Carrie and I took a small day trip to a viallge south of Atyrau and got as far as the pavement would take us. If it was truly mud that stopped the German army from taking Moscow in WWII I now understand why. Watching local village trucks struggling through deeply rutted mud roads after a fresh rain on the steppe give me a greater respect for this place. Living out here fairs in stark contrast to the urban ammenities of a Atyrau. We made our way to a small village on the banks of the Ural river. It was quite, very quiet; just the sounds of gulls and crows feeding on the river, a few rusty boats, a lot of carp washed ashore.
Here, Carrie and I struck a pose with one of those large river tugs you see a lot out here.
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