We woke up, don’t know exactly when, just to acknowledge that our boat – Prof. Guel – had not moved an inch. The wind was blowing as strongly as it had during the whole night and it did not seem to have any intention to stop. So we hid under our covers again – we were stuck. Around noon, the wind almost ceased and rumors went around the boat that we would be leaving in a couple of hours, but unfortunately, by that time, the wind had made its come back. So, after spending the morning reading and hanging around, we spent the afternoon hanging around and reading.

Strangely, although I had been able to take a call from Arnaud at the border post next to the pier and had received a couple of SMS, we had ZERO network coverage on the boat, so we were unable to make calls or send any messages. Based on the couple of SMS I had gotten from my Mom and Arnaud, I imagined too well how they’d worry. We had been on the boat for already 24 hours and would remain on the boat for at least another 24 hours without being able to let anybody know we are ok. I prayed for the wind to stop, but as we went to bed, it blew as strong as the day before. Nevertheless, the boat crew seemed more optimistic about leaving the next morning, so I continued to hope as I fell asleep.

During most of the day, my thoughts were directed at the people back home who worry for us. Making such a trip is certainly a personal challenge, but it is also a challenge for our close ones. Therefore, this post shall be dedicated to all those who worry for us, and in particular our parents, Tiffany and Arnaud. They should know that there is not one day on this trip, on which we do not think of them and wish they were here to share our joy, our hopes and our sorrow. “Thank you” to them for supporting us in our endeavour and for enduring the darker side of this trip: The worries and the loneliness.

Hang on in there, there are only 32 days left. Ciao!

The azeri visa saga put us behind schedule again, so we had to cut the evening we had planned to spend camping by the allegedly beautiful Yangikala gorge. Angela, our guide, was I’m sure quite relieved as she had already tried to talk us out of it a number of times in several rather astute ways. Instead of a peaceful evening in beautiful surroundings, we now had to speed to the caspian, hoping to catch one of the elusive ferries to Baku.

Not before taking a short drive around the mountains of Nokhur, exlaimed Bali, the head of our lovely host family. Clambering into his jeep, we wound our way by beautiful highlands:

to a waterfall:

After a few minutes prancing in the cool morning breeze, we headed back for a hearty breakfast and were swiftly on our way. Perhaps not SO swiftly, as we made sure to push our bikes down the steep hill where the thick dust had been turned to mud by a trickle of water.

Once on the main road, we figured we had 400km to go: piece of cake, given the paved road! Yes… but this time we had a real deadline: we had to make the ferry to Baku. Angela had made a few phonecalls and knew that there would be one or two leaving that day. Riding through desolate salt flats, we passed 2 english motorcyclists fresh off the ferry, on their way to Vladivostok. Their tale of the ferry was slightly concerning, as they expounded how they had spent a looong 36 hours first waiting for the ferry in Baku, crossing the Caspian and finally waiting to disembark in Turkmenbashi… not very reassuring, and all the more reason to make it to the port with time to spare! We paused for lunch in Balkanabad, the shabby capital of Turkmenistan’s western province with another 130km left to go. As we were finishing off yet another bottle of cold Coca-Cola (our magic potion), Angela rang the alarm bell: the ferries were loading and would leave in 2 hours. No Chance you say? Perhaps… but given our now ample experience with  TST (otherwise known as Turkmenistan Standard Time), we figured we might still be able to make it.

There ensued a race against time while battling the sand and wind. A little after 4pm, we pulled into the parking lot in front of the ferry “terminal”; a full 1.5 hours after the boats were supposed to leave but there they were, 2 giant metal structures towering above the surprisingly turquoise harbor waters. harbor waters. I will spare you the to-and-fro of ticket purchasing, immigration, customs etc as it was remarkably similar to what we went through upon entering the country (for more details, read our blog for Day 41). Needless to say, if one of you management consultants out there is looking for a massive pro-bono project, reorganizing the Turkmen bureaucracy should certainly top your list!

