Travelog
This diary tracks our progress along the Silk Roads, with episodes appearing in date order, most recent first. You can get to earlier entries by turning pages at the bottom of the screen.
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- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
27-Apr-07
We took the night bus across the border to Thessaloniki; Ellen was still feeling crook but our last course of antibiotics seem to be doing the trick. We have decided to forgo the big sights and head due west across towards Igoumenitsa, a port in the north-west where we can catch a ferry for Italy.
28-Apr-07
No real sleep, and it felt odd at the border returning to territory covered by my passport: no stamp required. Home, I guess.
We arrived at 9 in the morning and caught a bus to Ioannina, the provincial capital and thus transport hub for the little-visited north-west. Actually it turned out to be a gorgeous ancient town that still trades on its Ottoman hey-days when it was a major trade centre. It is situated in lush mountainous countryside that seemed to pulsate with green energy in a way that we haven't seen for a long time, and a signal that we really are back in abundant Europe. The town itself juts out into a large lake and although Johnny Foreigner has yet to discover this little gem the domestic tourism is doing roaring trade.
For us things started to unravel pretty much straight away. Greece at the weekend pretty much closes shop (I get the impression its never exactly hectic at the best of times), including transport, so the idyllic remote mountain villages that we heard about and tried to reach were completely inaccessible to us - even hitch-hiking was a dead loss. After so long in towns and cities because of the pace we are setting ourselves this was incredibly disappointing, especially as we had just come through such a mouth-wateringly tempting landscape. In addition we are here at the beginning of a long weekend because of May Day, which has ensured that rather than consoling ourselves with a little relaxation in this beautiful town we instead spend hours lugging our packs from full hotel to full hotel in search of a bed. Compounding all this was a rush of exhaustion from the general odyssey, the specific lack of recent sleep, and Ellen's food poisoning, amplifying all problems and inducing despondency. None of this was helped by the fact that Greece had spoken to both of us immediately, and knowing that we were fated to barely touch it on our swift march home was incredibly dispiriting. We had always said that we would race through Europe at both ends of the journey, partly because of costs and partly because we can reach it much more easily than Asia in the future; we know it makes sense but this doesn't mean we have to like it. Bah.
Hospitality Club to the rescue! We eventually found an open Internet cafe and, with all fingers crossed, sought out hosts here with phone numbers displayed. It is not common for them to do this but for some reason Ioannina has a disproportionate number who do so, and on Ellen's first attempt she struck gold. within an hour Mario picked us up from the cafe, took us to his favourite bar, and poured beer into me until a smile formed and the first signs of life began to show. He took us to his apartment overlooking the ancient castle where his fiance Agathe was preparing 3 separate dishes in anticipation of Mario's departure the next day to Athens for 3 months. All vegetarian, all delicious. The couple were wonderful white knights in our hour of need and Mario even took me out for the local take on the kebab, as well as serving up countless measures of the local fire water. To add to an already wonderful evening they were silk roadies too and we had much to discuss and compare with our respective trips. The situation was so perfect, and in such juxtaposition to earlier in the day, we were pretty sure we were under some kind of stress- and exhaustion- induced hallucination. What's more, we really didn't care a bit.
29-Apr-07
A very civilised and productive day where everything went like clockwork; we were back in the groove again. We frolicked amongst the ruins of the castle, sauntered along the lakeside, gazed affectionately at the green hills that would escape us this time, and did useful research on the next leg: Italy. We managed to secure passage to Bari on an overnight ferry that had an offer on, meaning we got a cabin (real beds!), and after a couple of hours twisting up and down romantically steep mountains were were in the port watching the sun go down over the Adriatic. By the time midnight, and our boat, came we were dead to the world, and I fell into bed before the temptation to explore the ship overcame me. Woke up in Italy.
- Details
- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
30-Apr-07
A travel day: we wanted to get across to the west coast quickly to an area just south of Naples, where lay a number of interesting areas. So we hot-footed it first to Benevento and on to Salerno, from where we headed out to a small town Nocera Inferiore where another last minute saviour from Hospitality Club picked us up. A lovely guy, Daniele, we had a lot in common: he is a geek too and particularly interested in Linux and all things open-source. This was a good sign: he programs therefore must have extensive knowledge of pizza. Sure enough he took us to a fabulous small unsigned joint that we never would've noticed otherwise, and where I had the best damn pizza ever. What a great start to the Italian adventure; the country is everything I had hoped for: crazy, vibrant, beautiful and more stylish than is strictly necessary - made for people like me who have always prefered style over substance. Oh I'm just going to love it...
