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Tuesday 2004-06-22 - Ala Bel, Kyrgyzstan
Photographs not delivered
We have to make an early start today for a long trip: up at 5, breakfast at 6, departure at 7. First we round Lake Toktogul around the eastern tip and switch back along the northern side; then gradually north and up toward Ala Bel (the Ala pass) at 3175 m where I photographed a nomad family in the snow three years ago. On the way to the pass I notice how at this time of the year there are indeed a lot more flowers than later in summer. The mountains look ‘painted’ with brush strokes of bright colors - most striking is the bright orange of a type of Ranunculus with fairly large flowers, usually just a bit higher up the mountains than the related warm-yellow buttercup which is also abundant now.
At the pass, we stop at the first yurt. Although there’s no snow this time, it’s still pretty cold this high up. With the help of our interpreter Bolot the friendly family that lives there in the summer tells me the friendly old Kirghiz on his horse in the snow in one of my pictures has died; his wife (in the other picture) still lives though and is in a yurt “2 kilometers” farther on. That turns out to be too vague: at that distance there are actually a lot of families in yurts; we don’t have time to stop at all of them to search for her. I’m very disappointed, knowing she is here while there is no way to deliver the photographs.
Tuesday 2004-06-22 - Susamyr, Kyrgyzstan
Bzzzz!
Along the way to our camping spot in the valley of the Susamyr, we make a short stop at a particularly beautiful and interesting cemetery. In Kyrgyz tradition, it’s far from habitation, located at a beautiful spot. Most tombs here are made of mud brick: built once, sometimes with an intricate design, but then left to slowly dissolve back into the landscape again. The tombs here have an extra dimension though: when you enter the cemetery, the constant loud buzzing is unmistakable. A large colony of wasps lives here, having made their nests inside the bud-brick walls (thus helping to dissolve them). They fly on and off in large numbers but don’t mind or bother the humans visiting here at all; they fly by so fast in fact, it’s hard to really get to see them, let alone get them on a picture (though I try, of course).
Our camping spot is a kilometer further on, a nice shaded spot under the trees, and most of us walk there from the cemetery. My foot feels OK, so I walk as well, but when I arrive I discover I have to cross a little brook to reach the camping site: there are stepping stones which I would normally easily hop over — but with my wounded foot I can’t manage (an my monopod-walking stick is in the truck: already at the camp site). I can’t find a sturdy enough branch to serve as walking stick either; I’m stuck! Ultimately Thom finds me and helps me across. Our cook Tatiana cooks us a lovely dinner of soup and macaroni.