Finally, with 15 flimsy pieces of paper in hand (scientifically torn off with the help of a ruler) which we were told were tickets, we boarded “Professor Guel” along with 6 liters of water and 1.5 liters of Coca-Cola that would sustain us over the 15-hour crossing. Once aboard, we were met by the “passanger mate” as she called herself, an overly large matron who, scoffing at the flimsy papers preciously given to us by the Turkmen port authority, proceeded to demand US$ 92 per person for the privilege of travelling aboard this decrepid (but floating!) “palace”. We did try to bargain, but our please swayed her no more than a fly can move a cow. We forked over the money, feeling sorry for ourselves. Was it our dismayed look or our sweaty, tired faces that compelled her to give us the bedsheets for free? I guess we’ll never know, but at any rate, it saved us US$ 4 per person. Boy did we feel special!

Thankfully, we were able to convince the matron to give us a cabin with 2 beds and a private bathroom. Now the bathroom wasn’t much, but there was a working toilet, shower and sink: luxury! Moreover, both the bathroom and the room were cockroach free J. Sadly, we soon found out that despite racing here from Nokhur and making it on time, the howling winds would not allow us to leave that night. “Zaftra utra” (i.e. tomorrow morning in Russian).  Slightly annoyed though we were, it was better this way: at least this would allow for a better use of the 5 days Clarisse’s Azeri transit visa limits us to. On the positive side, we have now made it safely to the oriental shores of the Caspian, a hop, skip and jump away from the wonderful confluence of european and asian cultures we hear infuse the Caucasus.

I woke up around 8am, knowing that there was anyway nothing to do before 10am, when I was supposed to call the Georgian Embassy to see if the Ambassador had been able to do something. We went to breakfast, and then to the internet cafe in hope of an email with the letter of invitation as attachment… but that appeared to be just ”wishful thinking”. Time eventually passed, and at 10:15am, I called the Georgian Embassy. The lady had not yet seen the Ambassador and told me to come in an hour to the Embassy, she would prepare a letter for me to give to the Azeri Embassy. So, after killing another hour, I headed of full of hope and determination to the Georgian Embassy, where I arrived around 11:15am. The lady then started to prepare the letter, consulted with the Consul, modified the letter, and had it signed by the Ambassador, who – luckily – just happened to arrive at the Embassy. At 11:50am, the lady handed me the letter (which confirmed that Swiss citizens did not need any visa or other document to enter Georgia and could even stay there for up to one year…), reassuringly confirmed to me that the Georgian Ambassador had had the opportunity to talk with the Azeri Ambassador who was now personnally aware of my case, and – as if all that wasn’t already kind enough – she further suggested to call the Azeri Embassy right away to inform them that I was on my way with the letter. I arrived at the Azeri Embassy shortly after 12pm (luckily in Ashgabad, lunch time starts around 1 or 2 pm and until 3-4pm). I was immediately invited to the visa office, where both the Consul and his secretary took the letter from the Georgian Embassy and immediately started to proceed with my request for a Transit Visa (without the letter of invitation, I could not ask for a tourist visa, so I had no other choice than to requset a Transit Visa, leaving us only 5 days to leave the country…). I was requested to go to the bank to pay the USD 20 fee and to come back at 4pm to pick up my passport with the visa. So, I rushed to the bank, where I arrived shortly before lunch break, I then went back to the Georgian Embassy who had prepared a second letter for us to show at the border ( in case the border officials would also not be not aware that Swiss citizens do not need a visa to enter Georgia), and made it back to the hotel just in time to pack our stuff and check out (as well as fight with the receptionists who wanted to charge us USD 7 / hour of WIFI internet access, despite the fact that nobody told us that there was a fee for internet access…). We paid our dues to the travel agency, who organized our trip, and finally headed off for lunch. The only thing on the menu was… Shashlik, again! However, for once they had pork shashlik, which at least gave me the impression that I was eating something new. At 3:30pm, or guide and her driver met us at the hotel and with our bikes, we headed off towards the Azeri Embassy to pick up my passport and leave the city for Nokhur. We arrived at the Embassy at 3:45, and surprise surprise, the Consul was not there. No panick. After all, he had said 4pm. So we waited. At 4:10pm, the Consul arrived. However, it seemd that he could not receive anybody without his assistant present, and she was not yet there… She arrived 10 min later. Ouf! Almost there… ALthoug a handful of people were queuing up, I was let in first and watched – with great relief and satisfaction – how the Consul put the Transit visa into my passport. Finally, after 4 days of hope, dispair, faith, discouragement, rage and perseverance, we were ready to leave Ashgabad. We left the city riding under a hot sun, but the relief we felt in being able to leave made up for the heat.

