Kyrgyzstan is one of the most open and liberal of the former Soviet Central Asian States. It declared independence from Moscow on 31 August 1991, and has made considerable efforts to develop its relations with the West, most recently through tourism. The Country occupies an area slightly smaller in size than Britain, of which over three-quarters lies under permanent snow and glaciers at altitudes above 1000m. The Tien Shan Mountains form a stunning natural boundary with China to the south and east, and the Country is bounded to the north and west by the Republics of Uzbekistan, Kazakstan and Tajikistan.

The Expedition flew into Almaty, capital of Kazakstan, and we caught our first glimpse of the Tien Shan through the grey dawn - a panoramic vista of snow-capped mountains stretching across the entire horizon. We had made arrangements with a small independent trekking firm in-country to host us on our trip, and their minibus soon had us en route to Karakol, a small frontier town located just over the Border on the shores of Lake Issy-Kul and nestling in the foothills of the “Chinese Alps”. Our short acclimatisation period was passed in the spartan yet comfortable former Soviet-style climbing Lodge situated on the outskirts of town. We soon discovered the local vodka, a perfectly drinkable yet dangerously cheap brew at only 30 pence a litre, and complemented by the equally cheap but very drinkable Efes (Turkish) beer. This propensity of liquid refreshment was matched only by the blandness of the local food - we existed on a fairly mundane diet of lagman (tepid noodle soup) and pelmeny (greasy dumpling soup made from gristle).

We departed Karakol on a bright, sunny morning in a very impressive six-wheel drive ex-Soviet Army command vehicle, our all-terrain transport to the trek start-point in the Chong-Kyzyl-Suu Valley. The drive was bumpy yet dramatic, as we thundered along the pot-holed road through the fertile Issy-Kul Plain and turned up into the logging track which afforded access to the mountain foothills. The “Monster Truck”, as it was now christened, effortlessly ground its way across mountain streams and swollen rivers, although we were regularly called upon to physically manhandle fallen trees across the route. We reached our drop-off point shortly before dusk, which fortunately was to be our first nights campsite.

The following day marked the start of our physical exertions. Tanya and Anatoly, our guides, set a steady pace, with Tanya on a head start as (we later discovered) she was apprehensive about her ability to keep up with trained British soldiers! She need not have worried; as we climbed so the snow became deeper, the air thinner and the sun more intense, to the extent that all exposed skin had to be covered to avoid burning. As the temperature touched 36 degrees C, so the snow began to soften and melt, and the going became quite difficult. We were forced to make camp at the base of the Pass as an ascent during late afternoon would have risked danger from avalanches. We pitched camp in waist-deep snow and settled down for a very cold night, slightly apprehensive of the early start necessary to make up time. Temperatures of -15 degrees C guaranteed an uncomfortable night on the by now rock-hard icy base on which our tents had been pitched. Shortly before dawn we broke camp and set off while the snow was sufficiently hard to walk on. The clear morning view was incredible, with the full moon casting a pale blue glow to enhance the dawn streaks over the vivid peaks all around us. The view from the Pass was fantastic; at 4000m it felt like we really were on the roof of the world, and despite the howling gale and frozen sunblock we spent several minutes in awe of our surroundings. The harsh icy-white surroundings were punctuated only by the occasional granite-black rocky outcrop, and the entire scene was set stark against an azure blue sky as far as one could see. We were soon descending and eventually, after a steady slog through melting snow, again under a blistering sun, we crossed the snow line and crashed out on a bed of grass next to a gurgling icy brook. We reached our campsite by late afternoon in the incredibly picturesque Bytor Valley. The summer pasture was ablaze with a carpet of spring flowers, only broken by a winding turquoise glacial stream meandering through the centre. The steep rocky sides rose through pine forests to towering peaks overhead, and the valley culminated 10 km beyond us with an enormous glacier flanked by several spectacular mountain peaks. We soon had a campfire going and spent the evening listening to Anatoly’s stories of commanding T-80 tanks on 3rd Shock Army manoeuvres across East Germany during the Cold War. However, the fact that many of our group had served in West Germany during the same period ensured that the discussion was not entirely one-sided. Despite some nostalgia on all sides about the relative stability and security of “the good old days”, we heartily toasted the benefits of Perestroika and glasnost before departing for our tents and collapsing in exhausted snoring heaps.

The remainder of the trek consisted of a series of radial hikes, with the most spectacular involving a near-vertical ascent to Lake Ala-Kol. The climb from the base of the valley (2400 m) to the Lake (3800 m) represented a rise of 1400 m, roughly equivalent to a complete ascent of Ben Nevis. Indeed, I spent a large portion of the climb without my heels even touching the ground, somewhat similar to ascending an endless flight of steps. In my naivety I had packed a pair of swimming shorts, but having struggled through knee-deep snow for the final 60 minutes of our ascent, I was presented with a frozen Lake to the obvious amusement of the group! The backdrop was, however, spectacular and the bleak, polar landscape was in stark contrast to the fertile valley we had left only four hours prior.

