I went hiking with a group of kindred spirits in Kyrgyzstan in late August, when the weather was at its best … not too cold, not too hot, just the perfect balance for long, soul-stretching days on the trail.

Kyrgyzstan is, quite frankly, Mother Nature showing off. A land of dramatic mountain ranges, glacial rivers, and endless valleys that make you stop every few minutes just to take it all in. And the best way to truly experience it? Step right into the mountains.

For those with a good level of fitness (and lungs ready for high altitude), a multi-day trek across the breathtaking Telety Pass in the Terskey Ala-Too range is a must. The trail links Karakol Valley and Jeti-Oguz Valley in the Issyk-Kul region. A journey filled with postcard-perfect rivers, sweeping alpine meadows, and encounters with nomads herding their livestock.

It feels like walking through a living landscape painting … except this one comes with fresh air, curious cows and sheep, and a pair of painfully sore leg muscles to remind you it’s all gloriously real

• Location: Telety Pass, Terskey Ala-Too range, Issyk-Kul region, Kyrgyzstan (3800m)
• How to go: Drive to Issyk-Kul Lake. You can start the trail either from Karakol or Jeti-Oguz valleys.
• Attraction: Stunning natural landscape of the Terskey Ala-Tau range
• Stay: Jeti Oguz- Kok Jaiyk Camp- Telety Camp- Karakol Gorge Camp
• Difficulty: Hard/ Challenging
• Distance out and back: Total distance 50km
• Time spent: 4 days, 3 nights
• Caution: Unpredictable weather change/ High altitude trekking. Bring your thermals, it’s a must
• Tips: Hire a local guide to be safe.
• Leech level: N/A
• Entrance Fee: N/A
• Require Permit: N/A
• Local Guide: Zahariz Khuzaimah (+6010 2269806) (Zahariz@gmail.com)
• Hiking date: start 29.08.2025/ end 01.10.2025

It’s hard to even begin writing about Kyrgyzstan as I’m still in awe of the whole journey. This post might turn out long and winding, but that’s okay. I’m writing it for future me … for the day when my memory starts to blur, and I want to relive this adventure all over again.

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I started travelling when I was 19.

Back then, my reason was simple. All I wanted was to get as far away from home as possible. I was a silent rebel. Home often felt like a prison. But I wanted my escape to be a smart one. 😁 And since being poor was never an option, I had to find a way out that could also fund my freedom.

Where did all those big ideas come from at such a young age?

From my books. I grew up devouring mysteries, adventures, and thrillers like snacks. I finished every Enid Blyton story I could find, solved hundreds of Agatha Christie cases, hid Stephen King novels under my bed, and found comfort in classic thrillers. Even though my father was just a teacher in a small town in Tawau, Sabah, I had access to National Geographic magazines, my secret window to the world. My book source? A small library in my school in the small town of Table Village (Kampung Table), Tawau, where my imagination first learned to wander.

So with my full trust in Allah, I carefully tailored my escape plan.

If I wanted to live the kind of adventures I read about but didn’t have the luxury of a rich family to fund them, education was my only way out. If I did it right, I’d be well-educated and earn enough to explore the world. Being neurodivergent helped. I could focus intensely on what mattered. I blocked out distractions, worked hard on my grades, and by the time I finished my SPM, I began travelling through college and university.

I realised early that, just like life, travel needs a purpose. Time is too precious to be spent aimlessly sightseeing. “If it doesn’t have meaning, that time should be used for beauty sleep instead,” I used to tell myself.

To me, the purpose of travel should never revolve around FOMO trends, social media posting, or the need to impress others. What truly matters is this: at the end of every journey, how does it shape you? What value does it bring into your life?

That became my minimalist mindset.

I try not to hoard … not just things, but emotions and attachments too.

I learned to choose with intention: my journeys, my destinations, my circle, my food, my books, and yes… even my man. 😎 I tried my best to live with gratitude and try to hold on only to what truly matters. Along the way, I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. But they taught me to mature, let go, and move forward unabashed. I often pat myself on the shoulder and whisper, “Well done, minimalist Sally. You did well… now, on to the next adventure.”

Hiking became one of those adventures that deeply shaped me.

It trained my subconscious to stay strong and resilient. Nature taught me to be playful again; it never judges, it simply accepts. In their stillness, my thoughts become clearer, my energy renewed. I remind myself to stay fit, to keep my spirit alive, so I can continue chasing more mountains in the future..

Every mountain has its own story, its own rhythm, its own soul. No two trails ever feel the same … and that’s what keeps me climbing, again and again. So, on this journey through the rugged Telety Pass in Kyrgyzstan, I was reminded once again why I travel — not to escape life, but to reconnect with it.

Day 1: Jeti Oguz to Kok Jaiyk campsite (2300m)

After wrapping up our horse-riding adventure to Song-Kol Lake (my back was still protesting, by the way), we hit the road to Jeti-Oguz. By the time we reached our Airbnb, it was already 8 p.m. We were tired and hungry after sitting for hours in the van. Had a quick dinner and immediately started repacking for our next mission: a four-day, three-night hike in the mountains.