1-May-07
Up Pompeii! Really madam, titter ye not. It turns out we were within spitting distance of dear Frankie's spiritual home and so a 5 minute train journey, a perfect coffee (why can only Italians make coffee?) a slice of torte caprese, another coffee and a bit of a stroll later we were among the ruins marvelling at what Vesuvius had left for us. The site was amazing for its sheer size, its time-capsule preservation and probably the best audio guide I've ever listened to, but I've seen a lot of old ruins this past year and so my overriding observation from Pompeii, with particular reference to what frescoes remain in situ, is: my word the Romans were a saucy bunch. There couldn't have been a goat or young maiden safe in the entire province. We think today that we have the monopoly on sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll but we are mere amateurs: decadence belongs to the Romans and we are puritanical prudes in comparison.
The visit was a significant highlight to the holiday, a really amazing place to see. Just in time we made it onto the train back to Salerno, this time to a B'n'B for solitude and another simple yet perfect meal in the old town. All in all a most fitting way to celebrate Beltane (we gave the goat a miss though).
2-May-07
We took a terrific bus journey west along the coast to Amalfi, a twisty slow journey through valleys and mountains that crashed dramatically into the Mediterranean, through endless orange and lemon groves and past small whitewashed villages tumbling down the hillsides, not a flat surface or right-angle in the place I'm sure. We got off at a tiny village called Atrani and walked the rest of the way through what was essentially Cornwall by Armani. We reeled from the sea front with its tourist trappings and followed a river up out of town into the hills behind, past ancient abandoned paper mills and iron foundries that are crumbling amidst what is now a nature reserve and wildlife haven for some unique species of flora. Needless to say I couldn't spot which ones were unique and which ones common but they were all gorgeous, and we were lucky to be here in May when the valley floor was a carpet of wild flowers to get lost in. Heavenly. Interestingly Amalfi is also home to the infamous Yellow Booze that has destroyed many a party at our place (thanks Bob). Homage was paid.
We made our way back to Salerno at dusk and on to the tiny village of Pellezzano where we were met by our next host Ramona. A wild, unruly, eccentric gernerous and warm-hearted lady overflowing with life she took us to her very old traditional country home that she has decorated with, it seems to me, the expressed intention of fending off borgeoise orderly tastefulness. She certainly suceeded with aplomb as we ate her delicious cooking amongst a riot of colour, madness and orchestrated chaos that works in a wonderfully warm, inviting, bohemian way. Just my kind of place.
3-May-07
Woke late, breakfasted on rocket-fuel coffee and zoomed up the local mountain. Well, zoomed may be a bit strong but we sauntered at the very least; it was wonderful to be both off the tourist trail and out of the city for a while as we walked from village to village and got lost amongst gently clanking goats. Somehow the Italians even manage to do unkempt mountainsides with finesse as well as providing the wherewithall to round off a jaunt with more unctuous coffee and hot chocolate you can stand the spoon up in. Oh George, how right you were: Bugger Bognor indeed!
- Details
- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
Our mammoth train journey did eventually come to an end,and we were greeted at the station by Nic (who Zebedee-like seems to have popped up randomly throughout our adventure, been the perfect but all too brief travel companion, spoilt us rotten and disappeared again just a quickly: a neat trick and quite delightful) who led us straight to a great hotel that overlooks the Aya Sofya; now that's what I call service. Extremely easy to be in, Istanbul (despite being closer to home than anywhere I've been for the last 10 months) feels incredibly exotic and romantic. It reminds me a little of Hong Kong in the way that ferries feature highly in getting around the place, but the energy is all it's own. We have seen sights, caught up with each other, eaten too much (is it possible?) cake and generally had a fabulous time. We are now ensconced in the home of yet another lovely host, this time from Couchsurfing, on the Asian side of town (Kadikoy district for aficionados) overlooking the water and very close to the 15 minute ferry that drops us straight into the heart of old Constantinople. As the days go on though temptation grows to stay in Anatolia exploring twisty alleys and real life away from the tourist crowds, but I know part of this is a reluctance to admit that this leg of the journey is history.
Apart from one hugely (and huge) incapable pick-pocket on the tram City of Thieves is an unfair moniker in my opinion: City of Cats is far more appropriate as they are present in great numbers on every street corner, slyly orchestrating business and running the show in the way that only cats can.
Onwards, ever onwards: we have pretty much decided that we cannot pass up the chance to flit through Greece and Italy, so Eastern and Central Europe will have to wait for another time I'm afraid. A bus across Northern Greece to Corfu and a ferry to the heel of Italy is the intention, but we shall have to see if its possible.
