Turkmenistan

Soooooo, Turkmenistan. Excuse me a minute, I just have to go and have a small laughing fit.

That's better.

At the end of the last entry I was still in Mashhad waiting for my Turkmenistan transit visa. It arrived on Monday and was valid for entry on Tuesday. Result. There was, however, a minor hiccup. When Tuesday morning came I tried to leave only to discover that the garage door was locked and nobody was around to open it. I was stuck. And by the time it was opened it was too late to leave and make it through the border before it closed at 3:30. So sitting around at Vali's place it was.

A French woman called Marie was staying there at the same time as me also waiting for her visa. She was meant to collect it on Tuesday but when she went down she was turned away. The embassy was shut due to a 'technical problem'. I have no idea what kind of technical problem affects an entire building. Personally I think it is just Iranian slang for 'the ambassador has a hangover'.

On Wednesday I finally left. I was back into the mountains in northern Iran heading towards the border at Bajgiran.

I ran straight through the city of Qouchan without filling up deciding that I had more than enough fuel to reach the border town. I didn't. After many kilometres of climbing up very steep mountains I had next to nothing left and was forced to turn off the engine and coast as much as possible. The fuel needle still went down and was well past the red bar by the time I reached Bajgiran. Somehow the bike kept running even though it had no fuel (I know there is at least 1 litre of water sitting at the bottom of the tank.) I don't know whether to praise the Tranny for being able to run on magic and wishful thinking, or criticise it for having such a ridiculous instrument panel. I think the only dial which actually works properly is the tachometer, and I have some serious doubts about that.

The border crossing was hideous. It took about 4 hours to get through. As if it wasn't bad enough that the Iranian side didn't know what to do with the carnet, the Turkmen side was just completely obsessed with paperwork. When they could be bothered, that is. After waiting in the 'queue' for half and hour I reached the passport window just in time for the officer to slam it shut and shout something I didn't understand. The guy behind me was an Iranian truck driver called Ali who spoke a bit of English as well as Turkmen. He just shrugged and beckoned me to come and sit down. He explained that the Turkmen guards will randomly decide to go for an hour long fag break whenever they feel like. They don't give any explainations, they don't get anyone to cover, they just go and come back at some unspecified time in the future. He was completely fed up with this border, he has to cross it every day. But it was nice to have some company.

I have no idea exactly what happened next, I just know that it involved being shoved around 10 different offices, filling out a million different forms and getting them all stamped by 20 different people none of whom are sat anywhere near each other.

But eventually I was free to go. There was just one last young conscript I had to get past.

Young Conscript: Passport.

M: Here you go.

YC: Give me $5.

M: Why?

YC: Please give me $5.

M: What for? I have paid all the fees. I even paid the stupid 'vehicle disinfection' fee. (This is a real thing. It cost 1 dollar. It is the worst thing I have ever bought simply because my bike left the border exactly as dirty as when it entered)

YC: Oh, go on.

M: No.

YC: Pleeeeaaassssee.....?

M: No.

YC: I'll be your friend.

M: No.

YC: You're mean.

M: Yes. Yes I am. Goodbye.

Now I've been asked for bribes before but this guy was just pathetic.

Ashgabat from the mountains

And then it was only a short 25km to Ashgabat.

I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go and have another laugh.

Right, back.

I was not expecting this place. I mean, I had heard the stories but I didn't really believe them.

Turkmenbashi the Great, the former dictator and Turkmenistan's most famous nutter, wrote a book called Ruhnama which was intended to improve the spiritual lives of the Turkmen people. Well, I'm up for a bit of that. I wonder if anyone has a copy I could borrow. Oh look, here's one.

I'm so sorry, I'll be right back. This is last time, I swear.

I know I shouldn't laugh because there is something very, very wrong in Turkmenistan. But Ashgabat is such a wonderfully eccentric city it is hard not to come away smiling.

Thanks the the enormously long and drawn out border crossing the bank was shut by the time I got there so I headed out of the city to find a place to camp. I spotted some trees away from the main road so headed over there only to run into the farmer. I asked permission to camp on the edge of the field but he said no. He told me to follow him back to a little hut with a bench outside. He gave me the key, bedding, water and said I could sleep there.

