September 28, Soviet Uranium Secrets, Organic Architecture & Camping under Desert Stars

Our morning in Aktau started with a seaside stroll down toward the Caspian. I wax expecting kind of a resort vibe but in reality, the waterfront near our hotel is a mix of brutalist Soviet concrete blocks, forgotten half-built high-rises, and wild bushes bursting with tiny blue flowers right along the rocky shoreline. No sandy beach or shells here, just flat stone ledges running to the water's edge, a couple of brave local swimmers, and massive oil tankers on the horizon from the Iran side. Visiting Russia or other neighbors. 

Wandering off the coast, we stumbled into a wonderfully retro, semi-abandoned amusement park—a graveyard of rusted, elliptical metal monstrosities that looked like an ideal post-apocalyptic film set. Fairy tale castle towers turned out to house the bathrooms on the other side. Sad mushrooms sitting for no reason. cheery term “Skazka” put a cherry on the whole surrealist set.

From there, we walked along wide Soviet boulevards framed by Zhirmunai-like apartment blocks, eventually reaching the Eternal Flame Monument. Built with inward-curving concrete slabs, its structure cleverly resembles the skeleton of an exploding yurt. Down on the ground floor of these Soviet blocks, we refueled with fresh pastries from one of a ton of little shops based on the bottom floors of Hruschevkas. 

The whole thing was weird so I looked it up. This is interesting summary about Aktau from Gemini: 

Founded in the late 1950s after Soviet geologists struck massive uranium and crude oil deposits beneath the arid Mangyshlak Peninsula, Aktau began its life as Guriev-20, a secret town overseen by the Soviet ministry managing nuclear weapons and energy. Built on a barren coast with zero fresh water, the city made history when engineers launched the BN-350 fast-neutron breeder reactor in 1973. This reactor generated electricity for uranium enrichment while powering massive desalination evaporators to distill Caspian seawater into drinking water, turning Aktau into the first city in world history entirely hydrated by nuclear power. Planned on paper by Leningrad architects, the town was laid out on a rigid grid without street names; instead, addresses use a "phone number" code based on microdistricts (e.g., 9-12-34 for Microdistrict 9, Building 12, Apartment 34), a system that locals still use today among the brutalist Zhirmunai apartment blocks.

Since the BN-350 reactor was decommissioned in 1999, Aktau (renamed yet again from Shevchenko in 1991) has tried to rebrand as Kazakhstan’s premier Caspian beach getaway, spurred on by government investment and luxury resort developments along the coast. Yet behind the newly planted palm trees and seaside hotels, its identity remains deeply anchored in its industrial past, framed by oil tankers on the horizon, brutalist Soviet concrete, and vast desert wasteland. The town's remote, worker-centric soul is further reinforced by flight schedules operating at bizarre overnight hours (2:00 AM – 5:00 AM) to move industrial crews, serving as a constant reminder that beneath its resort aspirations, Aktau is still a wild, nuclear-forged frontier outpost.

We went back to the hotel to meet our driver, Alihan. Luck wasn't on our side here, Alihan spoke basic Russian, no English, and operated purely as a driver rather than an engaging guide. After stopping by the tour office to finalize payment, we hit the open steppe.

Into the Mangystau Wilderness

Out here, paved roads vanish almost immediately. You spend hours bouncing across flat steppe, ancient ocean beds, and eroded white chalk plateaus. Practically every 4x4 carries a roof-mounted Starlink dish, offering high-speed satellite internet in the middle of nowhere for a fee.

First stop: Shakpak-Ata Underground Mosque (Мечеть Шақпақ-Ата): A breathtaking 9th–12th century sanctuary carved directly into a limestone cliff face. It’s absolutely bitching, you can see where Gaudi got his inspiration, except nature took it further. The interior is likely Zoroastrian-inspired cruciform with a central rock dome letting in natural light, while the honeycomb-textured outer walls are covered in ancient Arabic calligraphy, horse etchings, and Sufi pilgrim handprints.

Next, Torysh, The Valley of Balls (Долина шаров Торыш): If I were local, I’d rename it the Valley of Pearls. Millions of years ago, this entire region was underwater. Mineralized sediment continuously coated organic fragments, like shells, on the ocean floor, and underwater currents forming massive spherical concretions up to 7 meters across. Eons of wind and water eroded the soft sandstone away, leaving some of giant stone "marbles" cracked open like dragon eggs.

Kok Ala (Кок-Ала): A multi-colored Jurassic gorge exposing 200-million-year-old clay layers in vivid stripes of yellow, red, copper, blue-gray, and carbon-black from prehistoric burnt forests. We were out there happily enjoying the silence, soaking in the quiet landscape without phones or distractions, until a loud group arrived shouting "Allora!" across the hills, prompting our quick getaway.

Sherkala (Гора Шеркала): The iconic, solitary "Lion’s Fortress" mountain shaped like an inverted bowl or giant yurt. This is basically a local "Masada of the Mangystau," a fortress where medieval Turkmen tribes dug elaborate rock tunnels during a years-long siege by Kazakh forces before being smoked out.

Airakty, Valley of Castles (Айракты): A cluster of chalk massifs carved by wind into sharp spires, cathedrals, and fortresses,the very site that inspired Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko’s famous 1850s exile sketches and give it its name. I kind of feel that after all the visual feasting earlier in the day, it was a bit of a exalted look at the place and maybe owing to the lyrical nature of the poet.

Camping at the Edge of the Steppe

Our campsite at the base of Airakty was visually plain, mostly bare dirt and human and animal droppings on an open-sky plateau. After pitching our tent to claim a flat spot, Dan & I hiked up the nearest ridge to sit on the cliff's edge, reading in the quiet afternoon air while watching herds of horses and cows graze on the plain below.

For dinner, we drove to the nearby Airakty Eco-Ayul yurt camp. Regional menus out here stick strictly to two staples: manty (steamed dumplings) and plov. Here, the plov came loaded with fresh dill, served alongside hot bread and a crisp cabbage, carrot, and garlic salad inside a massive dining yurt with a fake fireplace and, oh marvel, a real toilet with a little obmylok.

Back at the tent camp, Alihan handed us two thin sleeping bags, a small blanket, and covered the floor with thin, puzzle-style foam play room mats before driving off to stay with fellow drivers at a nearby camp.

Left entirely alone under the desert sky, I was brushing my teeth in the dark when a curious little fox trotted right up to the campsite, darting off into the night before we could take a photo. A bunch of horses showed up on the ridge we were at earlier also taking cautious steps to take a look at the camp of one tent. 

We read a few more pages, zipped up our sweaters against the desert chill, and drifted off to sleep.