Karakul Lake

Offers for lodging began as soon as we arrived at Karakul Lake. We barely had time to take in the snow-capped mountains around the lake before a deluge of people began offering "Kyrgyz yurt, good price." We refused the first few in order to get an idea of the going rate but finally agreed to take a look at one yurt because the salesman followed us for five mintues making offers.

Something seemed off about the salesman from the beginning, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Only when we were inside the yurt and he had taken off the hat and mask that protected his face from the sun did I realize how young he was: just 15 years old. Without realizing it, we had stepped right into a Kyrgyz family. He introduced us to his mother and 5-year-old brother. We didn't meet the father until later, when all four of them joined us to sleep in the single, circular room that comprised their home.



Living in the yurt, we couldn't help getting to know this family. Only the older son could speak Chinese, but we felt at home despite the language difference. The brothers play fought and--when she wasn't making us fresh pasta--the mom weaved intricate hangings like the ones that already decorated the yurt walls.

We were content to hike, ride camels, and get to know our hosts until our third afternoon, when some other foreign friends mentioned a nearby glacier. We couldn't resist.

Four guys on motorcycles assmebled to take us to the base of this more adventurous hike. It was soon clear that the ride would be an adventure, too. My biker was a speed demon. He raced ahead, teasingly asking if I could ride. When the others caught up, I realized that he was at least ten years younger than any of them and at least ten times as cool. From his stylish jeans to his decked out bike--those speakers blared constantly--this guy was going places.

After the hike (it was breathtaking, by the way), I was glad for the fast pace because we were late for dinner. As we blasted through the high desert terrain, I asked my biker if he planned to stay in this area, imagining that this fly boy would be even more anxious for big city life than most people in rural China. But he said no. He liked it here: it was beautiful and peaceful.

He took us back by a slightly different route, through the construction project. I soon realized that this wasn't just any construction; the Chinese government was building a modern villatge to replace the old-fashioned yurts.

We made it home for dinner as the winds of a storm began. When the older brother saw our nice warm clothes, he suggested that they could be a gift to him. We shook our heads, but we were sorry not to help him.

I can see change blowing through this village in the next few years. I know it will become a more comfortable place, but I'm glad to have seen it in a time of beauty and peace.