Glacier to Gobi Expedition

The Chinese handed us over to the Kyrgyz Border Patrol with great ceremony atop a beautiful mountain. As officials saluted and passed our passports around, we eyed the Kyrgyz authorities for any signs of how we would be received. A scruffy Kyrgyz officer got into our pickup and directed the driver to descend to the Kyrgyz Border Patrol station. The officer then picked up a battered Kalishnokov assault rifle, chambered a round, and trained it emphatically at the three of us in the backseat. As we descended the bouncy road, we wondered how sensitive the Kalishnokov's trigger was. After a serious whitewater expedition and eight days in Chinese custody, none of us looked much like James Bond. But no matter how compelling that argument sounded in our heads, none of us dared to point out that fact; we didn't want to tempt a trigger-happy response.

But after a thorough search of our belongings at the station, the tension eased. For the next several days the Kyrgyz proved themselves to be nothing but friendly and effective as they conducted thorough background checks, used our experiences to run anti-corruption stings within their own forces, questioned us over beers, and shared with us photographic evidence of yetis. Eventually, we landed in the capital city of Bishkek, where Kyrgyz officials gave us our passports, firm handshakes, and this sound advice: "Don't go back to China."
       
The next day Simon flew out to begin graduate school, arriving a day late with an incredible excuse. Andrew and I returned to the mountains for two more months of whitewater, taking with us many expensively acquired lessons. First, and most obvious, is not to provoke a hard-line Communist regime. The second is that if you must provoke that regime, paddling one of the planet's most challenging, beautiful, and unusual rivers is as good a reason as any.