Steppe Legends and Lost Cities: Our 12-Day Journey Through Mangystau

Why We Traded Southern Beaches for the Rugged Mangystau Steppe

The idea to visit Kazakhstan in March came spontaneously. My boyfriend Max and I were looking at a map, searching for something truly authentic, untouched by mass tourism and steeped in history. We didn't just want pretty views; we wanted to touch something ancient before it turned into a glossy postcard. Our choice fell on the Mangystau Peninsula, but instead of the popular Aktau, we headed north to the region's oldest town, Fort-Shevchenko, and the mystical necropolises surrounding it. Early spring in these parts is harsh but honest. We expected piercing winds, desert landscapes, and the kind of silence that is impossible to find in a metropolis.

Preparation took about a month. I spent hours Googling the coordinates of underground mosques and reading forums about how the steppe soil behaves after the snow melts. We knew this 'historical pilgrimage' would require endurance. We packed windproof jackets, trekking boots, and plenty of power banks. The mood was adventurous, mixed with a bit of nerves—after all, we were heading to a place where mobile signals are rare and distances are measured in hundreds of kilometers. We weren't looking for modern luxury; we wanted to see the layers of time where the Silk Road intersected with nomadic culture and 19th-century outposts.

Our plan wasn't just to look at ruins, but to understand how people survived for centuries in this 'desert of life,' as early explorers called it. We chose Fort-Shevchenko as our base—a town with a rich past that once served as a military fortification and now feels frozen in time. To fully immerse ourselves in local life, we intentionally skipped the expensive hotels of Aktau in favor of small guesthouses. We were looking for history in the stone, in old maps, and in the stories of locals who still remember the legends of their ancestors.

Day 1. First Glimpse of Fort-Shevchenko and the Sea Breeze

We settled into a small private guesthouse called 'Tulpar,' which we found through a local booking service. It was a typical building made of shell rock—the primary building material here. The room was cool but cozy, smelling of wood and steppe herbs. The hostess, a woman with incredibly wise eyes, immediately served us hot tea with baursaks—small fried dough balls eaten here instead of bread. They had an unusual, slightly salty taste, but were perfect with strong milk tea. We unpacked quickly and decided to spend our first day exploring the town without wandering too far into the steppe.

Fort-Shevchenko met us with low gray skies and the distinct scent of the Caspian Sea—a mix of salt, iodine, and old wood. We walked toward the port. The town felt compact, but every stone seemed to speak of the past. Passing old buildings made of that same yellow shell rock, we constantly Googled their history. It turned out many were built in the mid-19th century. We found the remains of an old hospital and an officers' assembly hall. The wind was fierce, and we kept wrapping our scarves tighter, but the feeling of being at the edge of the world gave the walk a special charm.

Lunch was at a small cafe called 'Caspian' near the central square. We ordered 'quydaq'—a hearty roast of meat and potatoes. It was rich and filling, exactly what we needed for a cold, windy walk. Max loved it, and I particularly enjoyed the fresh flatbreads. After lunch, we reached the shore. The Caspian in early spring looks formidable: leaden waves crashing against the piers, the beach covered in shell fragments. We stood there for a long time, watching a few lonely fishing boats and wondering how people lived here 150 years ago without modern communications.

By evening, we returned to the guesthouse to finalize tomorrow's plan. We needed to rent a 4x4 with a driver—without one, there's no point in heading into the steppe. Our hostess helped us arrange a trip with a local named Yerlan, who had an old but reliable SUV. For dinner, we had homemade 'tushpara'—tiny dumplings the size of a fingernail served in a rich broth. We slept in a silence broken only by the distant howl of the wind in the chimney, feeling that the real journey was just beginning.

Day 2. The Taras Shevchenko Museum and the Garden of Dreams

The morning began with bright sun that offered little warmth. After a breakfast of porridge and 'qurt' (a very salty, hard dried cheese—an acquired taste), we headed to the Taras Shevchenko Memorial Complex. This is where the famous Ukrainian poet spent his years of exile. It was amazing to see a true oasis in such an arid region. The garden, planted by the poet himself, is still meticulously maintained. We walked through alleys where the trees were just starting to wake up, imagining how much this greenery must have meant to a man used to the lush landscapes of Ukraine.

The museum is housed in the former commandant’s residence. Inside, it’s very atmospheric: old maps, Shevchenko’s drawings, and personal belongings. We looked at sketches capturing Kazakh life from that era—the best way to immerse oneself in the region's history. I spent a long time looking at the old dugout where the poet hid from the heat. Meanwhile, Max studied the fortification plans for Novo-Petrovskoye, the town's former name. We spent nearly three hours there, peeking into every corner and reading every plaque.

