Kochkor is a small town surrounded by mountains. It has a sense of prosperity from trekking coupled with that 'slightly eery at night due to lack of street lighting' feel to it. At this point, it was the perfect solace.

Cafe Visit provided some of the best cuisine we'd found in the nation, and begun my love for Chaoubilly, which didn't seem dissimilar to butterfly chicken - only without the bacon.

And so, we soon organised another taxi, this time to Balychka, on the edge of Lake Issyk-Kol, the world's 2nd largest saline lake.

You would have thought we would have learnt our lessons by now. We hadn't, and to risk staying in this Russified town (not in the guide books) could have proved costly.

The initial impression at the terminally depressing bus station was sustained by the taxi to the so-called centre. Anybody would have thought we were in the middle of a civil war.

A policeman pivoted his machine-gun opposite a run-down bazaar, while crumbling tower blocks added to the tremendously unnerving atmosphere.

Our 'hotel' was pitiful. Bare walls, 2 near broken beds, no window and the decaying smell of Russian cigs. The other rooms were occupied by police, why, I dare not ask. The bathroom had silver fish.

We wandered carefully to the lake and were surprised to find folk swimming, a few pedalos and sun bathers, all at 6pm Friday evening. Weird.

This was half Blackpool, half bond film, all circa 1960. Too much litter, beggars with dodgy eyes, bad russian shorts and a derelict ship yard.

After an almost disasterous meal we hurried back before even a spot of darkness could creep in. Up at 6.30am and on a mashrutka out by 8. Karakol beckons.....