The thunderstorm had reverberated through the yurt that stormy night. And high up in the windswept plateau at 3000m in the heart of the Tien Shan mountains, the sheepskin rugs outside the yurt had been the only protection against the raging weather. I had forced myself to sleep in the thin air of these mighty mountains that ran along the spine of Kyrgyzstan.

After that restless sleep, I had hoped that the morning sky would be more forgiving. And when I had stepped out, the sky had redeemed itself. The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon, and the overcast weather from the prior evening was replaced with a clear sky dotted with puffy clouds. Across the deep blue lake, the snow-capped peaks rose to meet the fleeting clouds. In the distance, I spotted a row of yurts belonging to another tourist camp nestled at the base of the hills.

I watched as the light slowly transitioned from hues of deep pink to bright orange, and life slowly started seeping into the tourist camp I was staying in. Soon, it would be time for breakfast, and it would be time to step away from the freezing cold and pack my gear. But I didn't want that moment to arrive.

Songkol

Kyrgyzstan