After my chaotic border crossing into Kazakhstan, there was nothing better than arriving at my hotel – especially since it happened to be the Ritz (pinkies out). I slipped into a robe, ordered a pizza, and demolished the entire thing with zero shame. After days of sitting in a car, I finally felt still, knowing I didn’t need to go anywhere until it was time to fly home.

But not before one last adventure.

I texted my driver and said I wanted to do a hike. A quick search led me to Big Almaty Lake – it looked stunning online, even if I suspected it might still be frozen. The logistics of getting there were, of course, uniquely Central Asian.

Apparently, private vehicles aren’t allowed to drive all the way to the lake anymore. If you want to save yourself a few miles of walking along a winding mountain road with no shoulder and Russian SUVs speeding around corners, you have to hire a local. It seems like a few families have claimed this “transport right.” I ended up getting picked up by an older Russian man in a Range Rover. Somehow, it felt perfectly on-brand for the moment.

We drove about 20 minutes out of the city to a gate, walked through on foot, and waited for our second ride. Another 20-minute drive later, we arrived near the trailhead. We crossed a barbed wire fence and came to a raised shack on stilts, some kind of lookout post. This is where things got interesting.

Turns out, Kazakhstan sold Big Almaty Lake to Kyrgyzstan. Yep, the capital city’s namesake lake technically belongs to another country. So, yes, we crossed a border, and yes, someone had to check our passports. Although not my first time crossing borders on a mountain (Zermatt) it was the first time they checked my passport.

The hike itself was easy, though at 2,500 meters elevation, I felt it quickly. The lake was, as expected, still frozen. But the view? Absolutely unforgettable. Snow-capped peaks in the distance, turquoise ice below, and crisp alpine air. The place was almost empty, just a handful of other hikers out on the trail. Quiet. Untouched. Soul-filling.

These are the views I live for. They’re never easy to reach. The logistics are always annoying, the roads sketchy, and the systems unclear. But once you’re there—just you, the mountains, and the silence—there’s nothing else like it. It’s never crowded, always worth it, and forever etched in memory.