Heading for Kazakhstan, the day I left Kyrgyzstan became one of the most awe-inspiring, driven by the sheer power of nature. The road out of Karakol was long and straight, lined with endless rows of tall poplars, their leaves sparkling and whispering in the wind.
After an hour or so, I saw two young men approaching from the opposite direction, on bikes like me. Naturally, we stopped for a chat and, as cyclists do, exchanged local tips from the roads we had traveled. We even swapped our leftover cash from the countries we were leaving, easing that familiar anxiety about not finding a bank in time.
By noon, the temperature had risen, and so had the road. The pavement gave way to gravel, and signs of habitation grew scarce. Progress became slow and demanding, but the stunning landscape offered the most welcome distraction I could have hoped for. As I climbed into the highlands, the path turned into a simple sand track riddled with potholes, yet always with just enough ridable sections to keep me believing I’d reach the Kazakh border before it closed at 5 p.m.
I reveled in the completely green highlands: herds of sheep wandering without shepherds, deep brown cows staring at me in astonishment, and most thrilling of all, hundreds upon hundreds of wild horses. White, black, brown, even grey, they galloped freely, celebrating the arrival of spring. At one point, a stallion startled me as it seemed ready to charge, having just realized that its mare and foal, grazing nearby, hadn’t noticed my presence.
When I finally entered Kazakhstan, I couldn’t resist setting up my camera on a tripod beside the road to film myself against the backdrop of this landscape, at once timelessly powerful and unbelievably fragile. There I was, posing like a proud traveler cruising through the open land, yet feeling a deep, quiet gratitude for Mother Earth.
This post contains a preview of a forthcoming book about Journey to the East, highlighting the perpetuating tensions and sometimes awkward dialogues between East and West as found on my quest for a New Silk on an Old Road.
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