Evenings were typically spent around the campfire, and local Kyrgyz herders pushing their livestock up to the summer pastures for grazing regularly joined us. The craic was memorable, lubricated by the customary vodka and enhanced by the patience of our guides and interpreter in translating the inevitable jokes and tales into Russian, Kyrgyz and English. National Service remains compulsory in Kyrgystan, and we detected a common (depraved!) sense of humour among our ex-army comrades. Indeed, many of our adult jokes were already known to the Kyrgyz lads, and confirmed that a soldier’s humour crosses all boundaries.

After 7 days in the Tien Shan we were all physically tired yet deeply satisfied with the immense variety of trekking we had experienced; from the exceptionally demanding stage over the Archa-Tor Pass to the somewhat less emotional radial hikes from the Karakol Valley. We rendezvoused with the Monster truck, and settled down to a bumpy 3 hour cross-country journey to our next and final destination, the hot springs in the adjacent Arashan Valley. On arrival I was pleasantly surprised to discover a series of sculpted pools within a hamlet of ageing alpine-type wooden huts. We were soon merrily soaking in the hot sulphurous water, re-aquainting our bodies with the delights of soap and shampoo. Refreshed and rejuvenated, our group spent the evening in a communal hut feasting on bread, cheese, Russian sausage and tomatoes. We shared the hamlet with an intrigued group of local schoolchildren, a mixed bag of Slav, Chinese, Mongol and ethnic Kyrgyz, bonded into one laughing vibrant family, complete with holed boots and ripped anoraks. This ethnic diversity is visible throughout the country, yet incidents of ethnic conflict are exceptionally rare and in contrast to my own upbringing in the segregated schooling and chronic sectarianism of Northern Ireland

Having completed our trek, we spent a lazy weekend in the leafy tranquillity of Karakol. Saturday was eagerly spent transforming a dreary basement restaurant into Central Asia’s newest nightclub through procurement of a chef, a cheap Chinese sound system and a lighting extravaganza of emergency strobe-beacons. This allowed us the chance to return the overwhelming hospitality we had enjoyed, and all our friends were invited to a party of immense proportions. Sunday morning was passed at the famous Karakol weekly horse market, a must on any traveller’s itinerary in the Region. It remains one of the largest and most colourful of its type in Central Asia, and represents both a reliance on a form of transport, and indeed a way of life that have persisted for centuries across this spectacular but harsh landscape.

Having bade a reluctant goodbye to Karakol, we embarked on the 10-hour drive to the Kyrgyz capital of Bishkek. The journey was punctuated by a picnic lunch on the undeveloped sandy shore of Lake Issyk-Kul, followed by a quick swim in the clear, unpolluted and bracing water. Bishkek is a clean, bustling and modern city, whose high-rise office and apartment blocks, pavement cafes and wide boulevards are in stark contrast to the gingerbread houses and leafy pot-holed avenues of 19^th Century Karakol. With a population of 670 000, the City is neither crowded nor polluted, and indeed most of our time in Bishkek was leisurely passed in leafy pavement cafes, watching the City go about its business.

While the aim of our expedition had always been to trek the Tien Shan, it would have been shameful to travel so far without sampling the cultural experience of Central Asia. We allocated a week to some limited sightseeing in Tashkent and Samarkand, and the spectacular sights of the latter more than compensated for the countless days spent in a sweaty, suffocating minibus bumping through potholed desert highways. Indeed, the boredom of desert travel was only relieved by the proliferation of apparently bored policemen scattered along the desert roadsides, who sprung to life at the sight of our transport and gleefully flagged us down with a series of whistles, shouts and waving of hands. Fortunately the experience and streetwise nature of Vladimir (our driver) was sufficient to prevent any extraction of bribes. We assisted him by dismounting en masse and surrounding the perplexed guards in a babbling smiling mass to take photographs and hand out British Army cap-badges. This was predictably too much for the Militsia to handle and, having lost both their self-confidence and the initiative, inevitably resulted in a brusque dismissal from the senior officer present!

Samarkand provided a spectacular ending to our Central Asian experience, and we returned to Tashkent for a final night out in the City’s hotspots. Our group made a successful extraction and, as we thundered out of Central Asia towards Europe and home, our thoughts were united on one issue - the location of our next expedition…

Afternotes:

Our party of 8 travelled to Central Asia from London Heathrow via Istanbul to Almaty (Kazakstan) and departed Tashkent for London with an overnight stopover in Istanbul. The price of the air ticket was Ј475 pp (incl taxes) with an additional optional Ј20 charge for an overnight stopover in Istanbul. Our flights were booked through the excellent Regent holidays in Bristol (0117 9211711).

Dostuck Trekking (00996-312-427471), a large travel company in Bishkek, hosted us in Kyrgystan. The overall charge was Ј200 pp (preferential group rate), although we were sub-contracted out to KRD Tien Shan Travel (00996-374-545455) in Karakol, who offered sterling service and would have charged a much-reduced rate had we dealt with them direct. The ever-smiling and hospitable Sergey Pyshnenko runs a small yet very professional and competent organisation, which is thoroughly recommended by our party. The global Mir Travel Corporation (00998-712-674382 and ask for room #311) in Tashkent sponsored us through Uzbekistan at a cost of Ј170 pp, and are another thoroughly professional and well-run organisation.