In early spring, pine trees scattered across the undulating hills. The recently melted ice peaks feed into the lakes while steep mountain roads wind alongside. An old Soviet-style car maneuvers diligently. Inside, the rhythm of the music harmonizes perfectly with the bumpy journey. It feels like the destination is near as the music inside the car shifts to another style. I recognize it as a traditional Kazakh song—’Dombra’ paints a picture of sorrow and vastness. I realize that when the music surrounding me reaches a certain level of excellence, it easily stirs the tear ducts.
