Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan felt like freedom. I drove past lakes that shimmered like mirrors and through valleys where yurts stood like white dots in the green. There were few words, but many gestures. Tea always arrived, hot and sweet. Bread was broken with care. I slept under wool blankets while the wind rattled the tent walls, and in the morning, silence stretched out in all directions.

It felt like Mongolia - the same raw space, the same nomadic rhythm - but more reachable. The roads were better, the distances kinder, and the infrastructure just enough to keep going without losing the wild.

Bishkek is a mix of Lenin statues and modern cafés, but it was the mountains that stayed with me. Snow-capped and serious, they made everything small. Kyrgyzstan doesn’t entertain. It doesn’t perform. It simply exists, quiet and vast, waiting for you to slow down long enough to notice.