We packed light just for the short trip, leaving the rest of our stuff in our van.

Truth be told, I wasn’t feeling very confident. The back pain from the horse ride was still there, and to make things worse, I couldn’t sleep at all that night. But what can I do? A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, I reminded myself, trying to sound brave while staring at the ceiling.

The next morning, we began our walk from Jeti-Oguz to the Kok Jaiyk campsite, spending the night in one of the traditional yurts. The weather on the trail was kind … warm, breezy, and a little dusty since we were walking along a road that cars could actually drive through. I couldn’t help but wonder why we were walking when driving seemed like a perfectly good option. But then again, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, so I kept going, step after dusty step.

Hiking here felt nothing like our tropical trails back home. The air was dry, the sun blazed fiercely, yet the alpine wind swept through like nature’s own air conditioner — scorching one moment, refreshingly cool the next. A strange combination, but somehow it balanced everything out and kept my body cool after all that climbing.

Dinner at the campsite felt oddly familiar. The table setup looked exactly like the ones we had at Song-Kol Lake and our Airbnb in Kyzart Village. I don’t know what it is about Kyrgyz hosts, but they sure know how to make a table look grand. And me? I’m the total opposite. My usual dinner back home is as minimalist as it gets. One plate, one fork, and done in ten minutes flat.

So imagine my face when I saw this table bursting with life, generous and overflowing with food. Jars of strawberry and apricot jam, homemade butter, nuts, raisins, cookies of all kinds, wrapped chocolates, and enough bread to host a village. We even had a proper starter before the main dish! It felt like fine dining, but instead of white tablecloths and fancy cutlery, we were surrounded by mountains and stars.

Honestly, I loved that contrast … five-star vibes, zero pressure.

But I’ll be real. I was also awkward. I didn’t even know where to start. Should I grab a cookie first? Or dip into the jam? My brain couldn’t compute. And the funny part? Every single household we visited had this same overflowing spread.

But as I sat there with my friends, slowly tasting everything, I began to understand. This wasn’t just about food. It was about the act of sharing, the rhythm of slowing down, the joy of being present. We laughed between bites of dried fruit, told stories over endless cups of tea, and somehow, the night stretched on without us noticing.

The food isn’t the main event, y’all … time is. Time to talk. Time to laugh. Time to actually taste what’s in front of you. Somewhere between the raisins and the endless cups of tea, I caught myself slowing down … not checking my phone, not thinking of the next thing to do. Just being there, in that moment.

For once, I wasn’t in a hurry. I think I want to bring this hospitality with me: a long table, warm company, and no rush to leave the moment … at my own home.

Day 2: Kok Jaiyk Campsite to Telety Campsite (3050m)

The second day of our journey started right after breakfast. I like it when we always start our journey after a good breakfast. No rushing.

The trail leading to the foot of Telety Pass was nothing like the one we took yesterday. We wandered through tall pine forests, walked beside the Teleti River, and were surrounded by layers of green hills and gorges. Every now and then, we’d bump into livestock happily grazing around like they owned the valley.

And the view? MasyaAllah… giler mesmerising! The kind of beauty that makes your jaw drop and your heart whisper SubhanAllah, Alhamdulillah, Allahu Akbar.

It honestly felt like stepping inside a painting … and the painter? None other than Allah, the Almighty. My heart felt light and playful, almost childlike, as I walked deeper into this masterpiece. I felt so grateful to be there, to witness such raw beauty, and to feel His greatness in every corner of that vast landscape.

The trail wasn’t particularly hard, just long and winding … around 13km. We stopped a few times for lunch and to refill our bottles at the stream. The best part? Hardly any other hikers around. Some stretches felt like we had the whole mountain to ourselves. A pure bliss.

As usual, I was the last one in the group. Not because I’m hopelessly unfit (okay, maybe a yes 😂), but because I kept stopping — distracted by the scenery, the sound of the river, and the excuse that “I just need one more photo.” Truth is, I was taking mini breaks in disguise. By the time I looked up, my friends were already tiny dots in the distance.

But honestly? Worth it. Every single slow step. Because sometimes, being the last one means you get the best view and a few extra breaths to thank the One who created it all.

By the time we reached the Telety campsite, the air had already dropped to freezing. I could see clouds starting to gather, a clear sign that rain was on the way. And in the high mountains, rain usually means one thing: colder temperatures… or maybe snow.

And honestly? We were not prepared.

Before the trip, I was told that late summer in Kyrgyzstan would be perfect for hiking — warm days, cool evenings, nothing too extreme. So, I confidently left my thermal wear at home. The same thermal shirt and pants that once saved me from freezing nights in Nepal? Yup, sitting uselessly in my wardrobe. Instead, I packed my usual Malaysian hiking outfit, yep … thin layers, lightweight pants, and socks that were more fashion than function. Big mistake, gais … huge mistake.

That night in the yurt was brutal. The cold seeped into every layer I had on. Thank God, Mar passed me her remaining heat pad, and I happily snugged it in my thick sleeping bag.

