Bishkek – Kyrgyzstan

It’s 8.15pm at the end of day four of a six-day trek with 75 kilometres knocked out so far. I’ve just finished tidying up the latest photos and I’m thinking it’s time for bed. I grab my water bottle and head out of the tent to go fill it from the river a few metres away and then have a final pee for the day, but I immediately find myself back in my tent scurrying around looking for the camera. Outside, the sky has cleared to reveal an orange glow framing the mountain peaks, it’s simply stunning, but that’s not all. Our pack horses are making a fuss, I turn to my left to see a herd of maybe 100 horses being mustered along the track where they begin to cross the river immediately opposite our camp. I stand there filming and as the first horses reach our side of the river they accelerate to a gallop skirting the edge of camp and charge past so close I can feel the ground vibrate causing me to realise how close I actually am. Four horsemen followed on behind. I’m standing lost for words. The last time I felt so emotional was watching Top Gun 2 when Maverick is looking into the bar while Rooster bashes out Great Balls of Fire. Kyrgyzstan has been continually breath-taking and getting to experience such an unscripted event during a stunning sunset up in the Tian Shan mountains is one of those rare moments in travel that I will hold on to for the rest of my life. I watched the four horsemen in complete awe and respect. There was me about to head to bed in my tent before the sun had set, popping a couple of Ibuprofens for my sprained/broken ankle, all excited to whip out the sleeping bag liner for an extra bit of warmth, and these guys passed by with the few things they needed to survive in the mountains rolled up and tied to the back of their saddle. A tough life no doubt, but one I’m a little envious of. The whole episode was a far cry from the week before as I prepared to board my flight from Auckland to Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan.

I had four flights and there was no room for error, or so I believed up until my very first flight from New Plymouth was delayed, I’d like to say because I had declared to the check-in lady that I had a willy warmer made of possum in my bag when asked about dangerous items. It wasn’t until I walked away that I realised that was probably enough to get me arrested for sexual harassment, but luckily for me, women tend to ignore me. No matter, I arrived in Auckland with plenty of time to buy a new pair of sunglasses and a McDonalds, and to be handed a baggage tag that ordered me to place my backpack under the seat in front of me. On boarding the Qantas plane, it soon became apparent that providing leg room wasn’t a concern of theirs never mind enough space for carry-on luggage, and just to fill me with extra joy flying with Qantas, they were 40 minutes delayed. I had a two hours and 20 minutes stopover in Sydney but every minute counts before boarding a 14-hour night flight. As it happened, the pilot had done well to make up the lost time, but he promptly buggered it up by attempting to tare the wheels off the plane when landing. We were then forced to sit on the tarmac waiting for an available gate. Once I finally got off the plane I was sent on a wild goose chase looking for the international transfer area at Sydney airport. They appeared to be all closed despite the fact it was only early evening. Eventually I began to learn where to look for the randomly placed signposts that were attempting to point me towards a working transfer area and I turned down empty hallways walking on and on, concerned that I was the only one on this quest. I eventually found what I was looking for, security screening that would get me back into departures. What’s more, it was more than adequately staffed, and I was the only passenger in the queue. Yet they still made me wait for some unknown reason. They then ran a random explosives test on me once I had passed through the scanner simply because I was the only one available to swab at the time. Finally settled in departures I could wait for my next flight and catch up on my WhatsApp messages but no, this is Sydney airport, and to be able to use WhatsApp for whatever stupid reason I found I needed my VPN switched on. I wish I could say it was over, but much to my disappointment Emirates wanted in on the game.

These days I almost always purchase an emergency exit seat when flying long-haul, and this year three of four long-haul flights have given me issues with the entertainment system which wouldn’t be a big deal if the flight was short-haul, or I hadn’t paid for the privilege to sit in that specific seat. I expect BA and Qantas to be dicks from time to time but not Emirates and I almost wept with disappointment when my entertainment system started to keep resetting itself as I settled in for my flight from Sydney to Dubai. However, I had my dinner and by some miracle I slept for eight hours. I woke up after four hours to the smell of a pie and a cup of tea and I figured that was the end of sleep time for me but before I knew it, I was out for another four hours. I woke up shortly before breakfast very pleased with myself and as a reward the entertainment system had decided to stop being a prick and so I decided to put Top Gun 2 on yet again. I landed in Dubai on time but with work to do. I was on the verge of success but for some bizarre reason I couldn’t get my boarding pass for the final leg of my journey into Bishkek. On checking in at Auckland they told me to go to the connections desk once I’d arrived into Dubai, however all the transfer desks were closed, which is strange considering Dubai airport is always on the go. Tickets and reservations was open and staffed with two people doing absolutely sod all other than tell me to go to the connections desk that was closed. That desk was guarded by a not so useful man who told me the desk was closed until 5pm but I could do everything I needed on my app, clearly failing to grasp that my current beautiful glow was caused by recently achieving a master’s degree with distinction (I’m well chuffed, deal with it). So, I went back to the desk when it opened only to be told that I needed a visa to enter Kyrgyzstan hence why I had not received a boarding pass. I politely informed the lady that I did not need a visa. She insisted and gave me the website to obtain one for good measure. I went onto the website and began the process. The website (Kyrgyzstan government) promptly told me to bugger off because I didn’t need a visa. I went back to the lady who huffed and puffed and turned to speak to someone else before finally issuing me a boarding pass with a look of contempt. Twice in two months a visa has been demanded from me by airlines, yet I’ve not needed it. The connections lady had the last laugh though as I found myself sat in the row immediately behind the leg-roomy emergency exit seats that were occupied by two old women that could barely move, never mind understand what to do in the case of an emergency. For added irony, we were sat in a 737, a plane that struggled to stay in the air when it was first unleashed upon the world.

Despite all the trials and tribulations, I made it to Bishkek where I was greeted with that incredibly satisfying sound of a stamp hitting the passport and the associated rush of relief, made even more sweet by the fact that I wasn’t asked a single question, and funnily enough I didn’t require a visa. Shortly after my bag appeared on the luggage belt. I may get wound up and grumpy, but it’s pretty incredible where flying gets you. From a small town in New Zealand that few will have heard of, to a country in Central Asia almost no one will have heard of, 24 hours of flying, four airports, four flights, three countries; to walk out into the mid-afternoon warmth of Bishkek felt like a great moment.