But I won’t do that…

I like to consider myself the kind of traveller that’s open to new experiences. I take my shoes off in temples, I never once asked for a fork in Japan and I make sure I wear t-shirts ripped and off-the-shoulder on kibbutz. I’m a paragon of the ‘tread lightly’ school of travel, honest. But everybody’s got a limit and it’s just a matter of time before it finds them.

I met mine in a yurt in a summer meadow in Kyrgyzstan, in the form of kymys: smoked, fermented mare’s milk. Fabled to be the beverage of champions, the milk is also a dietary staple and pride and joy of Kyrgyz nomads. The mares are milked every hour, and over several days the milk is fermented and stirred in a smoke filled barrel. The result is a fizzy, smoky, vaguely alcoholic milk drink.

With an audience of a Kyrgyz nomadic family, my Russian speaking host and translator as well as the neighbours from the yurt over the stream, I smiled politely and tried desperately to calm my gag reflex as I placed the bowl back down. It’s not an easy thing to do, but sometimes learning your limits is a crucial part of the travel experience.

Where have you had to draw the line?

- Jenni Kauppi