IN WESTERN KYRGYZSTAN, not far from the Uzbekistan border, you will find a bumpy dirt road. For hours that road will bounce you up and into a narrowing valley, where you’ll slowly approach a wall of mountains. There at the base of the mountains, the road ends. And you’ll find yourself in a remote but surprisingly bustling market town: Arslanbob.

Arslanbob is a place verging on the mythical. It’s surrounded by striking scenery; a sacred Muslim site associated with the Prophet himself; home to a massive and unique forest, and a diverse population of beautiful people who consider themselves culturally unique from other Central Asians.

“We are not Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, or Tajik,” says Hayat, a friendly man with sparkling aqua eyes. He operates the wonderfully useful Community Based Tourism (CBT) office, and hooked me up with a homestay family.

“It’s said that around the 11th century, an Arab man came here. His name was Arslanbob-Ata. Some say he was a general; others, a king. Many say he was a servant of the prophet Mohammad.”

“But all we know for sure, is that he was a good gardener.”

Even the name of this man, Arslanbob-Ata, is a puzzle. It appears to be a mashup of Arabic and Turkic words, and likely means “Father of the Lion Gate”.

Today in Arslanbob the suffix ‘bob’ means “a traveller or explorer” – likely due to their founding father.

When Arslanbob-Ata (henceforth known as ‘Arslan-Bob’) arrived here in the 11th century he built hundreds of kilometres of irrigation channels, which fed walnut forests. And what a fine job he did: This is now the largest walnut grove in the world.

“Decades or even centuries after Arslan-Bob’s death,” Hayat continued, “a young Muslim mullah had a vision. The mullah saw Arslan-Bob’s spirit, and it asked him to build a memorial here in his honour.”

But there was a small problem.

“He lived very far – perhaps in Bukhara. He journeyed for months to come here. When he finally arrived, he completed his mission, building the memorial. He then stayed in Arslanbob maintaining that memorial for the rest of his life. We are the 28th generation since that mullah.”

<-> <-> <->

WITH AN EXCELLENT CBT program, waterfalls, mountain biking trails, and enormous mountains attracting hikers and mountaineers it’s more than just walnuts that thrive in Arslanbob.

I hiked the grove and chatted with dozens of locals during the day, and at night slept in a homestay where one resident welded and angle-grinded his bicycle into a motorbike.

Sadly I had to leave too soon. As I reluctantly carried my pack through town towards the bus stop, engulfed by a blizzard of cottonwood fluff,  I couldn’t resist an idea. That despite seeing the place with my own eyes; walking it with my own feet; and hearing people’s stories with my own ears, Arslanbob would still remain in my memory, a myth.

[The town may be mythical, but these photos are not. Scroll down, and click to view full-screen. Pro tip: Use your arrow keys to navigate between images]

Hayat, the Community Based Tourism guide. He told me much history of the area – ranging from Ladas to Mohammad. He also translated some questions I had for other folks I met in the nearby street.

Arslanbob, from an adjacent plateau of walnut forests.

This Lada rocks.

The river was really cold.

I love the simple toys that children invent when they're not hypnotised by iPads.

The main river running through Arslanbob. Dozens of locals gingerly crossed its rickety bridge.

Some Kyrgyz women are suspicious of foreigners. When I waved hello to this woman's adorable daughters, she averted all eye-contact and swiftly walked away. Her daughter nearly had to run to keep up.

A rather majestic vehicle ripe for a Lada advert.

Renovations in progress.

Butcher at work

Suddenly the rain was upon me, and I ran down the street looking for cover. This man and his son sitting under an awning beckoned me over to sit with them. We spoke for half an hour.

Two boys waiting for their friend to return and show them how to turn a bicycle into a motorbike.

My homestay neighbour, converting his bike into a motorbike. Near midnight I heard the engine start, and vroom off into the night. Winning.

Market day cabbages.

Traffic jam on market day in Arslanbob. Note the furry passengers in the boot.

I told this man I was making portraits of amazing faces in Kyrgyzstan. He said, "The reason we have such beautiful faces in Arslanbob is because we have clean air from the high mountains, and fresh water from the many rivers. If it wasn't for the car pollution we'd live to be 200!" I later learned that every morning at 5am he walks to the mosque, 3km return, to pray.

[Correction: In the original post, I said walnuts were native to Malaysia. This is incorrect; they originated in Persia. Apologies.]