--- day 2 ---
lost in the fog

The night is uneventful. It was not too cold, nor do I suffer from insomnia at these altitudes, like I used to in the beginning of my mountaineering expeditions, any longer. No bears showed up either.:) However, it kept raining at intervals most of the night, so we are biding our time throughout the morning and wait for the sun to dry our stuff and tent well enough. While waiting, we watch a large group of marmots, who used to be a favorite game in Kyrgyzstan in the earlier days, particularly because of their fur, but also for their meat. Now they are obviously doing well, although they are shyer than, for instance, in the Tatra Mountains in Slovakia. Up here in the mountains it is actually hard to say if you are in Kyrgyzstan, or somewhere else.

We set out at 11; we’ve switched roles with our Austrian friends – they haven’t even started packing yet – and we’re leading the way up to the pass today. The trail appears and disappears again, elsewhere it splits into multiple branches left by cows, so we wouldn’t manage without my favorite app from mapy.cz in combination with the phone GPS, even though the pass is hard to miss now. The climb from the foot of the pass to its top is strenuous and long, the steep slope being mostly covered with scree provides only poor support for our feet and keeps slipping down, thus we take three steps forward and two backwards right after that. The altitude also doesn’t do us any good. At the very end of our climb I am so exhausted that I can’t even think of how tired I am – after each step my body refuses to take yet another step. We finally reach the wide top of the pass (3890 m) at about half past two.

One hour later it is decided: we are turning back. We can see three different trails, i.e. three options, leading down to the other side of the pass, but none of them seems safe enough. The surface of the slope on this side is more solid and all the trails drop sharply downwards, which is why the risk of slipping while carrying a more than 10 to 15 kilo load on our backs appears too great. We just don’t feel like it. A single wrong step would suffice to make one plunge straight down in a shower of rolling stone fragments and debris. Nor does throwing our backpacks down separately sound like a reasonable choice. The Austrians may be able to find another alternative, but we’re not willing to stay up here in the changing weather conditions any longer. In the end, we pass our fellow travelers during a quick descent – the scree has completely different qualities in the downward direction and, when compared to the climb, we’re literally sprinting now – and say our goodbyes at hearing distance.

Some 15 minutes later we are standing back at the foot of the pass again and move on without any further delay. We still look back from time to time to check if the Austrians made it to the top and whether or not they dare to climb down the other side of the pass or decide to turn back. However, their fate remains a mystery to us since a cloud layer suddenly appears over the pass and starts heading our way. The sun is still shining above us, but soon after there’s a shower, and then everything around gets covered by fog and the pass is lost from our view. We never see them again.

On the way down I’m trying to find the spot where we camped last night, but the distinct boulders now look all the same in the fog. The trail acts unpredictably just like this morning; it splits into several branches, then joins together again and splits once more, and so on. We can’t even trust the GPS now as it leads us into a dead end overgrown with wildflowers. We don’t lose hope – though we lose our nerves at times – and follow the noise of the small stream known to us from the first day burbling somewhere to our left deep down below. We try hard to maintain a downward course, even though some of the cow trails keep turning back up in the direction of contour lines. Our wandering around in the fog lasts for an hour, maybe a little longer.

Finally, we’re back on the main trail again! Though it starts to rain, the fog dissipates at the same time and we can now discern the plain at the confluence of the aforementioned stream and the mountain river Kara-Batak (Кара-батак), left-hand tributary of the Chong-Kyzyl-Suu river, emerging out from it deep below us. We can also see the first trees of the forest vegetation. It is just about six-thirty when we arrive at the foot of a massive conifer tree below the slope and call it a day.

--- day 3 ---
we have visitors!

