Category Turkmenistan

Here we go! Just the FACTS about why the West Coast is literally a billion times cooler than the East Coast:

1) Movies about the West Coast are usually uplifting, fun and feature scantly clad youths frolicking along the beaches. Movies about the East Coast usually highlight a primary character who has turned selfish and egotistical while striving for some sort of monetary or business related goal.

2) The East Coast has a rich history that includes the earliest days of America’s past. Meanwhile, the West Coast is still wild, untamed and rugged– so are the people who live north of California. People like D.B Cooper and Kurt Cobain.

3) The West Coast produces way better music. Now that’s just a fact.

4) The West Coast, if you get rid of California, is full of people who love the environment. There are ample forests, of the evergreen and rain varieties, as well as untamed beaches, rugged mountain peaks and even ferns that grow out of tree branches. The East Coast has Krispy Kreame.

5) The West Coast has Hollywood. The East Coast has Disney World.

6) The West Coast had the gold rush. The East Coast had a tea party.

7) The West Coast has vampires and werewolves, the East Coast has Pennsylvania Avenue.

8.) The West Coast has the King crab, and salmon. The East Coast has lobster– nature’s ugliest creature.

9) The West Coast has the leading ocean. Now for those non-geologists that’s a plate tectonic joke.

10) You never hear people talk about the dream of moving out East. Our nation’s manifest destiny was literally driven by people moving to the West Coast.

With the exception of Chicago, the entire non-coastal USA is literally just a highway to and from the coasts.

Snow

From the Beijing Train Station to the corrupt police on the far Eastern route of the Russian Trans-Siberian Railroad, the 2008 movie Transsiberian was enjoyable to watch having dealt with many of the same problems…ok minus the kidnapping part.  Not so much for the plot as for the accuracy the movie portrayed when depicting a couples ride on a Chinese train and problems with Russian police.  Although we did not go on the Trans-Siberian…yet, the movie was thrilling to watch as an American couple from Iowa, Woody Harrelson and Emily Mortimer, left the Beijing Zhan (station) headed for Moscow via a 6 day journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway.  The train-station, gray colored everything, sleeper cars, and food carriages, were right on and I would believe it was filmed on location.

Emily Mortimer’s character was always planning a new route or travel adventure and walked around with a Cannon Digital camera around her neck throughout the whole film – which reminded me a lot of Lauren.  The broken sleeper-car knobs that wouldn’t turn off terrible Russian music, the shared cars with strangers, the rude and short tempered train attendants, drug smugglers, and corrupt cops were a direct parallel to our experiences en route from China through Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan.  Although the plot got extremely more creepy in comparison to the things that happened to Lauren and I, if you have traveled throughout the former Soviet Union, Russia, China by train, or are interested to see what it looks like, I think people would find certain aspects of this couple’s travel accurate.

Going through Kazakhstan we were hiding from the police as their boarded our train trying to avoid paying bribes, watching all the drug smugglers hide taped packages to their stomachs or under their beds, and arguing with the grumpy train attendants. Our train travel in China was pretty easy going and we had no problems, but the movie gave a good atmosphere to some of the fears you develop as you go into less safe areas ruled by corrupt cops and officials.

For a more detailed clip go to:  Transsiberian Part I – watch from 4:10 to about 9:00 to see a little bit of what it was like.

Having returned to the ferry terminal after our morning attempt failed and we had decided to enjoy the day with a nice swim, we were dismayed when we arrived and found the parking lot empty. The woman who had talked to us earlier smiled and gave us some advice: “Put your name on the list.” This was the first real information we’d received the whole trip about the ferry. What was this mysterious list?

The list turned out to be a log of people waiting in the other room. When a cargo ship has extra room and weight they allow a few passengers to make passage across the Caspian on their ship for a small fee. If a ship is transporting oil, no passengers are allowed. Outside the ferry terminal there were two cargo ships busily loading whole wooden train containers into their belly’s. We added ourselves to the list as numbers 15 and 16, and then discovered there were only 15 seats available.

We waited a while. No one knows anything because there is nothing to know. We had only to wait for the cargo to be loaded, and for a wind storm to pass before the captains of both ships would release how much space they had available. After eleven tickets were given out, the widow was closed. It reopened a bit later once the Captain’s lists arrived. There were plenty of seats for everyone waiting! We got our coupon and ran around to the various windows to de-register and then customs and baggage search before being ushered out to a ship. With a tear-filled goodbye to the drive and translator, we went through customs without incident and headed towards the ship.

The cargo ship contained several railway cars and a hull full of large metal boxes. We reluctantly gave up our passports to the Captain, as well as $100 each, and then followed a man in a T-shirt that went down to his knees up a rickety metal latter into the belly of the vessel. We climbed several sets of stairs that were more like metal ladders before we emerged into a narrow hallway covered in plastic painted to look like wood grain. He led us to a cabin and walked off without even a head nod. We smiled and waved cheerily, determined to make friends on the boat, but he wasn’t interested. Sailors really are tough as nails.

Our cabin was atrocious, but since we were expecting the worst we found it only amusing and entirely hilarious. The room had two bunks covered in blankets that looked like they were hand-woven in the 1500s. A desk along one wall was so smashed it made the room look like an abandoned cabin in the woods. Two wall cabinets with broken hooks and punched in doors held dirty linens and a sofa cushion (there is no couch on board) and then there was the bathroom, which deserves its own paragraph:

You have to kick open the door while you turn the poo-covered door knob and throw your shoulder into the upper section in order to get it to budge. Once the door is open, it takes every ounce of focus not to slam it shut again. A sink to the left inside the door is filled with bug carcasses. The shower head is rusted into modern art, while the basin that collects water from the shower now houses a collection of spider webs and urine stains. The toilet seat was down, thankfully, but Mike opened it for inspection. It contained several petrified turds. The piping was nonexistent and any water (if there was running water that is) would have to drain via a hole in the center of the tiny room that was rusted by urine. There was no light in the room, and only flies (of which there were dozens) and mysterious white spiders would dare to be in the room. The door, needless to say, was thus always firmly shut.

We set sail around 10pm, and I was soundly asleep so did not notice until morning that we had even moved. Out on the deck a strange collection of flying insects had swarmed the boat, and were now clinging onto the sides for dear life. Literally millions of the bugs would swarm any human unlucky enough to be required to walk down an exterior hallway. In the afternoon I ventured onto the deck to take pictures of the ship and search for the source of a strange and ever-constant banging noise. The bugs swarmed so ferociously that I could not inhale without sucking several in through my nostrils. The banging turned out to be the entire non-essential crew on the lower deck chiseling rust off of the main desk. They used crowbars to chisel while the bugs swarmed around them. I watched for several minutes until too many bugs blocked my vision and were so infesting my clothes that I was itching all over. I returned to my now luxurious-seeming cabin to type about the adventures on the ferry thus far, and to read. It was not until late afternoon that I returned on deck to inspect the bug situation and to find the source of an endless supply of Latin music. Young crewmen were lifting weights to the sounds of Shakira, some wrestling each other while others danced or lifted. It was a happy looking crew, despite the bugs, lack of food, lack of bathroom and crappy sleeping quarters. Strangely, everyone on board was happy to be there, ourselves included. We had tried so hard, and focused so much to get aboard a ship to Baku, that now we were thrilled to be in the petrified shit room covered in bugs and without running water or available food. Utopia couldn’t be sweeter than the feelings we had on board the ferry of euphoria and happiness.

Awaza Resort (New Dubai) Hotel

Having heard and read countless horror stories of the ferry situation from Turkmenbashi to Baku, we were eager to try for ourselves. Many a tried and tested traveler has waited for these infamous ferries only to give up and fly across the Caspian after several days of waiting. We were determined not to spoil the integrity of our “by land only” trip from Shanghai to the Western world by jumping on a plane now, having come so far. With a difficult path across the ocean ahead, we set off from Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, by car to Turkmenbashi, the city on the Turkmenistan coast. The ride is a bone-jarring seven hours, which Lauren spent entirely, unconsciously asleep while Mike looked out the window at the camels and barren landscape. We rode in style in a Land Cruiser with decked out suspension and four-wheel drive. Even more importantly, we had a cooler with day-old pizzas and a recently acquired (thanks Emily) bottle of Captain Morgan and coke. The industrious driver quickly poured out a bottle of water and used his bowie knife to cut it into a cup for Lauren’s cherished Captain Coke. The driver would yell out “SIP BREAK!” between bumps and Lauren would gulp a bit down, making this the most luxurious ride so far. The trip, thanks to the Captain and the napping, went by quickly and we pulled into Turkmenbashi without incident.

