We had heard that the lake at Son Kol was one of the most remarkable sites to be beheld in Kyrgyzstan so from Karakol we headed to the town of Kochkor to get ourselves the 100 km from there to the lake. The easiest way to do this is to hire a cab from almost anywhere in Kochkor which charges 9 som per km but wants you to pay for the round trip in case of no fare from the lake back to Kochkor, which comes out to around $50 US.
We opted to travel in the old way, except that CBT (Community-Based Tourism) now exists to help tourists arrange guides and horses for the 2-day trek in over the mountains from Kizart. We visited CBT, paid our money, and made the arrangements.
At 8 a.m. our guide Marat showed up right on time at Mira's in his old Russian car, from 1983 (what are they called??). We had agreed on a 4 day trek ($400) which involved two days on horses, a day for the guide to return the horses, and a day for us to get back from Son Kol, which would be our destination on the horses. Kol is Lake in Kyrgyz, so this was Son Lake, and it was supposed to be a prime pristine spot in the country, at 3000 meters altitude, and surrounded by mountains and pastures, called jailoos, where the kyrgystan people migrated with their livestock and yurts each summer for the grazing there. And to take in a few tourists and tourist dollars while they had the chance during the brief warm summer spells before their country turned bitter cold and isolated for the winter.
By pre-arrangement Marat took us by the animal bazaar on the way out of town. This event took place each Wed and Sat, and on the wed we were there, and that early in the morning, people seemed to be just setting up and there weren't that many animals there, nothing like Karakol a couple of Sundays previous.
We then hopped back in the car and drove a couple of hours to the little town of Kizart south west of Kochkor. The trip went over hills again reminiscent of Morocco perhaps. The people had the habit of creating elaborate cemetaries outside their towns so these were the salient features on the high ground outside the oases, mostly brown brick tombs, with some silver plated domes. At the high point in the trip (high as in altitude, a pass) there was an interesting monument on a hill with a collection of filthy, soviet, kyrgyz railroad-car houses where people were running storefront businesses in apparent squalor, kids running about with little to stimulate them, an old broken down heavy earth moving machine just across the road, in front of a toilet structure built around holes containing decades old excrement. Lovely spot.
Kizart was more pleasant. We reached it a couple of km down a left turn off the highway and drove down its poplar lined dirt roads to a house like any other except it was marked "Shepard's Life" which was one of the companies collaborating on horse treks. We got there at 10:30 and found kids rolling a shydark (sp.) around. This was a pile of sheeps wool being pressed into a felt rug. It was rolled in canvas and the mom was pouring hot water on it while the kids kicked it back and forth in such as way as to compress the wool inside. The house served as a SL hostel, and we were invited inside to sit in the cool rooms for an hour, and then another hour. Meanwhile lunch was being prepared, and horses were being rounded up for us.
Lunch when it finally arrived was an elaborate affair with numerous jams in wine goblets served at a table in an attractive dining room. We had hearty noodle soup with goat meat (what else? but filling) and plenty of Kyrgyz home made bread to dip into the jams, and of course someone pouring us tea, one after another. After lunch the horses were about ready and waiting in front. Marat had told us at Mira's to bring our sleeping mats but when loading our things he decided we wouldn't need them and we stored them in the boot of his car rather than take them on the horses. Apart from those, our three back packs were tied saddlebag style and draped over Marat's horse. The other three were saddled and we were mounted and told how to speak horse language. It's a binary language. Kyrgyz horses understand Chuuu when you want them to go, and Drrrrrr to stop them. We tried out these words in the street outside SL and were happy to see that the horses responded on command.
Not to draw this out in too great detail, the first two days of our trek were superb!! We traveled at a walk most of the time at first. It was only the second day that we got our horses to trot and canter, the first was a learning curve. We started out through the town and soon got onto a road leading past the fields of the community, past the community cemetary with its jumble of tombs, along a river, workers in the fields stacking hay, animals grazing on the summer turf, chuuu to keep the horses moving, making sure they knew we had whips, which we didn't need to use all that much. The horses were pretty obedient. We tried to ignore the flies swarming around their heads and ours.
The trek really got good when Marat took us off road just before a river crossing and led us uphill around a small collection of yurts. I recall smoke puffing from a samovar outside one of them, kids in the 'yard' and the mother preparing food. The trail led ever upward, up the slope of a mountain, with views of the river we'd just left behind unwinding below us in the low part of the gorge we'd just traveled up. The footing was dodgy, my horse tripped twice, forcing me to dismount the second time in case he rolled on me. We continued through the wild grass growing on the slopes of the mountain, near the edges looking down on the whitewater river farther and farther down in the steep gorge below. The scenery was great, the trail almost non-existent, and the smell of horse sweat mingled with the fresh air as we approached the top of the pass. At the top we stopped and took a break, walking out on a balcony rock that gave great views out the way we had come, and down on the river below, a direct drop of some hundred meters, dangerous to go near the edge of that one.
