Faced with an early breakfast and a long way through the heart of Kyrgyzstan I had to force myself to pack my bags and set off again. The route chosen was to head south from Balykchy, to Naryn, then in two stages reach Jalalabad. The halfway mark was Kazerman, a small town in the middle of nowhere, it's only claim to fame was the local gold mine and processing plant. It's notoriously a bitch to get there, though reported to be a touch easier to reach Jalalabad than get there from Naryn. But as I loaded my pack into Ishenbek's car such concerns were a long way away, I had to find transport to Balykchy first. The south side of lake Issyk-Kul is less frequented, there are no buses as such, only minibuses, which have no schedule at all. They turn up randomly and fit you on if there is room, on the other hand there are always shared taxis. If there are others to share with they can be as little as twice the price of a minibus ride. It's a gamble whether to wait for one or the other, in my position it's better to take what you can, when you can. I'm not on that much of a budget, I can afford to dig a bit deeper. (Photo: Ochre desert bluffs - Nr Naryn, Kyrgyzstan)
The variety of habitat types is beyond belief, and I'm not only talking about travelling through the country, at any given point there is a wealth of varied habitats. It's staggering, rich green vegetation can line the roadside while arid desert hems in the fertile corridor. Beyond the desert are towering peaks covered in snow, their snowy caps dazzling white in the blistering sun. It doesn't matter where I've been since crossing the border with Kazakhstan, all the rural areas have impressed me. Cities are what they are, I'll not discount them though. It isn't that often you look up in the middle of a capital city and are graced with looming, rocky crags heavy with snow, especially not in the middle of summer. Snowy crags seem a permanent backdrop, only once I pierced the central interior did the beautiful white peaks give way to bare rock. Though even there, dirty grey slithers of glacier thread their way down gullies to the valley far below. 
No matter where I've travelled there has been at least a ribbon of water running through the landscape. The obvious effect of the ever present snow melt is constant water for sustenance, aisles of lush green land run through the most inhospitable terrain.Sometimes the road took me through the middle of a fertile green belt, often there is verdant growth to one side and searing desert on the other. Diversity is never far away, and always in view. It gives the impression of a kind environment, one easy to subsist naturally in. But I don’t kid myself that life is easy here, the threadbare yurts and ever present rusty wagons are home to a large number of nomads.They are to be found in the most remote places, in tatty tents, often on patches of bare soil, they eke a living from the sparsest corners of the land. 
Unlike the relative wealth of Mongolian nomads these families do not have decent modern vehicles, they have to make do with beaten up old Ladas. Let’s get things straight here though, look at the animals, few show signs of being under nourished. Of the people themselves they don’t look as though they starve, but I assume most of their food must come from trade, few have any form of domestic food production. Nomad by name and truly nomadic by nature I assume they survive by trading, from money raised through animal husbandry; they must do, they’ve nothing else as far as I can see. (Photos: 1] Crank starting the Russian jalopy - Kazerman; 2 & 3] Breathtaking views from close to 4,000 metres - Halfway point to Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)
Desert bluffs of orange ochre, weather worn into multi ribbed spines, run along the south west side of lake Issyk-Kul. As they swing close to the lake desertification rules the roost, little can survive the harsh arid conditions. A fringe of course scrub is the only sign of life.
Though this is always short-lived, as the spiny formations move away from the lakeside the land provides lush grasslands. It's a land of plenty then, every patch of land offers a plentiful supply of winter feed for livestock.Combine harvesters are not the giants of modern agricultural design, but they suit their purpose, to harvest a few acres at a time. It would appear that much of the grain is still cut by hand, and hay is mainly a manually prepared crop.Wide valleys stretch between soaring mountain ranges, where land can be put to use it generally is. Villages form small rectangles in the middle of huge grassy plains, protected from fierce winter winds by stands of tall evergreens. I should imagine the villages are cut off every winter, though without treacherous passes to overcome they probably manage to maintain contact with the outside world.From Balykchy to Naryn high mountain passes are unlikely to be passable once snow bound. Winter seems a long way off though. Throughout summer a broad, shallow river flows swiftly through a fertile valley, cutting deep into the hills. 
Dense outcrops of trees almost block access to it's banks, tall thick clumps of reeds heighten the problem of access. Mounds of shale sit like upturned jelly moulds, covered with a patina of green vegetation, they fill the landscape for many miles. The illusion of fertility is misleading, the grass is thin and insubstantial, unable to support large numbers of livestock. For days the majority of hillocks or grassy mounds consisted of barely consolidated shale.Landslides would be a problem during deluges or heavy snow melt, deep runnels cut through the slopes, washing out the loose aggregate. The mixture of mud, stones and rounded cobbles suggest ancient river beds. How else would the multitude of cobbles have been ground smooth, surely it was by the action of flowing water? Where rock pokes it's head through this muddy substrate it is of a friable nature, loose and likely to exacerbate the problem of landslides.For days my route followed similar rock and shale formations, interspersed with occasional sandstone cliffs. No way could the land be considered low lying though, we topped out at about 4,000 metres and still the landscape was formed by muddy substrate and fractured rock. There were some amazing formations too, really wicked shapes hewn by erosion. 