Turkmenbashi is a fascinating city with brightly painted buildings that make the white marble palaces of Ashgabat seem bland. We situated ourselves in a hotel in Awaza (the ritzy new area of Turkmenbashi that the president hopes will soon

be “the Dubai of the Caspian.” There is much work to be done before this collection of hotels along the coast picks of the resort vibe that city planners hope to achieve. One is required to drive past a large lake of oil sludge and sewage that has collected over several years and reeks in a way that is indescribably bad, though I’ll try: boiled eggs, vomit and peanut butter mixed with fish rot and the smell of sweaty sandals after a long walk.

Having situated ourselves comfortably in the hotel, we ran down to the beach and jumped in the Caspian without fanfare. The water was cold and the waves were strong, but the sea snakes that had been present on our last visit to Turkmenbashi were now gone. After several hours Mike and the driver set off to find beers, and returned with a nice collection of beer and chips, which we ate after dinner, while watching TV and gazing out across the Caspian.

The following morning was D-day for our first attempt at catching the ferry. We awoke and ate breakfast at the hotel. We picked up our translator and together drove to the ferry terminal. Originally, we wanted to do this entirely without assistance, but as the stories mounted of travelers being rejected or stranded, we opted for help. Our translator inquired around the ferry terminal about when the ships that were docked would leave for Baku. Nobody could provide an answer and the window where you buy a ticket was decidedly vacant. A border guard told us that nothing would launch until the storm passed. There were, currently, very high winds but no rain or clouds in the sky. There were about six women and their various children sitting in the waiting room, all of whom looked dejected, miserable and downtrodden. One woman, who turned out to be from Ashgabat, spoke to us in English saying a ferry might be possible that afternoon.  We got no other information and decided not to sit around and wait since we had the luxury of a driver and translator.  We went back to the hotel, swam in the Caspian until we were exhausted, ate a hearty lunch and then all returned to the ferry terminal.  More had gathered in the waiting room, but there was still no information.

Here is the process you must follow when trying to get a ferry, since many people want this information and no one else provides it in one place:

1) Put your name on the list as soon as you arrive. The list is a little notebook sitting on the counter in the ticket office. If it isn’t there, ask around until someone gets it for you.

2) After the ticket window is opened (only when a ferry if fully loaded with cargo and the Captain’s lists arrive) you will be issued a coupon. This is NOT a ticket. This simply means you were on one of the lists and deserve a spot on a ship.

3) Take your coupon to a nearby window (unmarked, but you’ll see a line of other passengers forming) where two border guards will take your passport information for their exit records.

4) Go to the waiting room and get in line to go through customs. Despite being in line, the guards come out and point at who they want to process next, don’t be offended, they take the ones who look hard to process first.

5) Once behind the white wall that separates the custom’s process from the waiting room, give your passport again to the officer waiting at a table inside the door.

6) From there, guards will usher you to a conveyor belt where your bags will be scanned and searched, they will weigh heavy-looking bags.

7) Confusingly, you need to hand your passport to a man in a window-booth across from the conveyor belt, so put your bags down and prepare to wait; here you will be de-registering from Turkmenistan. They will take your registration card out of your passport, and give you an exit stamp. Do not leave the country without it or you will be denied entry to your next country.

8) Follow the green line on the floor out into the port. Guards will be stationed to usher you ever 100m or so to an awaiting vessel. Follow their direction.

9) Once you step onto a ship, you’ll be surprised at how rough the accommodations will be. Someone will demand your

passport and the passage fee. It is safe to give them your passport, they need them to log who is on the ship, and having done ferry services without any reported incidents of passport theft, it will be safe. The fee is supposed to be $90 USD per person, but we ended up paying $100, which they said we could pay or else get off the boat. The fee includes a room.

10) Follow someone on the ship to the passenger quarters. These usually contain a bunk (or up to four in a room) and a bathroom with no running water and petrified turds in a broken toilet. Don’t use your facilities, use the public ones down the hall. Don’t complain about your room because they are all equally bad. Even though you are boarded, the ferry might not leave for several hours. Don’t ask why, you’ll get no answer anyway as no one knows anything on board the ship. In the same vein, don’t bother asking when you’ll arrive or how long the journey is. Some take 12 hours, ours took closer to 24, others report 16-18 hour trips.

11) Once you arrive in Baku, the process to disembark and go through customs is very efficient, but a lengthily process. It took our group over four hours to go through customs, start to finish. As a tip, do not mention Armenia, as the two countries are at war. Once you are processed and in the country with your entry stamp, you can hire a cab or you can simply walk away from the docks into town.

Good luck!  By the way, the process is the same whether you are going from Turkmenbashi to Baku or vice versa.

As we depart Central Asia, we’re hit with a bittersweet feeling partially of relief and partly of sadness. Central Asia is like no other place on earth. Check logic at the door, and reason as well sometimes. The people are so vastly different from one another between the Stans that each place is like stepping into an entire new continent. Some are friendly, helpful and kind while others are greedy, rude and unethical. Its a region that will test even the most tried of travelers, and will cause even the most devout to swear. At the same time, it houses some of the world’s most cherished relics, a complex and interesting history and some of nature’s most comical and magnificent structures. While in Central Asia we composed a few top ten lists, here they are, as we say adieu:

Top Ten Illegal Things We Saw in Central Asia:

• Illegal money changers with counterfeit bills
• Marijuana growing on the curb in Tashkent
• Drug deal exchanges in Bukhara
• Transporting illegal substances across borders
• Prostitutes all over Central Asia
• Bribing guards on trains, border crossings
• Dangerous driving, with no regard for safety
• Hassling tourists, foreigners
• Cops patting down travelers for money
• Camping on protected ruins

Top Five Things you Don’t Want to Hear while on rusted, Soviet Chairlift:

• “Is that a broken chair down there?”
• “I think the two seater in front of us is seating four.”
• “Are you wearing Birkenstocks?”
• “Thats definitely wreckage of a chair lift down there.”
• “…and now we have to get back down the same way.”

10 Most Difficult Things to Achieve in Central Asia:

• Getting a napkin out of the booby-trapped holders
• Crossing the street without losing a limb
• Hailing a cabby who will charge in local currency
• Avoiding food poisoning
• Conversing with anyone about Russia
• Mentioning America without getting a response of “George Bush, Michael Jackson or Michael Jordon” in return
• Finding a road without potholes
• Avoiding manty (meat dumplings)
• Changing money across currencies
• Finding shoes in any size above women’s 8

Top Five Strange Things We Heard at a Restaurant in Central Asia:

• “That guy is playing with his belly button.”
• “Last time we ate here, we didn’t get sick!”
• “Try the tongue.”
• “That guy is combing his stomach hair….”
• “Even the waitress looks like shes about to throw up.”

Top Five Strange Menu Items in Central Asia:

• Lamp Shish
• Banana Spleen
• Corn and Cancer
• Language Beef
• Two Generations
• Frog Paws
• Cinnamon of my Youth
• Seafood pizza with Fruit
• Beer: The Goner
• Fish on a Shish

Top Ten Strange Sites We Visited:

• Flaming crater called the “Gates of Hell”
• Sarcophagus of Daniel (13m long)
• The nodding donkey monument
• Mosque honoring Turkmen Dictator, not Allah
• Russian Orthodox Church in the desert with skull and bones
• Downed MiG plane on display in someone’s yard
• Snake infested section of Caspian Sea
• Torture chamber and bug pit where condemned lived for years
• “Big Mac” restaurant on top of a mountain (lamb burgers)
• Petrified dinosaur eggs in the desert

Top Five Things We’ll Miss About Central Asia:

• Friends
• Bazaars (Push-Push in particular)
• Camels, EVERYWHERE!
• 2000 year old ruins…everywhere
• Constant oddities making you shrug and say, “its CA!”

Yup, Central Asia is a strange and mysterious place! We loved our time in the region, despite a few down times (being shaken down by cops, bad border guards and dishonest cabbys). We were lucky to be able to spend over three months in the Stans!

After two months in the arid deserts of Turkmenistan, it is time to move towards water. So we’re setting out sights on the infamous ferry to Azerbaijan from Turkmenbashi.

But as we move on across the Caspian Sea, here is a list of the top things we loved in Turkmenistan:

Merv – The ancient ruins of Merv were astonishing. The dry deserts have preserved the structures yet artifacts remain just sitting on the surface for anyone to admire. Herders push their sheep and camels through 2000 year old doorways and we luckily got to camp in the shadow of Alexander the Great’s biggest capture. Here’s more on Merv.

Darvaza – The flaming crater known as the “Gates of Hell” was a top spot for us, we loved it so much we went back a second time. Nearby, the bubbling mud crater and the languid water crater were also of endless amusement. Camping out next to a gaping, fire-filled hole in the middle of an empty desert is a strange and new experience we wont soon forget! Here’s more.