Coming down the other side was just as interesting, but steeper. This time the view was before us. The horses picked their way down 35 degree slopes, slowly and carefully. Eventually we got off the mountain and into a valley up which we traveled as the sun sank lower in the sky. We headed over the grass toward the mountains we would have to cross next day. This area was called Kilemche and there was a yurt there up one of the valleys, our destination.
Not totally remote, there was one of those old russian junk cars parked outside the collection of yurts. When we arrived after about 6 hours in the saddle we were ushered to the guest yurt, but more interesting things were happening outside. The family had piled in their car, filling the back seat with kids and ladyfolk, while one man retrieved a goat tied on the ground and stuffed it onto the front floorboard, passenger side, and then got in after it and slammed the door. The driver started up and the car headed down the hill in a cloud of dust and stopped a half a km away. The driver got out, put the hood up, and we watched him pour water into the innards before he could continue on his way.
Meanwhile back at the yurts, a herd of sheep was being rounded up and headed along the mountainside to a nearby holding pen. Horses galloped freely on other hillsides and the sound of their hooves thundered when they moved. Cows grazed by the river. The sun turned deep orange in a V in the mountains and the clouds turned flourescent red. The moon rose white and full. A welcome chill replaced the heat of day.
The yurt was decorated inside with carpets in naive-art patterns. We studied its interior in the waning light. It was open at the wooden wheel in the roof but a flap of felt was drawn over this to keep the heat in. Food was brought, noodle soup along with the usual bread and jam and endless bowls of tea, and later the bedding was laid out. Bobbi and I were given a double duvet at one end of a line of beds, Dusty's next to ours, then our guide Marat, and two more for a French tourist hiking with his guide. The blankets were warm and the pillows full and fluffy. We slept cozy and when I got up in the night I was surprised at how quiet all the animals were, even the dogs and hundred sheep crowded in their pen.
In the morning, the little girl was out doing chores. She found a baby sheep and culled it from the herd. Next we saw she was riding her horse with this little lamb in her lap. Interesting life for her.
We were served ... can you guess? Let's see, there was bread, jam, cream made from cow's milk, churned butter, tea poured by the hostess of the yurt. There is usually a hot dish as well, porridge I believe. After breakfast the horses were readied. We resumed our ride.
The riding was not as dramatic as the day before. Still it was slow going up the mountain pass, the horses struggling over the rocky path near the top. We stopped there in a meadow with our first views of the lake Son Kol. It was surrounded by low hills and we were soon heading down them. My horse sensed his destination on this leg and wanted to trot in the lead. But it was a long way down and a bumpy ride for me until with better footing near the bottom, Dusty joined me and we got our horses to canter, a smoother ride. As we neared the lake we crossed streams snaking their way to the larger body of water, and the horses stopped often to drink and chew grass. Eventually at around 2 we reached the yurts near the shore where we would take our lunch.
Food was getting predictable. Bread was laid out for us, with jam and cow's butter, tea was poured incessantly, and noodles arrived with bits of mountain goat inside. I soon had a pile of goat gristle beside my bowl.
These yurts by the lake seemed to serve tourists. There was a Novinomad camp nearby, several yurts at $25 a night, full board. Horesmen galloped by occasionally very much at home in the saddle. We sat outside in the shade of the hut watching the goats and cows grazing as always till Marat summoned us for our afternoon ride. But there were no more offroad adventures. We essentually headed over the grass to a dirt track running alongside the lake. The way was clear and we worked on getting the most from our horses, galloping along the lakeside when possible. We had a couple of hours of that, heading for a rusty dislocated railroad car in the distance, just beyond an abandoned derelict building on the lakeshore. As the car came into view we saw a few dozen yurts beyond them. As we drew nearer we say that some had CBT signs on them, the company where we had arranged our Karakol and Son Kol trekking.
We cantered up to the first one and saw that it had, a bit unpleasantly, a solar panel leaning against a cassette player sitting in the sun so as to churn out sounds from a stack of cassette tapes during the daylight hours. This was the yurt that Marat chose for us, so we dismounted and went inside for tea and a bread and jam and a rest from our exertions. It was interesting to observe life there but in effect our trek had come to an end. There was little for us to do here but settle into routine. Later in the day we took the horses for a spin, but the following day we were to remain there while Marat returned the horses the way we had just come. To do that he said, he must get up at first light, 4:30 next morning, and lead the horses 10 hours back to Kizart. He would then get his car and drive the four hours from there to the Naryn road and then in the other side and up the mountain to where we were.
