Horse riding and Kyrgyz hospitality

Our journey from Samarkand to Osh was an absolute blast - we caught a late train from Samarkand

 Railway station to get to Andijon. It was the old train from the USSR era, with 4-to-a-coach sleepers. Our co-passengers? Two friends - Rustom and his brother. Lovely octogenarians from Andijon, who collectively didn’t speak a word of English between them. 

Our lovely co-passengers on the train

They, however, took quite a shine to the baa-lamb and me, and we were promptly offered the choicest apples from their stash for breakfast. With a lot of gesturing and sign language and Google Translate, we discovered that Rustom was an ex-Olympian, they were disappointed that Arun didn’t eat ‘proper’ meat, and were extremely pleased that he did, however, drink. 

The sleeper coaches were a lot like our desi coaches, but with much larger luggage racks

They were also a bit of Bollywood fans, and clicked many pictures of me with them (this, I found a running theme in this trip), Rustom's brother was convinced that I resembled his daughter-in-law, and we spoke to Rustom’s wife - the poor thing, who was possibly expecting to talk to her husband, not a total stranger who didn’t speak a word of Russian or Uzbek. That didn’t, however, stop her from offering to host us at her place for a meal, or tea at the very least. 

We crossed the border into Dostyk, Kyrgyzstan and carried on into Osh. Osh is an old trading town on the Silk Road, and would be our base before we carried on deeper into the mountains. 

Sary Mogol

In the afternoon, we took a taxi to Sary Mogol, a good four hours away from Osh on the Pamir highway. 

We went from this...

to this...

to this in the space of a few hours. 

We moved from an elevation of 800 metres to 3000 metres after reaching 3600 metres en route. Sary Mogol is high up in the Kyrgyz mountains, close to China and Tajikistan. Our drive to Sary Mogol along the Palmir highway was in a private taxi with a guy who, along with us, took in a couple with the cutest, roundest baby on earth, a pregnant woman, and a few other folks. It was a lovely ride- with absolutely stunning views. 

We arrived at our destination late-ish in the evening: our host's home. We were shown into a warm room, and treated to home-cooked pasta, fresh salads and cheese, all made by our hosts's wife and daughter. The only snag in the plan was that the toilets were absent in the house- they only had outhouses - and with no lights and it beginning to snow,  I decided I could do without a visit to the washroom in the night. The next morning, we woke up to a veritable winter wonderland, with everything under a white blanket of snow. 

Our guide and my completely wayward horse

We were to go to nearby places for sightseeing, but since the only sight that we'd be seeing would be under a layer of white, our host decided to take us horse riding around town. But first, he had us duly dressed for the winter ride before introducing us to the horses. Now I don't know what secret training the Baa-Lamb has been taking, but it turns out he's a horse-whisperer, with horses falling all over themselves to please him. Me on the other hand - a complete joke. The horse I was on knew exactly what an amateur I was and decided to do exactly as he pleased. 

My husband, the secret horse-whisperer.

Our guide had to lead not just his horse, but also had to have a firm grip on my horse's lead as well, lest he decided to make a break for the hills. He led us through his village- showing us the school, the hospital, the sheds, and the fields beyond the river where the horses roamed wild (my horse seemed to express a strong desire to join his wild brethren). He also pointed to the site where they'd built homes for the Uyghurs -- he said they are originally of Kyrgyz origin. I asked him, since they lived so remotely with livestock, if there were veterinary hospitals in the vicinity. I was told with a smile - if they don't survive, they're food for the family. Hm. I stuck to a vegetarian diet for this part of the trip. 

Meanwhile, in the village, tiny babies on horses, looking at me indulgently, as one would look at their idiot child

We set out back to Osh in the same vehicle that drove us in (accompanied by the driver's young son), and the landscape was completely different compared to the drive up, thanks to the snow showers overnight. 

the return journey view

The woman looks on...

As we tried to comprehend this rather deep Kyrgyz poetry

We stayed at Oldman’s house, which is both our host's residence and the Airbnb. Richard was a wonderful host with a lot of stories - he’s lived in loads of places before settling down in Osh with his Kyrgyz wife, Melissa. He's quite knowledgeable about the local sites, and he and Melissa cook up an excellent breakfast, with enough food to feed a teenage football team. 

our wonderful hosts in Osh

Pushkin - who tolerated us admirably. 

They have lots of cats about the place, and they only add to the place's charm. We did a quick walk about the main city centre (not much to see, but like most erstwhile USSR states, seemed to be big on murals on the sides of their buildings) -- 

As I'd mentioned - a bit keen on the muralling. The mountain in the background is the Sulaiman Too-Sacred Mountains, which we didn't have time to visit.

we retired early, it was beginning to drizzle, and we have a very early start to Almaty the following day

The tiny flight from Osh to Bishkek

Spectacular views from the flight

From Osh, we caught an early flight to Bishkek, and then a short drive into Almaty. So did I end up trying any of the local cuisine? Well, had a bit of fermented horse milk. tasted like slightly sweetened chhaas, not bad at all. As for the rest of it, erm, do Samsas count? 