Nohur – This tiny village tucked away in the mountains between Turkmenistan and Iran houses some of the most ancient of traditions. People lived as they have for hundreds of years, and we sat on a family’s roof and listened to the call to prayer echo off the mountains. Here’s more.

Caspian Sea – Swimming with sea snakes in the Caspian and photographing rusted wreckage, walking around Turkmenbashi and exploring the surrounding area by 4×4- all fun and exciting adventures to be had along the shores of Turkmenistan. Here’s more.

Ashgabat – This city, with its glowing white marble palaces and attempt at building pine forests, will forever be the strangest place we’ve been. It is constantly amusing, and not a moment is left to boredom. Ashgabat is also home to some fun attractions like Independence Park (with a giant, glowing plunger) and the Cableway to the Iranian Border and my favorite, the Push Bazaar. Nearby is Nissa, Geokdepe and an endless dead pine-tree desert.

While there was much more that we got to see and experience, this is just a taste of why we loved Turkmenistan so much.

Darvaza Crater

Owing to a misplaced video of our last trip to the Darvaza crater, as well as an urge to try out new grilling methods and camping equipment, we bumped along the three and a half hour ride from Ashgabat to Darvaza last weekend. To set the stage, I pulled a muscle on the right side of my neck that morning, and was rendered useless. The idea of a multiple-hour, jarring ride through the outback seemed daunting, but the end goal of camping out again at the burning crater of the middle of the desert was reward enough to pack ice into a plastic bag and hold it against my neck the entire ride.

We arrived at 6pm, and not a moment too soon because a band of German travelers rolled into camp moments after our arrival, and were disappointed (to say the least) at encountering Americans in their territory. They huffed off into another section of the desert and set up camp out of sight. We set up camp in prime location overlooking the flaming crater just as a sudden desert downpour started. An hour later, a merry band of South Africans arrived and set up camp alongside our arrangement, and proceeded to cook their dinner. These four travelers (two couples) had traveled from the UK, and were heading home to South Africa via the Balkans and the Stans. They drove their own SUV, loaded with extra fuel cans and supplies, and were well equipped for camping.They were good fun to be around, and were as friendly a group as anyone could every ask for. Having come from the direction we’re heading, they gladly shared some travelers tips and hostel hints about Turkey and Georgia, where we will be in a few weeks. In turn, we traded information for hostels in Uzbekistan, which is where they were next setting their sights.

All tourists unaccompanied by a relative, must be in the company of a Turkmen guide, theirs was a friendly Ashgabat native named Max, who puffed away at his unfiltered cigarettes like a John Wayne character. That night, with all of the travelers safely inside their tents, he told us of a deadly black spider that stalks the desert floors at night. He finished his story and then rolled out a mat by the fire and fell asleep.

We awoke at 5:30 to watch the sun rise over the crater before cooking a hearty breakfast of steak and potatoes, coffee and an abundance of bread. The night before we had watched the crater get every more fierce-looking as the sky got darker, and we consumed a respectable amount of local beer in the process with our new African friends.We slept soundly, despite the constant rumble of trucks which were skirting the crater to lay a pipeline in through the desert, and in the morning, amid handshakes and waves, set off to visit a giant crater of boiling mud, which we had skipped last time. The crater was even larger than that of flames or water, and the mud boiled ferociously as we tossed rocks deep into the crater.

After much rock clinging amusement, we headed back for Ashgabat to visit the next best thing to the gates of hell: the Irish pub.

Kyz Kala, Exterior

Sultan Sanjar, who referred to himself boldly as Alexander the II or ‘Sultan of the World’ died of a broken heart in 1157. The woman he loved, it was discovered, was not a woman after all but a fairy. She had promised to marry the Sultan in exchange for three favors: 1) that he should never watch her comb her hair; 2) that he should never look at her feet, and; 3) that he should never embrace her. Naturally curiosity got the better of the Sultan and he discovered that when she combed her hair, she actually removed her head, put it on her lap and brushed her hair in that fashion. When he gazed at her feet he saw that she was hovering above the ground. When he tried to embrace the beautiful woman he discovered she was no more than air and fragrance. She thus explained that she was a fiary, and could henceforth only visit him in her fairy form. The modern tomb of the Sultan has a small square hole in the domed ceiling so his fairy lover can visit him from time to time. Before the turquoise tiles were removed from the dome of his mausoleum it was said that a rider could see the tomb from several days out. The Soviets, taking the lore about the Sultan’s fairy literally, tore up large portions of the roof in search of gold the fairy supposedly left her lover. It is, indeed, a very impressive structure, and well preserved (rebuilt). Of lesser importance, a small and rather bland mausoleum was built in the desert nearby for his actual (human) wife.

Moving to the East of the Sultan Kala and towards reality we discovered two crumbling Babylonian-like fortress remnants with corrugated walls and multiple stories intact. We ventured into the larger of the fortresses to discovered adobe stairs leading down into a cavern that dead-ended with a covered door. Were it not a world heritage site, I would have been tempted to get the shovel out of the 4×4 and find out what they kept in their basements in the 7th century. Originally built by Sassanians, the Seljuqs took power and used the fortress, called Kyz Kala, as their base in Merv.

Not far away from this ancient and mysterious structure is an important Muslim pilgrimage sit, a mausoleum for two companions of the prophet Mohammad. We were not permitted entrance as we were non-Muslims, which was okay with us as we spent the time on site examining an ancient water cistern and several ice houses used in the time of Alexander to keep meat cool throughout the summer. The innovation and technological adaptations these ancient people came up with would far surpass the average person thrust into the past in similar conditions. I sometimes wonder if we are really any smarter today than they were in the 6th century when they built the ice houses, cisterns and massive fortresses out of fewer materials than one can find in a bleak and desolate desert.

We lunched in the shade of the fortress walls drinking beer and unpacking our salads and soups as we watched herders run their cattle and camels through the fortress. That afternoon we drove around the city that has sprung up along the periphery of Merv. One village uses the interior of a small fortress as a dump, and we strolled through piles of trash, used needles, bottles, cattle bones and millions of blue plastic bags. A real shame for such history and culture to be turned into something of no worth to the locals whose history it is. It is a concept I have trouble fathoming, as someone who loves history, but comes from a country with only a few years, comparatively, of national heritage and a coherent past.

Camel Herd

Last weekend we embarked on a three day / two night camping trip to the ruins of Merv.  A short 30 km away from the present city of Mary, Turkmenistan; Merv has been declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site and rightfully so.  The 5 – 5 1/2 hour drive from Ashgabat to Mary and Merv trailing along the Kopet Dag Mountains was littered with ancient ruined walls and fortresses.  We stopped and one, which was not even in our guide book, “Warved Galaky” or something that we immediately started calling Warped Galaxy – a fitting term for most things in Turkmenistan, and climbed up the walls.  The ancient fort had been inhabited by the Greeks, we found out later, and was scattered with pottery shards recently exposed from an unlikely rain in the desert.  The fortress had a dried up mote bed still visible after centuries, and it has been said that you can still find Greek coins in the ruins here as the people of Warped Galaxy crafted coins into the C.E. after Christ.

After we went through the city of Mary, we arrived at Merv.  The whole area, about 80 ha was all fortress and ancient city on top of ancient city.  Merv has been referred to as a drifting or wandering city.  This means that over time, water supply and changed course and therefore, you have one ruin from 300 BC and another ruin from the 1st to 3rd century C.E. overlapping with opposing and expanded fortress walls.  What makes Merv so unique is that you have several distinct historical periods in different garden patches, if you will, waiting to be excavated and discovered.  Luckily our friends had a 4 x 4 and we were able to drive right into the old compounds.  After an hour or so scoping out the best camp area, we stopped by an ancient Buddhist stupa for camp.  The stupa had been created on an opposing wall of the oldest fortress – proving social strife between the diverse compound ethnicity and religions.  There were Greeks, after Alexander the Great, Nestorian Christians, Tar Tars, Buddhists, and Sassanians all grouped together.  There were mounds of earth surrounding us of what once used to be mud huts or buildings.  The stuppa had noticeably melted significantly after each rain that brought new artifacts up to the surface.  We found a nice soft secluded area to pitch our tents, had a few beers, talked about how amazing it was that were were sleeping on the ruins which dated back as far as 3000 B.C.E. and that Alexander the Great could have been standing or setting up camp right where we were.  It was invigorating and made it difficult to sleep because of all the excitement.

