Zhanaozhen, November 12

Grass, grass, grass. A flock of horses, a couple of camels. The sky is close and the clouds turn the land yellow, then brown, grey, and back to yellow again. Yesterday I made a day trip to Fort Shevchenko, about 180 km from Aktau as the crow flies. What freedom to have nothing but the grass and the road before you! There is really nothing for leagues, though sometimes you catch a glimpse of the azure expanse of the Caspian Sea far off. To get from A to B you just wave your hand at a car and ask how much. Everyone will take you. They usually try to trick you of course, but that's part of the game.

Fort Shevchenko is a collection of houses (most are newly built for people working in the oil industry), a big statue of two horsemen and a small mosque. The place got its name from Taras Shevchenko, the national poet of Ukraine, who was exiled here by the tsar in the late 19th century. Shevchenko developed an interest in the local, nomadic Kazach population and the land. As a result he's now also revered in Kazachstan. The local museum has a collection of his aquarels, both landscapes and portraits of local people. Nearby is the tiny cellar where he lived during his exile. I was free to look inside museum and cellar after paying a girl a small fee for getting the keys.

As soon as you get to talk with them, Kazachs turn out to be very friendly people. All people I spoke with here work for the oil industry in some way. Yesterday I shared the ride on a back couch of a car with Sauli, an offshore rescue worker in the Caspian. She was going home to see her one year old son, after a week on a platform. Hard life, but it pays off. These people now have salaries approaching Western Europe, and the biggest oil fields have not even been tapped yet. In 30 years, this will probably be one of the richest countries in the world.

Then I heard about this place Beket Ata, where the revered 18th century sufi with the same name is buried. Every Kazach wants to make the journey there at least once. The place is so sacred that no planes may fly over. Even president Nazarbaev had to forget about his private helicopter when he wanted to pay a visit. To be short: I want to go there and pay my respects.

Beket Ata is 300 km east of Aktau, in the middle of the steppes. And again, there's almost nothing in between. So now I'm on my way to make a small pilgrimage, spending the night in the dusty town of Zhanaozhen, more or less half way to the sacred site. Whatever I expected, it wasn't a blizzard, yet here I am, snowed in. Let's hope it will be sunny tomorrow...