Kyrgyzstan > Overnight in a yurt

Kyrgyzstan - A group of youths from Bishkek spending a weekend in the mountains

As we leave Karakol, I immediately notice that we’re not in a hurry today. I’ll be spending the night in a yurt, and I don’t think we’ll arrive there too early. About twenty-five kilometers outside Karakol, we turn off toward Jeti Oguz. Along the road lies a red sandstone rock formation. The tall rock is split exactly in the middle, giving it the shape of a broken heart. On the other side are the Seven Bulls rocks—seven oddly shaped red sandstone formations. Because of their shapes, locals call them the Seven Bulls. It’s cloudy today. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few drops of rain fall

Kyrgyzstan - Everything is used for transportation into the mountains

. The cloudy weather makes photos of the rocks quite dark. We continue further into the valley by bus. The road follows a fast-flowing stream. Occasionally, the road switches to the other side, and the bus crosses a wooden bridge. On both sides, high mountains rise. I see several nomad families along the roadside, gathered around their yurts. At the end of the valley, I get out. I set off on my own, following a cart track further into the mountains. It’s wonderful to walk in such silence through the valley. From a yurt, people wave at me. As I get closer, I see it’s a group of young people from Bishkek. They ask if they can take a photo with me and show me the yurt they rented for the weekend. Further along, three little boys sit by the roadside playing some kind of card game on a large stone. I watch for a moment but don’t understand much of the game. They laugh. It starts to drizzle slightly.

Kyrgyzstan - Cooking over a wood fire next to the yurt

I turn back and walk to the bus. From there, I follow the stream on foot until I return to the Seven Bulls rocks. People I meet wave enthusiastically, cars honk, and a man on horseback approaches to shake my hand. On a patch of grass by the mountain stream, I unpack my lunch. In the afternoon, I pass a village to buy supplies for the coming days. In a local café, I order a beer. The bottle is first purchased from the nearby supermarket before being served. Then I head toward the yurt camp. I drive along the south side of Lake Issyk Kul. The blue water looks beautiful. Along the shores, there are many resorts from the Russian period, many of which now look dilapidated. On the west side of the lake, the road turns off. In the village, we are expected. A car drives ahead of us down from the mountains. Just outside the village, we pass a garbage dump and a cemetery. Then the dirt road leads deeper into the valley. On the green fields, I see several clusters of yurts. I get out at a group of tents against the mountainside. I’m warmly welcomed by the family. There are four yurts available for sleeping. I had imagined the tents would be a bit less primitive. These yurts are truly authentic. I chat with the family, show my photo album from the Netherlands, and take photos of several of them.

Kyrgyzstan - In summer nomads live in yurts on the high plateaus

In the evening, a chilly wind picks up. It becomes cold. The tent camp sits at 2,600 meters, and the temperature clearly reflects that. I quickly put on my sweater and jacket. As dusk falls, a vehicle arrives with a yurt package in the back. Everyone helps to set up the yurt—including me! I hold one of the sides while ropes are used to secure everything together. Now I really notice how cold it is. The edge is in place but not to everyone’s satisfaction. A discussion follows, and the rope is loosened again. I decide I’m done for the evening. I go to my own yurt, crawl into my sleeping bag with several blankets over it. Outside, it begins to rain. I hear the drops hitting the yurt roof. Although it’s only nine o’clock, I quickly fall asleep.