Archives July 2009

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.

Uzbek CYM

One of the strangest, and most frustrating things about traveling in Central Asia has been the double standards related to costs. As Americans we take for granted the amazing equality we have inside the country. True, we have problems, but one would never walk into a museum and be charged a different fee because of the color of his skin. That is not so in Central Asia.

In Uzbekistan, for a local to get into the Registan it cost 200 CYM, for a foreigner it costs 7000 CYM. Similarly, to get into any sight in Khiva, a foreigner must buy a city-wide pass that costs roughly $7 USD while locals can pay to enter whatever exhibit they want for free or for pennies on the dollar. Can you imagine the same practice in the US?

For a local in Turkmenistan to get into the underground lake it costs 3 Minat, but 30 Minat for a foreigner. (Thats the difference of $14 USD). We drove over an hour to reach the underground lake only to be rudely shoved aside by a guard who demanded fistfulls of cash. In this stubborn instance we turned on our heels and left the park, a $14 USD difference is not only unethical, its downright discriminatory.

And cash is not only demanded at ridiculous sums, its sometimes simply taken. In Kazakhstan we  were hassled by police, guards and railway attendants who demanded money, and when it wasn’t give they patted us down and took it anyway. A strange way to treat a visitor.

On your customs forms in Central Asia you have to list how much you are bringing into the country. We’ve heard of other travelers who didn’t report all the cash they were carrying, and as a result corrupt guards simply took the extra cash and laughed away all complaints. On the other hand, if you do list how much money you have you will get shaken down by one of the custom’s officials pals. Catch 22. We stick to withdrawing small sums out of ATMs, though even that is tricky.

Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling here, but the money issues are a bit annoying, and it really makes me appreciate the countries we’ve visited that don’t discriminate based on country of origin.

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.

Dear Readers,

Over the last several days / weeks, with faster internet connection and more free time, we have updated the site with several new pages, photos, and buttons. In an attempt to make our site easy to navigate, we would like to inform our readers of these changes.

• Lauren has uploaded several new pictures into our photo album since we have better internet connection right now.
• We have also created a Humor Page, which has a collection of funny pictures and stories from our trip.
• Lauren has designed several Maps of our routes and the ridiculous, but awesome, Pan-Asian circle we are taking.
• We have also added 5 new links to related articles that can be found at the bottom of each post.
• We have added new polls to the website, which can be found on every page with the exception of the blog.  We will update you on the previous polls’ results shortly.

We have also added several new buttons to the front page that link to social network sites like Face Book, Twitter, and our RSS Feed:

We have also been told that there are some problems when viewing the site with Internet Explorer.  First of all, I can’t even express with words how much better Firefox is than IE, but I will do my best to fix this problem with Internet Explorer as soon as possible.

Also, if anyone has any recommendations or suggestions for our site, layout, posts or information,  please either comment on this post or visit our contact page.

Sincerely,

Mike & Lauren

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.