I’ve always been captivated by horses—though perhaps “love” is too strong a word. I’ve never owned one, nor have I spent enough time with them to claim deep familiarity. But there’s something undeniably thrilling about watching them race across the open steppe, riders clinging to their backs like warriors of old. Horses are more than just animals in Kazakhstan; they are living threads woven into the fabric of history.
Here, horses roam freely across vast, untamed landscapes. Children learn to ride almost as soon as they can walk, and by adolescence, not knowing how to handle a horse is almost a disgrace. So, when the opportunity arose to journey to the legendary Kaindy Lake, I knew horses would be part of the adventure.
We set off from Almaty at 6:30 am; the city’s modern skyline—filled with sleek electric cars and bustling cafes—fading behind us. After four hours on the highway, we reached Charyn Canyon . Then we headed on to our next destination— Kaindy Lake. After an hour ,our 4×4 veered onto a rugged mountain path, lurching over rocks and splashing through icy streams. The relentless jolting churned my stomach, but I clenched my teeth, determined not to surrender to nausea. This was no leisurely tour—it was a plunge into the raw, untamed heart of Kazakhstan.
As we climbed higher, I stole glances at our guide, Kadyr, a weathered 35-year-old from neighboring Kyrgyzstan. In this remote expanse, where the internet felt like a distant rumor, life moved to the rhythm of hoofbeats and mountain winds. The sheer vastness of the steppe, the jagged peaks, the endless green—it was a world both breathtaking and humbling. My own comfortable existence suddenly felt small in comparison.
After surviving multiple river crossings, we reached a point where even the 4×4 could go no farther. The choice was ours: trek on foot, squeeze into a battered Russian jeep, or mount up and ride. We chose the horses.
This was no gentle trot through a meadow. The path ahead was a gauntlet—a rushing river, steep ascents, and treacherous descents. As a first-time rider, my heart hammered against my ribs. At that moment, the beauty of Kaindy Lake was the last thing on my mind; survival was the only priority.
Then, suddenly, I was hoisted onto the back of a towering stallion. The beast snorted, shaking its mane as if amused by my terror. But with the first few steps, my fear melted away. The horse knew the trail better than I ever could, navigating each obstacle with effortless grace. When I foolishly tried to steer, it ignored me, charging forward with unshakable confidence. Defeated, I surrendered control—and in that surrender, found exhilaration.
We descended a near-vertical slope, the horse picking its way with astonishing precision. By the time we reached the lake’s edge, I was too awestruck by the journey to even notice the famed sunken forest. The real adventure had been the ride itself.
But the day wasn’t done with us yet. As dusk settled, word came that our lodging had been canceled. Night swallowed the mountains, leaving us stranded. With nowhere to go, I closed my eyes and let the memory of the horses carry me away—their strength, their wildness, their unbreakable spirit. In Kazakhstan, even the best-laid plans bow to the untamed land. And somehow, that was exactly as it should be.
