We woke to a beautiful sunrise shining into the window of the tent. It had been a cold night but the day soon started to warm up.

Some of the joy of our close proximity to the water did evaporate as we grappled with a sandy tent and a number of very long legged spiders who had taken up residence and seemed to think the Ritz the place to take a spidery vacation. I fear some will still be with us at our next camp……

We left the lake at around 9.00 am. Back through the wooded area, over the pasture land and back on the road, continuing our journey westward to the Kyrgyzstan capital of Bishkek. I am not sure why – may be the heat, may be just accumulated tiredness – but I dozed most of the 7 hour journey, as did most of our travelling companions. It was a strangely quiet day in the truck. There is usually some chatting and repartee, but for this particularly journey the only sound was silence.

Now and again I woke up, and was conscious that the buildings further along on this northern shore were much bigger and hotel resort like. We even saw a big wheel. However, we eventually left the lake behind and at one stage the route had high rugged cliffs on either side of the road. Another highlight of the day was passing the site of the first Nomadic Games due to take place on or around the 9th September. It is interesting that something that is being heralded as a big event for Kyrgyzstan does not have an actual specific start date so near to the time – perhaps it is a ‘Nomad’ thing, but from what we could see the buildings were not yet completed – brinkmanship or what?! Apparently it is being put together by school children and military personnel. Saied was particularly jaundiced about the whole affair and not at all impressed or optimistic about the venture. I was thrilled to know there was to be UK representation – at what I am not quite sure – arm wrestling perhaps?

Whether it was in anticipation of more business because of the said games or perhaps they are always there, but we came across some stalls by the side of the road selling fish, purportedly trout from the lake but in any event they look quite colourful, if a little dusty!

We reached Bishkek about 5.00 pm having taken about an hour out for a roadside lunch. Having spent so much time in rural areas, the city came as a bit of a shock to the system. Bishkek is a very modern bustling city with a lot of modern cars, shopping malls and a surprising amount of tree lined squares and parks. It was originally a small local town but was built up by the Russians the 20’s and still has a very Russian feel to it.

It was good to get to a nice hotel and find ourselves again and send things to the laundry. I hand over the bag of laundry almost as soon as I walk in the door of these places. Hand washing is a bit tricky as most home stays and hotels have no plugs in baths or basins.

We ate out as a group in a very up market restaurant, with an open air area in the middle. We had good food but it was not universally popular with the group and I just find the whole settling up business on these occasions just excruciating.

A taxi back and clean white sheets made for a memorable evening.

We woke up to the sound of rain. Not good news on a day you are going camping. We had a good breakfast and got ourselves packed up ready for the truck to return from town where it had been to collect supplies.

By the time we were ready to leave it was sunny again. We set off eastwards along Lake Issyk Kul out of town and were soon moving along a poplar tree lined highway. The lake appeared and disappeared to our left and the mountains continued in the distance to our right. Intermittently we passed rural communities of single storey buildings. The young people we passed were mainly in western dress, but the older ones were dressed more conservatively with many of the older gentlemen sporting the rather odd felt hat that seems universally popular here for the more mature man. Now and again someone would pass leading a horse or a cow.

We continued east until we reached the end of the lake and then turned north and then west and had a different set of mountains to our right and the lake in the distance to our left. After about two hours driving we turned off the road onto a dirt track that lead over meadow land to trees. Penelope pushed her way through the edge of these and turned south again, eventually stopping a few hundred yards from the lakeside. Our overnight stop.

After having a camp lunch it was time to pitch our tents. Most opted to be amongst the trees near the truck, but Keith and I decided to take the zig zag path and cross the boggy area between the truck and the water and camp on the beach on the very edge of the lake. It was wonderful – the Ritz with a sea view! The lake twinkled in the sunlight and looked far too innocent to be the place where the Russians used to carry out secret torpedo testing. We walked along the waters edge and watched kamikaze small frogs hurl themselves into the shallow waves that ran up the beach. It was lovely.

