I squeezed a mini gap year into 18 days

Later that night I realised I’d forgotten to do my ridiculous pre-bedtime ritual of zipping up my sleeping bag with anti-bug face netting, and ­dousing myself in deet. On the other side of the shared yurt, Bettina had just doused herself in a spray of her own: Chanel. She threw me a wink. “Just because we’re camping, ­standards don’t have to slip,” she ­giggled. Her carefree attitude was infectious. So I put away my bug spray and my silly netting and thought: maybe I will like group trips.

Then, just as I was hitting my stride came a setback. On our way to Osh, a Kyrgyz city near the border, we stopped in a village for the night – a single dusty road, stray dogs asleep in bushes and a teeny shop selling warm Coca-Cola.

Sergei suggested that we climb the small mountain, just beyond. It was scorching, pushing 40C, so we waited until…