We went back to 'Caspian' for lunch, deciding to try beshbarmak. They brought us a massive platter of thin pasta sheets topped with succulent meat and served with a flavorful 'sorpa' broth. Eating this dish is a ritual. We took our time, observing the locals. In the evening, Yerlan stopped by to discuss our route for the coming days. We decided to head to the necropolises tomorrow. We spent the evening reading about the Adai tribe, who have inhabited these lands since ancient times. The wind picked up again, making us grateful for our warm shelter. Before bed, I researched how to properly behave at 'auliye' (holy sites), as tomorrow promised to be spiritually significant.

Day 3. The Shakpak-Ata Underground Mosque

This was the day I had been looking forward to most. Yerlan picked us up at dawn. The drive to the Shakpak-Ata mosque took about two hours over dirt tracks. The landscape shifted from flat plains to bizarre chalk cliffs. When we arrived, I was speechless. The mosque is carved directly into a mountain, and its architecture is nothing like a traditional domed mosque. It’s an ancient structure that feels like part of nature itself. The entrance is adorned with stone carvings, and inside, there is absolute silence and cool air.

We spent about an hour inside. Light filters through a hole in the ceiling, creating a mystical atmosphere. The walls are covered in Arabic inscriptions and drawings of palms—symbols of protection. Max filmed the details while I sat on a carpet, feeling the incredible energy of the place. Yerlan told us the legend of the elder Shakpak-Ata, who was said to have healing powers. Afterward, we climbed the plateau above the mosque. The view was fantastic: white cliffs stretching to the horizon, merging with the gray sky. We were completely alone, which only intensified the experience.

We had lunch right in the middle of the steppe. Yerlan brought out a thermos of hot tea, flatbreads, smoked meat, and vegetables. Simple food has never tasted so good. The wind was nearly knocking us over, so we ate huddled behind the car. After lunch, we stopped by an old cemetery nearby. It was a vast area with 'kumbez' mausoleums built from shell rock. The stone carving was mind-blowing: intricate patterns, depictions of weapons, and horses. We wandered among these silent witnesses of history, trying to guess who these people were from the drawings.

We returned to Fort-Shevchenko in the evening, exhausted but happy. I spent the night trying to organize my thoughts and writing in my journal. We decided to visit a local shop to buy some sweets—chak-chak and halva. Dinner at the guesthouse was light: kefir and bread. We went to bed early because a long drive to an even more remote site awaited us tomorrow. I struggled to fall asleep, my mind filled with images of the underground mosque that looked like a set from a sci-fi movie.

Day 4. Airakty-Shomanay: The Valley of Castles

Today our path led to the Airakty Mountains, known as the 'Valley of Castles.' This area is further inland, deep within the peninsula. Early spring had painted the steppe in a soft green—a brief period when the desert comes to life. The mountains truly resemble medieval fortresses with towers and ramparts. We wound through the wilderness for a long time until Yerlan dropped us at the foot of one of the peaks. We decided to climb up to see the panorama. The ascent wasn't easy—stones crumbled under our feet—but the view from the top was worth every drop of sweat.

From the plateau, we could see dozens of 'castles' scattered across the plain. The wind here was so strong we had to practically lie on the rocks to avoid being blown over. At the summit, Max found ancient geoglyphs—huge ground drawings visible only from a great height, but we could make out their outlines. It added an air of mystery to the trip. We spent two hours on the mountain, just staring into the distance. Below us, camels were grazing—they looked like tiny dots against the grandiose landscape.

After descending, we had a picnic in the shade of a cliff. Yerlan offered us 'shubat'—fermented camel's milk. The taste is very specific: sour, fizzy, and with a slight scent of wool. Max enjoyed it, but I could only manage a couple of sips. The local cheese, however, was excellent. After lunch, we drove toward a small village to see the life of modern nomads who live here year-round. It was a sharp contrast: satellite dishes against the backdrop of mud-brick houses and ancient mountains.

We returned after dark. Fort-Shevchenko was quiet and deserted. We stopped by a small bakery and bought some meat samsa—it was still hot and incredibly fragrant. We stayed at our 'Tulpar' guesthouse, where the hostess had already warmed the room. Before sleep, I Googled the Mangystau geoglyphs and found that their age is still a matter of debate among scientists. Knowing we were standing on land full of unsolved mysteries was inspiring. My legs ached from walking, but it was a pleasant tiredness.