That will be nice. A night under the stars. But in true don't go right style it rained that night. I swear I am the only person who can go to a country composed almost entirely of brutal, inhospitable desert and get rained on. Realising I had achieved something truly special I decided to reward myself with another visit to Ashgabat.

This is a hotel

$240 a night for a 5* room

For anyone who doesn't know much about Turkmenistan I will just explain a bit of history. Turkmenistan gained independence in 1991 following the break up of the Soviet Union. Saparmurat Niyazov was already in some sort of power before independence and managed to retain it following. He quickly banned all other political parties and renamed himself Turkmenbashi (leader of the Turkmen people). He then tapped into Turkmenistan's vast oil and gas reserves and poured the proceeds into building Ashgabat entirely out of gold and establishing a cult of personality that would put Kim Jong Il to shame. He renamed AN ENTIRE CITY and a MONTH OF THE YEAR after himself.

The crowning glory has to be the 15m tall golden statue of himself that ROTATES TO FACE THE SUN.

(I didn't take this picture)

And then he has the cheek to claim that he is opposed to seeing images and statues of himself in public, but he allows it because it's what the people want.

This is a bank

Ashgabat has now officially topped my list of favourite crazy cities. When I went to Dubai I came back thinking they had all gone a bit mad. But on a scale of 1 to Dubai, Ashgabat is an 11.

Turkmenbashi died a few years ago and his illegitimate son took over power.

Of course no dictatorship could survive without an incredibly strong military and police force. Criticising the president or former president is treason. If I was writing this from within Turkmenistan I would no doubt be arrested. Hotel rooms are bugged and people will never talk about politics in any sort of public setting.

I stopped next to the presidential palace. There were three police officers standing by. One of them immediately became very agitated and started shouting at me to move on. I ignored him and asked if it would be ok to take a picture of the palace. The first officer became even more angry and started waving his night stick around. The second officer indicated that if I did take a picture I would be shot. I believe him. I started the engine and got ready to move away which seemed to calm down the first one. The third officer came over and wanted to exchange pleasantries. So I stopped the engine and tried to talk to him. That really annoyed the first one so I had to quickly take off.

And this is the sort of place Turkmenistan, but Ashgabat in particular, is. It is a weird and oddly intriguing place, but if you show any interest in something you shouldn't it could very quickly turn bad. There are police or armed guards on every street corner making sure you only look at what you are allowed to look at.

If they knew I took this video then I really would have been shot. The presidential palace is off to the left of the roundabout with the giant golden pillar.

But for all the finery of central Ashgabat, the outskirts are somewhat less glamorous.

And the same goes for anywhere that isn't central Ashgabat. The nice roads extend for about 30km out of the city and then the funding suddenly runs out. This is what passes for a motorway in Turkmenistan.

The bike is attracting the usual amount of attention but it is being expressed in a different way here. Most people just stare, lots of people wave but very few come and talk. Probably a good thing since language is next to impossible now. People in Turkmenistan speak either Turkmen or Russian or both but probably not anything else. Not good for me. The only Russian I know is 'This is the Bolshoi theatre' which, frankly, is only useful in one very specific situation. 

I did get talking to one guy though. It took a while to get across  but he was getting very excited about something to do with God, clapping 8 times, something very small or short, and a tricycle. I haven't yet worked out exactly how these things tie together.

In Mary I stopped for the night exhausted. It had taken 7 hours to ride the 300km from Ashgabat. And it was very, very hot. I collapsed into a chair at the edge of a car park. The attendant ended up sharing his dinner with me and we spent most of the night drinking tea. Of course.

The next day was the horrible day. 250km of desert with absolutely nothing of any interest along the way. I decided to get an early start, about 6am should allow me to beat the worst of the heat.

About 11am I reached the last town before the start of the desert.

Just outside the town there was a river with a comedy police checkpoint by the bridge. There are police checkpoints everywhere, as you would expect in a police state. I stopped at the first few but got so fed up with them towards the end I just waved and carried on. But this time I stopped at the other side of the bridge to take a picture.

Then the police on the other side of the river started waving for me to come over. I could have quite easily jumped back on the bike and been off before they knew what was going on, but I thought they were probably getting nervous about the camera so decided it would be better to just put their minds at ease.