The morning at the river is considerably cooler than up in the mountains. The rain had stopped falling soon after nightfall yesterday, but we need the sun to dry the surrounding grass, drive the moisture out of our clothes and shoes and warm our bones. Today will be a beautiful day – the rock cliffs on the opposite side of the river are already burning! The neighboring group of seven does not stay idle, they pack their stuff early and, under the weight of their large backpacks slung over their shoulders, they leave at a slow pace somewhere off the beaten track. None of them gave any indication that they were interested in our presence. Based on their behavior and the above-mentioned “clues”, I reckon they must be pros. Unlike them we stay put till 1:00 pm and cautiously meet and greet the local cows, who are also curious about us and do not hesitate to explore our campsite from up close.

In the afternoon we set out heading back to the weather station via shepherd trails. The paths lead us casually back and forth, but as we are not in a hurry, we just have to make sure to follow the river. After about an hour, there’s a light rain, otherwise the sun is shining in the sky. After another half hour we finish our delightful stroll on a small flat area in the wood just above the yurt, where we stopped on the first day. We won’t go any further today.

In the evening around five o’clock it starts to rain more heavily, but fortunately, unlike in the previous days, our tent is already up. Nevertheless, just like in the afternoon, it does not take long to clear up again. We spend the rest of the evening in our tent and go to bed at around 8:00 pm.

--- day 4 ---
the gaz is our savior 

We leave the camp at 11. Like yesterday we are in no rush, so we stick for a while with the boys from the yurt, to whom, to their obvious disappointment, I only pay 300 som; this time it is for transporting us across the river and taking a picture of us. We even exchange a few words with the lady from the big house at the weather station (it’s a pity that the station does not show the forecast right away, which may have been useful a few days ago). We continue slowly on enjoying the surroundings. Thanks to the nice weather, we can now experience the places we already know in a new light.

At one in the afternoon we arrive to the small spa, where we started our hike three days ago, and enjoy a hot bath in a pool perhaps from the Stalinist era for a few “crowns” (200 som). There’s of course no one to pick us up here, so after a long rest we go on walking. It’s about quarter to three now.

From this side, the landscape along the road does not look as uninteresting as I originally thought. And we also get to enjoy it entirely as nobody won’t stop while we try to hitch a ride – as per my expectations, the traffic here is quite busy, but most cars are fully occupied or packed to the brim, or both. After about an hour to an hour and a half of walking, the forest starts thinning out and the landscape somewhat loses on its attractiveness. We have to keep going. After another hour, the walking becomes almost monotonous. Katka keeps grumbling over why nobody wants to stop for us. I reassure her by saying that “it’s the way how it probably should be” and remind her of a similar situation from our trip to the mountains in Ukraine, where we also had to wait for an “Ifa” to arrive (I, of course, mean the Gaz, which drove us from Hoverla).

And indeed! My prediction comes true: before I can take another photo of the red rocks on the other side of the river, which are, by the way, more extensive and diverse than at Jeti-Oguz, we see dust swirling in the distance beneath the wheels of an iron monster. In next to no time, our Kyrgyz “Ifa” (Right, it’s a Gaz again!) brakes in front of us. The driver’s round smiling face invites us aboard, where his entire family, i.e. his wife, mother-in-law or aunt and, statistically, three to five children, are already sitting. Plus, one other passenger. The town of Kyzyl-Suu is still a decent stretch of road away; we walked maybe half of the total of 20 kilometers.

To Katka’s certain resentment, I insist to pay a small visit to our savior for a shot of vodka, which in these parts is almost cheaper than tap water. For me, it’s the opposite, an opportunity to give a sneak peek into the lives of locals – in their home they only have a carpet and a table without chairs! There are also a few battered toys lying on the ground with which the children immediately start to play. The lady of the house hastily searches for some glasses. The dog tied to a chain at the gate obviously suffers in agony: it automatically curls into a ball in anticipation of a blow or a kick and makes one think of the most humiliated member in a monkey troop.:(

And now, let’s hop on a “marshrut” back to Karakol (150 som) and go grab some food! On the very first day, we discovered the tourist-oriented restaurant Zarina (dinner = 1200 som) right in the city center – for the sake of simplicity, I nicknamed it “Eržika“ which sounds similar and is closer to the Czech heart. Surprisingly, we didn’t need search the internet (we have got none here anyway) or consult a guidebook (we don’t have one either) to find it; to this day I am simply amazed by what instinct actually brought us here. We can recommend this place and their draft beer, Жатецкий гусь – not from Žatec despite its name – in any case!