With the severe extremes of weather they face annually nature must carve a new design every year. To the casual eye the whole route from Naryn to Kazerman and on to Jalalabad looked vulnerable to rapid changes by the forces of nature. Broken rubble lines the route, bulldozers stand idle, waiting for next spring, when once more they must reopen the road, once more allow passage along the aged trade route. How old are the mountains there? I considered most mountains as ancient, but we must remember that our human perception of ancient is nothing in comparison with the geological calendar. Those days, crossing the hinterland of Kyrgyzstan, have been the most powerful and inspiring of the trip so far. Cresting the summit of each pass unveiled a new wonderland of rock, valley and winding river, a canvas painted to perfection, a world of awe. Dotted throughout were the various shelters of the tenacious Kyrgyz nomads, it didn't matter how inaccessible it seemed, they were there, utilising every resource they possibly could. (Photos: 1] Nomad encampment; 2] Velveteen mounds; 3] Taking an alternative route - Mountain road to Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)
My chosen route was far from being the most straight forward, it was more direct in many ways, but more difficult in every conceivable way. Balykchy onwards was largely without tarmac, the twisty nature of the route failed to slow down the suicide merchant who drove our shared taxi.
There were no Marshrutkas (minibuses) and definitely no public transport, that is almost a thing of the past in post soviet Kyrgyzstan. Once leaving Naryn only a short stretch of tarmac lay before us. In no time we bumped and ground along to rough track, winding up and down through precipitous switchbacks, skirting between mountainside and mountain pass; we barely touched the valleys below. Unfortunately I couldn't fully appreciate the wonderful views, couldn't even begin to take in the fantastic sights around me. For hours I remained a-slumber, feeling too delicate to risk exposure to possible motion sickness. After a night of feeling queasy I hadn't even made the bus station before puking, it didn't bode well. 
Liquid shit started my day, but I wasn't going to be put off, no way would I consider remaining in the hovel they called a hotel. They had no running water and no other facilities but a bed to lay my head, and they wanted five quid for that. Believe me, even when clamping my lips shut to avoid the nausea as I tightened my waist belt, I wasn't going to delay my departure from Naryn. And I only got 100 metres before puking my guts up, narrowly missing my daypack, which holds my laptop and camera. So determined was I that I barely broke my stride, and though it felt much better I had to sooth away the sickness by sleeping through some of the most gorgeous landscape I've passed through since leaving Wales. Bummer eh? (Photos: 1] Eagles soaring above the filthy glacier - Halfway point to Jalalabad; 2] Farming close to the edge - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)
Kazerman, a dusty nowhere land whose only point of interest is the local gold mine and processing plant, played host to the next staging point. Despite being dropped at totally the wrong part of town I finally managed to sort out accommodation and onward transport.
Call it fluke, or fate, it's irrelevant, I got out the place without taking out a second mortgageIt's a bit of a dump really, but there were some pleasant people, made merrier by procuring bottles of vodka and sharing them around. In Russian water is voda, generally asking for voda is as likely to get you vodka, as you must take what’s on offer the days can easily degrade into an alcoholic stupour. Most towns here have a Community Based Tourism office, they can put you in touch with local Homestays and arrange tours or transport. I can’t quite make out how they do this as all the offices I came across were closed. Kazerman was no exception, walking aimlessly through the streets I was first directed one way then another as I tried to discover options for the next leg of my journey to Osh. . 
Purely by chance some guys questioned what I was looking for, it turned out their rickety old Russian truck could make the trip to Jalalabad the following day. All they needed was where to pick me up, as I had no guesthouse so far they also took care of that. One led me away to his own house, where I was put up for the night, seemingly free of charge. But as the economists say, “there is no such thing as a free lunch”. So I paid for the transport they utilised for their own business in Jalalabad, and a couple of bottles of Vodka to boot. But I enjoyed amusing their kids, the family were kind and considerate, taking pleasure in my company. (Photos: 1] Fertile lands, a time of plenty; 2] Sandstone cliffs - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)
Without exception the folk I've been able to communicate with are relieved that Kyrgyzstan is no longer under soviet control, but it comes at a price. A higher price for most goods is most pronounced effect, there is also less money around, so poverty has increased. In recent years the system of public transport has gradually collapsed, buses have slowly disappeared on quieter routes, private transport has also become much expensive. There isn't the money to replace vehicles, and as I delved deeper into the heartland private forms of transport were the only option. But mixing it with local people is often the result of taking their transport. this last photo is with the guys I met by utilising Essen's (2nd from right) offer of a 4x4. (Photo: Vodka pals - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)
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