Keith was on cook duty so we had to get back for that, so we returned to the truck for beer. A fire had already been lit and the cooking became very social. Keith had found a bottle of Chiliean red wine in Karocol which added to the proceedings. Supper went down very well and we sat watching the flames in the fire for some to time before adjourning to our upmarket beach location. It was a clear night and the moon was shining on the water. It was stunning and a sight to be remembered.

Keith had been able to download some Radio 4 material in Karacol. It was rather bizarre and made me giggle that I could listen to a couple of episodes of the Archers in a tent by Lake Issyk Kul in Kyrsyzstan with the gentle sound of waves lapping the sand. Who could ask for anything more although I don’t approve of the story lines at the moment……,

We had breakfasted on porridge and packed away our equipment in our big Russian trucks by 9.00 am. We had acquired a few more passengers – some people whose vehicle had broken down on the upward journey and had to be rescued by our Russian entourage during our stay. They also had pots and pans and cooking utensils, so it was quite a rattley ensemble that bounced and bucked down the track like a lot of marbles.

All was going as well as could be expected for this sort of enterprise until we met a herd of about 200 sheep going in the same direction…. There was a screech of brakes as both vehicles shuddered to a standstill. I am not certain, but I don’t think tough Russian drivers like being held up and particularly don’t like it when the reason for the hold up are of the four footed variety. I think the shepherds on horseback loved every minute of it!
The sheep made no effort to move but just kept trotting along at their own pace. We dawdled behind them for a bit but in the end a halt was called and the drivers sucked heavily on their cigarettes to show their dissatisfaction at the delay. So are the mighty fallen! What a hoot!

Eventually the sheep turned off and we completed the journey back to Karocol only to find that our rooms in the home stay where Penelope had been parked among the roses, dahlias and marigolds were not going to be available until after lunch. So we sauntered down towards the town and had lunch in a very nice cafe. I had ‘herring under a blanket’ – it was delicious and very Russian. Apparently, although there are still a lot of Russian influences in the town, Russians now make up only a small percentage of the population and they are leaving all the time, a similar situation to Kyrgystan as a whole where the Russians are down to about 4%.

It was good to catch up with the girls again who looked so much better.

The afternoon was spent showering and becoming human again as we were due to set off to the wilds again on Sunday. It was a good afternoon of just chilling having found that we had unexpected, and slightly temperamental, wifi access.

I carried out some much needed truck cleaning aided by a bucket of water obtained by dismantling the garden watering system.

Supper was at a new restaurant that had just opened. It was an interesting place. It was certainly the best restaurant decor we have seen although the neon lighting was a bit stark – with some lovely ceramics and hangings – and the food was good. What I could not work out was why, when the staff although very pretty had not got a clue, the menu’s were already in tatters……..

We saw a car with a GB number plate outside – the first I have seen other than Penelope’s. It seemed a long way ‘off piste’.

The ride back to the home stay was almost more terrifying than our return from the mountain as two ‘young blood’ taxi drivers saw it necessary to race all the way back.

Somewhat jangled we adjourned to bed.

We woke to a chilly but bright morning. The sun twinkled on the snowy mountain in the distance and we were off for a walk by 8.45, armed with the left over curry in a plastic bag for our lunch.

We walked with Helen and Peter our Australian chums. Our route first took us across a rather well worn wooden bridge where a packhorse had been seen to slip between the planks the evening before (it had been relieved of its baggage and eventually pulled out). From there we passed another ranch style house where the trekkers who had been part of the packhorse party had obviously camped overnight and walked up and over the shoulder of the hill into the pines and then, following the river below us walked towards the snow capped mountain for about the next two and a half hours.

For a time the white mountain itself disappeared as the river, and the valley turned and turned again. On the other side of the water a large herd of horses cropped the grass and a horseman appeared in view and then vanished from sight. We had to cross two tributary streams that ran down into the main river. In each case we heard them first above the constant sound of water that seems to be always with us. They added to the volume as the water came crashing down the mountain side and over and around the rocks in their path. The first crossing was just a spruce tree that formed a bridge, it’s rounded sides splashed dark and slippery. We edged carefully along the pole it formed with the water bubbling several feet beneath us. Safely across we came across the skeleton of an abandoned tent structure, it’s tenants having already evacuated the valley for lower ground as the harsh winter approaches. We then made our way along the pastoral terrain made bumpy by the rocks underneath the grass. The walking proved quite taxing as each step had to be considered. We followed tracks that might have made by previous trekkers, horsemen or cattle that wandered the area.