We made a short first sop at the Blue Mosque, which had been builg on a sit where a batteled opposing the russian army and the turkmen tribes early century led to the death of 8 thousand turkmens. So, the mosque was built and designed with a capacity of 8 thousands people in memory of the 8 thousands victims. This pretty recent building, built under Turkmenbashi (as is most of Ahsgabat…), was empty (as were most of the mosques we visited in Turkmenistan), and although it was pretty imposing by its size and material used (marble…), it failed to be really impressive. The most interesting thing about the mosque was that, for the first time during our trip, I was asked to wear a headscarf in order to visit the mosque.

We then continued our way towards Nokhur. After another 100km on the main road (with still NO road indicators), our guide suddently turned left and we engaged on a smaller road that soon stopped to be paved and led straight up into the mountains. The sceneray resembled how I imagine the Afghan mountains, of a yellowish sandy color, with rivers and their oasis every now and then. ALthough this mountaineous gravel and mud road was not more challenging than many other roads we rode one before, the light of the slowly setting sun facin us made it difficult to distinguish the pot wholes, which forec us into some challenging balancing exercises on our bikes. After 30 min (which seemed to me more like 60min), and nothing else but mountains and gravel roads, we suddently entered an adorable village, made of mud houses, rivers and trees which seemed as old as the mountains themselves. An elderly man expected us at the entrance of the village, apparently the head of our host family with whom we would spend the night, and led us to his house, a generous big house of bricks and mud hanging over a small cliff with a nice view on the village and the surrounding mountains. The only problem: a very steep and sandy path led up to the house… Whereas I was lucky enough to make it up at once, Mark was less lucky. I then tried another road contourning the house from the back, but there again a steep path (this time going downwards…) awaited him. It took 4 men to slowly push the bike through the last two meters of slippery steep downward path (see picture!).

We had finally arrived safe and sound at our shelter for the night. The family we were staying with gave us a large room, though unfurnished except for the carpets on the floor and a television, , where we all had dinner together after the head of the family – Bali – led us on a small guided tour of this small village of 7 thousands inhabitants. The family, counting in total 16 members, was extremely warmhearted and welcoming. Thanks to our driver, who acted as translator Turkmen – Russian, and our guide who acted as translator Russian – English, we were even able to communicate with them! Even the cow in the garden, and the goat that welcomed us the next morning in front of our room seemed to enjoy our presence. What a contrast to the bureaucratic sovit impregnated non-chalance of Ashgabad’s inhabitants…

We went to bed pretty exhausted after a rich dinner (and some Turkmen Vodka as side dish…), but in high spirits in view of the next day, when we would finally reach Turkmenbashi and hopefully be able to embark on a ferry to Azerbaijan. At that time, Ashgabat and all its administrative turmoil seemed already far far away…

As you will see from Mark’s post (as soon as it is online), we failed again to obtain the visa for Azerbaidjan. So, we spent the morning hoping for the Invitation Letters to arrive… In the meantime, I headed off to the Bank to cash some money with my Visa Card (something that I had tried to do already 3 times in Uzbekistan, and never managed to). I jumped into a taxi, we drove about 15 min through almost the whole city, and arrived at this huge (really huge) marble building (Paradeplatz is nothing compared to that): The Bank. From the Hotel to the Bank, I hardly saw people on the streets. It seems this city has more buildings than people. However, the Bank was surprisingly pretty filled, although not crowded. The Employees were very polite and friendly, spoke English and made a very good impression on me. I first had to go to one desk for the employee to charge my card, then I had to go to the cashier to get the cash. At the cashier, about 20 people were queuing up. As I observed, I discovered that Turkmen have a very interesting way of standing in line. When someone arrives at the Bank, he/she first goes to the line before the cashier and asks the last person of the line to hold the place behind them. Then they go to the relevant desk and do their business, and once it’s done, they come back to the line and take the place behind the person they “booked” a place with. Also, I saw them negotiate and trade places within the line. In other words, I first thought I was about the 15th person in the line, but actually people kept popping up from every side claiming a place in the line, and so I happened to be about No 25th… Luckily, the lady at the cashier was quick and efficient, and about 20 min later, I got my cash.

