Karakol - Black Hands On Issyk-Kul (Timelapse)

When I arrived in Karakol, I got a bunk in an eight-bed room. I was by myself, the only two other guests in the hostel were from Switzerland and Uzbekistan. Over the next few days, I made noodles that tasted like crap, I made vareniki that tasted a bit better, and finally I made pelmeni that tasted okay. I drank huge amounts of kvass. When I went out, I found out that Karakol felt a bit like Kansas: wide avenues, single-storeyed houses with fences in front of them, crumbling plaster here and there and some