Actually they weren't at all bothered, they just wanted to give me something to eat. So we sat for a while and talked in broken English and hand gestures about Turkmenistan and the UK. Eventually I asked how much the watermelon cost. The senior officer simply pointed at his badge, said "Niet Manat" and laughed. Stupid question I suppose. I should have known the answer. But not wanting to offend we joked about how his badge means he gets free stuff.

Then we somehow started talking about drugs and smuggling. We agreed that we were very opposed to both. Then they pulled over a truck from Afghanistan. The driver gets out, shakes all our hands and reaches for his pocket. I assumed he was going to pull out some cash, but instead out comes a bag of cannabis. He hands it to the senior officer and is let go.

I had been there for at least 45 minutes now and still hadn't even started on the desert. I was quite desperate to get going but the officer is making a big deal out of us being friends now. He pulls out a bottle of some disgusting vodka and who knows what. It is like death distilled. He wants us to drink together. Bear in mind that I am on a motorcycle, it is 1 in the afternoon and 50 degrees. There is no way I am going to get drunk with this guy. When I do drink I only drink beer, never spirits and never anything this strong. He made a really big deal out of him being a very senior police officer and that it is ok for me to drive drunk because he says it is ok.

I stand up to leave but the officer also stands, becomes very agitated and forces me to stay. I see that there is no way I am leaving while insulting him like this. I have to take the tiniest of sips just to calm him down a bit but it takes another 15 minutes of negotiating before he finally seems happy enough for me to go. He gives me the rest of the bottle and I escape as quickly as I can.

He refused to let me take his picture (I wonder why) but all of this really happened. I wish it hadn't. I understand now exactly why the Turkmen people are so scared of the police. They are completely above the law, massively corrupt and always get what they want.

So I finally reach the desert in early afternoon. This seems to be a recurring theme for me. At any given location I will choose exactly the wrong time to arrive.

For 240km there was nothing but road and sand. No water, no fuel, no shade, no towns. There was a bit of traffic, but nothing major. On the up side the road was much better than the day before.

And it was boring. Very boring.

1 hour later

2 hours later

3 hours later

And the heat was unbearable. It must have been 45-50 degrees, there was a really strong dry wind and no clouds so the sun* just roasted everything. I had covered all my water bottles but it did no good. After only 20 minutes they were all ready to take tea bags.

* For people in the UK, the 'sun' is a bright, round disk that can often be seen in the sky in foreign countries. One of the most notable effects of the sun is heat. When the sun is visible in the sky it usually means it is not raining. The sun was made illegal in the UK by an act of parliament in 1873.

Finally I reach the other side of the desert completely exhausted. Turkmenabat is a pretty grim town but I had to stop to gather some supplies. The road which leads to the border goes around the town rather than through the middle. As I entered Turkmenabat people would shout and wave that I was going the wrong direction. While I'm sure that it was just friendliness, just trying to help me out it did seem a bit like "Why are you going in there? Keep away while you still can."

So that night I camped 5 km from the border determined to avoid a repeat of the entry fiasco. A farmer waved at me by the side of the road from next to a hut. We met up and he invited me to camp next to him. So we spent the evening drinking tea and talking even though we shared no common language. We did work out that the Austrian guy I ran into in Turkey had camped at this exact spot a few weeks earlier. I made sure to keep well away from the river. I managed to offload the bottle of brain rotter that I got from the police earlier. He seemed very happy with that.

It's a little hard to know what to make of Turkmenistan. The people I have met have all been lovely but it has been quite difficult to learn anything about the country. And this is probably due to the government. People are very reluctant to talk about the president or politics or just life in general, but it is hard to imagine that they are very happy.

Ashgabat is a city like no other. But the disparity between the city and country is amazing. Most of the other towns have a distinctly soviet feel, the infrastructure is falling apart and there is just no money outside of Ashgabat.

And then there is the government. I probably haven't done a very good job of hiding my contempt for dictatorships, even when they are hilariously bizarre. I'm not sure whether going to Turkmenistan as a tourist is a good thing or a bad thing - bad because I ended up giving the government more money for visas and border fees, or good because I get to give money to regular people in shops and so forth.

So should I go back there one day? If anyone in the Turkmen government reads this then I have no chance. Which is a shame because I can think of no better cure for depression than Ashgabat.