The unlikely former Soviet destination influencers are flocking to

Nearly every intrepid traveller in Kyrgyzstan, chatting casually on horseback as we summit thousands of metres of mountain terrain, has come here for the same reason: we’ve been influenced by Instagram.

The post-Soviet country is not for the fainthearted—a reality I discover both figuratively and literally as I gasp for breath on a mountain peak. (This red-faced struggle is the unglamorous truth influencers conveniently omit from their aesthetic feeds.)

Central Asia, and particularly Kyrgyzstan, is experiencing a boom in tourism. Over the past decade, the country’s annual tourist arrivals have doubled to over eight million. Everyone is eager to see it for themselves – and to get there before it becomes too popular. Tourism infrastructure is limited (for now).

Influenced by the dramatic drone shots of azure lakes surrounded by snow, sweeping plains dotted with yurts, and wild herds of galloping horses, my partner and I book our trip.

We mentally prepare to be underwhelmed, expecting to discover that Instagram has lied with oversaturated imagery and crowds cleverly cropped out. But Kyrgyzstan does not disappoint.

Influencers here don’t have multiple outfits and manicured nails. Instead, they wear backpacks, shoes with holes, and cameras strapped to their chests. They are more interested in taking photos of horses than of themselves.

We arrive in the shoulder season in early September, when venues have started to close up shop, and the autumnal weather is cooling. Weeks before our arrival, guesthouses and tours were fully booked. But we’re not here for a group tour: We want to unlock the real nomadic experience.

How? By giving Google Translate a good workout. We book everything on the fly, hunting down WhatsApp numbers from blogs and messaging guesthouses for tours and word-of-mouth referrals, asking strangers to speak into our phones to organise our next adventure.

More than 90 per cent of the country is mountainous. The tallest peaks, topping 7400 metres, are shared with neighbouring China. Most Kyrgyz people live rurally, and many are nomadic, taking their herds of horses to pasture for the spring and summer.

Yurts, horses and mountains: These are the boxes we want tick when booking a three-day horse trek to Song-Kul, a high altitude lake near the centre of the country.

The second I get out of our rented 4WD – a necessity even if you’re not heading far from the city – our guide, Adel, hands me a pair of reins. That’s it. There’s no handholding, no English and no initiation – we’re off.

Across three days, we summit to 3500 metres, ascending through undulating colours of pink, orange, and dusty grey sand, and descending to verdant hills with rivers snaking through them.

We sleep in family yurts built by hand with wood and felt, sit by a fireplace fuelled by manure, drink fermented mare’s milk and eat sheep freshly Halal-slaughtered just outside.

We get up at dawn to find our horses, hobbled and set free for the night, and ride alongside farmers herding goats to greener pastures. It’s wildly different to our lives in Sydney.

Even deep in the mountains, other tourists are always nearby.

Locals have been used to visitors for centuries: Kyrgyzstan was a crucial corridor along the Silk Road, with ancient cities established thousands of years ago. Kyrgyz cities were at times considered the centre of the world. Unlike neighbouring Uzbekistan’s “jewelled” cities, however, imagining Kyrgyz history requires more imagination due to its limited ruins or reconstructed monuments.

As tourism blossoms, operators are increasingly focusing on community-based, culturally preserving and environmentally responsible tourism. They promote multi-day immersions over hour-long demonstrations, with tourists paying a brokering fee online and cash directly to locals. You can’t rush through the country.

That’s how we meet Aitoo, a fourth-generation eagle hunter and his 13-year-old eagle, who will be set free within the next decade to live the second half of her life free.

Aitoo’s family used to hunt rabbits and small deer with eagles; now, he hunts with his gun but continues to train eagles to keep the tradition alive and entertain tourists. Under Soviet rule, traditional practices were banned.

He captures his eagles from their nests, training them to hunt and bring carcasses back to him. Eagles don’t hunt in summer to ensure young animals have time to grow and breed, respecting the natural rhythm. His son will continue the ancient practice.

For our next adventure, we put our lungs and endurance to the test with a four-day trek to summit the Ala-Kol peak at 3900 metres. While there are several tourist yurt camps along the way with hot meals available, we decide that’s not tough enough: We set out with our tent brought from home, fuelling ourselves with salami and stale bread.

The hike is more demanding and beautiful than anything I could have imagined, with the thin air forcing two breaths for every step.

The first night, we camp by a river, coloured silver-grey and fed from the melting snow. We’re woken in the middle of the night by a herd of horses grazing around us in the moonlight.

The trek was something I’d seen plenty of people rave about online, and while some spoke about how strenuous the hike is, no one had shown just how steep the path actually is. It turns out it’s not easy to film an incline when you’re hanging on for dear life.

Especially for coastal dwellers, ascending 3000 metres in three days with heavy packs is no small feat. The path is narrow and gravelly with almost no respite from the ongoing incline. Every step is a negotiation with gravity. At times, the incline reaches 80 per cent, forcing us to scramble up with our hands.

Putting us to shame are locals loaded up with dismantled camps, one man striding down the slope with a small fridge strapped to his back, cigarette in hand.

We camp metres from a dramatic drop into the freezing lake below and wake to a tent covered in snow, our gruelling path dusted ahead. We are rewarded with air so cold and clean it stings the nostrils, the thin wind whistling around us among the incomprehensibly vast landscape.

While there are plenty of travellers as daring as us – many of them Russians or hyper-fit Europeans legging it to the peak – the country appeals to a wide range of demographics.

We meet a group from Britain in their 70s who, instead of walking, take an off-road van up a nearby mountain, visiting homestays and hot springs. They make a point of telling us how tiring the hike looked.

The country is at an interesting point of development: Half-finished resorts rise out of the cliff sides, with abandoned Soviet buildings looming behind them. Ski resorts are being built into luxury escapes. The roads are being upgraded and renovated as China develops its Belt and Road initiative through Central Asia and beyond to Europe. Highways consist of a jarring patchwork of kilometre-long bursts of smooth tarmac, followed by an equal stretch of potholed gravel. We drive a brand new, bells-and-whistles rental car across rough roads to tiny concrete towns.

Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan have opened visa-free travel to encourage visitors. To the north, Kazakhstan has taken a step further, introducing a resident visa for digital nomads. There are endless Europeans on a 10-day trip around the Stans.

The country won’t stay the same for long. While most travellers are there to immerse themselves in nature and nomadic culture, the dozens of roadside resorts consisting of plastic yurts and blaring music are a sign of what’s to come.

Kyrgyzstan lives up to its enviable reputation on Instagram. But no digital filter or drone shot, however dramatic, can capture the sheer, gruelling effort it takes to climb these peaks, or the raw reality of a landscape that must be earned, not just scrolled past.

The details

Stay
Guesthouses and yurt camps can be booked via online booking sites. Yurt camps along the Ala Kol trek cost $50- $70 for two people, including breakfast and dinner. Sleeping bags are provided. Guesthouses in regional areas will cost about $30 a room, or $50 for a private room with a private bathroom (though shared bathrooms are more common) including meals, while mid-tier city hotels range are between $80-$110 a room. A water filter is your best friend to help remove sediment and bugs while in the outdoors, as filtered drinking water is limited. Coffee and beer is unavailable in most camps, though tea is plentiful. Pack instant coffee.

Fly
Qatar Airways flies from Sydney to Doha, then Doha to Almaty in Kazakhstan followed by a five-hour taxi ride to cross into Kyrgyzstan on foot, organised at the airport.

Emirates and Fly Dubai also offer flights from Dubai to Bishkek in the Kyrgyz Republic.

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