final resting yurts

During our Chon-Kemin Christmas weekend, we took a walk around the village and found a cemetery beyond the empty fields, just a bit of a hike up the hills. I would like to learn about the burial traditions of the Kyrgyz, how generations of nomadic life eventually leads to a sedentary existence in a permanent structure. A final, elaborate metal yurt for some, a giant mound of earth for others.

I wandered around, documenting the intricate portraits of those buried beneath the snow, the fabulous font used to identify some…

…and other signs completely erased by time.

I managed to wander away from the group, I guess not everybody likes hanging out in graveyards. Farrell and I stood there, alone, contemplating this little village and it’s little piece of history.

After a few minutes I could feel myself growing more uncomfortable, invading the cemetery like it was a tourist attraction.

It was the golden hour, and I couldn’t resist taking advantage of the lighting and the shapes. These are all things I want to look at again and again, things I want to remember and show to my family and friends.

During your own travels, have you ever felt embarrassed or uncomfortable being somewhere as a tourist? What did you do?