Where we were was a strange mix of yurts with kindly rustic Kyrgyz people maintaining their herds and catering to the tourists who came by horse, on foot, or by car on various tours arranged for them in Kochkor. They migrated there by the lake in the summer months and their animals were spread out in the pastures between the lake and the mountains like animals in a game reserve in Africa. Marat had friends here, it was clear. They were searing goat parts with, of all things, an acetylene torch, and Marat invited us to taste one of the bits. Dusty ate his but I only bit into mine, and it left a taste in my mouth that tea could not eradicate. This might be partly why Bobbi and I began to wonder if there might be an off-licence yurt somewhere. Marat suggested we check the railroad car. Indeed, the car itself was a mess of untidy junk but a woman lived there who profited on bringing $1 bottles of Vodka in from Kochkor and selling them at 50% markup, and she produced one for us which we put in our day packs to enjoy later when the moon came up. But wandering back by the yurt I saw that Marat was engaged in a game with one of the residents there. There was money next to the game board and a half empty bottle of vodka with two glasses. I think I had gone over there to ask if it was alright if we took the horses off for a joy ride, and he said sure, would we mind if he didn't come ...
When we got back it was dinner time, the usual more or less, toast, jam, a noodle soup, and tea which was left for us and into which we splashed a bit of vodka. The vodka didn't seem to affect us all that much, but aware of its bite we stopped drinking it at half a bottle.
There was a place set for Marat, but he didn't come for dinner, and later when the beds were laid out for us, his was empty for some time. About the time we were getting ready to get in ours, to combat the cold at that altitude mainly, Marat did pop by to say that he would be coming to bed soon and we could leave the kerosine lamp burning for him and he would extinguish it. He somewhat absentmindedly had brought his cigarette into the yurt with him.
To make a long story short, we went to sleep with the lamp on but were awakened frequently by the sound of voices from a nearby yurt. They were the voices of men around the vodka bottle, and Marat's bed was still empty. He finally came in at 2:45 in the morning. I asked him if he was still getting up to take the horses back to Kizart. As he flopped into bed he answered: "In the morning, I look for horse."
I went back to sleep with some concern for the rest of the trek plan. Marat's coming to bed so late was not a sign of reliability, and it seemed doubtful that he could take the horses back with a late start next day and return that evening with the car, which meant that he would appear perhaps next morning at some point the day after, which meant we'd be delayed driving with him back to Kochkor, which meant we'd arrive late in Bishkek, and the hostels there tended to fill early.
I awoke at 7 and was relieved as well to see that Marat's bed was empty. Later Dusty told me he had left just 15 min before then but at least he was on duty. This relaxed me and since there was nothing for me to do that day I went back to bed and slept another couple of hours. I finally awoke for good around 9:30 and when I lifted the flap on the yurt and stepped outside I was surprised to find our horses still there. Marat was sitting with his friends enjoying his tea.
I meant to make the long story short. Essentially he said he could cover the distance back to Kizart in less than ten hours by galloping the whole way. He said he would be back by dinner time. I pointed out that dinner would be in 11 hours, and it was hard to see how he could collapse a ten hour horse trek and a 4 hour drive in that time. He said if he was not able to come by dinner time he would come first thing in the morning. I imagined him reaching Kizart and then falling in with his friends there and no telling when he'd wake up in the morning. He said in any event he could telephone the CBT coordinator in the morning and they could send a cab for us. I pointed out that CBT did not open till 9 and the cab wouldn't reach Son Kol till noon in that case. Also I found out later that there were no phones in Kizart and the first place he would have been able to contact anyone would be his home between there and Kochkor. I asked him what we should do while waiting for him and he suggested swim in the lake and pointed to the mountain and said there was a nice waterfall in there somewhere. I thought, hmmm, we'll just strike out at random shall we?
In any event, he galloped off at ten and Bobbi and Dusty and I had breakfast, porridge, bread, jam, cream, tea and more tea. At around 11 we got to wondering if any of the cars in the area scattered amongst the yurts might belong to taxi drivers. Keep in mind that we had been 6 days in the mountains, exerting ourselves and living in some discomfort three in a small tent. We'd then had a day in tranport getting to Kochkor, one day of rest in Kochkor but not with all creature comforts, and then two nights in yurts after two days on horseback. Other tourists were leaving in the cars they'd hired to bring them there, tiring perhaps of the food, glad they'd seen the lake, but what next?
