The Kokala tract, Mount Sherkala & Airakty-Shomanai (The Valley of Castles).
mangystau, kazakhstan chapter six: Day 4, afternoonOur bellies full of ice cream we continue driving across the steppe, leaving the village behind and re-enter the wilderness.
At one point I spot a tower atop a mountain on the other side of the plains. I ask Asia what it is. She tells me it’s Отпан Тау, a mausoleum atop Mount Otpan. Adai-ata and its descendants—Kelimberdy and Kudaike. Adai-Ata himself is the legendary founding ancestor of the Adai clan, the largest and most famous tribe within the Kazakh nation. Remembered as a heroic warrior who fought for his land, he’s now honored as a symbol of courage and heritage.
We drive to Kokala, a small gorge noted for its beautiful cliffs and rocks. Rustam parks in the little parking lot amongst a number of other vehicles and Asia leads me inside. She points to a path that runs through the center of the gorge and bids me be careful when I reach end of the flat part and start to climb.
From the top there are great views over the plains and the the cliffs themselves. There are paths that lead preciptiously to other pleateaus and I see others navigating their way from one to another. I spot a larger group atop other plateaus and I wonder how many paths there may be that climb up to the various heights.
To descend I decide to follow a path to my left that leads back down to valley floor. From there, I’ll circumambulate the outside of the gorge to get back to the car.
Arriving at the parking lot I still have time to spend and continue my circumambulation until I spot a path leading up to the plateaus on the other side of the gorge. I follow the path up a rocky slope to where someone has placed a rock to help people step up onto the plateau. From the top there are more great views of the gorge, the rocks taking on a different shape from this vantage point.
Rosa greets me and introduces me to her friends. They’re from Aktau, here for a picnic. She points to their campsite on the valley floor just below. She tells me I look Kazakh. Maybe a little! I concede. She laughs and invites me to join them for chai. Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m with my guides and we have a schedule of sorts to keep.
They leave before me, shuffling back the way I came to descend. I follow shortly after, almost catching up with them and watch as they gingerly navigate the large step down from the plateau to the slopes. When I reach the same I see someone from her group look back to make sure I make it down the step ok. My heart reaches out to them; it’s such a sweet gesture, and one I’ll remember.
We drive on to Mount Sherkala, a limestone mountain that rises dramatically from the steppe. Asia pulls up a satellite photo of the mountain and tells me she thinks it looks like a jellyfish from space. I tend to agree.
We stop at a lot a distance away from the mountain to admire it from afar. Asia tells me that some people think it looks like a lion. To me, it looks like a yurt or possibly a sphinx if I squint. Perhaps that’s what people mean when they see a lion.
As we stand looking out at the mountain a school bus pulls up. The doors open and students spill out into the lot. A teacher follows, wrangling them into position for a photo. I offer to take it for her. She thanks me and hands me a phone. When I return the phone she checks the result and thanks me again. The children head back into the bus and they leave as quickly as they came.
We linger, watching the bus as it makes its way along the dirt road to the base of the mountain. Soon, we climb into our car and follow.
Rustam parks at the base of a group of columns and hoodoos at one side of the mountain, and gives me some time to explore. I walk towards a saddle in the rock, curious to see what’s on the other side. Large groups of people picnic in the shade and, while passing one, am invited by Moldir to join them. She’s a primary school English teacher out with her friends and neighbors. She gives me a cupcake and some fried dough that tastes like a scallion pancake. It’s delicious.
I’m welcomed into their group and am soon surrounded by adults firing questions at me. Moldir does her best to keep one. A girl shows me a turtle they’ve found while another little girl asks me to take her photo. Unfortunately, I’m distracted by the adults as they invite me to take a group photo with them.
I feel bad for disappointing the little girl. Later, when I send photos to Moldir, I promise her that if we cross paths in Aktau I’ll take photos of her daughter.
I’m handed a plastic cup of vodka and a group of people raise their cups to me. I take a shot and then another, but excuse myself from a third. They’re headed home soon and invite me to help finish their lunch. I thank them. I’m pretty full at the moment.
It’s getting late and I need to get back to Rustam and Asia. I’m offered another shot for the road but I demur. More cupcakes and bread and pressed into my hands and I head back to the car with my arms full.
I share my treats with Asia and Rustam, who both agree that the food is excellent. Asia tells me that she also makes the bread and that there are different recipes depending on what region you’re from. I ask her if she’d share hers with me. She’d be happy to.
As we drive away from Mount Sherkala, I keep watch out my window to catch its many faces. We’re headed to the Airakty Shomanai Mountains, or the Valley of Castles, known for its towering cliffs, each appearing as an impenetrable fortress.