The second stream to cross our path had a bridge comprised of crumbling planks with a couple thin tree trunks to strengthen it. A sort of turf had formed a covering over it which made crossing the stream much less of an ordeal. Shortly after passing a large herd of horses with a number of foals we came to a point in the river where two large water flows met, a broad stream coming in from the right as another valley struck off the left. There was too much water to continue on towards the snowy mountain which was by now very much closer, so we decided to bear right along the new valley. It was not long before the shore line disappeared into a steep cliff and our way was blocked – we saw this as a sign to stop for an early lunch to consider our options. Having been fed and watered and had a brief snooze we decided that it was time to start walking back.

A stiff breeze was now blowing into us and stayed with us as we retraced our steps back to the ‘spa’. I think we all had in mind the cold beer at the end of our journey so we covered the miles.

Shortly before the end of our walk and with the buildings of our accommodation in sight a group of about seven or eight pack animals appeared in our path. We stood back to let them pass. The men on the lead horses had faces and hands tanned the colour of dark leather. All carried a switch and wore brimmed hats pulled down over their faces and seemed<!–more as if they were almost joined to the saddle. Some of the bridles had metal trimmings that looked like silver and jangled as they moved along. There were large sacks tied to each saddle. On the last horse a round face woman rode almost in state – the cook perhaps? The men touched the brim of their hats the woman waved and they were gone. We felt we had just seen a sight that could have occurred at any time over the last few hundred years – travellers with their pack animals moving up the valley to a destination known only to them. We were to learn that there were some Americans climbing the snow covered peak and it was thought that the may be taking supplies to them, who knows?

When we got back it was to learn that there was no beer available as it had all been consumed the previous evening by the management team and the party of teenagers who had left the camp that morning. A bit dispirited we were persuaded to take the 'spa' option available as an alternative. Now neither Keith or I are spa people really, but the absence of a shower and another long walk behind us made it a more interesting proposition. Therefore armed with a couple of bed sheets for towels and the key to 'hot spring 2' we undid the lock of a peeling door to the spa area. The slightly sulphuric smell of the natural hot spring met as we walked in.

The first room for changing had taken 'retro' and 'shabby chic' to a new level! Paint peeled from every surface to which it had been attached and the hooks on the wall for clothes were on a sort of concertina arrangement. There was a wooden bench and an earth floor. Undaunted, although somewhat apprehensive we undressed and moved to the hot spring itself. The 'bath' was a stone construction about 4 ft square, filled to the brim with steaming water. It was surprisingly good, decor aside, and there was a thin streak of sunlight shining on the water through a hole in the planks that made up the shed in which it was housed.

It rained overnight but had stopped by the time I got up ready to take my turn at cooking duty. It was not a good start to the day as I was caught up in a misunderstanding over what constituted a pancake. I can only refer to it as the pancake wars! I was heading down the thin Shrove Tuesday variety and Richard, my Australian cooking duty buddy, was going for the thick American style. The American approach won, but was not popular in all quarters. I just kept making pancakes.

By the time we struck camp it was raining again, so the journey back down the road and getting out of the truck to enable it to go over the bridges was not quite so much fun……

By the time we reached Karakol it was pouring. The ladies with whom we had been sharing our Yurt, and Elizabeth and Ken, had already pulled out of the Altyn Arashan trip. Wendy and Sarah both had bad colds. We seriously considered it as the rain was torrential and the route up was in any event too much for Penelope and we were going to be taken there in old Russian troop people carriers with the capacity to cope with the terrain (more of which later!). We felt the journey was not going to be improved by the weather.