The next morning we climbed up Erk Kala, the olded fortress, which Alexander had concured and renamed Alexanderia Margiana.  As we climbed over the rain and errosion melted fortress wall we were in awe of the spectacular preservation of the central portion of the compound, as well as two towers, dating back over 2000 years.  The ground crunched as we walked as it was completly littered with pottery shards.  It was really disturbing to even be walking around on the ground with thousands of years of history below your feet.  It is beyond me why universities do not have professors and student volunteers out here excavating and preserving theses sites.  Then again, Turkmenistan is not exactly an easy country to come in and get these types of permissions with.   Little did we know that this was a the beginning of a long day of exploration of the entire Merv Complex, which is host to a variety of antiquities.

In my youth we would visit zoos all over the world. I’ve seen some of the most amazing zoos humanity has to offer, at the top of the list comes the Paris zoo and the Minnesota zoo, both of which offer a charming and humane environment for the animals while offering prime viewing and educational material for visitors. My visit to the Ashgabat zoo was startling, to say the least, and was accompanied by such a pungent blend of foul aromas that the interior of my nose began to twitch in protest.

The Ashgabat zoo, in Turkmenistan cost 1M, which is about 30 cents, to enter. After walking through the cobweb covered entryway we first encountered a fence with various hand-painted wooden signs showing which animals were available at the zoo. We noticed that the signs were removable, in the likely occurrence that one should die. Vulture were the first exhibit. Behind a low fence with a metal tin roof (in 100 degree heat) a giant vulture sat on a rock ripping apart raw, dirt-covered flesh. We heard a chopping noise and looked behind the shed, a man had some sort of animal on a wooden block and was using an ax to dismember the creature for food. The vulture seemed happy about the noise while it made the hair on my neck stick straight up. Hand-painted signs showed a finger and the words “Ouch!” next to the cage. There was no lighting, and each cage seemed like a death-row cell dimly lit and containing a vile creature of children’s nightmares.

The second exhibit was a swampy cage where someone had patched holes in the wire with planks of rotten wood and a street sign. Inside the murky darkness we saw what appeared to be a ROUS, a rodent of unusual size. I have no idea what this mystery creature was, it looked like a rat but was the size of a cockerspaniel. One was white, with red eyes while its counterpart was black with black eyes. It had a long rat’s tail and webbed feet, and it also was ripping apart flesh with its two buck teeth under an “ouch!” sign.

The third exhibit explained one of the many foul smells, a duck pond under a low fenced roof that had not ever been cleaned. Ducks mated at random and chicks and elderly ducks lounged together in their own feces, apparently uncontrolled. The ducks far outnumbered the space available to them, and some were sitting atop others, which might have been dead.

The aquarium behind the duck pond proved the source of another of the unidentifiable aromas. The pool was open-air and contained a large and rather impressive collection of algae. Dead goldfish spotted the top of the pond while frogs and tadpoles swam around happily in their lurid haven.

Behind these wonderful exhibits was the bear, wolf and lion exhibit. Each had its own hand-made cage with sufficient room to curl into a fetus and cry. We watched for a few moments as the wolf attempted to run in place before falling over the sink used as a watering troth. The lion didn’t budge, and the bear sat picking at the goo running out of its eyes. Tears?

There was a rather odd array of happy looking porcupines. At least a dozen of them in various cages lounged in abandoned tractor tires lapping at still water and chewing on wilted carrots. They looked up at us as we walked by as if to say, “hey! Its better than being in the desert.”

There was a large collection of farm animals, especially camels and lamas, which seemed relatively content to be fed once a day and otherwise left alone. The locals in the zoo gave the lamas a wide birth for fear of spit, and did not allow their children to pet the camels, which looked past their prime and overly tattooed, a sign that these were once work camels who had exhausted their usefulness.

A bird park was the final crescendo, with turkeys, pigeons and chickens of various breed lounging around their piles of feces and still water with one eye on the man chopping meat for the vultures and the other eye on the children who tapped gently against the cage.

Despite the abysmal conditions at the zoo, I was impressed to see mothers explaining to their children what they were seeing, and those strolling around the park looked happy as they eagerly pointed at the dilapidated foxes or clapped their hands in glee at a spitting lama. It was no Paris zoo, but it will be at the top of my list of strange experiences in Central Asia.

Nissa

Yesterday we got in the 4×4 and took an off road expeditionary tour of Nissa,which was once a Parthian capital in the 3rd century BC. At one point over forty towers surrounded the small adobe fortress on the hilltop, but today there is little remaining of the once bustling capital. Atop a sloping, man-made hill rests one remaining tower which we discovered is used by several variety of bee as a giant nesting ground. A desert hedgehog had apparently gotten too close to the tower, for it lay crinkled in a ball at the base of one giant nest.

Inside the fortress itself, which is little more than a hill where the top is shaped like a bowel with a large depression on top where former royalty once roamed. Today the interior is filled with a strange crawling plant that albino lizards seem to enjoy. The locals who occupy the region directly to the north of old Nissa have erected a small adobe structure in the center where a guard lives to ensure everyone has paid the hefty 16M entry fee. We did not pay this fee because the guards at the gateway tried to extort more money out of us, so we took the off-road approach and hiked into the fortress on foot. Not an easy task in 105 degree weather in a desert without shade.

Along the western wall of the fortress was an irrigation canal where dozens of boys were swimming and washing their hair. Down the road several other children sat at small booth selling soap or sponges. There are no child labor laws here.

Nissa itself is an amazing story, set up by the Parthians, captured by local dynasties and finally razed in the 13th century by the Mongols. It was one of the more heroic last stands in Central Asia, and the more skilled and equipped Mongols took 15 days to captured the walled city, destroying everything within. Once the Mongols left, however, the site was used as a Zoroastrian temple grounds before being abandoned as the land around the fortress became arid and bleak.

Gates of Hell

Dante readers beware, the “Gates of Hell” are very real. They are located in the middle of a vast, uninhabitable desert (not unlike the Biblical desert where Satan tempted Jesus) outside Darvaza, Turkmenistan.

Locals say that someone was drilling for natural gas in the desert when the drill hit an air pocket and the friction of the metal piping exploding at massive speed out of a rock hole caused a spark to ignite the reserve of natural gas, setting it eternally alite.

Today the crater is 60 meters across and easily 50 meters deep at its furthest point. The flames burst out of the crater fueled by the natural gas, but to the casual eye it looks as if the rock and sand are simply emitting an enormous amount of heat and flame. At one point there was a thick cable circling the crater to keep curious travelers at a safe distance, but the heat of the eternal flame managed to snap the cable, melting sections of it into piles of ruble, while other sections have become fused into the landscape.

For roughly a kilometer in every direction the earth is grey and lifeless, inhabited only by beetles, spiders and perhaps a wandering lizard. A strange coral reef looking rock sticks up from the grey sand in stalactite-like formations. All attempts to identify the rock online proved futile, though I’m no geologist. The remnants of a now unidentifiable machine rest all around the perimeter, and as I circled the area I found lizards and other creatures warming themselves on the hot metallic surfaces of various engine parts presumably belonging to the unfortunate drilling device that started the whole saga.

Oh…My….God!

The wildlife around the dead ring of sand becomes more intense and is reminiscent of the creatures in Storm Troopers. Walking out to the crater at night with nothing but a flashlight and, naturally, a giant flaming crater to indicate the way, I managed to hit an angle with the flashlight just right so that in the distance I saw two tiny green gem-like lights glistening in the distance in the sand. I walked over to investigate and leaned in really close. The two gems turned out to be the curious blinking eyes of a spider the size of a golf ball, with his eight hairy legs extending out from there like so many reasons to run and hide. I slowly backed away and shined the light at the same angle across the landscape. All around me pairs of little green lights blinked like lightening bugs and panic rose in my whole body as my arms, thinking on their own, attempted to fly me out of there. I ended up with two flashlights, one scanning the distance for green gems to avoid, the other aimed at my toes so that if one came near my I could scream my farewells as my heart stopped.

50m deep crater

We decided to camp out at the crater, obviously this decision was made before I knew an army of giant spiders inhabited the warm sands around the crater. We set up our tent, started a fire of our own, and cooked a simple meal while drinking beer from the cooler. (We are Americans, after all, why not tail-gate the gates of hell?) In the distance, the crater raged seemingly out of control, the flames licking the sky as if to snap the stars right out and gobble them up. We danced around our own little fire to the tuns from the portable iPod, and listened to Mike play the guitar with the fire from the crater cracking the percussion in the distance.

Morning came slowly as the sounds of the desert kept me wondering and imaging what was happening outside the tent. We boiled water in the morning for coffee and were on the road again by 9am. Twelve kilometers from the natural gas crater lies a crater of greater depth but lesser width that is filled with water. The water emits bubbles, indicating heat, but there is little information on the spring, or why the crater is so deep (at least 70 meters). All attempts to find a boiling miniature mud crater in the vicinity were in vain.

