T Day - Turkmenistan or bust

 Sunday 26th May

Well the day has finally arrived. It's advantage Nodge as we set off for the border with Turkmenistan, 80 minutes drive away. For I am the only one of our 11-strong group already armed and ready with the requisite entry visa. The only things that can stop me getting in now are a negative result on the mandatory PCR test at the border, or that some spook in Ashgabat has read my dubious social media history! Excitement mounts.

The flag of Turkmenistan

We get to the border in just over an hour, and there's a very speedy goodbye to our Uzbek guide Richard. It's him that instigates it, as a bus containing 20 or so other tourist Johnny's pulls up behind ours. We absolutely do not want to get caught behind them. The predicted 3 hours could run to 4 or 5. The Uzbek Customs and Immigration are cheerfully efficient in skittling us all through very quickly. Now for the 20 minute walk in searing heat across no-man's land to the Turkmenistan border post. But no, there's a totally decrepit little jalopy of a minibus providing a shuttle service. We're packed in like sardines, and slowly bump our way across to building in the distance. The driver artfully relieves us of any remaining Uzbek currency.

Not the actual jalopy - this is bigger, and much better condition

We enter the smallish box room and are pointed to a pile of forms, which seemingly we all need to complete. They are, of course, entirely in Turkmen. Luckily an elderly local starts to help translate for a member of our group, and we all then attempt to follow suit. It later transpires that the old bloke is the guide for the Americans who we left trailing in our wake. He gets excited when he sees the word "Oxford" on my t-shirt and talks enthusiastically about Oxford University and Rhodes Scholars. Obviously, I confirm that I have, indeed, been one myself! For I am a renowned expert on Oxford's roads (and pubs)!

A significant Oxford "Road"

We're all progressing well with our forms when a man in a red t-shirt and baseball cap comes in the room. The "Intrepid" logos on his shirt confirm that it is Aly (short for Vepaly) our tour guide for Turkmenistan. He quickly takes control, explaining the tedious process of issuing visa's, onsite PCR tests, customs regulations, how to answer questions about drugs (legal) that we are carrying and the various payments required to get us through all the aforementioned aspects. It's bloody tedious. The others all stump up $145 each, whilst I'm relieved of $35 which is just for my PCR test and "entry fee". Obtaining a visa before has saved me $35 - nice! I'll not dwell on the two trips into London to help obtain said visa - allow me a brief, and somewhat false, moment of glory, please.

A pic I found on the web - even I am not stupid enough to go photographing a border post

We then parade into a doctor to have our PCR tests - to say the swabbing up the nose was cursory, would be generous. As long as the result isn't positive, who care's? Just under 3 hours after arriving at the Uzbekistan border post we're all through. I allow myself a little fist pump - I'm in, and delighted. My 59th country. Charlotte is even more relieved, as last year she fell ill in Khiva and had to abort her journey into Turkmenistan. It later transpires that Aly recalled the situation, as he was to be her guide.

We spread ourselves into 4 Toyota Land Cruisers for our 5 hour journey deep into the Karakum Desert, and in particular, the phenomenon that is the Darvaza Gas Crater. Shortly we arrive at the nearby border town of Dashoguz for lunch. Here began the regular use of the phrase "I didn't expect that". It became so regular that I was going to invent a "I didn't expect thatometer!" Lunch was taken in a really modern place above a state of the art amusement arcade, so you can understand how and why the phrase arose. 

Would you have expected that in rural Turkmenistan?

Collectively, we are a bit confused regarding money - none of us have any of the local currency  (the Manat - Abb. MNT) to pay for our meals. Where and when can we do some currency exchange? Aly says we'll do it in the capital Ashgabat tomorrow, but gives us all 200 Manat each as an advance that we can repay when we get our own cash. It all seems rather cryptic, but we go along with the plan. The official exchange rate is a fixed level of $1 = 3.5 MNT. Based on that, our meals are expensive i.e. a Pizza coming in at around $18. We certainly did not expect that!

Next we stopped at a supermarket to pick up snacks for our rustic overnight stay in the desert that evening. Aside from the wide range of local stuff, the place had all the main European chocolate and crisps products, such as Snickers, Mars Bars, Doritos and Lays Crisps. Outrageously, no Mr Porky pork scratchings though! The "I didn't expect that" moment was regarding beer. No they didn't have the standard bottles of beer, but they had a draught pump from which they filled 1 or 2 litre plastic bottles - that I had never seen in a supermarket before.

