A desert landscape so alien it makes Mars feel familiar

My guide, Azret, is pointing up at the rippling ribs of rock that flow down the cliff like petrified white-water rapids. Amongst these deep frozen furrows sculpted by the elements are some particularly striking jagged shapes.

"I call this one gorilla nostrils," he says, pointing at two dark cavities. Moving his finger to another nearby, "and I call this one oculus of Megatron".

From the vast white flatness where we're standing - extending out for kilometres and so bright it's almost blinding - I walk through the heat to the cliffs Azret has been pointing at. Scrambling, almost losing my balance, I climb up into those gorilla nostrils and look back. From here, I can see it's actually a huge stone arch, one of the main geological landmarks of the Tuzbair Salt Pan.

I say 'landmark', but it's not like there are hordes of tourists here in the west of Kazakhstan. The Mangystau region is virtually unknown, even in comparison to other parts of a country that's only recently seen a decent increase in visitor numbers. What brings adventurous travellers to this region are its extreme desert landscapes of sunken canyons, chalk escarpments and limestone towers. It's often described as 'a moonscape' or 'Mars on Earth'. Perhaps a bit of a cliche, but it certainly feels out of this world.

The logistics make it hard to visit Mangystau independently, so most people take a 4WD tour out of Aktau, a city about three hours' flight from the country's main hub of Almaty (a reminder of how big Kazakhstan is - the world's ninth largest, in fact!). Aktau feels a bit eerie, partly because it was only created in 1958 by the Soviets. Set on the Caspian Sea, the architecture is dominated by large Brutalist apartment blocks that now have multi-storey murals of heroes of the independence movement. The Soviet-era apartments across from my hotel have a huge painting of a 16-year old girl who became a famed sniper!

From Aktau, I head out on tour with Redmaya Travel, first to the Tuzbair Salt Pan and its blinding white expanses, before the 4WD rumbles onward to Mount Sherkala, a colossal limestone outcrop that once held an ancient fortress on its summit. Then onwards to the Airakty-Shomanai Mountains, a chain of flat-topped mesas that look like they could also once have been castles, although their layers of multi-coloured rock remind me they were formed tens of millions of years ago, and not by humans.

The sun is setting as we explore these castle-like mountains, the glowing light bringing even more vibrancy to the deep oranges and reds in the stone. Standing on a plateau, looking down into a valley between the mountains, I spot a herd of horses galloping over a ridge, throwing dust up into the air. It's a surreal experience, from the Soviet concrete of Aktau in the morning to the remote untamed desert landscapes just hours later.

Then, as if it couldn't get any stranger, we finish the day by pulling into a yurt camp to spend the night, sitting down to a hearty feast of noodles and horse (of course) - all washed down with a sharp earthy swig of camel milk. I pick at the ubiquitous plate of melon at my table before retiring, exhausted, to a comfortable bed within the cosy yurt.

Staring out the windows of our 4WD the next morning, I regularly spot camels by the side of the road. I wonder briefly if one of them had produced the milk I'd drunk the night before, then put the idea out of my head. "For us, a camel is a symbol of wealth, it costs maybe 2000 US dollars," Azret says. "It is not just a means of transportation, it's also a delicious meal." I can't tell if he's serious about the last part.

There's also history here in the desert amongst the animals and the geological sculptures. At Shopan-Ata, a new World Heritage Site, I follow the path through an ancient cemetery, past a well where pilgrims pull up healing waters, into a small mosque carved out of the rockface. Inside, carpets cover the floor and the walls. I sit silently in an alcove while the prayers of the young imam fill the space. The stones have meaning everywhere on this journey.

As tourism grows in Central Asia, the focus is mostly on its Silk Road heritage, Soviet legacy, and lush alpine lakes. Mangystau's desert landscapes are yet to be stitched into the main itineraries of travellers, and they'll likely always be spared the burden of overtourism. But standing on the Dragon's Crest, looking out over an expanse that feels entirely extraterrestrial, I suspect it's only a matter of time before people realise that it does actually exist here... in our world.