The horseback riding trip through Kyrgyzstan from August 16 to 31 was an experience that has left a deep impression on my heart. There were ten of us who embarked on this adventure, and although we were all different, we quickly formed a harmonious group where everyone found their place. There was no bad mood, no drama—just mutual support, lots of laughter, and a shared sense of wonder at the wild beauty of this country.
The horses, our faithful companions, were absolutely sure-footed and steady under pressure. They led us through scree fields, over steep passes, and across endless expanses as if they themselves were part of the landscape. The roads in Kyrgyzstan are paved only sporadically, which reinforced the impression of being truly far from civilization. The eleven days of riding were marked by stunning views and a steady pace, as the terrain was challenging and often very rocky. Only on two days, at Lake Son-Kul, were we able to enjoy longer stretches of galloping—a feeling of freedom that has left a lasting impression.
The nights were bitterly cold, often so freezing that we’d crawl into our sleeping bags and still shiver. The days, on the other hand, were hot—sometimes unbearably so—except at higher elevations, where the air was thinner and the temperatures more pleasant. Especially at altitudes around 3,200 meters, you could really feel how much the thin air took its toll on the body—whether playing volleyball, playing Kartoshka, or even going to the bathroom. Camping was straightforward; the tents were easy to set up, and the team was always there, even late at night, if you’d forgotten something in your suitcase. This helpfulness wasn’t just practical—it was also emotionally comforting; you never felt alone.
The starry nights were magical. Without light pollution, the sky revealed itself in all its splendor, and the Milky Way stretched above us like a glowing ribbon. I’ve rarely seen so many stars, and in those moments I felt small yet connected to everything around me.
The nights in the yurts were a highlight—finally, no more freezing, but warmth, coziness, and the feeling of being welcome. The food was fantastic, always fresh and home-cooked. Lunch breaks often consisted of picnics, where everyone carried a small portion in their saddlebags. It was simple but heartfelt, and that’s exactly what made it so special.
Our guides were funny, warm, and knowledgeable. Asel and Zina, in particular, were the heart and soul of the trip. They translated for us, explained regional customs, and were always there to listen. I tried to learn the language—and even though the sounds and words were hard to grasp, I really enjoyed it. Zina, Asel, and Baha had endless patience with me, and I’m very grateful to them for that. One day stands out in my memory: We had to walk downhill for two hours straight, and I quickly realized I wasn’t sure of my footing. I was physically and emotionally at my limit. But Zina and Baha pulled me out of that low point—with words, with gestures, with their mere presence. I feel a deep sense of gratitude toward these two companions.
UNO became the connecting element—we even played with the Kyrgyz, laughed together, and learned from one another. The landscape was breathtaking. Animals roaming freely everywhere—horses, cows, and sometimes goats. The vastness, the colors, the silence… I already miss it. It was as if nature itself were speaking to us. This trip is not a galloping safari for ambitious riders. It is an invitation to feel, taste, and smell a country. It is for people who love foreign food, who enjoy being outdoors, who can handle temperature changes—and who have very good hiking boots. Because without them, you’ll slip on the steep sections faster than you can say “Kartoshka.”
Our journey ended on August 31. But in my heart, it will continue. The people, the horses, the landscape—all of it has left its mark. And I know: I will return. Someday