Beer on tap in the supermarket- thanks for the pic, Charlotte 

Laden with bad stuff, we headed south into the desert. A few miles outside of Dashoguz there was lovely large shiny new mosque in the middle of virtually nowhere next an equally remote petrol station. This was the bizarre Turkmenistan I was expecting.

The 6 lane highway started immaculately, but within half an hour our set of 4 Land Cruisers were weaving Wacky Races style along both sides of the road to avoid the increasing number of potholes, and piles of desert sand that had blown onto the highway. Utterly surreal. In places, the six lanes were little more than 2 distinct 3 car wide dirt tracks; then all of a sudden the road surface would be perfect for a few hundred metres. This continued for hour after hour. Initially, the four vehicles stayed in sequential order - ours being number four. However, our driver was a budding Max Verstappen and so we surged ahead and left them all trailing miles behind. All rather fun, but not ideal if you had a delicate stomach or suffered with travel sickness. Unusually, things were good in my lower regions.

 

 

Wacky Races - part 1

After roughly (quite literally!) 4 hours of driving we reunited with the other vehicles, and swerved off to the left onto a sandy desert track. This was proper off roading, and it was bloody great - not least as the sand was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bum. This really did feel like the wacky races!  Sat in the front of our 4 x 4 and loving the experience, surely I had to be Muttley?!

We raced on, weaving around bushes and dunes. Then up and over a ridge, and we could see in the distance a big encampment with approximately 30 yurts. Brilliant; perhaps the "basic camping" was not so basic after all??

 

 

Wacky Races part 2

Not so basic?

Half a mile short of the tented village we stopped; and there was the famous gas crater. I think there was a general consensus that it was initially a bit disappointing. There were smatterings of gas burning off in lots of places in the crater, but no one large central flame emerging above the rim - which I think we'd all expected. I'd guess that the crater was about 80 metres in diameter and 20 metres deep. So pretty big. After the initial sense of being under-whelmed, reality kicked in. This crater developed back in 1971, and when the Soviets decided to try and burn off the gas coming from it, they expected it to self-extinguish in 2 weeks. Fifty-three years later it is still put on a rather fine show. With quite a strong wind blowing it was a touch chilly, but once I got down wind of the crater it was absolutely toasty. The Crater wasn't so bad after all.

 

 

 

Back into our 4 x 4's and onto our camp. However, instead of heading to the big camp in the distance we turned and headed up a hill in the opposition direction above the crater. Maybe it was to be 2-man tents and dig your own dunny after all? We soon arrived at a small camp - several yurts, a barbecue blazing; and most importantly a kind of toilet block with his and hers facilities. Just a basin, no showers, but with proper long drop karzi's that you can sit on to do you business. Oooooh bliss!

Luxury!

After consuming the wholesome and impressive (considering the remoteness of the location) barbecue fayre it was back down to the crater to see it after dark. Now this was far more impressive, with a lovely orange glow lighting the area. A beautiful sight, that my photos don't do justice to. The stars in the clear night sky were awesome too.

 

Ever the foodies, the Girl Gang have brought along Marsh Mallows and attempt to toast them using a long cane in the heat rising from the crater. They're unsuccessful, but our ever-resourceful guide Aly improvises and sets them alight using his lighter. Brilliant improvisation to allow a quirky British custom

  

Awesome pics  (not mine - thanks Raeesah) - but what a setting

It's back to base camp and off to bed. Another bumpy 4 hour journey into Ashgabat awaits in the morning. I'm in a large yurt sharing with Jeff the Aussie, David and Brian from the US. Our beds are segregated by curtains, but the prospect of a truly magnificent snoring competition looms. If I can get off to sleep quickly, surely it'll be a deserved Gold Medal returning to old Blighty. But, as we all know, that it is gigantic "if"!.

I lay on my bed for the first time. Shit! the mattress (loose term) is about an inch thick. Memories of an horrendous night in Tajikistan come flooding back. I fold my quilt up to make it as thick as possible to give as much padding to my thigh and back, but it's going to be a very long night. In a four horse race, I'm unlikely to make the medal podium in the snore-off.