Despite the giant man-eating spiders (that get bigger each time I tell this story, naturally) and the bubbling water that could cook you alive, or the crater of fire that form the gates of hell, I still find Darvaza one of the nicest and most interesting natural wonder I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

For more information on Darvaza and Turkmenistan please see read about our Second Trip to the Gates of Hell and our Turkmenistan Destination Guide.

Caspian Sea Snake in Turkmenbasy

After the very long drive from Nohur to the Turkmenbasy on the Caspian Sea, and searching for a place to stay, we all ended up at the reasonably priced Turkmenbasy Hotel.  For about $60 a night, we got a suit with a view of the Caspian Sea from the balcony.  Initially, we drove all the way out to a peninsula to get a room at one of the new “Dubai of Turkmenistan” resort hotels.  Niyazov’s dream was to make Turkmenbasy a resort town comparible to Dubai.  Let’s just say they have a very long way to go.  All of the rooms available at the partially constructed “resort” hotels were priced at over 300 – 400 USD.  So we found a nice room at the Turkembasy like I said before.

After the hot drive through the desert, we were all ready for a beer and a swim.  We grabbed a quick drink on our way out of the ground floor and walked slowly through the scorching heat down to the Sea.  Directly out in front of the hotel was shoreline however, there were only people near or in the water farther down the coast – which seemed to be the same as what was in front of us.  I walked down and started wadding around in the water.  Immediately I noticed a thick bed of weeds about 8 feet from the shore.  “That must be why all the locals are farther down the beach,” I thought.  So we walked down.  We hadn’t gotten about 5 steps when Lauren yells, “WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!”  She was referring to a 4 foot long snake that was poking its head and neck about 1.5 feet out of the water.  A longer coil was visible below the surface and was now resting on top of the weed bed.  Then we started noticing several snakes poking their heads out of the water for air.

As went continued down the beach we found a clearing and started to get in the water, believing it to be snake free.  We soon found out that this weed free area between the two weed beds was The Great Caspian Sea Snake Highway – serving as transport between feeding grounds.  After kicking the sand around on the beach for a while and contemplating swimming, we really had our hearts set on swimming in the Caspian, it was now or never.  Our friend and I stared at each other, picked up some small stones and plastered the area in front of us with a barrage of pebbles, and then dove into snake heaven face first.  That was the first time I have ever swum out of fear as I, like my childhood hero, share a fear of snakes – Ophidiophobia.  We quickly kicked out past the weed bed and tread water out in the Caspian.  Then, we realized that we had to go back.  Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, we turned back and made it through without a bite.  I highly doubt that they would attack humans, but it was still slightly terrifying.  I got out of the Sea, turned to Lauren and said, “Conquered it,” and we all went out for dinner.

The Caspian Sea

When we tell people that we live on the road, their eyes light up and they inevitably mutter, glazed-eyed: “man, I wish I could do that.” Usually we respond with an energetic pat on the shoulder and a hearty, “you can!” Naturally everyone has the reins to their own destiny, and can make of it what they want. For those of you thinking about the glamor and unending fun of a life on the road, here is a saga to solidify your wanderlust.

Two weeks ago we drove from Ashgabat to Turkmenbashi on the Caspian Sea coast. This 350 mile ride was exhilarating to me after a few dramamine pills, but exhausting and harrowing before they kicked in. Thanks, dramamine! The road, as I’ve mentioned before, was ill paved and lacking in forethought. One companion in the car called it “spine adjusting” while another prefered “joint altering.” Travel does wear and tear on one’s body. Did I mention it involved two nights of sleeping on the floor bookmarked by day long driving? Our immune systems were understandably down.

At any rate, the Caspian was well worth the adventure to get there by land. We (meaning Mike) swam with the sea snakes, we  (meaning Lauren) frolicked along the sandy beaches and we drank to the sunset and good company (all of us). But, a day later, back in Ashgabat, we were lying on the couch with our heads in an array of buckets, tubs and bags, wondering between vomits what we had done to make ourselves so ill.

Three days later we were still sick. Dysentery looks fun compared to what we were feeling. Dementia set in the third day for me, and I lay in bed,  squirming and holding my stomach wondering why Minnie Mouse was perched on the chandelier. And on the fourth day the doctor arrived with a magical array of pills and capsules and such modern devices as ear thermometers. The capsules turned out to be cypro, something I recently discovered I’m highly allergic to. So, coupled with the illness we had come to call the ‘Caspian Sea Virus,’ I also had an allergic reaction that caused my lips to swell. From the side I looked like Angelina Jolie having a really miserable day. The jokes were unending, but at least it was something to joke about! Sadly, there is no photographic evidence as I threatened to stomp on every camera that was pointed my way.

So, with collagen-infused lips (aka, allergic reaction lips), a virus that causes extreme migraines and stomach pain, nausea and dementia, we set off for a 4th of July party that was, ironically, Hollywood themed. I fit right in.

9 days later the majority of us were feeling better, though still tired. Even mid-hurl I was thinking to myself, “I’d rather be here with my head in this bucket than anywhere else on earth.” Travel provides an unending series of chances to test one’s self, and to discover one’s self while discovering the world. I discovered (this is a very Carry Bradshaw ending, I know) that I’m happy to have a misaligned spine and vomit in my hair, so long as it means I can have these things in tandem with an adventure such as the one we’ve set our course for. Sometimes things in life are as simple as black and white.

Bazaar Ladies

For many Silk Route travelers, the Push-Push bazaar outside Ashgabat is one of the greatest highlights of the road. The bazaar spans several square acres and includes a livestock bazaar, car bazaar, construction section, clothing, fabric and national arts and crafts. Anything you can imagine wanting can be found at the bazaar. Opened on the weekend and on Thursday, the bazaar is teeming with people from every walk of life in Turkmenistan. From agile old ladies grinning rows of gold teeth to young boys pushing portage carts.

I arrived with a friend at 11:00am on a Sunday, Mike having decided to stay behind for some extra computer time. The parking lot was little more than a collection of hundreds of cars in various states of disarray parked along and atop the rolling sand dunes that surrounded the enclosed bazaar. We added our jeep to the pile and set of across the dunes towards the main entrance, a lavish two story entryway crawling with people. Within moments of entering the bazaar we had been spotted by a gang of pick-pockets, who use a system of distractions and bumping to pry valuables from unwitting shoppers. I walked ahead of my friend, snapping pictures, all of my valuables in my camera bag at my hip. Behind me, my friend watched my back, turning suddenly every once in a while to catch some young man suddenly very intensely studying a tire, or fabric, or whatever was at hand. It was a hilarious parade of obviousness, with the pick-pockets eventually losing their patience and trying to blatantly reach into my camera bag. They got nothing and our system, albeit an old trick, was effective in deterring them.

The bazaar itself was well worth the visit, and remains one of the most astonishing collections of humanity and merchandise on the planet. Rows a half mile long of rugs extended several columns deep, with each carpet hand made by Afghans, Turkmen, Uzbeks and Tajiks. The carpets looked like an off red oasis amid the desert, and even odder were the old ladies with long, white braids and gold teeth, who eagerly sketched numbers in any currency you demanded, all while telling the history of each piece.

We walked for several hours around the maze of booths, from canning equipment and seeds to dresses and lace and carburetors, there was little we did not see in the bazaar, yet so much that is unexplainable, like an entire row of women, a half mile long, selling exactly the same fabric collar at exactly the same price.

Back outside the bazaar several hours later we searched the dunes for our jeep and found it along a dune that had been cut open by a small marmot. We spotted the odd creature running across the dune behind the jeep- it had the legs of a racing dog, the head of a cat and the belly of a rabbit. We ran after it, despite the 100 degree weather, and chased it into a hole that had visibly dangerous claw markings along the interior, but it was gone. We drove the jeep up and down the dunes several times on the excuse that the suspension needed to be tested. In reality that kind of off roading is exhilarating—and the suspension, we now know, is fine.

Camel

Last night in Nohur we slept on the floor, atop rugs and a small pad. Throughout the night we slept off and on as dogs fought in the alleys and cats cheered or booed their progress. Scurrying lizards awoke me with fresh fear for scorpion attacks and we could hear the rushing gas in the pipeline outside the window. The only bathroom was down a winding, unlit alley and was little more than a hole in the ground with a door. At 9 we were up and packing the Jeep while Damat and his wife made us a lovely potato and egg breakfast with tea.

