Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Of course, Kyrgyzstan was everything I expected: camping amidst herds of horses in wide prairie landscapes with snow-covered mountain ranges as a horizon, mountain lakes from sunset through stary nights to sunrise, driving in trucks on bumpy roads.

But as so often, it was the unexpected that made a stronger impression. In my case, it was the capital, Bishkek. Everybody told me it wasn’t a good place, not even worth being called a city. But after having slept too many nights in the cold tent and having eaten the same three central asian dishes too often I craved the comforts of a city and found a particular lovely one in Bishkek.

Together with Felizia, who I met in the hostel, I bought a cheap guitar at the bazar. People saw and heard us play and we were invited to perform at a street music event in one of Bishkeks long parks that accompany the main roads.

On every bench, underneath the golden autumn foliage, musicians sat and played their acoustic music. Pedestrians strolled through the park and stopped wherever they liked what they heard. We made less than five euros that day, but more importantly, some lasting memories of a city we both grew to like a lot more than we had expected.