Apples in Kyrgyzstan

“You are lost,” the hobbled babushka declared.

My face read like subtitles; I was indeed lost. 

The journey from Almaty to Karakol was seemingly straightforward – catch a marshtruka (shared taxi) from Kazakhstan into Kyrgyzstan then change at the terminal in Cholpon Ata. 

But I had already been left behind at the border, caught the wrong bus, lacked the language skills and was on the verge of tears.

The babushka spoke to the young woman sitting next to her, then turned back to me.

“She, Karakol. Go.”

The woman smiled and beckoned me to join her. Irene’s English was limited but from what I gathered, she would guide me to my destination.

Thankfully, I was right. She expertly navigated the chaotic marshtruka transfer that I would've undoubtedly botched. When we arrived in Karakol, she invited me to share a taxi with her. I assumed we’d drop her off first, and then I’d head to my hostel. But Irene had other plans.

I had read about Kyrgyz hospitality in travel blogs. They were fascinated as to why a foreigner would choose to visit Kyrgyzstan. For me, it was to explore the ‘Switzerland of Central Asia’ with its glacial lakes, soaring mountain ranges, ochre canyons, lush valleys and uncrowded hiking trails.

It was a bonus that the locals turned out to be some of the most generous people I’d ever met on my travels.

Irene insisted that I stay with her that night. My internal stranger-danger alarm hadn’t gone off; everything about her radiated warmth.

The taxi took us to the outskirts of town, where roads were littered with potholes and cows cried out incessantly. We stopped at a humble home, barely visible through a sea of colourful flowers. A man was in the garden with a cat and rottweiler trailing behind him.

He looked confused when he saw me (and rightly so). After a swift kiss on the lips, Irene rapidly filled him in. Uncertainty gave way to a smile – come on in, he gestured excitedly. I entered their home, thanking them profusely.

Oleg started setting the table while Irene showed me their garden. Fruit and vegetables were bursting at the seams on their little block. We sampled the produce while picking some for dessert – two for now, one for later, and repeat. I couldn’t get enough of the tiny green apples; the sweetness was unlike anything I’d ever tasted.