Kyrgyzstan: land of the high plains

I'm walking, as if through treacle, up and up the mountain foothills. Behind me shimmers Issy Kul, the world's second largest alpine lake. It is so blue, so vast, it seems as though a chunk of the sky has fallen down.

Suddenly a horseman thunders past - the only sign of local life I've seen in the past hour, and yet a very fitting one in this wild and beautiful country.

A few months ago, I wouldn't have been able to find Kyrgyz-stan on the map. Now, I can't shut up about the place. For the record, it is a landlocked Central Asian republic, bordered by Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and China - and home to whole heap of A-list mountain ranges.

Take the Tian Shan: the Mountains of Heaven, they call them here. They run like an heiress's diamond necklace across the country and into China, glacial peaks that embody the Platonic ideal of a glacial peak. The epic valleys, badlands-like canyons, mountain rivers and dizzying gorges make this a Shangri-La for outdoor lovers, a blend of the best features of Nepal, Switzerland and Arizona somehow relocated slap in the middle of the former Soviet Union.

But back to my walk. Three hours in, and I'm beginning to feel queasy. I blame the altitude: we're scraping 3,000 metres. But I can't be ill, dammit, I'm here to get fit. Tomorrow, I'm meant to be crossing the Tor Pass, a hike that involves a vertical climb of 1,000 metres. That's a whole kilometre, gulp.

Many moons have passed since I read Jonny Bealby's book Silk Dreams, Travelled Road, about a blind date that took him from Pakistan to the Caspian Sea, through Central Asia on horseback. It left me hankering for adventures of my own, so I booked this trip with Bealby's travel company, Wild Frontiers. And no, blind dates aren't part of the package, but do I care? Not a jot, when I clap eyes on our guide, the tall, dark and dishy Domenico Mocchi.

Confusingly, he is Italian, but married to Nargiza, a Kyrgyz beauty, and based in Bishkek, the nation's capital. But for the next 17 days he is all ours, and what a natural people-pleaser Dom is, by turns cajoling, entertaining and good-naturedly joshing us.

Our 11-strong group meet in Bishkek. Really, Benetton ought to think about recruiting some of their models here - the diversity of faces, a legacy of all that toing and froing along the Silk Road (the collective name for the ancient trails used by traders to carry goods between China and the West), is fascinating. Think blond Russians, Mongolians, Koreans, Turks, Persians, and Chinese all on the same street.

Our group is pretty cosmopolitan too - Brits aside, there is a Lebanese-American theatre director, a half-Welsh, half-Polish lawyer, a Kiwi schoolteacher, an Australian expat, a Scottish doctor and a Yorkshire lab technician. Most of the time, we rub along nicely, and crucially, one of us (Paul, the lawyer) has brought along an iPod with speakers.

Never underestimate the power of a rousing tune when you're bumping along potholed roads on a Kyrgyz army truck. For the fun begins when we board "Olga", as we christen her, and head for Bokenbaev, and the home of a traditional eagle hunter and his family. It's our first encounter with the locals, and after a feast of pelmeni (ravioli in soup), laghman (noodles), Russian salads, plov - a heap of rice and mutton - and five vodka toasts, we lurch merrily to bed.

The next morning, Olga drops us off in a green, remote spot and we hike to our first camp - this is the walk that has me gasping for breath. Two-thirds of the way up, I swallow my pride, crawl into the back-up 4x4, and (through gritted teeth) wave to the others as they stride along.

The jailoo (mountain pasture) in which we are going to experience our first taste of nomadic life feels fantastically alien and isolated: it is sunny, but the wind is howling, and up ahead looms the pass, ominously covered in snow.

After dark, the temperature plummets, and we huddle in a king-sized yurt, a traditional circular tent. Cushioned with shyrdaks, felt rugs in glorious colours, it feels cosy, like an Ali Baba cave. After another banquet and more vodka, all 11 of us bed down in a row, sleeping bags touching. We have known each other for only two days, but there is no awkwardness, only a feeling of complicity and childish glee.

