Full of jubilation knowing that I had rested in Nukus, Uzbekıstan (albeit with a stomach bug) for three days I headed for the Turkmenistan Border 50 kms to the south. It was a quiet, relaxed border with most people crossing on foot from Turkmenistan. The officials were friendly and did not request to see all of my luggage or money as per the entry near Dushanbe. My guide (Bayrt) met me at the Turkmen border and arranged all of the paper work within half an hour. Whew! What a relief that was for Turkmenistan has the most strict requirements of all countries in Eurasia.
I was accompanied by a driver(Murat) and Bayrt in a 4WD as we were planning to visit the now famous Darvaza Gas Crater en route. We had a quick walk around the bizarre at Koneurgench where I changed some money and stocked up with provisions for the camp that night. These markets places are busy and fascinating for one can buy almost anything including clothing, food, hardware, second hand bits and general local produce. There were literally hundreds of stores all with products slightly different to the next. Grapes were in season and dozens of stores were selling them by the bucket. I was craving fresh fruit but my conscience got the better of me and said 'no leave it and wait until the bug had disappeared'. It is certainly a fairer way of distributing wealth and maintaining local employment.
A quick lunch with my guide in a cafe and visit to a mausoleum and I was soon being made aware of all the restrictions imposed on tourists. You must pay to take photo's. Do not attempt to take photo's of any infrastructure such as bridges, government buildings etc as they are all treated as potential targets and cameras can be confiscated as a result.
The road for the first 80 kms was the worst I had seen on my entire trip. Despite being sealed at some point in the distant past it had degenerated into a series of humps and jumps that challenged even the local drivers to travel at more than 80 kph. All of a sudden a new town appeared on the horizon as though it had been plonked there overnight and the road opened out to a 20m wide asphalt surface.
Mr Mule was relieved too for it had been a very tough ride with the suspension nearly bottoming out numerous times on some of the bumps.
We arrived at the turnoff to the Gas Crater three hours later with the challenge of trying to get the Mule over 7 kms of big hot sand dunes. Knowing how heavy the Mule was I opted to offload my luggage and put it in the Guides 4WD. The first dune was approximately 30m high and the track was used extensively to transport gas pipelines via huge 6WD Ural semi-trailers. The Mule bogged to the rear axle instantly on hitting the slope. I was initially very surprised as the track were so well defined and I hıt the track wıth some speed. Dropping the tyre pressure to 18psi I persisted for a further half hour but the Mule could not manage to get up on top of the surface and get moving. Weight was probably to blame but the heat and superfine sand grains were the main problem. After heaving and pushing all the way to the top I had had enough for my ribs were screaming with pain and I was in no mood for another 7 kms of this. We returned to the highway and found a safe park for the Mule at a supervised Xway crossing and headed off in the 4WD.
The gas crater was spectacular at sunset. Natural gas in Turkmenistan is plentiful and many of these craters have been capped and harnessed. Rumour has it that a careless worker through a cigarette in the crater and it has been burning ever since.
The Karakum Desert is reputed to be the third largest desert in the world after the Sahara and Gobi Deserts. Even for an arid zone ecologist it was certainly monotonous with hundreds of kms of poorly sorted dunes vegetated with a low shrub and occasionally tussock grasses. The only inhabitants out here in summer were camels and the occasional wretched looking goat herders where wells were located.
I arrived in Ashgabat the following afternoon to another sight that looked as though it had been dropped from another planet. Tremendous revenue from natural gas had produced a city of rather obscene monuments and statues to the then President surrounded by tall 10-15 story apartments all sporting the same white polished marble facia from the ground up. To put it mildly they were all unique and very grand in appearance and were spaced carefully along boulevards with deep green well watered rows of gardens, lawns and pine trees. I really did not warm to the concept although I was told by a local that an apartment cost just $100,000 with a 10% deposit and 1% interest. The grandiose structures in Ashgabat were all multi-million dollar structures so I can only conclude that the government has funded the lot. So one can expect loyalty and gratitude from the local population towards its self imposed rulers. With electricity, gas and water all free many people do not even bother turning them off a concept that is so bizarre that it defies all common sense.
I marched defiantly down well managed dual carriageway lined with trees in the heat to the only supermarket that was 4 kms from my hotel as a sort of protest to what had been created. I did not encounter one other person. The place had no heart even at the centre near the bizarre and I was content to stay put at my hotel.
Once my escort arrived to take me to the border I managed to fuel up and get some air in the tyres.
Every country on this adventure varied in landscapes and culture and Iran was no different. From the border to Quchan was peaceful enough as there were mainly trucks heading for Turkmenistan and very few people in cars. But once on the highway heading west to the Caspian Sea, the scene changed dramatically. It must have been the first day of their Iranian summer vacation for the every car with four wheels and a steering wheel was being propelled down the road at whatever speed it could make with the pedal on the metal. If there were two lanes for traffic then three rows of cars could weave incessantly in that space. If you left a space bigger enough for a car to fit in then someone would fill it in an instant. It did not seem to matter that you had been cut off and pushed to the side of the road. But I will admit that kicking or thumping their mudguards as they passed produced some genuine remorse causing them t o remain behind for a while. The fastest vehicles were the passenger buses. They drove flat out using their huge air horns to warning drivers to move over or else. Iranian people turned out to be very warm and friendly but absolute nutbags on the road. Thank god Iran only permits small 150cc motorbikes on the road. Mr Mule always attracted a swarm of bikes when near any towns. Two young hoons went speeding past me on the back wheel at one point doing at least 80 kph in a busy built up area.
After one day of this life-threatening bedlam I was ready to find a quieter way through Iran and decided that the motorway was probably the safest course. Getting there was no small feat. Either go through Tehran and or face a long arduous journey over the mountains on a single lane highway. The thin coastal strip along the Caspian Sea was exceptionally humid and hot and host to at least 2 million Iranians on holidays. After 10,000 stop starts in a continuous traffic jam that lasted for 160 kms, I made it to Karaj where the motorway heads straight for Tabriz and on to Turkey. Road conditions and signing generally in Iran are excellent and most of the highway signs are in both English and Arabic. The same does not apply in their cities.
Whilst trying to find a place to sleep in Amol two young guys pulled up on their 125cc bike dressed in what looked like military police uniforms. It was drizzling and dark. Massoud kindly offered to take me to his home for the night. Despite being on duty he made tea (Chi), showed me the bedroom and bathroom and then in a flash he was gone I presume in response to a radio call out. Later that night I heard many voices in the house and got up to a family welcoming party. God knows what time it was but his 'two' mothers, father and one of three brothers were all standing there looking at me dressed in some clothes Massoud had left on the bed for me. He was approximately 5'2" and I 6'4" so you can imagine how embarrassed I felt.
The ride to the Turkish border took two days and I guess I felt relieved to be back in a semi-westernised country again. Western Turkey is arid and mountainous. Mt Ararat stands proudly at 5200m greeting you when passing through the border. With a mixture of dog-poor herders and farmers in the mountains and clusters of newly constructed tin-roofed rock and cement rendered (formula built) houses Turkey was obviously investing in developing this region. I stayed in the regions biggest city called Van located on a vast lake. I was expecting a leafy quaint village but was met by a dry bustling old city with a population of more than one million.
I have arranged to get a tyre in Istanbul and expect to spend the next 6 days travelling in Turkey hopefully at a slower pace than the past couple of weeks.