We took pictures with the family before our departure and Damat’s wife again kissed my neck and brushed my chest with her hand as we pulled away. We bumped along the lizard valley until reaching the main road that stretches lazily across Turkmenistan, from Ashgabat to Turkmenbashi, on the Caspian sea. Though there are only two major roads in the country, it was in a state of utter disrepair, and we bounced along the spine-adjusting road with care. Now and then we would see something of interest and the car would screech to a halt for further inspection. Our first caravan of unmanned camels represented an awe-inspiring moment where I realized the silk route was more about patience and fortitude, and man challenging nature, than about commerce. The men who rode the goods through this desert were fighting a force larger than man itself, and had to face amazing hardship with bravery bordering on insanity. The desert was dune-less but equally as barren as the Taklimakan. Here and there a small bush grew, and under it lizards fought for shade as spider’s weaved their webs overhead. Surprisingly the desert is full of life. We passed so many camels that after a while, I sadly lost track. Interspersed with these were sickly looking cows and healthy looking donkeys. Goats and rams were herded by lone men, whose weather-beaten faces looked like leather. All the while, with my face pressed against the window, we sat comfortably in our air conditioned 4X4.

Comfortable is a stretch, as the road, which was paved and then touched up with blacktop, had baked in the sun so that every car going west was pushing the melting tar and gravel into ripple-like clumps. Every thirty feet there was another blown out tire resting by the road, a testament to the unreliability of the road. We had a spare, but only one, and the frequency of tires indicated that we should have brought a replacement tire for each good one already wearing down underfoot.

Despite the bumping, jarring and wavering of the road, the scenery was right out of a lunar adventure novel. At one point we stopped the car so I could attempt to pet a camel. Silly foreigner. I ran after the camel with my arms outstretched, hoping to convince the camel of my good intentions. I galloped after the camel at full sprint, yet it managed to our maneuver me and escape my petting. At another screeching halt at my bequest, I managed to feet a camel a piece of bread. The baby camel apparently disliked the flavor, for it promptly spit the piece out onto my shoe and ran off laughing. I followed it and again attempted to inflict petting upon the camel, but it resisted and ran off into the desert to look for shade.

The drive from Ashgabat to Turkmenbashi is 9 hours. At some points in the so-called ‘road’ you can travel no faster than 10 miles an hour. Thus, when we glimpsed our first of the Caspian Sea there were sighs of relief all around. The Caspian, from the west, is a sharp blue-green that contrasts so drastically with the paleness of the white desert that it at first causes one’s eyes to water. It is a truly beautiful body of water, and we followed its curves as we headed north to Turkmenbashi, eager to take a dip in its turquoise waves and wash off the camel spit.

The small and relatively untouched village of Nohur rests in an unmarked valley of the Kopet Dag Mountains, which make up the border of Iran and southern Turkmenistan. The people of Nohur dress and act conservatively, and their traditions have been able to survive Turkmenistan’s modernization because of the remoteness of their village.
Descendent from Alexander the Great, the Nohurli are surprisingly hospitable. We arrived at 6pm via 4X4; the only way to reach the town is down a long pebble road flanked by shale mountains covered in lizards. As we rounded a desolate corner, we were amazed to find a small village awaiting our arrival. Damat jumped in the back seat and smiled as he pointed up a narrow alley. The engine was gunned and we bumped along on our nearly vertical assent up the northern face of a hill in the middle of Nohur.

The roads were little more than compact dirt and rocks where water had once drained from the hills, yet a village had found this method of road making suitable to their needs. Large adobe houses sat firmly on their wooden beams (though where the wood came from was a mystery is this desert landscape). Children and elders dashed in front of the 4X4 to look at our pale faces as we pushed them to the glass to return their eager stares. Finally, with Damat pointing out the window and whispering the village’s secrets in Russian, we stopped at his hill-side home.

Damat introduced us to his wife and granddaughter. His wife, an elderly woman with all gold teeth and sun-damaged skin, grasped my shoulders firmly and planted three or four wet kisses on my neck before running her calloused hands across my chest and smiling at me. I stood shocked for a moment before I could smile back—chest rubbing was not a normal Turkmen greeting, this must be native to Nohur. Damat, thankfully, just shook my hand, and his granddaughter simply hid behind his leg and peeked out from time to time to look at my reddish hair or my white fingernails. She was a beautifully, frail child of about eight, dressed in bright colored western clothes that contrasted sharply with her grandmother’s traditional dress and headscarf.

They settled us into a small, empty room and set up a tarp on the floor. They piled bread, butter, home-made cheese and other treats on the tarp and poured us each a hefty cup of tea. Damat sat cross-legged on the floor and began to talk adamantly, using gestures as much as any homesick Italian. We ascertained that he wanted to show us around town in the morning. Since we already had onward travel plans he agreed to take us on tour of the area tonight. He jumped up and yelled for his granddaughter, and we were off.

We bumped along a dirt road that looked little used and likely to peter-out into a rock drop off, but Damat continued to point out the window and insist we crawl forward, no matter how much the Jeep leaned to one side. Though we were threatening to topple over, Damat insisted we continue to the city’s graveyard. The graves cannot be explained as we did not understand Damat’s gesturing, but suffice to say that each headstone had a ram or gazelle’s hors firmly tied to the peak, giving the cemetery a warrior-like feel.

We bumped along the road at a 40 degree tilt to the right until we reached a lone house on the hill, we got out and walked up the steep steps to find one of the oldest surviving trees in Central Asia, which is covered in bits of cloth representing villager’s wishes (mostly for a male child). The steep steps led further up the hillside so we traversed them to find a small cave claiming to be the resting place of Kyz Bibi. Legend has it that when an invading force was nearing this unfortunate woman prayed that the mountain would swallow her up rather than allow her honor to be challenged. The mountain obliged and the tiny cave that remains is testament to Kyz Bibi’s bravery.

We continued on our Nohur journey deep into the ravine and then urged the Jeep forward and onto a flat plateau. After 12k we disembarked in a small ravine filled with cows, toads and lizards and marched down the hill following Damat and his granddaughter. They led us through the brush to a clearing made entirely of rock. Damat grinned as he led us right to the edge of the rock plateau and pointed over the edge. “This is easily a 100 foot drop-off” I thought as Damat held his granddaughter’s hand so she could lean way over the edge to catch a glimpse of the waterfall. I snuck a peek as well, the water was pouring out of mountain seemingly conjured from out of nowhere. A small trickle of water ran across the top of the plateau, but this was hardly enough to feed the waterfall. Damat, though easily in his seventies, quickly scaled down the side of the rock face for a better view, with all of us skeptically in his wake. The view was dangerously beautiful, for as you looked around you started to waver from awe and could easily “ooh” and “awe” your way off the edge. We sat for a while, the lizards scurrying in the background, and listened to the falls.

Back at the house Damat’s wife had prepared plov and tomato salad for dinner. Damat waved her away good naturedly and steered us to a house nearby that was his son’s. Inside a frail but beautiful girl, his daughter-in-law, was weaving silk. The loom stretched from one wall to the other, and required amazing dexterity as she pumped the loom with her feet and passed the shuttle with her able hands. The silk takes several days to make, but they wanted only $20 per piece, which is about 6 feet long. We watched her work for several minutes and then easily coughed up the money for a fine piece of blue silk.

Back at Damat’s house, his wife had set the tarp out on the roof of the house so we could watch the sun finish setting. We all took our places on the floor around the tarp and began to eat. “What is that thing?” I yelped before I could control the urgency in my voice. Mike looked over and caught a quick glimpse, “it’s a scorpion!” We sat silently looking around, our heads rotating like an owls. I grabbed my notepad and quickly sketched a scorpion and showed it to Damat, who leaped up with an agility that shocked me, and ran to the spot. The critter was long gone, but Damat informed us that they were very bad, and we should be careful. We sat on the roof into the late evening as the sun gave way to the moon and a blanket of stars filled the sky. Nohur’s lights came on one by one as we watched, and soon the whole valley was specked with soft yellow bulbs. Late into the evening a chanting rose from the valley, the last call to prayer. We watched the stars circle the mosque as the moon dipped behind a hill, and listened to the chanting prayers of a devout village, a hidden village, as it prayed its way to sleep.

Merche Ruins

We decided to take a weekend trip out to the Caspian Sea from Ashgabat.  Leaving mid-afternoon on Friday we planned to stop in the small village of Nohur in the heartland of Turkmenistan – the Ahal Region.  Located between the Kara Kum Desert and the Kopet Dag Mountains to the South, the Ahal Region boasts a long Silk Road history as well as ties to Alexander the Great.