Day 5. The Sultan-Epe Necropolis and the Search for Water

We devoted our fifth day to the Sultan-Epe necropolis. This site is sacred to sailors, as Sultan-Epe is considered the protector of those drowning at sea. The road followed the coastline, and we watched the water change from turquoise to deep blue. The necropolis is massive, featuring many ancient tombstones and a well with surprisingly sweet water. In this arid land, water is life, and every such source is revered as a miracle. We met a group of pilgrims there who had traveled from afar.

The Sultan-Epe underground mosque is smaller than Shakpak-Ata, but it feels cozier and more lived-in. Inside, there are prayer beads, carpets, and the scent of incense. We sat there in silence, listening to the water dripping in the well. The place is soaked in tranquility. Yerlan told us that there used to be 'madrasas' (religious schools) here. We wandered the surroundings, looking at petroglyphs on the rocks—images of wild sheep and people. It’s a literal open-air library that you could read for hours.

We had lunch at the home of Yerlan’s friends in a nearby village. They welcomed us with incredible hospitality. The table was overflowing: beshbarmak, kazy (horse meat sausage), various breads, and endless tea. They told us many stories about life in the steppe, how they navigate by the stars, and the importance of knowing one's ancestry back seven generations. It was one of the most heartwarming moments of the trip. We didn't feel like tourists, but like honored guests. After such a lunch, all we wanted was a nap, but we still had the Kapamsay Canyon to explore.

The canyon was stunning in its scale—a massive rift in the earth with sheer white stone walls. We walked along the bottom, feeling like grains of sand. On the canyon walls, you can see the remains of ancient shells; this was once the floor of the Tethys Ocean. Realizing the scale of time here is mind-blowing. By evening, we were back in Fort-Shevchenko. We decided to have a 'civilized evening' and found a cafe with Wi-Fi to send photos to our families. We slept soundly to the steady rhythm of rain—the first we had seen during our stay.

Day 6. Cape Zhigylgan: The Fallen Land

Today’s trip was the most technically difficult. We headed to Cape Zhigylgan, which means 'The Fallen Land.' It’s a massive collapse of the coastline caused by karst processes. Huge limestone blocks are scattered chaotically across a vast area, forming a bizarre labyrinth. To get down, we needed some agility. Yerlan stayed at the top while Max and I went to explore this 'lost world.' It was much quieter at the bottom, sheltered from the wind.

We were looking for the footprints of ancient animals we had read about online. And we found them! On one of the flat slabs, the tracks of saber-toothed cats and ancient horses from millions of years ago were clearly visible. It felt like a miracle. We touched the tracks with our hands, unable to believe it was possible. Zhigylgan also has a small heart-shaped lake with very salty water. We wandered among rocks that looked like frozen monsters or the ruins of ancient cities. This place drains your energy with its sheer scale, but in return, it gives you a sense of being part of eternity.

Lunch was simple—sandwiches and tea from a thermos—as we didn't want to waste time heading back to the car. We spent about five hours in the hollow. On the way back, I found a beautiful shell to keep as a souvenir (hopefully the steppe spirits didn't mind). The climb back up was tough, but Max kept me going. When we finally reached the plateau, the sun was setting, painting the cliffs in unreal shades of orange and pink. It was the most beautiful sunset of my life.

Back in Fort-Shevchenko, we decided to visit a local bathhouse (banya). After several days in the dusty steppe and wind, it was divine. The hot steam and ice-cold water brought us back to life. We had dinner at a local shop—huge, juicy chebureks that cost next to nothing. We discussed what we had seen, still unable to believe all of this was in one region. We spent the evening sorting through photos—we already had over a thousand. We slept at our guesthouse, enjoying the peace and cleanliness.

Day 7. Ethnography and a Day of Rest

After six days of active travel, we decided to take a break and spend a day in Fort-Shevchenko at a slower pace. We slept in, had a leisurely breakfast of eggs and tomatoes, and headed to the local market. The market is the heart of any Eastern town. We bought spices, dried melon, and various types of qurt. The vendors were very friendly; when they heard we were from Moscow, they all offered us samples of their goods. We bought Max a real sheepskin hat (papaha)—he loved it, though he probably won't wear it much back home.

Later, we went back to the sea, but in a different direction from the port. We found an old 19th-century cemetery for Russian settlers. This, too, is part of the region's history. The inscriptions on the monuments told stories of officers' families, doctors, and merchants. It was a very sad and quiet place. We walked among old acacia trees that were just beginning to bud. I thought about how hard it must have been for those people to adapt to the local climate and culture. In those days, Fort-Shevchenko was a true imperial outpost in a foreign and mysterious steppe.

