Sunday Story: When we didn't see Khan Tengri

Khan Tengri is a 7010 meter (almost 28,000 ft) mountain peak situated on the Kazakhstan/China/Kyrgyzstan border.  It is the second tallest peak in the Tien Shan range (the mountains I see from my window are part of the same range), so one can understand why the mountain might generate some excitement.  This weekend a bunch of us went to see the mountain.


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Before you get jealous (if you are the type to get jealous about the size of a mountain), when I say "see" you must understand that our intention was not to get close to the mountain or to climb a bit of it; our intention was simply to drive east until we could see it, and maybe to hike part way up some hills to get a better view.  Besides, as the title of this little story implies, we didn't actually get to see it. If you want to know more than that, you will just have to keep reading.

We left Almaty early Friday evening hoping to get as far as we could get before the sun set.  We sped eastward as fast as traffic and the law would allow along the birch and cottonwood lined A351 "Kuljinsky track"stopping only for a quick bite for dinner at the little market town of Baseit.  Ten kilometers beyond Baseit, the trees that lined the road to that point suddenly gave way to plains covered in grass and fragrant sagebrush.  As the sun sank at our backs we began scouting for a place to sleep for the night.  We found a dirt track that led toward the nearby hills, and followed it until we found a decent spot to camp for the evening.  Friday we slept under a full moon, bathed in the thick aroma of the sage covered ground.

The next morning I woke shortly before dawn with the chirping of the birds and went for a sunrise hike up some of the hills near our camp.  From the hills I could see the red hills just across the green sage-filled valley where we camped.

A sharp shout drew my attention back to the camp, where I saw a horseman approaching the tents and shouting a greeting.  I took this as my cue to begin heading back toward the camp where we breakfasted to tales of how the drunk cowboy who wanted vodka and couldn't stay on his horse delivered the morning wake-up call.

The southern end of Charyn Canyon

We packed camp and continued eastward.  We wound our way through a deep gorge with spring greenery creeping up through the steep red walls.  We drove across the top of the Charyn Canyon that hides the Ili River as it winds its way westward. We drovethrough green valleys and gentle mountain, and a seemingly endless string of little villages with hobbled donkeys and little calves grazing beside small, white, Cossak-style tin-roofed houses: Kegen, Tasashi, Sarizhaz, Kainar, Tekes, before we finally reached Narinkol, the little village at the Chinese border.

A house near Narinkol

Me (with China in the Background)

At Narinkol, we turned south on a little road that while paved, was so riddled with potholes that we careened down the street weaving from side to side in an effort to keep our automobile intact.  Across the river we could see the occasional glimpse of the fence that marks the chinese border.  Then suddenly the fence crossed the river and the boarder was just a few short steps away.  It isn't everyday that one finds oneself on a remote border with China, so naturally, we stopped for pictures.

More China

After driving along the border for a couple of kilometers, we turned westward on a steep dirt track that led up into the mountains.   We stopped once we reached a small, white ranch house with a relatively flat pasture bordered by a lively brook.  This scene would ultimately be our camp site for the night, but not before we walked up the road for two more kilometers to see the guest cabins and yurts that are available to rent for the night.

The first ranch house boasted a cabin that could sleep eleven, a yurt that sleeps three more, a small sauna that can hold up to 4 people at a time, and a little wooden dipping pool fed by a constant supply of diverted brook water. The top ranch house had two guest yurts and a nice cabin, but there was a party already in progress.  According to our guide, the hike to the view point to see Khan Tengri is another two hour hike from the top ranch house.  

We set up our camp in the first meadow in a light drizzle.  The cows came home as we huffed and puffed at the damp wood in our fire pit in an effort to get some kind of blaze going in the rain.  Then we sat around the fire, making dinner slowly and telling stories and the mountain air cooled in the evening and the rain slowly stopped.  

We would wake up to fresh snow on the peaks, and a grey morning that still obscured our objectiv, Khan Tengri, from view.  Sometimes, though, the fun and the company of camping is it's own objective, and for me anyways, the mountain was just an excuse.  Not seeing it, gives me an excuse to go back and try out that Sauna.