On the way to Nohur, we passed the ruined city of Murche that also holds the tomb of Zengi Baba – the patron of cattle breeders.  Zengi Baba comes, most likely, from the Zoroastrian reverence toward cattle.  The ruined city of Murche, crumbling mud walls, spreads the distance before the foothills of the Kopet Dag mountains in the background.  Murche was eerily silent but one of the more interesting attractions around Murche and the Zengi Baba mausoleum are the assortments of fossils.  Surrounding the mausoleum and small tree grove, sit several fossils of choral, amphibians, and even what are said to be dinosaur eggs.  Many people argue that they were cannon balls put on display.  However, one was cracked in two and the central of the fossil had what could be argued to be a yoke.

After walking through some of the ruins and picking through the dirt at the hundreds of pottery shards, we got back in the car and proceeded towards the turn off for Nahur.  Another hour or so farther down the road, we passed Archman and missed the turnoff.  Luckily, the Brandt Guide mentioned a really small green sign that marked the turnoff to Nahur.  Eventually we spotted the sign and bounced down the bumpy road toward the mountains.  We climbed from sea level to about 1000 m and saw some amazing landscape.  The people of Nahur claim to be direct descendants of Alexander and his army.  We noticed more pale blue eyes in and around Nahur than anywhere else in Central Asia.

The dusty desert slightly gave way to more mountainous terrain.  Strange mountains were widdled down to sand dunes or piles of shale.  Large lizards, only a little smaller than a coffee table were visible on the rocks.  They would dart out of view just as the jeep would round a turn or bend.  Farther up the mountains, we could see small areas of green leading us to believe there were hot springs other geothermals in the area.  After about 10-15 km we reached the city of Nahur with ancient stone buildings and homes.  It was an eden in the middle of the desert mountains.  However, we had no idea how much farther we had to go to get to the Caspian.

This afternoon we ventured out of Ashgabat to see the museum to the Turkmen’s last stand against the Russians. 15,000 men, women and children were massacred and the site was turned into a collective farm during Soviet times. Today the site is protected, and one can see soft ruins in the distance which are unreachable. In lieu of seeing the actual ruins one can check out the museum, which is a majestic work of art containing actual artifacts from the site as well as countless artist recreations of the massacre scene.

Turkmen

In the same parking lot as the massacre museum lies the Saparmurat Hajji Mosque seating 8,000 visitors. The mosque is unlike any other on earth. The former president Niyazov made his pilgrimage to Mecca and received US $10 billion in aid from the Saudis to put towards furthering Islam in Turkmenistan. Niyazov returned to Turkmenistan and erected this futuristic mosque, with quotes from the Koran intermingled with quotes from Niyazov’s own book, the Ruhnama. The centerpiece script said, “The Ruhnama is a holy book, the Koran is Allah’s book.” Niyazov insisted all Turkmen visit the mosque once a year, but that command was only loosely followed.

After touring the museum and mosque, we left with a surreal feeling, which we interpreted as hunger. Chuli Valley, outside Ashgabat , is an oasis in this otherwise sandy country. The green valley extends for less than two miles, but was well worth the visit. A restaurant in the valley served kebabs, fries and cold beer, so we eagerly partook as peacocks wandered underfoot. Sitting there stunned by what we’d seen, both in the massacre museum and the absurdity that was the mosque, we realized that Turkmenistan really is more aptly called absurdistan.

Ashgabat

From Ashgabat there is a cable car into the mountains that make up the southern border of Turkmenistan with Iran. For 2 Minat (75 cents) once can ride the 3.5k cable car dangling over precarious rock gorges and pits of gazelle bones. The cable car, which cost an estimated US $20 million to construct, takes less than ten minutes to complete. At the summit there are several points that overlook the white city of Ashgabat. From this vantage point the pine tree forests that are being cultivated in the desert sands seems even more unreal, like planting pine trees on the moon. If you were to face towards Iran, you could see small shacks extending across the ridge line where Turkmen guards kept watch. There were no roads to these shacks and I was reminded of the movie Dances with Wolves, where the lone soldier was posted in the wild. These guards, we pondered, must do week long shifts in order to warrant the strenuous and dangerous hike from where the road ends to their precarious perches along the ridge line.

Strange climbing clothes

When looking north, the Kopet Dag mountain range, which constitutes the major land mark of the Turkmen-Iranian border, is also the perfect place to view the Health Walk. This structure is, perhaps, the most famous of Turkmenbashi’s pet projects. The health walk is a concrete staircase extending from the outskirts of Ashgabat, up the Kopet Dag mountains and then along the border before cutting sharply west and ending on the highest summit overlooking the city. The walk is 37k, although now they have built a more manageable 8k extension. Turkmenbashi insisted that in order to keep his ministers and parliament members honest they should do the health walk once a year. They, and thousands of other civil servants, school children and others, would set off in suits and ties as Niyazov waved. He would then jump in a helicopter and meet the exasperated climbers when they arrived. From the cableway you have a panoramic view of this idiosyncratic project, which looks like a white Great Wall spanning the desert. Keep in mind that average temperatures reach into the 100s daily, so the health walk is more of a health risk than anything else.

Perhaps keeping in line with Niyazov’s wishes that everyone dress in their finest to scale the Health Walk and cable way, two women who ascended as we did were dressed in skin-tight skirts and see-through shirts. These ladies were a marked contrasted to the normally modest and conservative Turkmen women.

Niyazov Gold

Laid out in 1993, two years after the Turkmen claimed independence from the Russians after the fall of the Soviet Union, Independence Park is a testament to the strangeness of the country. The park is 2km long and 1km wide, the center is entirely planted in non-native pine trees, a passion of the former President’s. The pines require constant watering, difficult in the harsh desert climate that is native to the area. Locals say the plan is that the trees will alter the climate, thus bringing coolness to Ashgabat. This is unlikely to occur as the trees continue to die. The entire circumference of the park you will pass a small fountain the size of a bus every twenty feet. Each waterfall has a leaping plaster dolphin in the center jumping through the fountain’s spurts of water. It is fair to say there are over 100 fountains in the park, a park which rests, I will remind you, in the middle of the desert. If you ever wondered where the Aral Sea went, this is your answer. Canals built to fuel the dolphin fountains in Ashgabat have contributed largely to the Aral Sea’s demise.

While the interior is dying a pine-tree-in-the-desert-death, the outskirts of Independence Park, are here to stay. Along the western side runs Ruhnama Park, a small homage to the former President Niyazov’s book of sayings and revision of Turkmen history. The Ruhnama, it is said, will guarantee your way into heaven should you read it three times through. The people we have met so far, have not completed that arduous task. In the center of the park sits a giant sculpture of the Ruhnama in all its pink-green glory. The book sits atop a giant fountain on a metal track. In favorable weather (of which there is none) the book can open along the track, displaying a TV screen inside. Around the giant Ruhnama sit a plethora of flag poles bearing the Turkmen flag, and an array of small pavilions and water fountains.

At the southern end of the park rests Independence monument, which locals fondly call ‘The Plunger.’ This giant monument doubles as a flag holder and a base for 8 smaller waterfalls. The monument reaches 118m, significant because Turkmenistan gained independence on 27 Oct, 1991. 27 +91 =118. Along all eight sides neon strobe lights have been installed pointing upward so that in the evening from nearly everywhere in the area, one can see a giant, neon, wet plunger sitting in the middle of a dying pine forest. We were bold enough to venture for a closer look, and discovered that the entire area around the plunger is guarded by large, bronze statues of famous Turkmen with weapons or books.

Across the park, on the northern side, sits a monumental achievement locals call 5 legs, for it is a five-sided structure. Naturally all five sides double as raging waterfalls. Inside the monument is a mall called Altyn Asyr, or Golden Age. You can take an elevator to the 6th floor for an amazing panoramic view of the neon park, where a beer will help put your aching mind to rest- there need not be logic in Independence park.

The highlight of the park, however, is along the western side past the giant Ruhnama statue and before the neon, 118m plunger. Here a pure gold statue of Niyazov himself stands with his arms outstretched, a cape billowing in the wind behind him. Two unfortunate guards stand post, without moving or blinking, 24 hours a day. This golden monument sits atop a waterfall, the waterfall is surrounded by five-headed eagles also made of gold.

Arrival in Ashgabat

Originally, the trip was planned as a Shanghai to Ashgabat adventure. Well, we have an announcement to make—we have decided to keep on going. Since this was our original destination, here are some updates on the stats so far.