In the morning, I wake up to a pounding headache and heart, and realise I'm going to have to pass on the pass. I'm so disappointed that, to my horror, I begin to cry. Great big tears which fall into my vodka-soaked tea.

I can't work out why I'm reacting this way. I mean, it's just a day's hike. Maybe it's the warm, unfamiliar feeling of camaraderie that I'm loath to forfeit. Or are the mountains and the crisp air beginning to cut through my city carapace?

Meanwhile, the hardier members of our group get togged up for the hike. Dom, in his bright yellow anorak, reflective shades, rope and walking poles, looks like he is about to tackle Everest. After waving the walkers off, the rest of us pile into the 4x4 for the long drive to that night's camp, in the Tosor Valley.

A local guide, the blond, blue-eyed Eduard, born in Uzbekistan and of noble blood (his great-great-great grandfather was a Russian prime minister) comes with us. It is sunny in the valley, the countryside is teeming with wildflowers, my headache disappears, and it is fun waving at passing horsemen.

We stop for a picnic above a ravine and watch as five golden eagles glide through it - a moment of pure poetry. Then we drive up to the rocky, lunar-like Tosor Pass and Eduard suggests we stretch our legs.

We scramble out eagerly and plod along slowly (at an altitude of 3,800m, the air is thin), for a few kilometres before clambering back into the vehicle.

It is pitch-black by the time we arrive at the tented camp, and those who had set off on foot straggle in after us, proudly, like conquering heroes; albeit cold, exhausted ones. There is just time for a midnight soak in a nearby hot spring. The water is scorching, but oh, what a treat for aching muscles.

The next day, we move on - I'm definitely beginning to feel like a nomad now - to the pretty, sheltered Tash Rabat valley, where yaks and sheep roam. There is just time to explore the ruins of a 10th-century stone inn sunk into the hillside before we saddle up for a ride to a 4,000m ridge, from where we will be able to glimpse China. I have never sat astride a horse before, and I'm allergic to horse hair, but by gosh I'm determined to do this.

"You need to know two words and you'll be fine," says Dom, 'Chu' (stop), and 'Drrr' (go)." He promises I won't fall off. "Really?" "Promise," he says. But the soft-spoken Sylvie isn't taking any chances, and allows her mount to be roped and led by a horseman.

Neither of us need have worried; ours are sure-footed Kyrgyz horses, who have no desire to buck a beginner. They don't falter, even when inching along a rocky ledge overlooking some rapids below. Four hours, and a sore backside, later, I'm gazing out at Lake Chatyr-Kol and the Torugart Pass which borders China. The view is sublime. Munching on boiled eggs and flatbread, I daydream about parachuting in.

The next evening, after a drive up a spiralling road, we reach the shores of Lake Son Kul, "The Kyrgyz Riviera," Dom calls it. It's a shepherd's paradise, and a jaded Londoner's too; so still is the water's surface, so serene the pastures, that all my cares dissolve. Another walk, another ride and a glorious sunset later, I'm sorely tempted to jump ship and stay. Who needs a blind date when you're living and breathing romance?

Joy of jailoo: how to go wild in the high country

Jini Reddy travelled on the 17-day Silk Road Mountains and Towns tour to Kyrgyz-stan and Uzbekistan with Wild Frontiers (020 7736 3968, wildfrontiers. co.uk). The trip costs £1,995, including return BA flights from Heathrow to the Kyrgyz capital, Bishkek. Wild Frontiers' other Central Asia options include other Silk Road packages, horse trekking and an epic Kazakhstan-Kyrgyzstan action/adventure trip featuring biking, rafting, helicoptering and trekking (prices on application). Wild Frontiers can advise on all aspects of their trips, from visa and vaccination requirements to what socks to take. The best time for high-altitude summer- pasture trips is mid-May to early October, for horse trekking March to November, while trekking and climbing below 4,000m can be enjoyed year-round. For more details of Kyrgyzstan and its people: cbtkyrgyzstan.kg