One of the most epic backpacking trips I ever undertook was following the footsteps of the ancient travellers of the Silk Road, overland from Beijing back to our then home in Iran. We were already four weeks on the dusty road, had survived a hazardous nightly bus ride through mountains between Xian and Lanzhou, had spent several days in packed-to-the-roof trains between Lanzhou, the western end of the Great Wall at Jiayuguan and the oasis of Turpan, before we passed 1400 kilometers along the northern fringes of Takla Makan desert to reach fabled Kashgar in Xinjiang. Our Chinese taxi driver took us from Kashgar to the border between China and Kyrgyzstan at 3800 meter high Torugart Pass. Actually this border was closed for everybody but a few local cross-border commuters. Thanks to the discretion of the kind consul at the Chinese Embassy in Iran, we got an exemption. „Border“, however, was an euphemism since we felt we had been dropped at a no-man’s land. At least there was a stony arch signalling that on the other side must be Kyrgyzstan.To our relief we soon spotted an elderly Ranger Rover obviously waiting for someone. It proved to be our comfortable onward transport. The first night we pitched our tent in a secluded valley of rolling meadows, surrounded by snowy peaks of the mighty Tian Shan. We visited the century-old Tash Rabat caravanserai and later climbed a few hundred meters up into the mountains, hoping for a good view. Down below, in a picture-perfect landscape, dozens of cows and horses were grazing between small glacial streams. Smoke was coming out of the yurt which belonged to our campsite. Did this promise that we would have more of the fantastic Laghman noodles for dinner?

But the best was yet to come: On the following day the indestructible Range Rover took us even higher up. After passing dozens of hairpin curves we reached the wide-open plateau around deep-blue Song-Kol lake, 3800 meters above the clouds. Wild black horses were chasing without any apparent reason over the yellow-brown steppe. Proud herders whose faces were coming right out a Central Asian storybook greeted us in front of their yurts. Despite sunshine it was already chilly. Wisely we had pitched our tents in the windslip of our car. Then a theatre of colours started, with two stages, the cloudscape and the landscape: As the sun was slowly setting, the colour of the lake changed from deep blue to turquoise to silver metal. Blocked partially by clouds the sun was illuminating mountains and plains like under a burning class. The sky first turned orange, then to surreal yellow, before slowly turning into black.  Long after sunset we sat dining next to the lake, chatting with our driver and Laura, young trainee at the Kyrgyz ministry of Foreign Affairs who was using her summer holidays to work as a guide and to improve her English. We warmed ourselves with strong, self-brewed vodka while gazing into the freezing cold, crystal clear night sky heavy with countless stars. One of the single best travel experiences we ever had.