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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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| We went from this... |
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to this...
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| the return journey view |
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| The woman looks on... |
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As we tried to comprehend this rather deep Kyrgyz poetry
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We stayed at Oldman’s house, which is both our host's residence and the Airbnb. Richard has 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.
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| our wonderful hosts in Osh |
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| 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) --
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| As I'd mentned - 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
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| The tiny flight from Osh to Bishkek |
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| 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?
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