Kyrgyzstan > Through the mountains to Lake Sol Kul

After breakfast, I say goodbye to the family. As I drive away in the bus, everyone waves me off. I head back toward Lake Issyk Kul and see the clear water of the lake again. I turn left and follow the shoreline westward. Yesterday, I had thought I was already on the western shore, but the girls at the yurt camp had pointed out a different spot on the map.

Kyrgyzstan - The sharp hairpin bends of the mountain pass

At the far end of the lake, I turn left into the mountains. The road follows a small stream through the valley. Around 10:30, I arrive in the town of Kochkar. This village specializes in felt work. I try to visit a felt workshop in two different places, but in both locations, the handicrafts exist only as souvenir shops—the actual production takes place outside Kochkar. The shops don’t appeal to me. I stroll through Kochkar, buying some tomatoes, a sandwich, and a soft drink for the coming days. At lunch in a restaurant, I’m given a Russian menu. I can only make out the dish “Lagman”—a perfect choice. Shortly after, I’m served a kind of noodle soup with meat, which tastes excellent. After lunch, I continue driving further into the mountains. The higher I go, the cooler it feels. In the background, snow still caps the mountain peaks. When the driver leaves the main road and turns toward Lake Son Kul, the road becomes much worse. In the distance, I can already see the hairpin bends of the mountain pass leading down to the lake. The driver tells me we cannot stop on the mountain pass to Lake Son Kul—the risk is too great that the bus won’t be able to start again. The bus climbs the pass, taking every turn at sufficient speed. I watch the valley shrink quickly below.

Kyrgyzstan - The yurt camp at Song Kul Lake

Along the roadside, marmots scurry for safety, warning each other with sharp whistles. I see a few diving into their burrows. As we climb higher, more patches of snow appear along the roadside. Just before the top, we pass a large snowbank, but fortunately, the mountain road is completely clear. At the summit, 3,250 meters above sea level, I see Lake Son Kul spread out below. I had expected the lake to be much smaller; I estimate its diameter at about twenty kilometers. In the grassy fields, I spot a few yurts and some herds of yaks roaming around. I’m still driving in the sunshine, but on the far side of the lake, dark clouds hang over the mountains—the side where the overnight yurts are located. That doesn’t bode well. The bus follows the lake’s left shore. By around six o’clock, we arrive at the yurt camp, and a brisk wind greets me. The sun has already set behind the mountains. There’s no shelter outside the tents. Looking around, I see only grass and the lake; as far as I can see, there isn’t a single tree or bush. I quickly bring my luggage to my yurt—a small tent for three people. Inside are folding beds and a tiny wood stove. With a bit of maneuvering, I manage to fit all my belongings inside.