--- day 2 ---
fata morgana

After a delicious and plentiful breakfast, we have enough time to explore the surroundings, including the aforementioned caravanserai. The massive stone building with a small dome resembles an oriental palace that would fit in the Prince of Persia game series. It used to be a roadside inn for merchants and travelers in the times of the ancient Silk Road. In other words, nothing else than a medieval counterpart of the yurt camp.

Start at 9:30 am. We are following the narrow Tash Rabat river valley to a pass of the same name – how else? – at an altitude of 3968 meters. Occasionally, the path is lined with unused farm buildings, and there are restless marmots scuttling away under our horses’ hooves. The elevation between the yurt camp and the vale below the pass is moderate, the weather is in our favor and so we overcome 400 meters in altitude in two hours of a casual ride. After a lunch-picnic break we have a similar elevation to climb to make it up to the pass. However, the horses have no problem with that, and we are up at the top in less than three quarters of an hour. Soon we can spot the Chatyr-Kul Lake (Чатыркөл) in the distance between two mountain slopes – it looks supernatural, like a fata morgana, from this far.

After a while, we descend from the mountains to the open arms of a seemingly endless plain, bounded only by steep snowy peaks far to the south and southwest – some of these already lie in China – and the mountain range behind us. We turn left to the east and continue by the road meandering through the country parallel to the shores of the giant lake, which remains out of our reach. In front of us lie the wide grassy plains and we can see perhaps even tens of kilometers into the distance. This is how I imagine the Mongolian steppe, but hard to say how close this idea may be to reality.

My search for traces of wildlife in this vast space is fruitless – there is no hint of movement on the ground, nor a flock of birds above, not even a single bird of prey soaring high in the sky. Except for marmots and some little mice – maybe lemmings – nothing else seems to live here, or it can hide perfectly. The landscape is like made of ripples, or waves, and most of the yurts at the foot of the mountain ridge and slopes to our left remain hidden till the very last moment; not only can individual animals hide here, but the same applies to entire herds of goats, as we get to see for ourselves a couple times.

Our wandering through this extraordinary mountainous landscape is long, challenging, magical. The individual yurts are separated by huge distances and we rarely manage to ask our horses to trot, which is why the guide “allows” us to have our first and only break for tea and flatbread around half past four. While here, his son joins us briefly – he’s leading another group of tourists from the caravanserai to the yurts below Shirikty Pass (Ширикты), where we will also finish our journey today; apart from this small encounter, we don’t meet another living soul on the way. We finally reach the end of today’s leg of our trip shortly before 6:00 pm.

The waiting for our very late dinner (and sleep) is long. Especially both French girls have had enough for today and they keep bragging and show their dissatisfaction rather annoyingly at times. I regret to see that they have disproportionate expectations and won’t respect local customs and manners – Fanny would like a Western-style dinner, while Elsa keeps asking for her own private room. The owners, however, remain unconcerned and continue with their own routine.

While we wait, the yurt is successively visited by more than 10 people for a chat and a cup of their favorite kumis (кымыз), a fermented drink made from mare’s milk; no idea how they all just pop out here of the blue. Many of the guests introduce themselves by name, but Kyrgyz names are so unusual that they would have to write them down for me to remember successfully. An exception that proves the rule is the house owner’s name which sounds exactly like the Czech word for (not only) the fuel that his wife adds to the stove to keep the fire burning – dry sheep dung.