Total miles by land: 13,136 miles by land
Number of countries visited: 4
Total amount spent: $882 per person
Number of days on the road: 43
Amount spend per day based on total amount and days on the road: $20.50
Total number of currencies used/traded: 6 (RMB, KZT, USD, UZS, TMM, AZM)
Number of lost items: 3 (Mike’s sandals, Mike USB, Lauren cell phone (later recovered!)
Number of mosquito bites: Lauren 14 and two bee stings, Mike 6
Number of bouts of food poisoning: Lauren two, Mike one
Bribes paid: Two (Kazakhstan)
Number of trains taken: 7
Number of border checks: 6
Number of crappy batteries gone through: 6
Number of cities seen: 10
Number of buses taken: 5
Number of pictures taken: 3,800 (14.3 GB), 95 in Shanghai, 56 + 77 + 43 on the rail, 259 in Urumqi, 422 in Kashgar, 96 in Yarkand, 307 at Lake Karakul and Tashkurgan, 100 in Almaty, 394 in Tashkent, 142 Chorsu Lake, 661 in Samarkand, 647 in Bukhara, 523 in Khiva, 378 at Urgench Fortresses
Number of cars taken: 29 (cabs, mostly)
Number of guesthouses/hostels: 10
Number of hotels: 1
Number of other American travelers we’ve met: 3 (two traveling male friends starting law school soon and one very interesting woman traveling solo for over a year

The rest of the day, including two long walks through no-mans-land between customs in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan seemed easy after dealing with the cab driver mentioned previously. Walking a few kilometers in the middle of the desert in June with backpacking gear on was tough, but actually enjoyable after dealing with the Uzbekistan cab drivers. We passed several truckers waiting for customs clearance at the boarder and approached two smiling Uzbek guards at the customs fence. They were very friendly and we completely unaware at what had just happened at the barbed wire fence just 20 minutes earlier. After some idle talk about America where we were from, enough for them to practice their English, they let us through the gate. I think that this was related directly to their liking of Lauren as I had heard horror stories about people waiting at the gate in the sun for hours before being allowed through. Luckily they really liked Lauren and opened the gates right away. We matched up our customs forms from when we entered, walked to another building, did a simple baggage check with another guard and were on our way down the pedestrian walk out of Uzbekistan.

The last Uzbek guard checked our passports and visas and opened another gate that led down a dirt road to nowhere. There was an unending line of trucks carrying shipping containers waiting to get through Uzbek customs and into Uzbekistan. This walk was even longer than the first. There were several women with young children walking down the road as well so we followed them. After about 20 minutes and a liter of water weight later, we arrived at a wooden guard tower with two Turkmen guards at the bottom. They checked out documents and on we went to Turkmen customs – which consisted of a simple concrete building with an exposed exterior hallway. This crossing was surprisingly easy. We basically walked right through after some minor paperwork and buying our registration cards ($10 for the card and $2 for the banking fee). This is real, as we needed them later to register at our friends house in Ashgabat. We negotiated a shared cab for $5 to Turkmenabat which took about 30 minutes and were then dropped of at the train station.

We had been told that there was a 4:00 PM train to Ashgabat from Turkmenibat daily. This was true when we arrived, but were told that familiar Central Asian (Russian) phase that tickets were HET or Finish. We were also told that we could not purchase train tickets for tomorrows train until 9:00 AM the next day. It was only 1:00 so if train tickets were already HET for the day, we figured they would be HET for tomorrow too after a $50 a night hotel stay. Instead, after a little bit of negotiation, we found a car to drive us to Ashgabat in 8 hours for $18 a person. This seemed much better than paying for a hotel in the off chance that we would actually get tickets the next day. The shared taxi was a very nice Accura with leather seats and air conditioning. We were a little shocked and thought that perhaps we overpaid. However, upon arrival in the outskirts of Ashgabat only 7 hours later, the other man who shared the cab ride with us paid close to the same fare. Even better, he spoke a little English and agreed to help us find where we needed to go.

There is not much to say about the car ride to Ashgabat as the back windows were tinted. Lauren got a lot of sleep and I read a book. I will say, that Turkmen hospitality and friendlyness has been amazing so far. This was a much needed releif after our month in Uzbekistan. There were no hidden fees or any scams, we simply exchanged money with the driver, shook hands with our left hand over our hearts (a Central Asia custom I’ve noticed so far) and said Rackmet (sp) which means thank you from Kashgar to Ashgabat apparently. Our friend’s place was easy to find as our jaws were dropped driving through Ashgabat, Turkmentistan – also called Absurdistan by many who visit – and it does not take long to understand why. White marbel palaces, streets filled with countless fountains, and absolutly ridiculous monuments erected by the notorious Turkmenbashi and his predecessors. Navigating by famous landmarks like 40 legs, the Ruhnama Monument – a monument in the image of the book which Turmenbashi wrote, and independence square. Needless to say, we showed up on our friends doorstep about 12 hours earlier than expected and were welcomed by surprised faces.

Strange sign

After recovering the cell phone in Bukhara, we decided it was time to move on as we had been in Uzbekistan for almost 25 days and in Bukhara for 7. We checked out of our hotel and we were not surprised when they tried to add on several different expenses that we had never agreed upon. After renegotiating what had already previously been negotiated and saying a farewell to Bukhara, we strapped on our packs and headed for the local bazaar to catch a marshutka (shared mini-bus) to Alat and then from Alat, to Farap – the border crossing into Turkmenistan.

We were immediately hassled by several taxi drivers saying they would take us all the way to Farap for 30, 40, and 50 USD. Eventually we found someone who offered 3000 SUM per person, which is what the cost should be for a shared cab. (This is equivalent to about 2 USD per person.) Multiple guide books confirmed this, as well as personal experiences earlier. To clarify we asked the driver to write it down and re-stated that this was for each person all the way to the border crossing. He nodded his head and wrote down 3000 SUM. This was a fair price for this ride as we paid the same for a ride to the bus station in Urgench from Khiva and the ride lasted the same amount of time. After about a half hour, we approached a road block with several soldiers sporting machine guns and a barbed wire blocking the way. Our driver crossed his arms together in the air making a giant “X” and said HET, pronounced “Knee-Yet”, which means no.

Immediately as we got out a huge group of people surrounded us trying to get us to take their cab for God knows what reason because it is a 1 km walk through the desert to get to the customs center from that location and cars are not allowed through. I handed the driver the 6000 SUM for the two of us and, just like I had expected – then came the scam.

Now before I go any further, I want to mentioned that I really enjoyed the sights and traveling in Uzbekistan. We have tried not to use our blog as a means of complaining or grumbling about the difficulties of travel. However, it is also necessary to give a fair account of our impressions as well. That said, Uzbekistan is one of the few places I have been in which I would recommend going with a tour group for one reason: money. Everything you do, comes down to it and it is exhausting to deal with in this country. You literally have to go through an entire menu, if they have one, and ask the price of everything before you order. Otherwise the bill will be outrageous. If you forget to ask the price of, lets say peanuts, you will have a bill that states 3 dollars for the meal and $10 peanuts. Moreover, you shake hands on a deal at a certain price and then get in the car 5 miles up the road the driver will ask for more money and then insinuate that if you don’t agree he will kick you out in the middle of nowhere. After 25 days of this bickering over every meal and ticket, I was a little burnt out and was not in the mood.

So as I handed the 6000 SUM to the driver, a puppy dog look came over his eyes, which was speaking, “Oh, no! What a terrible mistake has been made. I meant 30,000 not 3,000 sorry I left off a zero. Moreover, I mean 30,000 per person.” My patience was 100% gone. In a barrage of madness, in front of border security guards with automatic weapons, I threw down my bag and pulled out the notebook in which the driver had scribbled 3,000 SUM. He grabbed it out of my hands before the circle of other taxi drivers could see what he had written, took the pen, and added a zero to the end. After about 5 minutes of him yelling and kicking in the sand that he wanted 60,000 SUM. We grabbed our bags and headed for the border guards – who do not get involved in these sorts of squabbles. They visibly did not know what to do. Only about 18 years old, the guards looked at Lauren’s visa and passport and completely forgot to look at mine. Then we walked through the crossing.

By now, the mod of taxi drivers had dissipated but our cab driver pushed through the guards and followed us through the crossing. He started pulling at my pack to hold me back and yelling and screaming. I took out the rest of the SUM I had in my pocket, which I shouldn’t have, and offered him the remaining 12,000. At first he refused, but then he took it. Now, still grossly overpaid for the ride, he continued to follow us. He even stepped in front of me, glared, and then pushed me in the chest as hard as he could. I flew back a few feet, as I had about 80 pounds of gear strapped to my back. That was it. I turned around, stared at him. Unclipped my bag and let it drop to the ground. I walked right up to him nose to nose and treating him like an infant, pointed back to the barbed wire fence. As I stood there staring him in the face, three of the boarder guards raised their weapons and yelled at the man. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away laughing.