On our first night out of Osh we found ourselves on top of a mountain pass surrounded by yurts. These round felt tents dot Kyrgyzstan's scenic landscape and provide a temporary home during the summer months when the herders head to the high pastures to graze their cattle, sheep and horses. Inside they are lined with colourful wall hangings and are remarkably spacious considering that they provide accommodation for the entire family. They are so central to the way of life that one is even featured on the country's flag. We were greeted by a man on a donkey who led us over to his roadside stall to give us a mug of Kumis. Personally I would have preferred a kick in the crotch but I feigned thanks as he handed me the foul tasting fermented horses' milk. Politely declining a second helping we started to set up camp beside a nearby yurt, helped by two boys and as we did so their grandmother provided us with a constant stream of cups of tea, apricots, yoghurt and bread. The atmosphere was slightly ruined by the arrival of a large group of men drinking vodka and listening to Russian techno music from the back of a Lada, but fortunately this impromptu gathering stopped early and we could once more relax under the bright stars.

After another night and another yurt, we tackled the highest pass of the trip - 3630m. In the distance the snow capped Pamirs marked the border with Tajikistan and behind us the road snaked back to the green valley below. The roads in this part of the world are particularly awful; the main road to China is little more than a dirt track. The consequence of this is that downhills are no more fun than going up, as any speeds over 20kmph become intolerably bone-shaking. The terrain was incredibly remote with what looks like a town on the map turning out to be a collection of huts and perhaps a shop stocking nothing but vodka, gherkins and stale bread. Apart from the odd horse, the only traffic on the road were decrepit trucks carrying scrap metal to China. Every few kilometres we would come across one of these rusting giants broken down on the side of the road, with the driver underneath it doing some serious engineering.

Before this trip I had never even heard of Kyrgyzstan, let alone know how to spell it. It is a shame that it is so unknown back home because it is an impossibly beautiful place and completely unspoilt. Since it's sudden independence with the fall of the Soviet Union it has struggled to find its place. We spoke to a man in Bishkek with fond memories of the USSR, which provided decent healthcare, education and full employment. Without subsidies from Moscow there is now very little money for public services or infrastructure. With little industry (18% of its GDP comes from a single, Canadian owned, gold mine) it is making efforts to encourage a new breed of eco-tourism. Hopefully this will provide much needed dollars and allow more people to see this land without turning it into an alpine theme park. One of the problems with travelling is that there is always more to see and we feel that we will have to return to Kyrgyzstan to see more of its natural splendor.

The border post resembled a post apocalyptic wasteland, complete with smouldering fires, piles of rubbish and lorries belching yellow fumes. A short fat border guard made us wait 2 hours before helpfully informing us that the actual gate we needed to go through was 100 yards to our right. Within Central Asia we had not noticed any significant differences when crossing borders, but crossing into China was a 'great leap forward'. A smooth tarmac road took us across the 5km of no man's land to a huge building complete with air conditioning and marble floors. Things were looking good for a quick entry procedure until the snazzy new computer system crashed. By the time it had restarted it was time for lunch and the guards took our passports, told us to come back in 3 hours and marched off in perfect time to their canteen as military music was played through loudspeakers. Our three hours as illegal aliens were spent refuelling with greasy noodles, testing my self-taught Mandarin (more work needed) and cursing Microsoft Windows for making us wait around as our first tailwind in weeks gradually weakened.

The high mountain scenery gave way to interlocking red sandstone canyons as we descended towards the edges of the mighty Taklamakan desert. Kashgar is an ancient trading city and was once a hugely important oasis on the silk road. There is very little evidence of this though and it feels like a modern Chinese city, with crowded pavements, massive advertising hoardings and a large statue of Mao dominating the main street. World Cup football aside, the main reason for visiting was to catch the Sunday market that is described as one of the best sights in Central Asia. Every Sunday thousands (sometimes hundreds of thousands) of Uighurs, Tajiks and Kyrgyz gather to sell their wares in a field outside town. Having seen enough traditional carpets to last a lifetime, we decided to pay a visit to the animal section which was a cacophony of activity as men tried to get the best prices for their prize cattle. We were there a couple of hours and I only witnessed one instance of money actually changing hands, it seems that traders are quite happy to spend and entire day prodding muscles, checking teeth and squeezing udders before they commit to a purchase.