- Details
- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
Our host family, still believing us incapable of doing anything by ourselves, very kindly arranged a hire car to take us to Persepolis along with mother and sister. The place was awe inspiring and overwhelming in scale, an ancient place that can only really be described in pictures (coming soon hopefully!). I can add that the place was built mostly by Darius the Great and Xerxes I, names previously known to me only through ancient Greek texts that I invariably failed to translate accurately. The place is one of the wonders of the ancient world and generally considered to be the most impressive remains from the Near East region, bringing together art and design from Italy to India, the largest coming together of cultures ever seen at the time. Alexander smashed it to smithereens to prove a point. Git.
12-Apr-07
Another blinkin' garden, this time the huge Eram Garden. Actually it was lovely there, full of blooming roses that smelt of romance and adventure, riotous assemblies of anenomies from every colour gazing up one-eyed at us and the sun. After stuffing us to bursting again, this time in a traditional restaurant with live music and no tourists the family, so amazingly kind to us throughout our stay, dropped us at the bus station for our overnighter to Esfahan.
13-Apr-07
Actually slept on the bus, thanks to Ellen's knock-out powder. we arrived at our new host family in the morning, greeted by Mehrnoosh who looks like a prettier version of Penelope Cruz (no ugly duckling herself) in a palatial apartment complex owned by her family, individual members of whom seem to occupy a floor each from what I can tell. Exquisite, ornate and spacious we have landed on our feet again, and even better Mehrnoosh has chosen to spend her day guiding us round the less accessible sights in Esfahan in her car, sights that we almost certainly wouldn't get to otherwise.
Well, they say 'Esfahan: half the world' and they may well be right. Despite the colossal size of the city it feels so wonderful here, the sun is shining, everyone is relaxed and happy, and everywhere we go seems to be studded with impossibly exquisite jewels of buildings. Our host lives in the Christian Armenian quarter so naturally we began from there, from the Vank Cathedral (of which it is an unfortunate quirk of speech that Persians tend to pronounce their Vs as Ws) which comes with a museum whose main purpose seems to be to publicise the genocide atrocity committed against Armenian people by the Turks, with whom relations are still strained to say the least almost a century later. Inside, the cathedral itself was very rich, covered in heavy, opulent paintings from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. A common theme seemed to numerous and imaginatively varied torture scenes featuring the hapless Saint Gregory as victim. After seeing so much art from other religions on this journey it does strike me that the Christians have an unhealthy obsession with pain and suffering, almost to the point of fetishism.
Next stop Ateshkadeh-ye Esfahan, a partially ruined yet surprisingly together Zoroastrian fire temple given that it is 1800 years old. Perched atop a hill west of Esfahan the views of they city and surrounding mountains were quite something. Being constantly overtaken in the scramble up and down steep, slippery and precarious slopes by old ladies in full chador and stiletto heels was not so life-affirming, however!
We reached the 'shaking minarets' of the tomb of Abu Abdollah in time for their 2 p.m. shake, where they were made to wobble a worrying amount as they towered above us by a small chap who thankfully did not collapse them entirely. A ride south took us to our host's family garden, which actually turned out to be a huge ornately carpeted bungalow set in extensive grounds where practically the whole family (Iranian-scale family, no small thing) had gathered for the Friday barbecue. Laughter and smiles abound, and deliciously tender chicken kebabs conspire against me as I struggle to remain objective about this fabulous city.
We walked off lunch/dinner in the evening among Esfahan's famous bridges that span the Zayandeh, most of which are sympathetically illuminated at night highlighting their numerous soft sandstone Persian arches as they stretch off across the doomed waters: this river gushes from the mountains in the west, through the town, and out to the desert where it just peters out; I had always thought that all rivers made it to the sea. My favourite bridges were the Kahaju and Chubi, both graceful and around 400 years old with very pretty adjoining tea houses. All very civilised, finished off with our first taste of the hugely popular Iranian Pizza which despite many negative reports was great. Returning to our own palace I am sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. What a first day!
14-Apr-07
Overslept, surprise surprise. I guess our planned walking tour through the historical city will take 2 days rather than one. I smile smugly to myself as I acknowledge that we have as much time as we choose to take, but the smile is wiped off some time later as the rain descends. Ah well, the bazaar it is!
