On our way to Bishkek from Osh, we pulled over on a disused road to set up camp for the night. Just as we were about to start dinner, a man appeared seemingly from nowhere. He invited us to join him and his wife for dinner, so we followed him back to his small farm, tucked away in a dip on the hill. His wife appeared from a small hut, no more than a wooden frame covered in cloth and plastic. She was unfazed by her unexpected dinner guests; she just cleared a space for us in the hut and laid out tender cooked beef, homemade yoghurt, bread and honey. After food and lots of tea, it was time to milk the cows. It was fascinating to watch, having never witnessed it before. The milk was warm, and didn’t taste like the pasteurised stuff we get in the shop, but I was glad to try some. It would be left in the roof overnight to settle, and the cream would be skimmed off in the morning and made into yoghurt, which was just amazing with honey and warm bread! We camped in their yard overnight, soothed by the sounds of thunder and murmuring cattle. Simple pleasures with a lovely family.