In the end we decided to stick with it. By the time we had been to the market to find some lunch we were soaked and it would be fair to say it was not our best hour. However, there were interesting features to note. Karakol boasts a good coffee shop (I am told), a Turkish bakery and a huge market. The market goes on for ever! Many of the ‘stalls’ are housed in old containers with their ends removed. I have to say that the people of Kyrgystan seem to be quite creative with their use of containers. Why so many of them seem to have found their resting place here is beyond me, knowing how closely they are tracked by shipping companies, but we have seen them used as houses, offices, workshops and just parked (almost for a rainy day!) during our travels.

Anyway, back to our next move. As the truck could not get up to Altyn Arashan, it was going to be parked in the home stay where we would be staying later in the week. We were, therefore, transported there to collect what we needed for two overnights in the mountains and to board our very butch, if rather battered Russian trucks. The home stay looked delightful with yet another garden of English flowers. The sun had by now emerged and everything looked very fresh and it was very tempting to pass on what was advertised as a very bumpy route to the ‘spa resort’ high up in the mountains.

However, we sorted our packs and grabbed our sleeping bags and we were off. We had two trucks, somewhat in excess of our requirements given our reduced numbers. The vehicles looked like two rather battle scarred mongrels, but you would not have picked an argument with either of the drivers who looked as Russian and tough as old boots as the vehicles, both of which were needed to take us on the route up to the ‘spa’. It did not improve our enthusiasm for the excursion!

In the trucks there were several battered rows of seating, the inevitable absence of seat belts and occasional arm rests, but they did have sacking curtains which was a nice touch, I thought initially, but later wondered if it was to blinker us from panic caused by the terrain! Another interesting feature was the camouflage paint on the outside. From whom or what we were camouflaging ourselves I was not quite certain.

So we set off for what was, after the early sanity of Karacol suburbia, probably the most gruelling and bumpiest ride of my life. Once out of town, we were on a rocky track over which we pitched and rolled. The route switched back and forth as it tacked up the mountain on a path which would have proved a challenge to any self respecting mountain goat. Inside the truck we lurched and bounced for the two and a half hours it took to get to our destination.

Saied had explained that the current owner had taken over the spa when it had been in a state of dilapidation and no-one had been interested in it and had spent a lot of money on it, so we were quite excited at the prospect. Apparently there is something of a dispute going on with the local authorities as to who should mend the road up to it. It all sounded good and worth the drive.

I have to say that the Altyn Arashan valley is absolutely stunning. Another narrow valley with steep sloping hills of spruce leading down to a flatland where stock grazed and there was the occasional yurt. However, I am not certain where the money had been spent on the ‘spa’. I don’t know how much the chap spent but he certainly did not get good value from his contractors. The first impression was of an abandoned cluster of hovels with a rather up market fence along one side of the compound. Dogs prowled around and there was an ancient truck next to where we parked that we looked down on when we arrived only to be confronted with a dismembered and bloody head and shoulders of a dead horse on its roof. Not quite Tunbridge Wells Spa Hotel material (even if I don’t like their choice of carpets!).

We clambered down from the truck – it was a good two foot jump – and grabbed our bags. The accommodation offered was a ‘dormitory’ of 10 beds and a three bedded room in a new two roomed block made of plastic wood (because there isn’t any real wood about!) with rather impressive front doors – complete with door knockers! We opted to share with Emma, the trip guide, the three bedded room. It was the door knocker that swung it for me! Just to add to the general ambiance of decay, the manager on duty was apparently drunk – not that we saw him.

Anyway. Bags deposited to lay claim to our room, we went to help set up our kitchen which we had brought with us from the truck. It was a bit tricky as the dining room area where we were also going to cook was full of all sorts of people and you reached it via a table tennis area (game in progress) with a lady dealing with the entrails of a sheep in the corner in a bucket ……

All this aside, the valley was beautiful and offered a wonderful walking opportunity. Once again a big snowy mountain peeped put behind others in the far distance.

With the aid of head torches – a generator coughed into life for approximately two hours between 7.30 and 9.30 – a very acceptable meal came together and we adjourned to bed after an exciting game of dominoes. We know how to live!!