I make a gesture as if turning a steering wheel, point to the road in front of the ranger station and ask, “Karasho?” — The ranger gives a thumbs-up: “Narmalna.” So the road I’d been warned about in Almaty seems to be passable. I am stopped in Basshi, the last village before Altyn-Emel National Park, to pay my entrance fee. It’s the long Easter weekend, but even so, there doesn’t seem to be much going on in this popular weekend destination for city-dwellers from Kazakhstan’s largest metropolis.
Easter? Kazakhstan? Let’s start from the beginning: following last year’s abrupt change of plans, my co-pilots and I have decided to have another go at the Pamir Mountains this summer. Before that, we still need to carry out a few repairs on the Honda and drive the car to Osh in Kyrgyzstan, from where we’ll be setting off on our journey together. I’ve flown to Kazakhstan for two weeks over Easter to sort out the repairs and the transfer already (and, to be honest, I’ve grown rather fond of Almaty last summer, and I’m looking forward to spending a few days in the city).
Sergey, my favourite Kazakh mechanic, had quickly fitted the new drive shafts and various bits and pieces that I’d flown in in my heavy rucksack. So I’m using the long Easter weekend to start my Kazakh camping season and to take the Honda for a thorough test drive. The weather is pleasantly mild, a far cry from the nearly 40 degrees it reached here in late summer last year – and the -30 it can get down to in winter. After just under four hours’ drive (by Kazakh standards, that’s ‘just round the corner’), I now find myself at the gates of Altyn-Emel National Park. It promises a whole range of spectacular landscapes packed into a tiny area: colourful sedimentary and volcanic rock formations, vast expanses of steppe and even a small patch of sandy desert. I was warned to watch out for nasty corrugated roads and deep washouts. — So, in fact, the perfect trial by fire for the repaired car, which will have to tackle the rough tracks of the Pamir Mountains this summer.
At the ranger’s office, I was handed a paper map showing the sights and campsites within the park. Tomorrow I’ll be heading to the ‘singing dunes’. This is a dune formation which, when the wind is just right, is said to emit a humming sound. After a few kilometres of washboard road – which wasn’t actually that bad – I roll into the first campsite. A ranger welcomes me. As the only visitor, I’m free to choose my own pitch. Kazakhstan is often described by overlanders – most of them just passing through – as monotonous, flat and boring. I love this vastness. And the tranquillity: a gentle breeze sweeps over the fragrant undergrowth, a few birds chirp. My pulse slows immediately.
The ranger doesn’t let me leave the yard until 8 o’clock the next morning to head for the dunes. The sun is already going strong, so I don’t waste any more time. As I arrive at the dunes, I’m on my own again. The wind has died down; the dunes lie still. Still, it was worth the detour: nestled amongst a few small hills and the steppe, the dunes look as if they’ve been draped there. I walk barefoot up along the crest of a dune. In front of me, cute agamas and lizards scurry about. As I climb, the large dune turns out higher than it appeared from below. Phew. On the brisk descent, I’m in for a surprise: the sand sings too when you kick up large amounts of it in front of you, walking down.
After the dune, I head back a little way towards the park entrance, then off onto another track, heading towards the Aktau Mountains. With their colourful layers of sediment, these rocks are the park’s most famous attraction. However, the road leading there is said to be quite a slippery business, especially when wet. Along the route lies Katutau Mountain. It used to be a volcano long ago. Today, all that remains is a stunning red rock formation. It’s a landscape straight out of the Wild West. You can almost hear the Marlboro Man coughing.
Rain clouds started brewing. I decide to call it a day here and not to carry on further towards the Aktau Mountains. I don’t want to risk getting stuck on slippery clay tracks. After all, I need to be back in town tomorrow for work as I need the fast internet. So, I drive back a short way in the opposite direction to another designated campsite. An elderly gentleman welcomes me and shows me around the site. It lies in the shade of huge, centuries-old willow trees. According to legend, Genghis Khan himself once rested in their shade with his army. One theory suggests that the trees owe their long life to the radon-rich – and therefore slightly radioactive – water that flows as a small stream around their roots. Well, if it’s good for the trees: I wash my face with the spring water just once. It doesn’t melt off my head. Do I now have eternal life? We’ll see.
Altyn-Emel National Park
Altyn-Emel National Park is situated around 260 kilometres north-east of Almaty. The route to the park entrance follows mostly well-maintained tarmac roads. It takes around four hours to get there by car from the city centre, taking Almaty’s heavy traffic into account. You can obtain the required permit for the park at the ranger’s office in Basshi, just before the park entrance.
There are two main routes into the park from Basshi: one leads to the Singing Dunes, the other to the Katutau Formation and the Aktau Mountains. The route to the Singing Dunes is bumpy (corrugated surface), but easily manageable by car, and even in the rain there shouldn’t be any nasty surprises. The Aktau route is clayey and crosses several small (dry at the time of my visit) riverbeds. This is no problem in dry weather, but it is likely to become slippery in places when it rains.
You’re allowed to stay overnight in the park at four designated camps, with no added fee: at the Shygan ranger station at the park entrance, at Mymbulak in front of the Singing Dunes, beneath the old willows, and in front of the Aktau Mountains.
You can find more information on the park’s website.
Translated from German with the help of AI.
Last part: An Express Tour in Thin Air: The High Pamirs
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