunshine, the wind was brisk, so I layered up, unwittingly donning what would become my uniform for the rest of the holiday. Kok Bel waterfall, or the few droplets that were left of it, was objectively underwhelming, however, the loop trek to get there was quite the journey: 14 km through pastures, canyons, and even a coal mine.

We returned to the guesthouse just as the weather turned, enjoyed some coffee and kitten playtime, then headed to the marshrutka. After a chilly 40-minute wait, the trip back to Karakol was tediously slow, punctuated by random stops to pick up locals. Upon arrival, just in time for a torrential storm to break, Karakol felt like a bustling metropolis compared to the rural simplicity of Jyrgalan. It’s remarkable how a few days can alter your perspective on a place.

A delicious dinner at Zarina and a familiar room at Teskey wrapped up our day perfectly with a hot shower and cozy blankets.

DAY 8 (10.9.2024): Journey to Kochkor

After another very simple breakfast, we took a taxi to the marshrutka station by 8 AM. The lady at the counter overcharged us, but by then I had taught myself to read Cyrillic and spotted the correct fares on the minivan. I went back and successfully got a refund!

The ride across Issyk Kul turned out to be lovely. The weather warmed up, and the locals on board, combined with a mix of old and modern Russian and Kyrgyz hits playing on the radio, made for a quite folkloristic journey. The views were stunning, transitioning from abandoned resorts to colourful rocky mountains and valleys that seemed to be endless.

We arrived in Kochkor, a dusty town in the northern Naryn region and main access to Son Kul, probably Kyrgyzstan’s most known landmark. Though a bit shabby, it was surrounded by breathtaking snowy peaks. The locals were more reserved compared to the friendly faces we’d seen elsewhere. Our first stop was the CBT (Community based tourism) for a tour estimate to Son Kul, followed by a visit to Jailoo, a private tourist agency, where we found the same tour for 60 euros less.

Back at the CBT, we learned the lower cost at Jailoo came at a price: lower staff wages, minimal infrastructure investment, and sometimes dodgy services. At least that’s what they said… We chose the sustainable option and booked with CBT. Lunch at a local favourite was an adventure, with no English spoken and waitresses who seemed a bit lost. We also bumped into the same French couple we had previously met at Teskey, who, funny enough, were staying at our guesthouse, the family-run and quite hilariously called “Good”. And it was indeed quite “good” to pay only 6 euro a night.

Exploring town, we wandered to the Muslim cemetery we had spotted earlier from the marshrutka. Its rusty gates, unusual tombstones, and empty graves gave it an eerie charm, leaving us quite convinced it must have been long abandoned. However, newer and more maintained graves appeared as we got closer. An improvised hitchhike took us there just in time for a breathtaking sunset, which we savoured until the light went from gold to blue.

We hitchhiked back and had dinner at the tourist-friendly “Retro,” enjoying some traditional beef dishes (veggie or vegan options were extremely rare if not nonexistent). Exhausted, we went straight to bed. The next day had much in store for us.

DAY 9 (11.9.2024): Horse riding to Kölukök

Breakfast with the Frenchies at the guesthouse was for sure the best I had up to that point: fried bread with marmalade and jam and omelettes. At 9 AM, we met our driver and guide for the horse-riding tour to Kölukök, a mountain lake 3,000 meters above sea level. Half an hour later we were acquainted with our horses. Toru, my horse, had a food obsession, a fear of dogs, and a penchant for biting other horses unless he led the line. My dad had to joke it was the perfect match for me.

Dad grumbled about his aching sacral bone, as the ride was steeper and rougher than anticipated. In my case it started with an annoying testicles pain which improved in time as I simply lost all feeling in my crotch. I’m normally not a horse enthusiast, but necessity outweighed any aversion. After crossing quite a few canyons and rivers, we paused at a snowy yurt camp, which was meant to be our overnight base. Snow blindness, sunburn, and wet, cold feet were the order of the day. After lunch with a friendly American mother-daughter duo and a failed attempt to cuddle a baby yak, we resumed our horse ride for another couple of hours. The path was daunting for expert riders. Imagine for newbies like us! We really had to question our choice and overconfidence.

We finally reached Kölukök, whose cobalt blue colour contrasted perfectly with the white of the snow-capped mountains all around, took countless photos, and experienced a sudden temperature drop. The ride back to camp included tense moments when Toru chose his own path, slipping in the snow. However, I found my stride, feeling a deep and completely unexpected connection with him as we trotted at sunset, leaving Dad and the guide behind. Suddenly I had to acknowledge why some people get the horse riding bug. I literally felt like his legs were mine and we were in complete harmony, a true “Avatar” moment.

Back at the yurt, I captured the idyllic scene at sunset: farmers milking cows, horses resting, dinner cooking. Dinner was spicy noodle soup with meat and veggies, accompanied by endless cups of tea. We warmed up in the yurt, had a quick Kyrgyz language lesson, and were then shown to our sleeping quarters. My dad, an astronomy buff, gave me a stargazing lesson under a crystal-clear sky.

Sleeping in a yurt at that altitude? Worth trying once for the romantic notion, but not something I’d repeat. Imagine: after a long day of horse riding, the sky darkens, the wind howls, and you’re snug inside, warmed by a fire, sipping hot tea, feeling blessed. But as the fire dies, the temperature plummets, and those blankets aren’t just for show. Despite wearing a beanie and huddling under thick layers, I was the coldest I’ve ever been.

Been there, done that.