We were so incredibly comfortable in our spot by the river—our first night in Kazakhstan—that we took things remarkably slowly. We were incredibly slow to get going, dawdling so much that we didn't end up setting off until well after midday, once we’d already eaten.

The plan for the day was basically to eat up the miles, because there aren't many distractions on the map in this part of the steppe. The road is an infinite straight line that slices the horizon in two, crossing a flat and empty landscape. However, there were a couple of things that kept our noses pressed to the window. First, the Muslim cemeteries: they are mind-blowing; it looks like every tomb is a miniature house with well-crafted brick walls, forming genuine neighbourhoods for eternal rest. The second thing was seeing our first camels roaming freely by the roadside, as well as a Soviet monument in the middle of nowhere that signalled the existence of a village you couldn't even see from the road.

As for logistics, we stopped at a small supermarket to restock our supplies and, to Papi Edu’s delight, you can pay by card here without any issues. What wasn't so easy was the mission to find water. It wasn't an emergency, but it was sensible to start refilling. In this part of the country, there are no public taps or springs; instead, they have public machines for refilling bottles with filtered, drinkable water, but they operate with local coins or a mobile app called Kaspi, and since we had neither, we went without.

For most of the day, the road was a luxury: two lanes with impeccable tarmac that allowed us to make quick progress and cover about 250 kilometres without even noticing. The problem came at the end. For the final 20 kilometres before reaching Atyrau, the motorway disappeared completely due to some massive roadworks. All the traffic, including the giant lorries, was forced to divert onto makeshift tracks made of dirt, rocks, and thick mud that we weren't sure were ancient paths or improvised diversions for the construction. What a shaking for the campervan; it felt like we were at a theme park.

Night fell on us amidst the mud and rocks, and it was pitch black by the time we finally pulled into Atyrau. We headed straight to a car park in front of a city park. The ground was a bit flooded from the rain, but Papi Edu manoeuvred it beautifully and squeezed us into a perfect spot, right between a French campervan and a converted truck from the Netherlands. We couldn't say hello to anyone because, since it was so late, everyone was already tucked away inside their motorhomes.

Right now, we are settled into our corner, fed, and ready to close our eyes in this makeshift international campsite. Let’s see what Atyrau looks like when the sun comes up.