Oh, and I finally found my dog.  Too bad he is one of a kind and rather busy herding sheep right now.

  

Sunday Story: Altyn Emel National Park

Altyn Emel National park is a 4600 square kilometer park northeast of Almaty.  It lies north of the Ili River above the Kapchagay dam and reservoir.  The desertous park is famous for it's "singing sand-dune," for a tree that has been around for seven hundred years, and for the white mountains.

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Last weekend some friends and I took advantage of the long weekend to arrange a tour to the park.  Tours are quite easy to arrange with any tour guide and are becoming more affordable as park fees have been reduced to just under 1000 tg for both Foreigners and for locals, so our costs included a guide, a driver, one night's stay at the ranger's station (later changed to a hotel), and food.

We drove North through poppy dotted fields and emerald sloped gorges, past the flashy casinos and blue waters of the Kapchagay reservoir before turning east toward the park.  We finally arrived at the small village of Basshy, found our hotel and the ranger who was to guide us through the park (all visitors must be accompanied by a park ranger/guide).

After a quick lunch, we were off again, into the park.  Once the paved part of the road turned to dirt, we picked up the pace, turning into two clouds of dust racing across the sage green plain. It would seem that freshly grated dirt is far easier to navigate than the pot-hole ridden pavement we had been on since Kapchagay.

It took us a little more than an hour to reach the dune.  The singing of the dune is unusual to hear without provocation.  In other words, if you wish to hear it sing you must first climb the 120+ meters of sand (plan to spend 30 to 40 minutes on this) and then charge down it, preferably in unison with as many people as you can find.

On the way back to the village, we stopped at the ancient Oshaktas Stela.  The origins and purpose of this stone construction are unclear.  Some legends say that they are part of Genghis Khan's encampment when he traveled through this area in 1219 (a decent write-up on the park is here).  Another hypothesis is that that they encircled a signal fire.



After our long car ride, we weren't ready to settle down for dinner, on returning to the village so we went for a walk through the tiny town.  Donkeys grazed serenely on the side of the dirt streets that were lined with homes and sheds made of mud and surrounded by sagging grey picket fences. The sky slowly turned pink by the light of a setting sun.

The people we met on our walk were friendly.  A farmer let my friend Dee climb into his tractor for a photo, and a passing wedding party invited us to their festivities. Although we politely declined the invitation, we partook of the party through the walls and windows of our hotel until well after 2am.


 8:00 on the 2nd morning of our weekend trip saw us racing back
along the dirt track leading into the park.  Our destination was the White mountains.  After almost two hours of speeding along the road, we arrived at the White Mountains.  The Mountains are really more like hills, and while they are white from one direction, they are also bright red and yellow in color.  We hiked for about forty minutes along a dry riverbed of cracked red mud that curled under the hot desert sun before we reached the white cliffs near the end of the canyon.

 
After lunching at the really old tree (the claim is around 700 years old) and feeding a couple of mosquitos, we began the long drive back to Almaty.

Friday Photos: Victory Day celebrations

May 9th, Victory Day, is the day that Kazakhstan and many other former Soviet countries celebrate the surrender of Nazi forces to Soviet forces in 1945.  Like Veterans'
Day in the United States, Victory Day is an occasion to recognize the contributions and sacrifices made by the men and women of the armed forces.


In Almaty the heart of the celebration is at Panfilov park.  The various memorials are covered in red roses by people paying their respects to the heroes of the war.  Street performers, ringed by onlookers, perform music and dance throughout the park. Among the performers, a youth choir dressed uniforms sings patriotic songs.
 

While the day is unmistakeably about the armed forces, the spirit in Panfilov Park is decidedly festive.  A little train weaves its way among the crowds and  picnickers spread their blankets and feasts on the grass among the trees.  Young people dress up in military uniforms and pose for photos with passersby and everywhere you look there are flowers, Flags, balloons, and orange and black striped ribbons.

Next Up: Singing Sand Dunes