HSE International Students Explore Russia and beyond: Antti Viktor Rauhala in Kyrgyzstan

Antti Viktor Rauhala is from Finland. He came to HSE this January as an exchange student. As a politics student who has been studying Russian politics in London at UCL, he has found it refreshing to get a 'Russian perspective' on the current political situation. With his friend Christopher he set on a journey through Russia and Kyrgyzstan.

‘One high school teacher of mine said that he wouldn't cross the border to Russia except with a riffle in his hands. I wanted to see if I could survive without a one. What we encountered on our journey was simply the best examples of human kindness: people invited us to their homes, gave us gifts and were just eager to help at every step, he says. People is one thing, and politics is an another. That's something I always knew, but only learned with my time in Russia.’ Here is Antti’s account of his trip to Kyrgyzstan prepared for HSE online student magazine Read Square.

Taming the horses

“CHU! (GO)” I shouted angrily, although my horse just turned its head and looked at me as if I’d been joking. Instead of taking even a single step, my four-legged substitute for a car just continued to chew grass and fart loudly. He was both proud and stubborn, and we did not have much experience with horse riding, which didn’t make the feat to ride the horses easy. But we had to learn if we wanted to navigate the hard mountainous terrains of Kara-Kulja district in Southern Kyrgyzstan. Rocky mountains, some of them topped with snow and over four kilometres high, surrounded the village from all sides while sheep; cattle, horses and donkeys roamed freely in the green valley.

Whether it is New Year or Ramadan, every morning begins with milking the cows and setting the animals free from their night sheds. Children go to school only a couple of hours a day so they can spend the rest of the time in fields. Life is and has been centered on the animals for centuries. The outside world feels not only distant but also almost meaningless. It had taken over 6 hours to get here from the 3000-year-old city of Osh near the Uzbek border. The wide paved road had gradually changed to a narrow gravel path on which instead of traffic, the herds of sheep were occasionally blocking our way. Google maps had no clue about the roads or the names of the places, but we knew that we were somewhere near the Chinese border. According to our guide, Chyngyz, we were the first foreign tourists to come here. Kyrgyzstan has branded itself as the Switzerland of Central Asia and lifted visa requirements from western travellers in an attempt to attract more tourists. The valleys are fertile; the rivers and lakes are filled with drinkable water; and the natural beauty is reminiscent of fairytales.

It was nature that had drawn us. However, to navigate in this hard terrain like real Kyrgyz nomads, we had to overcome the initial authority problem with the horses. Luckily, after some practice and the classic combination of sticks and carrots, we embarked on hours-long rides to the surrounding mountains. There, we really learnt to trust and respect our horses. On a narrow mountain path with a dead drop to the rocks being just one misstep away, the last thing you want to do is distract the horse. This is embodied in the words of our guide, who told us before our journey: “When you don’t know what to do, do nothing. The horse knows what it is doing.” And it sure does. Observing its steps from the saddle when being elevated really makes you to appreciate the precision with which the animal moves. First it softly feels the path with its front legs while the ones at the back land exactly on the same spot where the ones at the front were just a second ago. For the horse, this is routine. But for us, every tap on our horses’ back after those hard spots was filled with sincere gratitude and respect.

Confident that after one day of practice we would be ready to conquer the mountains that had held back empires’ armies in the past, we set off for a long trek high up to the mountains to an icy lake in the altitude of three kilometres. As we rode the horses past a crystal clear river through valleys and mountain passes, I remember thinking that this is how the cowboys in those old John Wayne films probably felt: powerful and free, as masters of their own destiny, only being constrained by their own skills and the surrounding nature. There is much time for such contemplation while sitting on the saddle.

Unfortunately, even the horses can’t travel everywhere. Higher up in the mountains, the paths get narrower before fading away completely. Ahead of us were just mountain passes filled with dark stones, which, in the heat of the sun, felt like a sauna. The climb up was a real test of endurance. You kept your eyes on your feet as your breath gets louder and your feet heavier. As you wipe off the sweat that keeps flowing into your eyes and pause briefly to look up, you just hope that you would see the top only a few steps ahead. In an instant the false hope is shattered as you realize that you’ve barely made it midway. It is as if for every meter climbed, the mountain gains another in height.

When you finally are near the top you congratulate yourself and wonder what the view is like on the other side. Then there it is: sharp descend down and then an equally long and steep climb up again. Only with real stoic can you refrain from mumbling curses. I couldn’t refrain, and explored a whole new set of different combinations of unprintable vocabulary. I looked up and saw my fifty-year-old guide laughing at me and having no apparent sign of fatigue while I could taste blood in my mouth and struggled to pause amid the tense breaths for any witty comeback.

Kulun Lake

Finally after those nerve- and leg wrecking ups and downs there it was: Kulun Lake — an icy, turquoise few kilometre long lake surrounded on all sides by over 4 kilometre high mountains in a rocky valley, which by the looks of it might as well be on Mars. Before our arrival, we were determined to swim in the lake since after such a long journey it felt like the appropriate climax to celebrate our triumph over ourselves. The lake looked completely still and it wasn’t until we got close up that we realized that it was still mostly frozen. Unwilling to abandon our plans even in the face of potential hypothermia, we went naked into the cold water to discover yet again a whole new set of curses and swear words.

With a cup of tea at a campfire while looking over the lake, I asked my friend: “Is this the most isolated place you have ever been in your life?” He nodded and we agreed that if there is a definition for ‘in the middle of freaking nowhere’, the picture of Kulun Lake would feature as the picture in our heads. The village and even any mobile network were at least fifty kilometres away. As we slept under the starry sky in a little cave, avalanches came down the mountainsides. The surroundings simultaneously reflected the flashes of a thunderstorm in the distant valley bellow. Nature was putting up its best show for which we were the humble spectators.

Our journey approached its end, as we returned to our village to say goodbye. We had only encountered kindness and hospitality. There was one young guy of our age who had been accompanying us for part of the journey. For him, the horse riding and the mountains were just parts of daily life, and composed the only kind of life he knew. For us, it had been a real adventure to the unknown. Our lives were completely different from his and the opportunities available to us and to him were worlds apart simply by virtue of birth. Still, for a moment we had walked the same path and like our guide said: “In the mountains, we are all equals. Whether you are rich or poor, the mountain doesn’t discriminate.” In nature, social roles and reputations do not matter. In nature, you can step back from yourself and just enjoy the moment. The mountains of Kyrgyzstan were perfect for that.

Source: Read Square, HSE online student magazine. Contact the editorial team via Facebook if you wish to become a contributor.