Monday, 12 October 2026

 

Start: Kyzylorda (KZ) 9:30

Arrival: Aralsk (KZ) 16:00

 

Total: 468 km

 

 

Another fun day on the road, listening to music and getting some mileage in.

 

 

We saw more camels on this stretch of road than anywhere else in Central Asia. Some of them very close to the road (as two days ago we found out about their predilection to fertilise the asphalt). - Edited by my sister: "That was a horse, Sandra."

 

 

We crossed the mighty Syr Darya three more times. How majestically it was flowing northward, from its Tian Shan birthplace along the legendary Silk Road outposts all the way to the Aral Sea, where it would, quite unceremoniously, fizzle out into a salt-encrusted ship-graveyard swamp. Such is life.

 

 

 

 

"How far still?" I asked Sonia for the umpteenth time. I knew we wouldn't get in, but I definitely did not want to miss the town sign. Maybe there was even a Gagarin statue near the road? I'm talking of course about the most famous of all Central Asian places, where astronauts of all nations long to be. Forget the Silk Road, in the 21st century, humanity rises up to the Milk Road. Silly pun, I know. But I definitely wanted to see Baikonur at least from afar. The entire area is Russian territory, so you cannot simply waltz in, but need to book a tour and apply for a special visa well ahead of time. We did not want to have a strict deadline on this trip, so we had decided to skip a visit to Baikonur. But a Gagarin statue at least?

 

 

Nope, all we saw were some satellite dishes about two kilometres from the road. While they surely were a part of Baikonur, the cosmodrome itself was much further afield and not visible from our highway. We didn't try to get any closer, just snapped a picture of the town sign and drove on.

 

 

 

 

A few hours later, another famous town sign. Not only the Syr Darya was heading toward the Aral Sea today, we were too! We wanted to visit the once thriving harbour town of Aralsk, where fishing boats and ships from hundreds of miles away had traded their wares.

 

 

Walking around the free open-air museum in Aralsk was a depressing affair. Not only was the disappearance of the once bountiful Aral Sea an ecological and economic disaster of enormous proportions - up there in the league of human own goals with the deforestation of the Easter Island, the irradiation of the Bikini Atoll and the creation of the American Dust Bowl - the museum itself was down on its luck. Broken pavement, an empty fountain, closed shops and kids' rides. Apart from a father with his toddler and two more tourists we were the only people around.

 

 

Sad really, because the exhibits were interesting and brought the world of the fishermen to life. The highlight was the Lev Berg, an entire ship which one could explore inside out.

 

 

Where once ships sailed off to foreign shores, horses were now grazing contentedly. They surely loved the salty grasses!

 

I planted my derrière on a park bench. It tilted to the front. Oops. Unstable seating arrangements. The bench leg was broken.

 

 

"Take the next one", Sonia said, holding up the phone, "I want to take a pic of that lighthouse." I eyed the second bench suspiciously. Would it hold or crush under me? And if so, at what angle? I tensed my muscles, prepared for every eventuality. "All relaxed, nice", my sister nodded in approval and snapped a pic. I quickly stood up. 'nough rested. On to the hotel.

 

 

We had opted for a new Kazakh hotel chain right on the highway, the Keruen Inn. It revealed itself a first-rate motel, on par with the French Ibis. Functional, compact, soundproof, everything you needed for a good night's sleep. It even had a cantineen were you could order microwaved plov and pizza. We were delighted and immediately booked the Keruen Inn near Atyrau as well.

 

 

Tomorrow would be a challenging day. According to Google, some highway stretches north of Aralsk were in a desolate condition. We had managed Uzbekistan from the Fergana Valley all the way to Bukhara. Could it really be worse? We put our alarm clock to 10 minutes before dawn and snoozed off, to the lullaby of the steppe wind and the passing trucks. Romantic.