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There is a single crank for winding all four windows in the aging taxi I hail at Manas International Airport outside Bishkek. "Russian car" is the only explanation — and the only English — offered by the driver. Welcome to Kyrgyzstan, a country still recuperating from its 70-year stint as part of the U.S.S.R., when it was a top-secret site of weapons tests and uranium mines. Despite emerging as the Central Asian destination most welcoming to independent visitors, Kyrgyzstan remains seldom visited.

Kyrgyzstan's history is rich — it includes a showdown between Scythian warriors and Alexander the Great, not to mention the requisite Mongol invaders — but the country offers little in the way of monuments. Its unique draw is a 94% mountainous landscape that has even the bloodless CIA World Factbook rhapsodizing about "incredible natural beauty."

Another lure is the population's utter devotion to hospitality. I experienced this immediately after arriving on my late-night flight, when a female airport employee insisted on seeing me all the way to my homestay.

For a former Soviet city, the capital of Bishkek is surprisingly lush and green. A stroll around town reveals numerous tree-filled parks surrounding large public buildings ranging from the monstrously Soviet to the stately. These include a functioning, if not always full, opera house. Another surprise is the abundance of Soviet relics still on display. Near the deserted State Historical Museum — inside, a gory ceiling mural depicts class warfare — Vladimir Lenin zealously points the way forward.

The surrounding city blocks are rather more lively, with rapidly proliferating bars and restaurants catering to the new designer-sunglasses-clad, moneyed class. Not that there are many signs of a trickle-down effect just yet. A drink at these establishments would cost nearly a week's salary for the hospital administrator who put me up in her dining room under the watchful gaze of stern family portraits. Kyrgyzstan's burgeoning homestay movement is a boon to both sides, bringing locals income and providing visitors with a cheap, clean bed and friendly faces. At another homestay in a more traditional rural area, where women wear head scarves and men white-felt hats, a whole evening was spent with a grandmother sighing over an outdated book entitled Kyrgyzstan: The Mode of Life is a Soviet One. Pioneered by the Shepherd's Life network(www.tourism.elcat.kg) in the central Naryn region, the homestay concept has been expanded to other areas by Community Based Tourism (www.helvetas.kg) .

In summer, visitors are welcomed into Kyrgyzstan's yurts, traditional nomadic tents pitched by shepherds in high mountain pastures, or jailoos. The round, domed dwellings hold a special place in the national consciousness, with the families of many of the country's five million citizens having rolled theirs up not so many generations ago.

The most eagerly anticipated part of my trip was a venture up to one of the best-known jailoos around Song Kol, which at more than 3,000 meters above sea level is one of the world's highest lakes. I traveled by a series of taxis in which fellow passengers plied me with everything from cups of sparkling wine to a boiled goat's jawbone.

Pillars of light seemed to drop directly from the clouds into the lake's steely waters, as shaggy goats and magnificent horses grazed on the sprawling grasslands. After a look around I was whisked inside by my homestay family, who offered bowl after bowl of kumys, the bitter local tipple made from fermented mare's milk. The yurtstay is not a cushy experience: toilets are outdoor squat-style; there are no showers, and you wash from a bucket. With the nearest telephone several hours away, my days were filled with hiking and horseback riding in edelweiss-speckled meadows. Evenings, by gaslight, consisted largely of food and drink. Round flatbread was roughly torn and piled high on a low table. Fish fresh from the lake, noodles and pickled cabbage — all smothered in sour cream — were served up as we sat around the low table on well-worn sheepskins. And for the main course, I was treated to the very fattiest (and tastiest) hunks of mutton. With a growing number of visitors, Kyrgyzstan's warm smiles and piled plates could prove to be valuable natural resources.

• Joanna Nathan/Bishkek
• 'My Yurt is Your Yurt' in Kyrgyzstan