where ski lifts have four legs

Unlock Editor’s Roundup for free

Roula Khalaf, editor of the FT, picks her favorite stories in this weekly newsletter.

At the 3,000-meter peak of Joeri Peak in far-eastern Kyrgyzstan, our mountain guide Iaroslav Nikótin says what the rest of the group thinks: “After the horse, the legs are a bit funny for skiing.”

Riding a horse certainly left me reeling, wondering if I could make a single turn on skis. Time to catch your breath and focus on the sights. Beyond the vast plains to the north are the mountains of neighboring Kazakhstan and to the south is the mighty Tien Shan range. Kyrgyzstan’s highest peak, the 7,439-meter Jengish Chokusu, is somewhere over there on the distant Chinese border. The bright sun and clear sky give a similar meaning to the map of this eastern end of Kyrgyzstan; I feel like I could reach out and touch Jyrgalan, the village on the valley floor we set out from four hours ago in the freezing morning.

My horse didn’t seem to want to start it. I probably should have attached crampons to my ski boots as makeshift poles, but that would have been barbaric and made climbing up the board even more of a challenge. I’ve fantasized about dangling a carrot from my ski pole right in front of his snout, but I don’t think it’s that gullible; we’re not even in a cartoon.

We were coming from our home in the Swiss Alps to Kyrgyzstan—a country so mountainous it’s known as the Switzerland of Asia—for a two-week trip in search of the country’s legendary dry snow.

After flying into the capital, Bishkek, we made the bumpy, dusty, all-day taxi ride to the eastern town of Karakol, with its ski resort on the edge of town. A $13 lift pass gets you four lifts (one of them by hand from the French resort of Les Menuires), and snowmobiles take you to a ridge, for an extra if you’re feeling brave. Most of the country’s other ski resorts are back in the vicinity of Bishkek, but there are heli- and cat-skiing operations located throughout.

We went to the coal mining village of Jyrgalan, now also a ski touring base, to join a group of skiers organized by the mountain guide company Primalscapes, which specializes in adventures in Central Asia. Our 10-day tour was split between a comfortable country guesthouse and a remote camp – just two yurts and a sauna tent – high in the mountains, where we feasted on steamed noodles, lagman noodles and shashlik.

We relied mostly on leg power to reach the summit each day (often accompanied by a friendly country dog ​​who seemed to be looking out for our safety), although occasionally our efforts were supplemented by snowmobiles, a coal truck or, as for today’s adventure, horsepower.

I am not alone in my limited riding. Of our group of skiers, not many will join the locals for a game of bocce, chasing after a goat carcass in a medieval amalgamation of rugby and polo. But we happily settle into our upward slide. It may not be much faster than walking, but it takes less effort; it also has central heating and is sociable in the Doolittle sense. My horse is called Zhurmal, which means “a calm horse that can go far”. Standard Kyrgyz horse names describe desirable characteristics, mostly of a sporting nature. I’m thankful I’m not on Zhartak, “a high-spirited horse that starts fast.”

By the time we get down to Joe’s Peak, I’ve learned a few things. Zhurmal’s brakes are only for decoration – he knows the way – and his initial reluctance was a ruse. The first deep line of snow spurred him into action—not just another gear, but almost another horse—and he attacked the rest of the mountain with gusto. It turns out that 1 HP is enough.

When it’s time to descend, he descends a ridge with the rest of the herd, in cinematic fashion. We follow the skis – “slightly funny” but working legs – across the open, windswept upper slopes, looking for pockets of deeper snow.

It’s a big hill, with thousands of ski lines. We descend toward the tree line, weaving through stunted, perfectly spaced bushes. Then it’s a wonderful series of lawns and meadows linked by steep stream mouths, to the outskirts of Jyrgalan, where cows wander the snowy roads, a barrow on the back of a truck and the smell of a coal fire. remember that, as Iaroslav says, “skiing in Kyrgyzstan is a little different”.

Be the first to hear about our latest stories — follow FT Weekend at Instagram AND X