Kyrgyzstan is a mountainous, landlocked country in Central Asia, whose eastern border meets China. The Kyrgyz Republic was once part of the USSR and has experienced notable political and social instability since its independence in 1991. Weak governance and endemic corruption led to social and political uprisings in 2005 and 2010. Nearly two-thirds of the population live in rural areas, particularly concentrated in valleys and along mountain slopes. Poverty is widespread in this country, where over 60% of the rural population lives in poverty or is at risk of falling into it.
I was able to immerse myself for a few days in the heart of a family living in a remote village near Lake Issyk-Kul, in the center of the country. The father and his two sons are Eagle Hunters, practitioners of a traditional form of falconry native to the region. The hunters use golden eagles to capture prey such as foxes and hares. This practice has deep roots in the nomadic cultures of Central Asia, and hunters often form close bonds with their eagles, training them from a young age. The birds are released from hilltops or mountains to catch prey at long distances and return them to their owners.
This photographic series seeks to portray various everyday scenes in which I was invited to take part.
We didn’t share a language, their eating habits were very different from what I’m used to, the sanitary facilities were extremely basic, and my room was a yurt—the traditional nomadic dwelling of the region. These circumstances placed me far outside the comfort of daily familiarity, yet something deeply human connected me to them, creating a feeling of intimacy and recognition. We found many common grounds: kindness, humor, the opportunity to help with tasks, going to the beach together, playing volleyball, or riding horses.
During those days, I felt as though I were living inside the everyday reality of a family, in that same village, in a time before the dissolution of the USSR—only the presence of mobile phones gave away that we were in 2024. At the same time, I sensed they were living in an absolute present, immersed in a work-centered routine in which each family member seemed to have a designated role, part of a finely tuned, loving, and synergistic mechanism.
This way of moving through life—with all its discomforts—became, once again, an alarm bell, one that rings every now and then to remind me of what, at its core, I believe to be the true value of human experience.