The bazaar engulfed us and wouldn't let us go. It us the finest non-food market we have encountered and consists of around 10 kilometres of twisty covered alleyways - not to mention countless dead-end off-shoots and courtyards - joining 2 ends of the old city together. Perfect for tourists like us it is a blend of everyday Iranian shopping and Persian handicrafts: one minute wellies, the next golden antique jewellery. The unique craft of Esfahan though is the art of the miniaturist who takes a piece of camel bone or ancient paper and paints delicate scenes, usually of courtly romance, polo or landscapes, using a magnifying glass and the thinnest of brushes made from as little as 2 cat hairs to apply natural paints made from gold, lapis lazuli, umber and so on. Their skill and speed is really something to watch and the best pieces command thousands of dollars.
Even more than the miniatures I shamefully confess to falling foul of the worst of bourgeois pursuits: the Persian carpet. The carpet has been something of a constant presence on our journey along the silk roads, from China through Central Asia to here, and while I have always admired the skill of the carpet weaver it has taken until Iran to make their enchantments work their deadly stuff on me. I'm afraid that despite the different kinds of beauty in each country's own style the Persian carpet is superior. By a mile. And for me personally the Esfahan carpet is king with tis swirling organic floral curves and spirals, rich blues and Byzantine (excuse the geographically inappropriate adjective) central motifs. I now know something about silk/wool blends, single versus double knotting, regional differences in pattern and dye, and all the rest of the intricacies that ensnare me in their mysteries. I need a Persian carpet, my life is not complete without one, and I don't know why. This is a hateful curse.
The evening was another effervescent family affair as we learnt how to cook (and subsequently demolish) various Iranian specialities not least of which was an incredible aubergine dish consisting mostly of olive oil, garlic and salt. I an delighted, although my arteries aren't, that Ellen bagged the recipe. Being a dry country where alcohol is strictly prohibited, the population does of course drink like fish and the already perfect day was made complete courtesy of a couple of bottles of Absolut Citron, sending me to bed in a rapturous haze.
15-Apr-07
I woke early with crazy patterns from carpets, miniatures and ornate boxes swirling around in my head, teasing me awake until they were replaced by some of the more whimsical reminiscences from the Iran leg of our journey accompanied by random superlatives (this is not a country that understands the concept of mediocrity in any aspect of life):
- In Mashhad our host drove us around in a 40 year old Hillman Avenger of all things, the old man being something of an Anglophile who, not having been back since buying the car new, may well retain a 1960's impression of the place. Oh how he'd be disappointed.
- In Boshrooyeh I switched on the telly to be greeted by Harold Lloyd in some typically implausible situation. This was not quite as unexpected as the response it invoked from our host Hamid, a pretty retrained and conservative Muslim who piped up, "Oh yes, a cut above Keaton and Arbuckle but Chaplin is king of course!". Hoots.
- Iranian cuisine is best, no argument: kebabs that offer tender marinated meat rather than the cubes of crusty, almost pure fat preferred across Central Asia; lamb in a rich sauce of walnuts and pomegranates; unbelievably silky aubergine dishes; huge handfuls of fresh unadorned herbs that accompany every plate; sticky sweet dates with tangy yoghurt; lithe long rice suffused with saffron, every grain separated; flat breads to die for; endless heaps of sweet juicy oranges; improbably numerous varieties salty pistachios . The fizzy yoghurt drink is just plain wrong though.
- Iranians are the worst drivers in the world. Statistically the death toll is highest although the number do not convey the true horror of travelling along the roads of this country. I may never be scared of anything ever again; give me crazy Russians any day.
- Iranian hospitality is inversely proportional to their driving skill. Delightfully kind and universally helpful this is the real wonder of Persia, and rather ungratefully I find myself on occasion shying from it as it threatens to spill over suffocatingly into yet another hostage situation where we are forced to eat delicious morsels and visit (with no effort on our part) amazing places. But such open-hearted love of one's fellows is a valuable lesson for us westerners and may be the only commandment worth heeding (Jesus certainly thought so).
16-Apr-07
After another delicious breakfast Mahrnoosh helps us get our onward rail tickets first to Tehran and then on to Istanbul (starting the same day so we don't have to stop over in the huge grimy metropolis that may well have the worst traffic in the world), our last hurrah in Asia as we travel the length of Turkey to the edge of Europe over 3 days to reach something of a finishing post: Istanbul is the traditional end point of the silk roads as Xi'an is the beginning, although in reality some caravans continued on south to Damascus, or further west to Venice and even Paris. We leave Esfahan on Wednesday with something of a heavy heart which is of course lightened by the prospect of being reunited with friends and family. If I've learned anything at all on this trip its that the connections we make through love really are the only things that count for anything, and while I doubt I will ever feel settled I know that these links will always bring me back.
