Blimey, the sunrise schedule in this country! The spot on the shores of Lake Baysary was idyllic, yes, but at four in the morning, the sun was already up and beating down mercilessly on the canvas of our camper. By six o'clock, the heat inside was becoming quite something, so Papi Edu had no choice but to jump out of bed. He took advantage of the early start to get the drone out and film some spectacular aerial footage of the sunrise over the water. Afterwards, so I could carry on sleeping in the cool, he moved the camper about three metres further away. We were actually right next to a wood with plenty of trees, but in the exact spot where we’d spent the night, there wasn't a scrap of shade, so the move was heaven-sent. What with one thing and another, we ended up leaving at our usual Caribbean pace, around half-past eleven.

We drove for about three-quarters of an hour to a place my human had earmarked: the Ul'gulinskiy Canyon. What an amazing place! Upon arrival, we found a large picnic area next to the car park. We left the car and set off to explore. The canyon is impressive: a deep gorge carved by water in the middle of the plain, with rock formations that look like something out of a Western film. We climbed down to the bottom, scrambled over the rocks on the other side, and hopped up and down like mountain goats (well, Papi Edu more like a clumsy human), and after taking a thousand photos and selfies, we climbed back up.

Our plan was to eat a quick sandwich at a picnic table, but plans in this country always change. A group of four young lads and a girl spotted us and gestured for Papi Edu to join them. They were lovely, but they didn’t speak a word of English. Problem? None at all: we got the translator app out on the phone and we were away. As expected, I was the undisputed star of the gathering. I was showered with bits of shashlik (the delicious local kebabs) in exchange for showing off my full repertoire of tricks: sitting, lying down, playing dead (bang, bang!), spinning, and waving. I earned my keep!

While I was tucking in, Papi Edu was trying a bit of everything. At one point during the chat, they asked him which were his favourite countries of the trip. My human, who is very diplomatic (and knows who’s buttering his bread), didn’t hesitate to put Kazakhstan at number one. The lads’ faces lit up; one of them ran to his car and came back with a tremendous gift: a Kazakh flag for our camper! And it didn't end there: apart from the flag, they gave us loads of food they had left over from the picnic. They packed us bags with the typical stuffed rolls from here, apples, chocolates, and other traditional breads. Everything was super tasty! However, the party ended when the local mosquitoes decided to join the menu. We broke camp in a hurry, they got into their car, and we headed for the road.

The lads had recommended we visit their hometown, Kokshetau, but we decided to skip it and head straight for the famous Burabay National Park. The landscape changes completely: suddenly the steppe disappears and you find yourself surrounded by granite mountains, pine forests, and huge lakes. When entering, we passed a barrier that opened automatically; we assumed we would pay on the way out. To be honest, the central area of the park didn't thrill us: too urbanised, full of beachfront hotels, restaurants, and unbearable traffic. To top it all off, we went to look at two sleeping spots that appeared on the app: one was totally inaccessible and the other was hideous.

We decided to beat a hasty retreat. Upon reaching the exit barrier, we ran into a bit of a drama: payment could only be made via the Kaspi mobile app, a local banking system that we foreigners can't use. We were trapped. Luckily, an employee who was hanging around keeping an eye on the barrier saw the pickle we were in, took pity on us, and paid the fee with his own phone to let us through. The price was 1700 tenges. Papi Edu, feeling grateful, pressed a 2000-tenge note into his hand, but the good man didn't have any change. "Keep the change!" Papi Edu told him. Three hundred tenges as a tip for the admin costs and for saving our technological lives.

We carried on driving, now out of the hustle and bustle of the tourist centre, but without leaving the national park, until we reached the small village of Katarkol. There, we found a wonderful little nook next to another lake. There is a dyke that separates an area of crystal-clear water from a beautiful marshy area, teeming with birds of all shapes and sizes. Some spectacular pine trees grow on the dyke, and the spot is super quiet. We’re staying here for the night. Of course, the mosquitoes didn't want to miss the view either, but after dodging barriers and dancing for meat, no one is getting me off this sofa.