Victor Tieves (E 21-24): Travels from the Balkans to Central Asia - Bradfield for Life

On his Summer break before taking up a place at Bocconi university in Milan to read Economics, Victor took at trip from the Balkans through to ‘the Stans’. He was awarded a Bradfield Society Travel Award in support of his travels and his deftly written report reveals the true essence of travel…

The 29th of June 2024 marked the official end of my time at Bradfield. Yet on that same day, a Skyscanner alert lit up my phone with a flight to Zagreb departing the very next morning. My father had long resigned himself to the idea that I would wander off again, but even he was taken aback by the speed of my departure and how it would shape the years to come. Zagreb became the first stop in a long chain of buses and trains in the months to follow.

Croatia is better known for its glittering coastline and throngs of British students celebrating the end of exams than for its cultural legacy. And yet, beneath the tourist gloss lies a history that cannot be ignored. The Balkan war and tragedies like the massacre of Srebrenica are stark reminders of how the complexity of this region is so often underestimated. I had already brushed against these realities on a past trip to Bosnia, but true understanding only begins to emerge when you set foot in every country and listen to every story. Those stories come in unexpected places: in a modest museum, from a hostel owner who once fled the war and tried unsuccessfully to play professional basketball in Italy, or from an old man, glass of Rakija in hand, whose past you can only imagine.

And of course, the conversation always drifts to politics. Reading about politics and culture is one thing; watching them unfold before your eyes is another. On the 1st of November 2024 in Novi Sad, the concrete canopy of the main train station collapsed, killing 16 people. Just weeks before, I had stood in that exact spot waiting for a bus. When you see infrastructure crumble before your eyes, it becomes clear why people flood the streets in anger, demanding change. Even in moments of complaint, though, the people reveal a warmth that humbles you. I remember a shirtless man with no teeth, a chess Grandmaster in Belgrade, grumbling about the state of everything, including my lack of Serbian, while generously offering me a game.

People invited me into their homes, walked me through neighborhoods outsiders might avoid, or simply shared their time. Their kindness exposed a truth: in our busy worlds, we too often forget to look out for one another

As much as I treasure these encounters, the Balkans offer plenty beyond human connection. There are the obvious highlights: Saint Sava in Belgrade, the waterfalls of Plitvice, and the tranquility of Lake Ohrid, which show the astonishing diversity of a region you can cross in a matter of hours. But the moments that linger are often the smaller ones: wandering down a hidden forest trail, sipping coffee in Pristina’s bustling cafés, or climbing into a graffiti-splashed car park. Time and again, the Balkans surprised me.

And then, of course, there are the friends made along the way. I’ve always believed that travel is less about the place and more about the people you meet, and this trip confirmed that. From Toshi, a Japanese vlogger, to Tim, a reformed hooligan, to a group of Dutch students, each encounter became a thread in a web of memories. Together we hiked Bulgaria’s Rila Lakes, swam in North Macedonia’s Matka Canyon, and stayed up until dawn in hostel common rooms. Many of those friendships continue today; Toshi and I are already planning our next adventure.

I realized how much we share, despite our differences, and how wrong it is to judge anyone solely by their background. It’s this diversity, this exchange, that draws me back on the road time and time again

My journey carried me beyond Eastern Europe through Turkey until eventually reached the “Stans.” This part of the world has always fascinated me, and I know I will return, perhaps even to work there. Here, I found people who had the least to give and yet gave the most. Hospitality, generosity, and warmth radiated from them, often in places where material wealth was scarce. It left a lasting mark on me.

Uzbekistan has been getting more attention in recent years for its beautiful cities along the Old Silk Road and its deep culture. It borders Afghanistan to the south, and its second-biggest city lies just a few kilometers away from what used to be the Taliban’s center-yet the country feels politically stable. The strong military presence, especially around the capital, shows how seriously they take security. There’s even a designated “Tourist Police.” Make of that what you want. Personally, I think that’s one of the reasons Uzbekistan has become a popular destination for solo female travelers.

The train system has also improved a lot. Modern Chinese high-speed trains now connect main cities. They’re fast, efficient, and cleaner than most trains I’ve taken in Western Europe. But while they’re comfortable, they don’t offer much of a local experience. That’s where the old Soviet trains come in, the ones with cabins and seats that fold into beds. On one of those journeys, I shared some food with a small boy who seemed fascinated by the “foreigner” in the carriage. The heat was brutal, but he didn’t seem to care at all.

I remember one taxi driver laughing uncontrollably when I told him my plan for the next day. “Tomorrow, I go to Khiva,” I said. “The forecast says 40 degrees.” He couldn’t stop laughing. “No, my friend. It will be more than 50!” Encounters like that summed up how people in Uzbekistan are: warm, curious, and incredibly hospitable. From an old woman at the wrong guesthouse who gave me snacks to a British Council worker in Tashkent who invited me into his office, I was met with kindness everywhere I went.

What also stood out to me were the madrasahs-Islamic schools that often double as art schools. They reflect both the country’s history and its modern identity. Walking through them, you see local artists working near ancient trading domes, selling handmade crafts that carry centuries of tradition.

Across the border, Kyrgyzstan feels completely different. It’s a mountainous country, often called the “Alps of Central Asia.” The people seem quieter, more reserved. At the border, the officer looked at my European passport in surprise, showed it to his colleagues, and said, “Welcome to our country.” Apparently, that’s not something they say often. It wasn’t unfriendly, just simple and honest, like the country itself.

Bishkek, the capital, became one of those cities you just remember without knowing why. It’s clean, safe, and full of parks.

Most people come to Kyrgyzstan for the nature-Lake Issyk-Kul, now popular with Russian and Kazakh tourists, or the Arashan Valley, where you drive in an old Soviet van along a bumpy cliff road that tests your nerves. The views are stunning, and if you’re brave enough, you can even try the local fermented milk, or better not. But the longer you stay, the more the place grows on you. Travelers, mountaineers, and adventurers from all over the world gather there, and somehow it all feels like a small community.

The east of Kyrgyzstan, close to the Xinjiang region of China, is a place I know I’ll return to. The mix of nature and culture there is special-you even find Muslims praying in old Chinese temples, a reminder of when Uyghurs fled China and settled in the Ferghana Valley. A bit further north, Almaty in Kazakhstan feels like another world: busier, more expensive, a regional hub. It’s not just the city; the surrounding region is incredible. From the sunken forest to Sharyn Canyon, there are places so beautiful it’s hard to believe they’re real.

Central Asia surprised me in every way. It’s not just the landscapes or the history, it’s the people, the small interactions and the feeling of being somewhere that still feels undiscovered

I can say with certainty: the sunburn, the ATM that swallowed my card, the sleepless nights in dingy hostels; all of it was worth every moment.

I like to express my gratitude to the Bradfield Society. Their support gives students not just the chance to see the world, but the chance to grow into people who, with curiosity, gratitude, and open minds, might help shape it for the better. For that, I am deeply grateful.

And finally, I owe my greatest thanks to my father, who made all this possible. Danke, Papi.

Leavers have the opportunity to apply for The Bradfield Society Travel Awards in their final year. Awards are offered in the categories of Adventure Travel, Charity Project or Eco Travel, so if you are planning to go abroad and do something interesting in your Summer break before university or your Gap year share your proposed travel plans with the Bradfield Society on bradfieldsociety@bradfieldcollege.org.uk.

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