We had lunch at 'Arman' cafe and ordered lagman. The noodles were clearly hand-pulled—long and elastic in a thick sauce with vegetables and meat. Afterward, we just wandered the streets, peeking into courtyards. The architecture is very specific: low houses, stone fences, and lots of greenery in the front gardens. We stopped by the library, where they let us look at old photo albums of the town from the early 20th century. It was fascinating to see how the streets we were walking on had changed over time.

We spent the evening at the guesthouse. Our hostess, Alma, showed us how to make baursaks. It turns out there are many secrets: the oil temperature, the kneading time. We messed around in the kitchen for a couple of hours and then had dinner together. It was the coziest evening of the trip. We laughed a lot and exchanged stories. Alma told us about Kazakh wedding traditions and how important hospitality is to them. We went to bed feeling like we had become a small part of this place.

Day 8. Saura and the Hidden Lake

Yerlan was waiting for us at the gates again. Today we drove to the Saura gorge. This is another amazing oasis where a freshwater lake, surrounded by cliffs, sits in the middle of the desert. The road went through a picturesque canyon. When we reached the lake, I was struck by the greenery—there are even willow trees! But the main attraction is the turtles. Lake Saura is home to rare marsh turtles. We sat by the shore perfectly still, and after a while, they began poking their heads out of the water. It was so moving.

We walked deeper into the canyon where the cliffs almost meet overhead. The place is very photogenic. Max found a cave, and we explored it with flashlights. It was damp and smelled of earth inside. On the way back to the lake, we met some local boys fishing. They proudly showed us their catch. We sat with them for a bit, talking about school and what they wanted to be when they grew up. One boy said he wanted to be an archaeologist to excavate the ancient cities of Mangystau. It felt very symbolic.

Lunch was at a small guesthouse in a nearby village. We were served 'palau' (pilaf) with lamb. The rice was fluffy and fragrant. After lunch, we decided to walk along the Caspian shore. The beach here is flatter and sandier. We found many stones with holes in them, which locals call 'chicken gods.' Max collected a whole set. The wind died down a bit, and we sat by the water, just listening to the surf. It was a day of contemplation and peace.

By evening, we returned to Fort-Shevchenko. We went to the post office to send postcards to friends—a tradition of ours. We weren't very hungry, so we just bought some fruit and local yogurt. We spent the evening talking about how fast time was flying—it had already been eight days, but it felt like we had just arrived. We were starting to understand the rhythm of this land, its slow pace and rugged beauty. We slept soundly, knowing tomorrow we’d visit one of the most mysterious necropolises—Kenty-Baba.

Day 9. Kenty-Baba Necropolis and the Gulbarys Mosque

The Kenty-Baba necropolis is a place where time seems to have stopped. It’s a vast area dotted with ancient steles and mausoleums. We walked among them, admiring the complex carvings. The remains of the ancient Gulbarys mosque are still here. The place is very secluded, with no other tourists. Yerlan told us it was once a major spiritual center. We found slabs with carvings of animals and strange signs that looked like constellations. The site feels much older than the official records suggest.

We spent almost the whole day there. I tried to sketch some of the patterns in my notebook. Max studied the masonry of the mausoleums, amazed at how they have stood for centuries without modern mortar. The air was filled with the scent of wormwood, which will now always remind me of Kazakhstan. We climbed a nearby hill to see the necropolis from above. From that vantage point, it looked like a massive city of stone. We stayed silent, lost in our own thoughts. In places like this, the hustle of daily life feels very far away and unimportant.

We had lunch in the steppe again. This time we had quydaq that Alma had kindly packed in a thermos for us. Hot meat and potatoes in cool weather is the best antidepressant. After lunch, we visited another unnamed necropolis that Yerlan had stumbled upon a few years ago. There, we saw amazing 'qoytas'—tombstones shaped like rams. This ancient cult became intertwined with Islam. We were struck by how much here remains unstudied and undocumented.

The evening in town was quiet. We went to a local bookstore and found a book on the history of Mangystau. It was a great find. We had dinner at a small family restaurant that served incredible manti. The dough was translucent, and the filling was juicy. We chatted with the owner, a passionate history buff. He told us several local legends about underground tunnels that supposedly connect all the mosques in the region. We went to bed enchanted by these stories, and I dreamed of stone rams wandering among the stars.

Day 10. Shakpaktysay Canyon and the White Cliffs

Today was a day of 'white.' We headed to Shakpaktysay Canyon. The place is striking for its brilliance—the chalk mountains are blinding in the sun. We walked for a long time along the canyon floor, which felt like a set from a sci-fi movie. The walls were riddled with grottoes and niches. In some, we found traces of fires—apparently, shepherds still use them for shelter. We scrambled up the slopes, finding new angles for photos. White dust was everywhere—on our clothes, hair, and camera gear.