The rest of the day was spend lazily soaking up the atmosphere, strolling over ancient bridges and along the river. We stopped for tea in the Esfahan equivalent of the Ritz, the courtyard of Abbasi Hotel next to a tinkling fountain in the shade of tall, leafy plants listening to prayers being melodically called from Hussein Mosque next door. Bliss, finished off with some unarmed combat in the gold and silver bazaar where I honed my bargaining skills on unaffordable trinkets and baubles.
17-Apr-07
I really have no idea what we did today. Time disappeared amongst the minarets and dusty streets, and the only event of consequence I can recall was an amusing skit in the main bazaar. I was haggling over some small items of no consequence again, really just for the hell of it (it is a sport here). Discussions were protracted and involved walking away, gnashing teeth, sucking air, handing money over and snatching it back and generally hamming it up on both sides. Having finally, finally got the price I was aiming for I took my spoils and left with a growing feeling of guilt, so good was the hang-dog expression on the part of the seller. Having decided that I had now earned my next belt in Bartering, my soft-heartedness still left something to be desired as I painted myself the villain, imagining a destitute trader unable to feed his family, wolves at the door, the end of all things. I couldn't help it: I went back and handed over the extra note he had been pushing so hard for.
The guy practically fell off his chair with hysterical laughter. I think he may have ruptured something.
18-Apr-07
Another lost day wandering and making arrangements to meet up with Nic in Istanbul, which I'm really excited about: she's a top travel companion and it sounds like she's done a sterling job on the hotel front again. Saying goodbye to our magnificent host family was very sad, we will miss them a lot, mitigated a little of course by the farewell feast, including my all time favorite Iranian dish Fesenjun which consists of some kind of meat (chicken this time) in a rich walnut and pomegranate sauce. But eventually we did tear ourselves away, and despite having the only taxi driver in the world that does not know the way to his home town's train station we did somehow arrive, and before midnight I was sound asleep in a six-berth shared with a refreshingly unobtrusive family.
19-Apr-07
We pulled into Tehran at 5 in the morning, and stashed our bags bleary-eyed and irritable. As neither of us have a burning desire to be in this sprawling, noxious metropolis any longer than can be helped, especially after our week in the Finest City in Asia, we planned our transport so that we didn't have to spend a night here. This did mean getting in at just before dawn though, and such an ungodly hour called for immediate implementation Operation Genteel: a taxi to the best hotel in town where we could partake of that most civilised of things, the buffet breakfast, and recline on sumptuous sofas with the papers. I am pleased to report that we managed to pad it out for 3 hours, just in time for the opening of the National Carpet Museum next door (yes, my obsession continues).
Despite dire warnings about Tehran's lack of appeal and notorious traffic I thought it was quite vibrant with a buzz all of its own and certainly the roads were no worse than the rest of Iran = possibly even better than in holier-than-thou Mashhad (too many Insha'Allahs and not enough driving lessons). After braving the rather uninspiring metro system we finally passed through passport control and onto the Trans-Asia Express to Istanbul, a 70 hour epic that we began in style by having a very plush compartment all to ourselves: blissful solitude after so long with other people.
20-Apr-07
Joined by a couple at Tabriz, our train passed through landscapes as dramatic as any encountered so far: huge looming snow-capped mountains. bridges over steep ravines and through red gorges, tunnels galore at times as well as chasing sparkling rivers through emerald rolling hills. Certainly it was a contrast to the East's more austere beauty and it was really frustrating to see it all whizzing past us, inaccessible as we clock up the miles relentlessly/ Our curses were matched by vows to return and explore this stunning area again one day.
Immigration at both Iran and Turkey's checkpoints were straight forward albeit predictably tedious, and despite the ban to this website they did actually let us pass through unscathed so we could continue through Eastern Turkey to the shores of Lake Van, which we cross by ferry before boarding a new train for the rest of the journey/ Leaving a country as wonderful, bewildering and emotion-inducing as Iran is a wrench, it is such a special placein so many ways but the government really does suck and it has been a great relief to find out just how unpopular they are among their own people. They are almost as unrepresentative as the White House.
21-Apr-07
We arrived at the eastern shore of Lake Van 5 hours late and in the middle of a blizzard/ It was very unexpected indeed to find ourselves on a snow-white landscape, but we made up some time during the 7 hour crossing and finally got to the other side, and our beds on the new train, a little after a truly stunning dawn of swirling pinks, oranges and blues. This time we were sharing with an American couple which at least had the advantage of no language barrier - actually they were gret company. A lazy day spent staring out of the window, reading and general relaxation in preparation for the sensory onslaught that is Istanbul which seems to be known by everyone we speak to as City of Thieves. Should be interesting...
