Sleep in a Yurt

Wendy blogs well and I was giddy she had me along for the ride:

Sleep in a Yurt

I’ve never been on a vacation like this one.
It started out badly. Like we got lost before we got outta town and I’m not kidding one bit.
Curt thought it was my fault and I…didn’t. The GPS on my phone and I weren’t getting along.

It got better. (We’d left the kids sleeping in their beds for heaven’s sake–what was the matter with us?)

We finally got the map app going the right direction, and it led us to roads like this.

Which reduced stress in the car.

The Driver

Actually the higher we got, the more peaceful it became outside and inside.

Curt was an absolute dear about stopping so we could snap up landscapes which were begging to be shared with you.

No–he really was.

The atmosphere at our destination breathed peace.
Even sounds got lost in the expanse.

You can feel yourself relaxing, can’t you?

Me too.

It was cool too. At 3016 m (9895 ft) above sea level, I dipped my finger in the clear water but that’s it.

This is Son Kul.
Where the only hotels are yurts.

And the livestock munches just outside your door.

It was quiet, quiet, quiet.

Except for the yahoos I came with.

They were loud and silly and it rubbed off on me.
They’re theater people so we had to dress up in costumes.

Lisa play-acting like she’s cooking something Central Asian.

Which are apparently amenities when you stay in a yurt because the goat leg with fermented mare’s milk-making utensils was hanging right inside the door.

Side note: It was cold enough that after dark, a young man hauled a sled full of horse manure to our door, started a fire in our reliable little stove, and shoved in copious amounts of said sled fuel. He returned a half hour later to refuel. We were thankful.

We rollicked and rolled ’til the generator shut down and the single light bulb flickered and went out. We covered our heads with heavy tushuks and prayed we wouldn’t have to use the outhouse in the dark. (Well I prayed that.)

But THIS is what rabble raisers look like at breakfast. .


Thespians are rarely morning people.

We drew a few more perfect mountain breaths and whispered our good-byes to Son Kul.

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