I went to Kyrgyzstan for a holiday and found out why some call it the Switzerland of Central Asia

I perched myself precariously over a few wooden planks, with a hole cut in the middle, trying to do a number two. A misstep, and I might drop in an abyss of human excrement. 

I say abyss because I really have no idea (and also have no wish to find out) the number of people who have emptied their bowels into the literal s***hole metres below me. 

What made this whole experience extra dicey, was the fact that I had to do my business in total darkness. (Nope, using the phone’s torchlight wasn’t an option.)  

This is what they call a toilet — Kyrgyz-style. 

Yes, it’s a #firstworldproblem, but for a Singaporean who has lived in the city her whole life, surviving this unscathed was really quite a memorable experience. 

I ended up developing a preference for doing my business out in the open, mainly behind the bushes, for the rest of my holiday in Kyrgyzstan.  

There was no special reason why a friend and I decided to travel to this little-known Central Asian country. All it took was a friend telling me how beautiful it was and some photos I saw on Instagram. 

Friends who learnt of my choice of travel destination had some vague idea of where Kyrgyzstan is, with some summarising their faint notion succinctly in the phrase: “It’s at the -stan, -stan, -stan area, right?”

Beyond that, most, including me, had little idea about what Kyrgyzstan is like — its people, history and culture. So I didn’t know what to expect either. 

Before I did research to find out more about the country and firm up my travel plans, I decided I had to do two things first: Learn how to correctly spell and pronounce Kyrgyzstan. 

It turns out it’s "Ke-Gis-Stan" instead of the usual gibberish I spout when referring to the country. 

After 12 days roaming around the former Soviet state, I am glad that I now know so much more than that. 

For one thing, the food is awesome. Lying along the ancient Silk Road used by traders from all over the world, it was pretty obvious that Kyrgyz food was a result of years of cultural mixing. 

Menus often included stews and dumplings, reflecting culinary influences from Europe and China. Without fail, there is always tea — which they call chai — and bread at every meal. I mean every single meal. 

The politics is messy, as pointed out by my tour guide. Since gaining its independence from the disintegrating Soviet Union in 1991, the country has experienced two revolutions resulting in the ouster of two presidents who had to flee abroad.

But life goes on, along with traces of its Soviet history still visible as we occasionally pass by a statue of Lenin or other Soviet memorial sites while on the road. 

Some traditions are still kept: Herds of cows, horses or sheep grazing in the mountain pastures are quite a common sight, sometimes with their shepherds, sometimes without. 

We also chanced upon an animal market where the locals were trading livestock for cash. We initially walked through it like a minefield, carefully trying to avoid the animal waste released all over the place. We gave up. 

Before my toilet escapades give the impression that Kyrgyzstan is slum-ridden, I would like to clarify that not all its toilets are makeshift ones made of just four corrugated metal sheets erected adjacent to each other to form an upright cuboid, which is then placed over the waste pit. 

They do have proper sewage systems and flushing toilets in the cities. You mostly find what my guide calls “Kyrgyz-style” toilets when you’re up in the mountains, with their breathtaking views. 

And that is what struck me about Kyrgyzstan. In a country where 80 per cent of its terrain is overrun by the Tian Shan mountain range, being so close to nature sometimes necessitates losing the use of modern facilities, such as the flush toilet. 

Not just that, I didn’t see any big-name resorts or international hotels, even at some of the country’s most popular tourist attractions.

One example is Song Kul, a lake nestled in a valley, surrounded by one of its numerous mountain ranges. 

I stayed at one of several yurt camps close to the shoreline, forgoing not just modern toilet facilities, but also the pleasure of a shower and an electric heater. But we did have one heater which had to be constantly refilled with animal waste. (Temperatures went below 10℃ at night.)

Many of these yurts are temporary, only there for the summer peak travel season before being dismantled and transported back to the villages during the winter months — a continuation somewhat of the nomadic traditions of the Kyrgyz people, I guess. 

There was also virtually no cellular reception, so none of that WhatsApp messaging or Instagram stories. Adding to the whole austere vibe was the fact that my friend and I travelled on horseback across two days to reach Song Kul. 

The Kyrgyz are not cave dwellers and the people there are citizens of the 21st century in every way with their use of smartphones and social media. 

A local market. Photo: Janice Lim

What surprised me was, in spite of all that, they have managed to keep a popular tourist attraction like Song Kul as pristine as possible. But it’s not the case everywhere. 

At Altyn-Arashan, a valley near Kyrgyzstan’s biggest lake Issyk Kul, I saw a log cabin resort which promises a modern toilet attached to each bedroom being constructed, a sign that a more commercialised form of tourism has also started to take root.

I could tell that my guide wasn’t too enthusiastic about such developments. He half-jokingly said that Altyn-Arashan is still beautiful if we just kept walking deeper into the valley and not look back. 

But what makes up Kyrgyzstan is not just its mountains, valleys and lakes. While driving along Issyk Kul, we chanced upon an abandoned resort which was apparently built by the son of one of the deposed presidents.

He had to abandon the project after his father’s ouster as he had to flee the country with his father, my guide explained.  

Exploring the modern-day “ruins”, it was a little unsettling to witness the slow decay. The irony was that the resort was built along the shores of Issyk Kul and visitors would have been surrounded with a view of the clearest water and the nicest hues of blue and green. 

In Singapore, such a prime piece of land would probably have been snapped up for development in no time. Of course, this is not to say that it won’t ever happen in Kyrgyzstan. 

Talking to my guide, it is obvious that the locals are aware of future infrastructural developments under China’s One Belt, One Road initiative which would likely transform Kyrgyzstan.

I am not sure how the Kyrgyz people feel about this. As a Singaporean, I’m just glad I got the opportunity to come to this country at a particular point in time where its natural beauty is still largely intact.

I learned from my guide that Kyrgyzstan is sometimes known as the Switzerland of Central Asia. I have never been to Switzerland before, nor am I extensively well-travelled, though I’ve been to other scenic countries such as Scotland and New Zealand. 

But with the hillsides of the mountain pastures forming an uneven outline across clear blue skies everywhere you turn, pine trees lining along its rivers which flow with crystal clear waters, and tree leaves in vibrant autumn colours of gold, red and orange — I wouldn’t be surprised if Kyrgyzstan is even more stunning than Switzerland itself. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Janice Lim is a TODAY senior journalist covering business and Singapore news.