Kumis - basically horse milk yoghurt. Best had in small doses. Not this massive 1 litre bottle.  

Tajik trek

 We spent just over 24 hours in Tajikistan to cover the 7 lakes tour - the Haftkul in the Fann mountains, so this one's going to be a short one with the pictures doing all the talking (mostly). 

The Haftkul can also be done as a trek over the day, but thankfully, we decided to take the off-road. I'm not a fan of trekking and hiking - don't get me wrong, love the views at the top. Absolutely HATE the route to get there. The Fann mountains are famed for their beauty - they form part of the Palmir highway route. The highway, known as the roof of the world, crosses Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. Our trip was far too short to do this, but we did cover a portion of this during our stay in Kyrgyzstan. But, back to our sojourn in theTajik mountains. 

Tajikistan showcases a different kind of beauty from Uzbekistan. This is a country rich in natural beauty; it's much greener and has a completely different topography to Samarkand - it's hard to believe that it's just about an hour and a half away. 

some of the houses dotting the Tajik countryside

We took a taxi to the Jartepa border and crossed into Tajikistan. We took a taxi from Samarkand, and at the border checkpoint, we met a local who wanted to travel to Panjakent just like us. Didn't speak a word of English, but that didn't deter him from expertly guiding us to a shared taxi, taking it upon himself to negotiate the fare and then dropping us off at our guest house at Panjakent. Total rock star.  

Our host in Panjakent was a chap who had converted some of the rooms in his home to dorms. We were lead to a room, within a room. The room was a private one. which opened out to a... dorm. Want to visit the washroom? Sure, just down the spiral stairs and to the left. All tickety-boo during the day. But at night? 'm holding my pee, thanks. Breakfast the next morning had the entire family pitching in to cook and serve: from the oldest son to the youngest, who was picking up English rapidly from the tourists and was the make-shift translator for his mum and grandmum. It was a lovely spread of fresh salad with local bread and eggs. Delicious.  Panjakent didn't have much to offer in terms of tourist attractions, so we set off pretty early after breakfast for the Haft Kul tour. Our co-traveller was a vlogger from Belarus - Alena, who's visited about a 100-odd countries - she was fantastic company. 

The lakes are said to be formed from the tears of 7 damsels, but of course, our guide (who spoke only Tajik and Russian, but we had Alena who translated for us) quickly dispelled that magical fairytale dosh, telling us about the far more plausible story of the Shin river and seismic shifts. 

Nezhigon - It means eyelashes in Tajik, perhaps because of its shape. 

The water apparently turns bluer in the summers

Soya, or Shadow - the second of the lakes (why am I suddenly comprehending Tajik? Perhaps because the Persian influence on the language is strong - soya/ saaya? )

I personally found this much bluer than Nezhigon

Hushyor/ Gushor: Our guide mentioned that it once housed thousands of poisonous snakes. I wasn't wading into the water anytime soon; I didn't want to risk any chance encounters with anything remotely poisonous.   

Hushyor/ Gushor - vigilance. There certainly was plenty of that at my end, jumping at every stray 'hiss'

Nofin: The umbilical cord. Again, very confusing - Hushyor looked far more 'umbilical' to me. But hey. 

See? Not really umbilical. But loving the shades of each of the lakes

Khurdak or baby - the smallest of the seven. Finally, something that's on the nose. We had to cross a riverbed to get to Khurdak - much, much fun! 

The weather kept changing every minute, but it cleared up nicely for this lovely view. 

 

This was the most fun I could have without getting motion sickness and throwing up all over my copassengers. 

Marguzor - the largest of the lakes - and my favourite, because of the reflections it threw up as we circumvented it. This was the only lake where I let my inner photobomber loose for a bit, and so the phone now has an unnatural amount of Marguzor pictures. 

Marguzor - or Medow in Tajik

Another shore of Marguzor. You can see why I'd want so many pictures, right? 

Hozorchashma: The lake of a thousand springs. The last of the lakes was at an elevation of about 2400 meters and was just about thawing out for the spring. Our guide, who incidentally was an expert at skipping stones (we counted at least 15 skips for one particular throw), said it was a regular fishing spot for the locals.

Not the clearest image, but I had to show you our stoneskipper and the breathtaking 360-degree views. 

Our return to Samarkand was pretty uneventful - with very friendly encounters with locals, some lovely food, a few Russian candies we needed to try, and a reminder to check if local taxis have working seatbelts before getting in (Calm down. Yes, I live in India. Yes, the irony has not escaped me.) - Next stop - The Kyrgyz mountains!