In Kyrgyzstan, the way of life has long been defined by horses. So central were they that the rhythms of each year were set not by the schedule of planting and harvest but by the passage through grazing routes that the bands of nomadic Kyrgyz would travel in search of fresh grass.
Wandering villages would mark the passing of time by which ancient way was being followed to pasture as the snow descended and then receded up the mountains that frame this land in the very heart of central Asia.
Even now, when its capital Bishtak is as much a jumble of multi-level shopping malls, neon signs and concrete office blocks as any city you will find in Kyrgyzstan’s neighbours, the lingering emotional bond between a Kyrgyz and horses remains strong.
A favoured drink remains fermented mare’s milk, called kumis. Prowess in riding is still a particularly prized personal attribute. And even everyday speech is littered with references to the historic relationship between the people and their horses.
It is little surprise, therefore, that the best way to see the country today is still on horseback.
Horsemen, riding in line, on the way to Lake Song Kol, Kyrgyzstan
(Getty Images)
Vast stretches of the country and its steppes are barely troubled by roads, meaning that the adventurous can set out for days on long journeys that take you through soaring mountains, by crystal-clear alpine lakes and across mile upon mile of undulating hills.
My ride was through part of the Kirghiz range, one of 158 mountain ranges that bisect this nation of six million Turkic-speaking people. With the Pamir mountain range to the south and the Tian Shen mountain range to the west, the Kirghiz range is among the country’s largest, the top of its mountains snow-capped even in the summer heat.
As we set off, our horses ambling through the early morning sun with the light casting the leaves of the forest around us into a kaleidoscope of greens, there was no sound but the occasional birdsong. The air was dry and clean; the trees spreading across the foothills of the mountain range before us like a blanket.
It was one of those places and one of those moments when the modern world, filled as it so often is with self-righteous bustle and its accompanying parroting cacophony, recedes not only physically but mentally.
There is just you, your horse and nature. Slowly but inescapably you too fall with each passing step into its ancient rhythm; a rhythm that has marked this place since people first arrived here,…
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