The canyon is very winding, and every turn revealed a new view. We found a spot where the canyon walls form a perfect circle—a natural amphitheater. The acoustics were incredible; we even tried singing, and the echo carried far. It was a day of constant movement. We laughed a lot and had silly photo sessions. At one point, we felt like children in a giant sandbox. The energy here is completely different from the necropolises—it’s light and airy.

We had lunch on the edge of the canyon, sitting on the white rocks. We had fresh bread, cheese, and lots of tea. The sun felt like spring, and we even took off our jackets. After lunch, we drove toward the sea to see the so-called 'Blue Bays.' The water there truly has an unusual hue due to the light-colored seabed. We walked along the shore for a long time, collecting pretty pebbles and admiring the clarity of the water. The Caspian was calm and gentle that day, as if apologizing for the storms at the beginning of our trip.

Returning to Fort-Shevchenko, we felt the journey coming to an end. We decided to have a farewell dinner at our guesthouse and invited Yerlan and his family. It was a true feast. Alma prepared a huge kazan of pilaf, and we brought sweets and fruit. The evening was spent in conversation, toasts, and songs. We felt like part of the family. Yerlan gave Max an old horseshoe he had found in the steppe—for luck. We went to bed with a bit of sadness, knowing tomorrow was our last full day.

Day 11. The Lighthouse and Final Town Walks

We decided to spend our final day exclusively in Fort-Shevchenko to soak up its atmosphere. In the morning, we went to the old lighthouse on the hill. It offers the best view of the town and the port. We stood there for a long time, letting the wind hit our faces. The town felt so familiar and clear. We could see the school, the market where we bought qurt, and our guesthouse. It was a moment of realization of how much we had learned about this place in 12 days.

Next, we visited the local history museum. It’s small but very heartfelt. The guide, an elderly man, spoke so passionately about the defense of the fort that we were captivated. We saw models of old fortifications, weapons from that era, and household items. It helped put the final pieces of the region's historical puzzle together. After the museum, we just wandered the streets, buying souvenirs: camel wool products and ceramics with Kazakh ornaments. We stopped by that same bakery and bought samsas for our journey back.

Lunch was at our favorite 'Caspian' cafe. They recognized us and welcomed us like old friends. We ordered fish—fresh carp fried to a golden crust. It was delicious. After lunch, we went to the sea to say goodbye. I tossed a coin into the water, promising to return. We spent the evening packing our suitcases. It turned out we had much more stuff due to the souvenirs and books. We had to buy an extra bag at the market. Alma helped us pack everything, tucking homemade flatbreads into our bags.

Our last evening at the guesthouse was quiet. We sat on the veranda, drinking tea and looking at the stars. In the steppe, they are incredibly bright and close. We discussed our trip, remembering the best moments: the underground mosque, the ancient cat tracks, and the hospitality of the locals. We realized that Kazakhstan had revealed a completely unexpected side to us—deep, historical, and incredibly warm despite the cold winds. We slept in anticipation of tomorrow's journey, but a love for this rugged land was already living in our hearts.

The Steppe That Stays in Your Heart Forever

Our 12-day journey to Fort-Shevchenko and the Mangystau necropolises has come to an end. This wasn't just a vacation, but a true immersion into a different reality. Kazakhstan has preserved that sense of primordial beauty that is so hard to find in the modern world. We loved everything: from the harsh landscapes to the incredibly delicious food. The biggest discovery was the people. I have never encountered such sincere hospitality and willingness to help. Despite the language barrier, we always found a common language.

What didn't we like? Perhaps only the unpredictability of the weather and the total lack of roads to some attractions. But then again, that's what keeps these places pristine. If there were paved highways, there would be crowds of tourists and souvenir stalls, and the magic would vanish. We realized that for such trips, you need a good 4x4 and an experienced guide like Yerlan. Without him, we wouldn't have seen half of what we visited.

Our future plans include returning to Kazakhstan, but to a different region. Perhaps Eastern Kazakhstan with its mountains and lakes, or the Almaty region. But Mangystau will always be our starting point. This place taught us to value silence, respect history, and enjoy simple things—like hot tea after a cold day or the view of the endless steppe. If you are looking for meaning rather than just a picture, go to Fort-Shevchenko. It’s a journey that changes something inside you, making you calmer and wiser. We are taking home not just bags of souvenirs, but a piece of this great steppe soul.