Day 6 Tash Rabat

Having done the tourist bit looking around the “monastery” yesterday, today we had 3 options. Chilling, hiking or horse riding; or indeed, all 3.

Having seen so many huge and costly claims for treatment following riding accidents whilst at Bupa, you wouldn’t get me near a horse, let alone in the middle of nowhere near the Kyrgyzstan/Chinese border. 

Three of our group go riding

So it was hiking in the morning, followed by doing sweet FA in the afternoon. Doing FA includes writing 3 days worth of this drivel and uploading photos onto my iPad. So not resting much at all. The Billy Goat is currently crocheting on a bench in the sunshine with a mountain backdrop!

With a number of our group feeling delicate in the nether regions, it was a small, but select group that joined our leaders James and Olga for a 4 mile yomp up and down the side of our valley. And with James being an ex-army mountaineer, it really could have a yomp. Some of us did trail in his wake, but the ever-caring Olga herded the back markers.

That proved to be a good opportunity to chat with Olga, when we stopped (very frequently) to get our breath (we’re at over 9000 feet) and drink more water. I asked if she’d been to the UK. She hadn’t. Getting a visa was impossible, even when our tour company invited her over for a training event in London. Visa refused, no reason given! One her family is married to a German and lives there. Again Visa applications refused outright and no explanation whatsoever. All rather sad, that the systems and processes can’t sort the wheat from the chaff.

The walk itself was tough, climbing 400 metres up to around 3500m (over 11,000 feet in old money). The air was thin, and made worse by a driving wind into our faces as we went up. The views were suitably spectacular. However, I’m concerned that I’m becoming blasé about the scenery here! Pinch yourself and take another photo man.

Just after we started our descent it became apparent that one of group had lost her camera. Her husband’s pride and joy. He was one of ailing members who rightly chose to not to hike. In true military style James had us all lined up, 3 metres apart, to retrace our steps up to the previous peak where knew that Penny had used her camera. Ten minutes later camera and owner were reunited. Upon return to camp she followed instructions and wound up her husband by saying she’d lost his beloved Lumix. He didn’t suffer too long, as all was revealed over lunch. Poor bloke, he’s suffering with the dodgy stomach, and then thinks he’d lost his valuable camera.

So, that’s it for the day. An 8 eight hour drive to Kazarman tomorrow, topped off with a “home stay”. Something that James is being very coy about. The adventure continues.

Postscript.

After the above was written, about 25 women arrived in 2 minibuses at our camp. They all had long skirts and headscarves on. Clearly they were members of a religious sect, but they weren’t dressed in what I’d describe as as Muslim clothes. All were very pale skinned indeed, but had varying features. One, who washed her hands next to me had stunning features, particularly her eyes. Perhaps she was Persian? I really don’t know. 

About an hour after their arrival, there was a bit of commotion, with our leader James racing from yurt to yurt telling his delegates that there was about to a sheep slaughtered, if we wanted to see it. Curiosity got the better of us, so we watched from a distance, keeping the sheep just out of sight. Clearly it was ceremonial, as all the women mentioned above were stood in rows right next to the slaughter. As the Kyrgyz man did the deed they all knelt in prayer, and arose once it was complete. A second sheep was readied for slaughter, but we’d seen enough; even without directly seeing the knife being applied or any blood.

James seemed to think that this was a very unusual occurrence, even for a battle hardened traveler like him. For us it was really a stark reminder of where our food comes from. Maybe we’re ripe to go veggie. Whichever way you look at it, this underscored strongly that we were in a very different culture.

PPS

It turns out they were Russian Muslims from Tatarstan, on a pilgrimage to Tash Rabat