Back at the hotel, Mark told me that we had not yet received the invitation letters. So, we had the choice between wasting the day waiting for them, or actually doing something. We then decided to go to Kov Ata (the Father of the Caves), which is an underground cave (about 25m under ground) hiding a 75m long hot water lake. For some reason, Mark and me were expecting a nice beach-like experience. The experience was indeed nice, but had nothing to do with an afternoon on the beach…

When we arrived in front of the cave, the first thing that struck me was the smell: Sulfure. Nothing surprising, but nevertheless not very pleasant. We entered into the Cave and started to go down the slippery stairs. Pigeons and all other sorts of unidentifiable flying objects welcomed us. As we got to the bottom of the stairs, there was the lake. Only a very small part of it was illuminated and one could only imagine where it may end. It was pretty dark, and wet, and once in a while a pigeon or what I believed to be a bat, flew accross the lake. The water was hot: 37C, it was pretty clear, and is said to have many skin disease curing virtues. As we swom around, we were expressly told not to go beyond the illuminated part, otherwise “Problem”… We didn’t feel like trying to figure out what was meant by “problem”. We didn’t stay too long, since we were not really able to really relax in this somewhat spooky atmosphere, and we feared to smell like sulfure for the next few days. So we got changed and climbed up again. Interesting experience, and I must admit that my skin feels very smooth today

So, back in town, we tried to find out what happens with our letters of invitations. No news. It was then Mark’s turn to cash some money, and to buy yet another carpet… I had a rest in the hotel, trying to get rid of a migrane that is haunting me already for the last 3 days. For some reason, I have the feeling it is linked to the food… too much meat! Late afternoon, the news arrived: Mark’s letter of invitation was ready, but mine not yet. Hopefully we’ll have it by tomorrow morning, so we can arrange the visa and leave towards Nokhur during the afternoon. Tomorrow will tell. Ciao!

This morning marked our 3rd attempt at obtaining an Azeri visa. To that end, we baked in the sun for half an hour, waiting for the Consul. After finally being admitted to see him, we were once again turned away, this time however with a smile, because the embassy had not yet received the official invitation letter from the Azeri Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Even an official invitation from the Swiss embassy in Baku didn’t help. That said, as a silver lining to this overhanging cloud, the Consul assured us that once he received the invitation letters, he could process the visa within one day: thank god for that!

Feeling cautiously optimistic, we set out with our guide to visit Ashkabad’s main sights, which turned out to be the city’s only sights. Raised in 1948 by a terrible earthquake which killed 110,000 people, Ashkabad is a brand new town with little left of historical significance. Indeed, it was completely rebuilt and remodelled by Turkmenbashi, the first president of Turkmenistan following independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. Ashkabad is nothing less than an impressive collection of grand monuments built to glorify the persona of S. Niyazov, a.k.a Turkmenbashi. All you need to look at are the dozens of large, golden statues of the man himself littering the city. Moreover, just outside Ashkabad, Turkmenbashi ordered the construction of Central Asia’s largest mosque, with room for 20,000 faithful (see photo above). The building is impressive indeed, beautifully constructed, with lavishness perhaps only outdone by the gold dripping hotels and palaces of the arab world. Sadly, but not surprisingly, the place stands empty. For friday prayers, a maximum of 600 people gather in this sumptuous but cavernous monument, circled by beautifully manicured lawns and water-spouting fountains.

Similar monuments and buildings make up most of Ashkabad’s heart. All built using white marble, many tons of gold, all surrounded by neat gardens/parks and fountains:

While the freshness brought about by the fountains is welcome, they are a disaster in terms of water conservation: let’s remember where we are for a minutes: in the middle of a desert! The folly is comparable to the desert golf courses or the indoor ski slope of Dubai, a sure showing of what petrodollars can buy (yes, Turkmenistan has huge oil & gas wealth).

In spite of the impressive monuments, green parks and tree-lined streets, the city is empty. At lunchtime on a weekday, we saw nobody around. Either they are all hiding from the heat in air-conditionned office buildings, but given the 30 or 40% unemployment rate, that is hardly probable. Moreover, no students and/or women & children taking advantage of the landscaped environment, nobody walking around, mostly empty restaurants etc. WHERE IS EVERYBODY? Very erie… It really does look like the entire city was built to celebrate Turkmenbashi’s personality cult, and the absence of people is telling as to how they feel about it!