- Details
- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
26-Mar-07
Returning from Samarkand we are back in Tashkent with Farrukh and his sister. It has been a red letter day for administration as we received both our visas: the Iranian 21-day and Turkmen 5-day. Not only were these the 2 most complicated, lengthy and in the case of Iran most expensive ones so far, they were also the last 2 we will need on the whole trip, so goodbye bureaucracy, hello adventure! After some restocking of suppliers, including dollars as we will not be able to withdraw any until Turkey, one month from now, we finally managed on the third attempt to eat at an Indian restaurant Taj albeit by candle light due to a lack of electricity. Delicious but expensive.
27-Mar-07
Little to report: woke late and spent a final few hours with Farrukh before gettng our overnighht train to Khiva. Our cabin was shared with a really nice guy from Urgench with whom we pooled our food in good Russian style. He really looked after us actually including organising us a taxi to Khiva itself (train only goes as far as Urgench, some 35 kms away) and refusing to let us pay.
28-Mar-07
A nice young man we bumped into in Khiva found us a great hotel, and negotiated the rate down from 25 dollars each to 20 in total, making it actually affordable. Khiva itself is a fantastically interesting ancient desert city, known for centuries as Central Asia's slave market and run by a series of cruel and sadistic khans - all very Conan the Barbarian. We spent the day exploring the unbelievably well preserved old town, winding our way through a maze of alley ways and stumbling upon treasure, most significantly the huge, wide yet comically stumpy Kalon minaret (one of the crazed khans ordered that the largest minaret in the world be built for him, and looking at the proportions had it been completed it would've easily succeeded. Luckily for the builders he died mid-way through the project and little prompting was needed for tools to be downed). In the evening our hotel cooked us many courses of delicious, largely Ellen-friendly Uzbek food which we partially walked off by strolling around the town again by moonlight, very atmospheric as the shadows and shapes loomed and spun across our path. It was suddenly all too easy to imagine the gruesome past of Khiva and we are delighted to have made it to this frequently overlooked outpost of the silk roads.
29-Mar-07
A morning taxi took us to the quiet Turkmen border, whereupon we were surprised to find ourselves inside an immigration office full of kind smiles and laughter - could this be the same Turkmenistan that we had read so many sinister things about? A few formalities later (including one of the customs officials looking me in the eye and proclaiming earnestly, "I love you", very sweet) we were on the Turkmen side embroiled in a tug of war with rival taxi factions seeking our passage (2 hours to Konye Urgench). It all got a bit physical but we managed to settle on a not too outrageous fare and sped off.
Understandably, Turkmenistan is not big on internet usage, and Hospitality Club members are a bit thin on the ground. There is one hotel in KU but it is universally condemned in the books and Internet so having nowhere to stay we headed for the bazaar of this very interesting yet hard done by capital of the area Khorezm, most of which is still in Uzbekistan and all of which is very Uzbek culturally. It was an important staging post on the northern leg of the silk road, especially for those caravans heading around the north of the Caspian rather than the more traditional route. It has been on the receiving end of dictators' ire for centuries having been thoroughly sacked by Genghis Khan, and subsequently 5 times by never to be out-done Timur, and remains to this day a broken back-water that never really recovered that does nonetheless contain some rather beautiful ruins.
The bazaar itself was full of modern day hustle and bustle, and as soon as we entered we got shaken down by the militzia - half an hour of perfectly charming yet boringly bureaucratic questions and document processing which served as a reminder that this is still a police state. We did manage to leave after much laughter and hand-shaking, virgo intactus, and headed straight for the bazaars main chaikanna (cafe with endless tea). 5 dumplings later, and still unwilling to submit to the dubious pleasures of the one, only, and grim hotel in town we cobbled together n broken Russian and extravagant gesticulations the message that we were after a bed for the night to anyone in the cafe who cared to listen, and let the jungle drums work their magic. Soon enough an entirely square young lady appeared and before I could drain my tea we were whisked off in a taxi bound for a forgotten Soviet block-house outside of the arse-end of this desolate neglected town, and so it was with some surprise that we walked into what was essentially a very welcoming yurt. The bungalow was adorned with rich carpets on the wall and the low furniture was laid out in the one central room in the communal way, just as if at the end of the season this family would pack up, brick by brick, and follow their herd to some other patch of wasteland.
