Fifth Journey Day 93: Packet’s Language
Date: August 9, 2025
Location: Naryn, Kyrgyzstan
I arrived in Naryn this morning after a long, somewhat cramped ride through winding hills. The road went through dry valleys and along cracked ridgelines. The colors were ochre, slate, and bone. I didn't say much. Most people in the minibus either stared ahead or slept. One boy spent an hour playing with a plastic bag, tapping on it and reshaping it as if it held a secret.
When I arrived in town, I walked around for a bit. The air felt thin but clean, and it was surprising how quiet it was. The buildings are low and quiet. You can see rusted pipes and exposed stone through the faded plaster. I saw a little kid trying to catch her own shadow near a grocery store window.
I walked toward the edge of the town, where it becomes rural land. The landscape here isn't very exciting, but it goes on for a long time. That quiet widening of the chest does something to the breath — it makes you less hurried, even internally. I found a flat stone near the start of the At-Bashy valley and sat there for nearly two hours. Drew little more than one ridgeline and two bent stalks of grass. But I noticed the way the light kept getting harder, the way shadows blurred near their edges from the dust in the air.
There's something about this place that doesn't make sense right away. It provides space, but not answers. It's a space where your thoughts come back to you in new ways.
Tonight, I'm going to leave the window open. The wind smells a little like metal — like dried lichen or a cold coin. It's not exactly silence, but it's the sound of a place that doesn't care if you understand it or not. I think I needed that.