In comparing Ashkabad to Dubai, Abu Dhabi or Saudi, there is one big difference: Although the state might enjoy its petrodollar wrought wealth, the indigenous population is significantly poorer. Although the cars indicate a slightly higher level of income to Uzbekistan (a majority of cars are new Toyotas, although Ladas are also no strangers on the streets), the apartment blocks, shops, restaurants, personal accessories all belie a relatively low income society. Without wanting to condone the social construct of the oil-rich arab countries, at least it seems that those governments redistribute some of the wealth to citizens (how they treat their labor-force is a different story). In Turkmenistan, it seems that the government spends all the profits from Oil & Gas on ridiculous monuments and public works projects that serve to glorify the nation but lack any environmental or social consideration. One such project is the “health path”, a 30km-long marble & concrete walkway hacked into the side of the Kopet Dagh mountains by none other than Turkmenbashi (the white line running along the ridge in the photo below). 

Although open to anyone, this “health path” is really used only once a year, when all government officials have the obligation to complete the circuit: An attempt at keeping public officials healthy or a way to justify the extravagant sums spent on its construction?

We have witnessed a sublte transition in the local population. Whereas the Uzbeks were still very much asians, the Turkmens are much more russified. Granted, we have not spent any significant time in the Turkmen countryside and therefore I cannot speak for how the traditional turkmen culture holds up there, but for what we have seen so far, the population and its habits, both social and culinary, are significantly tainted by russian influence. It is interesting that while in Uzbekistan the dominant language is Uzbek (although people still speak and understand russian) whereas here, we have heard precious little Turkmen spoken, the lingua franca seeming to remain russian.

We keep our fingers crossed in the hopes of getting our Azeri LOIs and visas tomorrow as we drift off to sleep, wondering what this country could be like if the incredible resources, both natural and financial, were used to promote an open society rather than elevate a self-imbued madman to the status of deity.

After a restful night (and some sashlik for dinner, again!), we left the hotel more or less on an empty stomach around 7:30am (no breakfast was served so early…). We rode for about an hour before stopping for some bread and tea.  Since we entered Turkmenistan, the dominant landscape has been desert and more desert, except for some greener areas surrounding towns. Luckily, the roads and the traffic allow us to ride 10okm/h, so that there is enough wind blowing in our faces to prevent us from melting in the sun. When we stop for a rest or to fill our tanks, it’s another story. Almost instantly, sweat drops run down my face and my rider gear (which is black) starts to heat up at incredible speed. Keep in mind that it’s over 40C around here, and it only early summer… Temperatures rise to over 50C in July and August!

So, maybe it’s because of the desert (which is not a very welcoming environment), maybe because of the heat (which seems to keep people from hanging out on the streets), or maybe because we are accompanied at all times by our guide – Angela – (which takes care of littelly everything), but somehow I have not yet been able to get a real feeling for this new Country. Although our guide is extremely nice and helpful, the fact that she takes care of almost everything actually creates a distance between us and the places we visit and the people we meet. It’s a little like seeing the place through her eyes, which act as a filter. On the other side, I must admit that having her by our side has undeniable advantages, in particular with regard to finding our way… (since there are only very very few road signs here in Turkmenistan) and learning more about the history of the country. For example, thanks to her, we were able to visit places not even mentioned in our guide. The first one, Abiderv, were ruins of an ancient city believed to have been quite prosperous in the first centuries, and the other was an old Mausoleum, considered a holy place by many muslims. The thing that struck me about all these ancient sites, is that they do not seem to have been thoroughly excavated yet. They have been discovered, and most of them are even protected by UNESCO, but no one seems to really care about them, although a quick look at them reveals that they still hide many secrets and treasures. Luckily, under the regime in place, no one would dare to conduct wild excavations, but these places are in desperate need of some restoration and conservation efforts, long promised by the government. 

Unfortunately, priority seems to be given to the other national treasures: Gaz and Oil… As we arrived in Ashgabad in the afternoon, we discovered an elegant city, very green, extremely clean, with wide streets and huge white marble buildings at every corner… A taste of Dubai in the air ?

We will see tomorrow. For now, we were happy to hide in our air conditioned hotel room for the rest of the evening. Enough desert and sun for today. Ciao!