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El arte de la siesta perfecta, reparaciones de supervivencia y una interrupción oficial. Nos declaramos en huelga de coche (otra vez) en nuestro edén de Damsá y recibimos la visita de las fuerzas del orden mientras Papi Edu "oficinaba" al aire libre.

Una lección de civismo escolar, un desvío de cuatro kilómetros por la estepa profunda y una invasión de moscas mutantes que nos obligó a huir a toda pastilla. Al final, el satélite nos guio hasta un nuevo oasis secreto.

Una tregua de asfalto bajo la sombra de los pinos, un paseo entre pájaros y un valiente humano sumergiéndose en aguas polares. Nos declaramos en huelga de coche y disfrutamos de un merecido segundo round en nuestro paraíso.

Un amanecer a las cuatro de la mañana, trucos perrunos a cambio de brochetas y un rescate tecnológico en la barrera de pago. Cambiamos la estepa por un cañón de infarto y un parque nacional que nos reservaba más de una sorpresa.

An escape from the marshes, ghostly Soviet blocks and a hidden trail through the countryside. We found a film-worthy lake to spend the night, complete with hungry critters and English-speaking visitors.

An aerial mission over rusty funnels, a three-hour urban trek chasing humans through Kostanay, and a hasty strategic retreat to save my skin from an army of buzzing vampires.

Soviet relics shaped like giant funnels, a hellish track fit only for those with a strong stomach, and a shepherd who can talk the hind legs off a donkey. We hide among the bushes in a new riverine paradise where the horses rule.

A carpet of tarmac to devour the miles, a frozen toe in the water, and the return of our favourite neighbours. We found the perfect spot by the large reservoir to sunbathe in absolute privacy.

A detour in the middle of the steppe, mile-long trains that never seem to end, and a solitary lake that feels like the end of the world. Our route takes us straight to the heart of the Kazakh nowhere, where sunsets are best enjoyed on two wheels.

A mythical coincidence that not even the best GPS could have planned, golden onions and the great mystery of who the guy on the horse is. Aktobe gifts us biker reunions, Soviet luxuries and a place to nest for the night with the quietest of neighbours.

A post-breakfast distress call, a treacherous beach and our trusty winch to the rescue. After becoming the heroes of the reservoir, we headed for a secret spot by the river to enjoy a well-deserved afternoon of rest.

Three hundred and eighty kilometres of straight steppe, rest areas that look like something out of a post-apocalyptic film, and an absolute record for our campervan’s odometer. We crossed Kazakhstan on roads that were a real luxury until we found an oasis with trees, the smell of a barbecue, and unexpected fans.