Trus has (at least) two small children, a boy of about ten and a younger girl, both of whom keep us company all evening. When the dinner is finally served, the little girl overthrows a bowl of hot soup on herself by accident and the ongoing peace is gone. The kids’ mother makes the situation worse by blaming the boy for this incident and lets go of her anger by slapping him hard, which only a few Czech parents would dare nowadays. And now both kids are crying.

In the austere conditions far from civilization, everyone is totally clueless about providing first aid for burns: nothing like “nine-one-one” works here (not to mention the non-existent mobile signal); toothpaste is the closest substance to disinfection (this is also my evidence that it is not as universal as is sometimes claimed either:)); no one will go riding with the little girl on a horse (let alone driving by car) to the 100 kilometers or more distant At-Bashy at night. To ease her pain and calm the situation down is, among others, possible thanks to the First Aid app, which I have fortunately downloaded on my mobile; thumbs up to the Czech Red Cross. In any case, this night is not gonna be a short night...

--- day 3 ---
the first snow never lasts

There are scissors hanging on the wall instead of a picture. The windowsill is decorated with a car battery instead of a flower. This battery supplies power to a single dim bulb suspended from a ceiling made of branches. Who can tell me where-we-are?

I wake up on the floor of a small zemljanka, a dugout shelter, semi-recessed into a slope by the yurt, in which Fanny and Elsa spent, by their own account of events, a “romantic” night with the guide (and Trus’s family). Katka and me shared the zemljanka with a young couple, probably another of Trus’s sons, and his wife, or – to avoid unfair preference – they with us. We took the liberty of telling a little white lie to our benefactors the previous evening, because a man and a woman may not share the same bed/sleeping bag/floor here unless they are married; and we are not. Katka, next to me, is already awake and claims that the snow has fallen outside!

“I’m not falling for that one!” I already know her jokes of this kind. However, the surrounding landscape is really covered in a light coat of white and more snow keeps falling merrily from the sky. The zemljanka owners have also gotten up and they are setting up the table, which usually takes the center stage in a room, for our breakfast no. 1. It may be just an ordinary risotto, but there’s enough for everyone and plenty more. The son of our guide joins us with his group, a young Canadian couple, and a guide-coworker, so what four of us started, eight are now going to finish; the food is a joy in Kyrgyzstan and it’s only real when shared.

Since the girls from France prefer to sleep in, we join them for breakfast no. 2, which is held later in the yurt and no one is, of course, allowed to miss it. This time cooked buckwheat with a cucumber & carrot salad is served. Tea and flatbread are also ready for the taking. Meanwhile, the snow is slowly disappearing from the surrounding area, but it may still hold higher up. Our discussion about the success of “Operation Shirikty” during breakfast is therefore... well, fast.:) We are not equipped for snow and according to the guide the Shirikty Pass is a krutoj pereval at an altitude of more than 4000 meters. Due to the uncertain weather and upon his recommendation, we set back by our yesterday’s route for the caravanserai. We start at half past eleven.

Although the weather is still stable on this side of the mountains, the guide wants us to cross the Tash Rabat Pass as soon as possible and keeps urging us forward ceaselessly. As a result, we avoid the road completely this time and go directly for the point where we will be turning back up to the pass. We get here in about two hours after leaving the yurt. The pass above us is obscured by clouds and, during our further advance, greets us with light hail, which does not last long and after crossing the highest point it turns quiet again. After descending into the valley, we can take a break for lunch and complete the rest of the trip at a less hasty pace. Around five in the evening, the guide hands us over to the driver at the caravanserai campsite.

Above the mountains there hangs a curtain of gray clouds, but we are going back to the main road for At-Bashy, which has a downward direction now. Before us, under a partly cloudy sky, opens a unique view of the entire valley of the Kara-Koyun river (Кара-Коюн). It is not only thanks to this show which takes place in front of the windshield resembling a large movie screen, that the trip seems to go faster this time, and we are back in Naryn even before dusk.