It was an interesting area, interesting to be amongst the gentle people there, but we were tired and not looking forward to spending 24 hours there with not much communication between us and our hosts, since it was almost certain that Marat would not be back that night, and no telling when the next day. So we thought we'd go for a walk and just ask around if any of the cars there might be heading back to Kochkor, 100 km away.
We were lucky. Some drivers told us they were there with tourists and couldn't leave, but we found a guide for some French tourists and in French found that the driver they had brought would be able to take us into town and return for his charges afterwards. But we would have to leave right away, and we would have to pay the round trip fare for the car to return to Son Kol. The price would be $50.
In our receipt for the trek we had booked, and which we were about to abandon, there was an item for tranport from the lake, and it was $50 which we had already paid. So we agreed to the driver's price and got him to take us down the mountain 50 km to the road to Naryn, and then the rest of the 40 km into Kochkor, all the way to the CBT office where without mentioning the vodka we explained that we had reached a mathematical impasse on the timing of our trek. The coordinator there agreed that 10 was a very late start and understood our point. She arranged with our driver that he should be paid from the funds we had left there up front, and she would call Marat's home and leave a message with his wife that he didn't need to go back there and collect us. We forfeited only our next night's yurtstay and the meals we were happy to not have to eat any longer.
And as we were packing to catch a ride into Bishkek, we realized we had forfeited also our three sleeping mats. We had left them in Marat's car, remember? Oh well, easily replacable in Abu Dhabi.
ok, the rest of our trip was relaxing in Bishkek, a nice laid back town. We'll try to put some further impressions once we've had a chance to upload our pictures here.
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I tried to get the agency to book accommodation for me but they told me all the budget places were full, and in the end I had to book online just a couple of days in advance of travel and pay $90 a night for the room (which listed for $70, but the rest was plus plus). Frankly it was worth it. I sent this on arrival Dec
19, 2012 ...
As you prepare for Myanmar you are warned of many pitfalls. One is supposed to be the bus rides, were reputed to be rough. I guess I was expecting Laos where, when I was there, bus rides were to be endured, not enjoyed. I didn't find the buses in Myanmar that bad. I took buses to Mandalay, from there to Lake Inle, then to Bagan, and from there back to Yangon, so I wasn't traveling on remote routes. There were day buses in Myanmar but it was more practical to travel at night. Buses usually left in the evening after dark and arrived between 3 and 6 a.m. where they were going. They all had DVD but it was usually off by midnight. But the bus drivers always played themselves music which you could hear in the front of he bus so I started reserving seats in the back where I didn't have to listen to that all night. It wasn't always comfortable enough to sleep well, but it was comfortable enough.
Another warning for travelers to Myanmar is that you will be away from Internet for long periods of time. Outside the capital Internet could be offline for hours at a time, but it was usually available at some point during the day, at some point in all the cities I was in.
Yesterday I walked around Yangon and visited some gilded stupas, like Shwedagon Paya. On the way there I went to the zoo because the road I was walking along, I might as well detour through the zoo. The animals there were displayed in such a way that visitors could get up close to them. It's funny that the elephants for example, don't step down off their pedestal, no need for a fence apparently.
My second morning there I
milked the hotel for all its comforts, and its excellent breakfast
(Japanese and Chinese set breakfasts with no eggs) till checkout and
then went on a day-trip in the countryside. I could have hired a
cab for the day, about $30, but instead decided to brave (according
to LPG) the 'slow and uncomfortable' Burma bus system to the rural side of the river. However I found the local bus
neither slow nor uncomfortable. It was a pleasant ride to a
town named Thanlyn about an hour from Yangon (would have taken half an hour in a cab)
where there was a big pagoda, but small compared to the one in
Yangon. And from there I had to get to Kyauktan where there was
another pagoda in the middle of the river.
There
is a sign there that tourist must use a special boat (for their
safety). All the locals are getting ferried across in basic but
sturdy motor canoes but the sign said tourists would use a 'large'
boat that cost 5000 Kyat (each thousand is a buck and a quarter).
Plus on arrival at the pagoda there is a ticket office only for
tourists, $2. No big deal, but some people don't like the money
going to the government, but if the government is changing and
tending toward reform shouldn't we support it? Why drive down the
government to give all the money to capitalists? Up to a point,
maybe, but there needs to be a counter-force to unbridled capitalism,
which leads to inequity fast. Unbridled dictatorship is
probably worse, but the solution is a middle road. I don't mind
giving small change to the new government, which in any event is
doing nothing like the US government is doing with our tax dollars.
Anyway there was a poster of Aung San Siew Kyi in the bus on the ride
back to Yangon, and in other very public places. I saw no pictures of strutting generals while I was in Myanmar.
Would you believe, tourists?