We met the family, drank more tea, and were amazed to find that they had arranged a taxi to come for us to take us around the historical sites, Rosa's brother acting as guide. Incredibly touching as ever when people with nothing to speak of extend such a generous hand to us, and we spend the afternoon visiting minarets (including the tallest in Central Asia), medressas, a huge ruined library that also served as the locals' last stand against GK, and a mausoleum with really complex geometry that served as a huge 3-D calendar. The area sacked by Genghis has a very strange atmosphere, like walking through the land of the dead: salt deposits cover the dying soil, scrubby black saxul attempts growth sporadically, the still partially unrestored buildings stand frozen in time, and human bones are liberally scattered in testament to the blood shed here repeatedly.
We returned eventually to find an absolute feast of Turkmen delights: mutton and potato stew, fresh flat-breads, really tangy tomato chutney, salads, and far, far too much vodka which I'm just not used to any more after travelling through Muslim lands. A dozen or so triple-measured toasts later and my head was spinning and the room seemed to be full of laughter and shared ideas, amazingly special and it was terrific to have landed into the lap of the region's hospitality straight away. Sadly later in the evening we were reminded again that this is still a paranoid police state: the family were getting increasing nervous about harbouring foreigners in case neighbours reported them and the police came (strict rules about this kind of thing, and in any case foreigners are very much a rarity anywhere in Turkmenistan, let alone this outpost). In the end Nargul, staunch granny head of the house disappeared to seek council, and returned with the sad news that they just couldn't risk it (maybe they caught word of a police raid?) so we were bundled into the back of a taxi and much to my drunken pleasure I found us being ferreted away in the dead of night across a totalitarian state, taking round back alleys to avoid police road blocks. We eventually came to, yep, the one hotel in town, said our farewells to our wonderful and apologetic hosts, and entered the most fantastically awful establishment encountered so far. So wrong, in so many ways, that I was mighty pleased for all that vodka after all.
30-Mar-07
Waking up hung over in Hotel Bastardo was not a pretty sight, but soon (Ellen reckons I was 4 minutes from the alarm going off to being fully ready to leave) we were in a magnificently chaotic bus station haggling over a fare to Darvaza, slap bang in the middle of the country and therefore the epicentre of the Karakum desert which accounts for 90% of Turkmenistan's area. We knew nothing about it really except that it was about half way between the north where we were and the souther capital Ashkabat, and that there were some famous gas craters nearby that blaze continuously.
Rmembering the bonhomie in the immigration office it occurred to me that the protagonists were mostly Uzbek, coming into the country like us. The trader faily we spend yesterday evening with also, it turns out, were Uzbeks, and they stand out from the Turkmen by dint of a relatively wealthier appearance and propensity to smile: the Turkmen come state-hardened with a paranoid nervous disposition that makes for a more introverted, shifty group that rarely smile and find eye-contact difficult. The monotonously regular road blocks and random police checks and their pointlessly lengthy document processing reinforce the message every hour of every day. Even though we have seen no sign of corruption or criminality, and are treated well by the officials (who I guess are just doing their job) the atmosphere here is palpably thicker and more oppressive than in Uzbekistan.
The drive to Darvaza took 6 hours under a bleak sky over bad roads. Often the land was part barren marshland, part desert, wholly unlovely but as we went further south the desert took sway and a kind of harsh beauty emerged: dunes flanked us interspersed with wonderfully twisted artemesia bushes and the odd dromedary, some obviously domesticated and some perhaps wild or at least feral. Eventually we came to a chaikanna yurt in the middle of nowhere and with the help of the bus driver negotiated a night's accommodation, a trip to the crater, meals, and assistance in the morning finding a ride south to Ashkabat. It was so good to be inside a yurt again (this time with my preferred curved roof design), away from towns and close to the land. The family are clearly very poor and we have no common language at all, but we smile together and get by amiably. The yurt itself forms the cafe: our accommodation turns out to be, for want of a better expression, a small hoe in the ground. Actually a very practical dwelling and typical in this desert, some steps lead down to a small doorway through which there is a cubic, mud-walled room perfect for insulation during cold nights and coolness during the desert heat, with a stove in the centre that gets the room really toasty. Happy to be there we drop our bags and race up the nearest dune and gaze out for miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, over the Karakum, the hottest desert in Central Asia. I've never stood on a proper sand dune in the desert before and am mesmerised by the light and shade patterns snaking out forever. Far from barren, our dune was a haven for wildlife if you looked for t: sprays of small yellow flowers under the Artemisia, the occasional larger pink star-shaped flower and I'm sure plenty more that we missed. It is home to many species of birds, beetles, spiders and snakes although the only tracks we saw were fro goats and dogs. We retired for a late afternoon round of Desert Munchkin and now wait for the dark so we can go to see the crater at its most impressive.
