Freedom in the Mountains
What Travel in Kyrgyzstan Taught Me About Being a Woman: A Personal Memoir
There are countless daring things a girl grows up admiring from afar, yet feels are out of reach - choices society quietly insists are ‘not for girls.’ Too bold, too wild, too impossible. We’re told to not climb trees, to keep our voices low, to cheer on boys from the sidelines. To run away from anything that sounds like ‘danger.’
These messages trailed after me into adulthood. Adventure sports and wild camping were still considered anything but ‘feminine.’ Pack your bags and travel the world alone at twenty-two? That’s crazy! Setting out on my solo journey in 2023, the questions never stopped: “You’re going alone? But you’re a girl! Is it safe?” Even with a degree, multiple jobs, and a solid sense of confidence, society still seemed unconvinced.
The persistent narrative of women as inherently vulnerable thrives - especially in countries with treacherous reputations. That fear seeps into the eyes of young adventurers, convincing them that certain paths are off-limits simply because they are female.
Before leaving, undertones of disapproval seemed prevalent. Kyrgyzstan? Where even is that? That doesn’t sound like Euro-summer. What language do they speak? Isn’t there a war over there? (That last question was unfortunately frequent.) A part of me wavered, but a bigger part knew I had nothing to worry about. My heart still said go.
So, it became an adventure:
to challenge myself that I, a somewhat experienced solo female traveler (and quite literally, just a girl), could trust my intuition over the judgment of others.
And these were the best four weeks of my life.
This Kyrgyzstan trip felt like a turning point for me.
Spending most of my recent travels in the mountains, I discovered the wonderland within myself - inner peace, independence, and resilience that shaped me not only into a young adult, but also a woman. Planning a visit to Central Asia with an even more brilliant woman deepened all of these lessons. Lieja had taught me sisterhood.
Together, we were simply two lost girls in our 20s, with nothing but a love for the earth and female empowerment.
And oh, did we think like women.
Our “culture” was adventure at its core: organic oats with chia seeds and neatly diced apples (to a 2×2 cm precision) each morning, skincare routines performed in an Asian squat beside glacier lakes, religiously smothering our skin in Tiger Balm and our lips in Vaseline. We laughed through the most absurd conversations, debating everything from overlooked sexual pleasures to the bare minimum of men, all while struggling to inflate our air mattresses at 3,000 m elevation (and almost passing out).
We shared intuition and vigilance. We sensed when the energy of a new air felt safe or off. We tuned into each other’s emotional boundaries: me, intensely restless; her, occasionally overwhelmed. Together, we jigsaw pieced together a journey that fit us perfectly.
My previous travel pals were mostly dudes - as many as five crammed into a road trip, on multiple occasions. So the small joys unique to female companionship was new to me. Suddenly, nutrition mattered. Packing and rationing food became a shared art. Saving a slice of honey cake just to enjoy it six hours later at the peak of our hike felt almost romantic. We were organised without being rigid, adventurous without being reckless.
And then it hit me: there was nothing we couldn’t do.
I had never met freedom the way I did in Kyrgyzstan’s garden. The nature alone was ethereal, as if the country was created in the clouds above. And oh, what a privilege it was to wake up each morning and pinch myself. The mountains were splashed with vibrancy, the streams were glassy in audio, sunlight painting every corner of a living masterpiece. Horses roamed wild beyond the valleys and between the evergreen pine trees. And silence, well it was the most serene melody I had ever heard.
I was breathing in freedom - the purest, freshest, rawest form of it.
Each day, we found a thousand reasons to be grateful: safety, good health, strangers who became friends, and the connections (kind-hearted locals and backpackers) that stitched our journey together. What stood out most was the butterfly effect: how every minuscule decision rippled outward, guiding us exactly to where we needed to be.
Backpacking in Kyrgyzstan was like time-traveling forty years back. Google Maps was perfectly inaccurate, buses had no timetables (or even stops for that matter), and finding a simple map required a visit to nine different shops. But the side quests sailed smoothly. No scams, no harassment, and female taxi drivers everywhere. Even the hiccups had their charm.
For example, hitchhiking - something society paints as a headline tragedy for women - unfolded with surprising ease. Countless journeys that we’d never tell our fathers about carried us safely across the country.
Neither of us had solo camping experience beforehand. I once realised, after breaking up with my ex, that all our gear belonged to him - leaving me uncertain if I’d ever camp alone. But this fear was quickly flipped. Lieja bought a tiny two-man tent; I invested in a stove and kitchen gear. Together we figured it out. The first few tent setups tested our patience, but by day six we had it down to eight minutes flat.
We carried 18-kilogram packs up steep trails of loose gravel, over slick rocks, and through thorny bushes. We battled altitude, food poisoning, and exhaustion - in rain, hail, and blazing sun. But nothing matched the satisfaction at the end of each day, knowing we had pushed our bodies (and spirits) far beyond imagination. Both physically and mentally, we felt unbreakable.
Our goal became clear: do it all without mansplaining.
On our last night, we started a fire using nothing but wet sticks, tissues, and a half-dead lighter. We squealed, clapped, hugged, and danced. It felt like we had just created magic. And in that firelight, I finally understood why women need each other.
The mountains were ours - not another soul in sight, just a million stars watching over. Kyrgyzstan wrapped us in safety, and Mother Nature herself had arms around us.
We were free. Free to bathe naked in her tearful streams, to lounge upon her lush grass and braid each others’ hair, to sing badly with a ukulele and harmonica until we cried from laughter.
Naturally, we were women in the wild.
In these moments, feminine energy was overflowing.
Femininity; the kind of Eve and her garden, of delicacy and radiance.
The kind of shoes and dresses, of pearls and lipstick.
The same kind of bold and fierce, of maverick and fearlessness. The lone-wolf with passionate eyes.
The kind of long morning runs, breaking silence, instinctive navigation and untamed strength.
The world is filled with women of courage and fire, able to pursue any dream - no matter how daunting. We are not damsels locked in towers, awaiting rescuers to free us. No. We are running in the wild, climbing peaks, and exploring uncharted corners of the planet to find freedom ourselves.
We have the power to create the life we deserve. Kyrgyzstan simply handed me the pen to write mine.
To any girl, woman, or person standing at the edge of uncertainty: listen to your heart and take the step forward.
Your humility holds the wings you need to fly.
And as always, the mountains will be waiting for you.
This piece was written with love - for Lieja, Keely, Alysha, Megan and all the incredible women in my life.
To the late night conversations about passions and ambitions over sweet tea and apple pie, or the cold morning plunges together, and even to the tear-filled voice messages and calls from opposing timezones - you inspire me daily to become the woman I once only dreamed of as a girl. You keep the sun shining, the femininity in our world alive, and make the impossible possible.