I could only blame myself. Not the guide, not the weather. Me. I had actually read a blog that warned about the unpredictable mountain climate in Kyrgyzstan. I just didn’t think it would happen to me. Classic rookie mistake, overconfidence disguised as optimism.

Day 3: Telety Campsite, cross over Telety Pass (3800m) to Karakol Gorge Campsite

The next morning, after a rough, freezing night, we began our ascent towards the Telety Pass. The route to Karakol Valley was around 15 km … a long, winding 15 km that felt more like 20. The landscape changed dramatically; gone were the lush green hills of the previous day. Now, we were walking through a world of rock and silence … barren slopes, distant ridges, and clouds brushing against the peaks.

The first 4 km was all uphill, but manageable, until the weather decided to surprise us. About 2 km before the top, a snowstorm rolled in, fast and cold. The wind howled, the snow slapped my face, and visibility vanished within seconds. And there I was, hiking at 3,800 meters under the snowstorm … in summer clothing. Not fun. Definitely not funny.

Thank God for my hiking buddy, Pae. She lent me her thin down jacket, which I quickly layered under my Decathlon waterproof running jacket — not exactly Everest gear, but enough to keep me moving. The cold still gnawed at my fingers, but at least I could breathe and walk.

Pae never left my side. She matched my pace step for step, her quiet presence keeping my spirits afloat the whole way up. In that storm, she was my walking heater, my moral support, and my mountain guardian all at once. Thank you, Pae — I owe you this one. That’s what true hiking buddies do: no one gets left behind, no matter how wild the weather gets.

I was in full-on survival mode by then. One hand gripping my hiking pole wrapped in a handkerchief (because frostbite is not on my bucket list), and the other hand stuffed deep inside my pants, desperately trying to steal whatever body heat I had left. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked. Honestly, I probably looked less like a hiker and more like a half-frozen, confused mountain mouse.

And of course, like always, the ultimate irony … I didn’t take a single photo of myself, to capture the moment. Not one! All that drama, and no proof. Hais… guess I’m still not a true photographer after all.

I finally reached the peak of the pass and regrouped with the rest of the team and our local guide, Backhet. We waited for the snowstorm to ease and for visibility to return before continuing our 11km journey to Karakol Gorge Campsite. We need to move fast before the cold sinks any deeper into our bones. To keep ourselves warm, we half-ran down the slope.

The trail was long, winding, and brutal on the feet. Every step felt like my toes were negotiating their limits. But when the campsite finally came into sight, I was just grateful I made it to the end in one piece. And, the air that night was even colder than the night before.

When I finally settled in my thick sleeping bag in our freezing cold yurt and was getting ready for bed, I found myself longing for Malaysia’s warm, tropical air. The rivers, waterfalls, and beaches that I usually take for granted. Visiting a cold country for a few weeks is an adventure. Living in one? Haish … that’s a whole different level of survival for me.

A quiet gratitude filled my heart.

The kind of gratitude that doesn’t need words. Only a deep breath and a silent “Alhamdulillah.” Maybe that’s what these mountains are meant to teach me: to be humbled, to endure, and to remember how blessed I am, whether under the snow or sunlight.

Day 4: Karakol Gorge Campsite to Karakol Town

Our adventure wasn’t quite over yet.

We still had to walk another 10 km to reach the pickup point where our van awaited. Ready to take us back to the comforts of Karakol town. After four days of living among mountains, rocks, and rivers, the thought of rejoining civilisation felt almost surreal. I can’t hardly wait to just get off my hiking shoes.

And of course, being true Malaysians, the first thing on our minds was food … glorious food. A proper feast to celebrate the end of our 50 km hike! But the celebration didn’t stop there.

Our sore muscles demanded a little pampering after all that climbing and descending.

So, we rented a rugged Russian UAZ 542 and endured a 15 km (which felt like a two-hour bumpy washing machine-like ride from the road itself) to reach Altyn Arashan Valley — just to dip into the natural hot springs with the intention to speed our sore muscle recovery.

It was my first time trying hot water therapy to soothe sore muscles. Back home, my “recovery ritual” usually involves dunking myself into icy rivers or waterfalls — the colder, the better. But after 30 minutes soaking in that steaming spring, I felt completely renewed. No wonder the Japanese love their hot springs in winter. And here I was, getting a taste of it too. Not bad, Kyrgyzstan. Not bad at all.

As I sank into the warmth, I couldn’t help but smile.

My body was exhausted, but my heart — oh, my heart was light. The mountains had tested me, chilled me to the bone, but also filled me with quiet gratitude. I know for sure that travelling isn’t just about chasing beautiful landscapes; it’s about collecting moments that humble me, challenge me, and remind me of how small I am in the grandness of His creation.

When I looked back at my path behind me, I whispered Alhamdulillah. What a journey. What a gift to be alive and to witness it all with my own eyes.

Kyrgyzstan, you’ve been wild, breathtaking, and humbling.

I hope this story inspires someone out there to step out of their comfort zone, to say yes to the unknown, and to explore a little further, both the world and themselves. Life is too short to stay in one place.

Go see what’s out there.

Cheers

Sallymatsuda