Approaching the area we first stop outside a large section of rock near a group of picnickers grilling meats. It’s a panoramic scene that reminds me of my first views of Uluru, though the colors and scale differ. It’s difficult to capture the scene with my camera and I resort to shooting a few images, moving the camera horizontally each time, in hopes of being able to stitch together the scope of what I see.
We continue driving around the mountains of various shapes and sizes that make up the grouping. The sun has started to set and the light is fantastic. I love the interplay of cloudshadows on the peaks and plains.
We end up in a valley surrounded by mountains. Groups of cars are parked here and there. Most people have a grill going. Some are setting up tents for the night. Rustam parks the car and I climb up a nearby ridge to admire a column of rock that has been shaped by the winds and to catch a glimpse of the valley below.
From there I walk down towards the car before climbing another slope for views further into the valley. It’s a really beautiful spot, made more so by the lush grass that covers the floor. Asia has told me that I’m fortunate to have planned my trip when I did. The grass is new but doesn’t stay long; in a few weeks the summer sun will have burnt it to a crisp, and the dry valleys and steppe will brown.
On a far plateau I watch as a group of children kick a soccer ball between them, the ball rising high into the air, a small figure running towards where it is bound to fall.
I’d love to camp here, up on this hill, with views on all sides. The plains front and back and to one side dramatic spires of rock. Rustam has other plans for us, however, and although I don’t know it yet, they’re even better. Still, I’d love to come back to watch the sun set over these mountains and the darkness creep over this valley floor; to sleep between the hills and to watch the sun rise again in the morning, the white cliifs painted rose by the rays of the morning light.
By the time we drive out of the valley the sun has started to hint at the magic hour, and some of the spires are bathed in a golden glow. While adults are busying themselves around the various camp and picnic sites, children climb the nearby peaks, boys kick a fútbol around, chasing one another other to gain possession.
The sun and clouds become more dramatic by the minute, and I can’t help but look behind us as we leave the Valley of the Castles to watch the late afternoon light coat the rocky slopes.
Soon, there’s another sight to distract me as we pass herds of camels wandering in the direction from whence we came. I ask Rustam to stop so I can photograph them, and a car that had been following us stop to watch the same procession. It’s a magical moment, and we stand in silence watching the camels pass.
Camels walk on either side of the road and as some pass closer I turn my attention around to photograph some backlit against the backdrop of a white limestone ridge. I walk closer to them and Asia calls out for me to be careful.
It’s apparently still rutting season as one camel chases another down and struggles to mount her. I keep my distance but Asia calls me back. Males can be aggressive, and while he’s currently distracted, their behavior can be unpredictable.
Reluctantly, I head back to the car and we drive to our evening’s accommodation.
It’s not far. I’m surprised at how quickly we arrive at the Этноаул Көгез (Etno-aul Kogez), an eco-lodge just outside the valley. We park near the back, by two large yurts and what I’ll learn is a sauna. There’s a bunch of people staying at the lodge, in various yurts in the front. We’ll be sleeping in one of the large ones in the back near the sauna.
A few restaurant yurts and a main cafe sit in the center of the complex and we go to order dinner. I head back to the yurt to download photos to my computer and ready myself for the following day. Asia uses the sauna.
After she’s finished I gather my things for the sauna. As I am about to head over Asia points out the moon rising on the horizon. I head back to the yurt to pick up my camera. It’s a beautiful sight and I manage to capture the moon just as it crests the horizon, cradled between hills.
I find Rustam already in the sauna. The owner has been stoking the fires and it’s hot and dry. I ask if he minds if I throw some water on the coals. He invites me to. We sit for a while and then head back outside to the main room to cool off.
He tells me at lunch the other day he was surprised how quickly I went to the spring and came back. He’s done that walk and it takes him 30 minutes. That said, he noticed I walk fast and assumed I was from a metropolis. He wasn’t surprised to learn I’m from New York.
I ask him how often he saunas. Every week. And me? The last time was almost a year ago in Finland. It’s crazy to him that it’s been a year since I’ve been.
He takes out a venik and invites me back into the sauna and has me lay face down on the top plank. A hole has been cut out for my face and he lays a towel down for my forehead. He them proceeds to soak the tree branches in the hot water and beat me with them, massaging my back and my legs.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been beaten with a venik; I seem to remember having been in a Damascus bath house the last time it happened. After my massage we head back out to sit in the antechamber to drink tea and eat snacks. Rustam has arranged for our dinners to be brought to us and we eat delicious lagman noodles while wrapped up in towels. It’s already 2230.
He asks me how old I am and I ask him to guess. 40? A little older. He’s surprised to learn my actual age. He himself is 39. He tells me he loves the next place we’re going to. It’s 100 kilometers on a sealed road and another 100 kilometers on a dirt road to get there and it’s usually deserted. I can’t wait. 🇰🇿
1 May 2026