Crikey: anyone who enjoyed Tolkein (Dante would do at a push) could not help to make allusions at the gas crater, so alike is it to Mount Doom. This was amplified for us as we spent yesterday trudging over a marshy field of bones, today driving through an endless and cruel barren wasteland and finally taking an unbelievably reckless off-road ascent over the desert in the darkness (in an Uaz jeep. Good because its my all time favourite vehicle especially for off-roading. Bad because it is flashback-inducingly similar to the machine we totalled in Mongolia). All this to reach The Crater: a huge inferno big enough to take several football pitches and deep, really deep, a blazing inferno pulsing red and gold of Lucifer, never-ending and lighting the sky for miles around. If we had a ring we would've thrown it in; if we were Christian we would've pledged ourselves to good deeds forever more. The place was terrible, awesome, beautiful and horrific all together presenting a vision so elemental it called to the very depths of my soul and my fear. We stood at the edge of the world at the end of time where all things are unmade and all resolve seduced for good. Frankly, it scared the shit out of me.
31-Mar-07
Beginning the day by trying to catch a ride out of Darvaza I reflected that the middle of a desert, let alone the least hospitable one in Central Asia, presented certain challenges to the would-be hitch-hiker and as we waited I was glad that i such a notoriously hot place we had chanced upon one of the few times it got a bit damp and chilly (typical, we can't do anything straight). After a couple of hours someone did in fact drive by and offer a lift south and so it was that we completed our traversal of the Karakum in good time: our boy racer managed to do the five hour trip in about three and a half.
After some tricky negotiating around the capital we came to our hostel, a cheap and eccentric place overrun by gibbering octogenarians and hordes of chaos-pigeons (I think the 2 things were related), leaving us just enough time in the day to head back out into the countryside to a farm in the shadows of the mountains to the west and south, to a place that breeds the very special Akhal-Teke horse, elegant long limbed lithe creatures built for speed that for the basis of both the Arabian and the Thoroughbred. Ellen took an albino stallion out with a very competent guide who used to be a horse acrobat with the circus and they set off through magnificent canyons that seemed to my so wonderfully lush after our time in the desert. I declined a horse on the grounds that they are agents of Satan with a contract out on me (all of them) and had some wonderfully solitary walking until dusk came.
Tired we returned to what must be the most sinisterly bizarre capital in the world: Turkmenbashi, prior to having the good grace to die before driving the nation irredeemably into the ground, built colossal structures throughout the city, in some cases smashing entire districts that got in the way, all in proper mad dictator gleaming white marble and in a style somewhere between Stalinist classicism and fairy tale. Enormous, imposing and mostly empty they reflect a grandeur born out of his megalomania and it goes without saying that the monuments are used as government ministries, palaces, or luxury hotels rather than schools and hospitals. The contrast with the rest of the country, impoverished neglected and hopeless, is thoroughly obscene, no more so than with respect to the huge number of extravagant fountains that pump water day and night while the population goes thirsty. The guy has his portrait on every building, in Mao-style proportions, and countless gold statues to him by him litter the capital. This is certainly the most extreme personality cult I have seen and makes both the papacy and the Thai royal family seem positively well-balanced. I look forward to exploring this crazy place in more detail tomorrow: both macabre and fascinating it cannot be denied that there is a certain beauty here but at a cost that is too hard to bear.
1-Apr-07
Not too much to add to yesterday's entry, except that walking around this city in the day confirms that it really is unremittingly crackers not least with regard to the 12 metre tall polished gold statue to Turkmenbashi, magnanimously open-armed, that rotates during the day to always greet the sun. Sheer bloody madness.
The morning was great spent exploring Tulkutchka bazaar, described very aptly as Central Asian market courtesy of Cecil B De Mille. It was huge, with camels and carpets stretching out across the desert to the mountains, and despite being there all morning we only saw a small corner of it. It was full of the exotic delights, chaotic hustle and bustle, strange sights and heady smells that make these places so vibrant and essential, a much needed contrast to the sterility of Turkmenbashi's brave new world.
2-Apr-07
1 year on the road to day! Quite an accomplishment for a bumbling pair of old hippies like us and the adventure has been incredible.
Woke up with a fever (bad) but to a breakfast of fried duck and chips (good). We took a taxi to the Iranian border at Bajgirhan at the top of a snow-capped mountain just south of Ashkabat; it was eerily quiet and deserted but still took a long time tog et through - mostly waiting for the Turkmen to find a keyboard for the passport control computer (not may use this border, me thinks). This after a drive through the widest no-man's land we have encountered so far - 20 Kilometres - then a fast and efficient pass through Iranian customs. We were in Persia at last - the land of dreams!