In Turkmenbashi, At Last
Khiva, Uzbekistan, May 22
Apologies for the long delay since my last update. I believe I have better-than-average excuses, though.
May 15 and 16 were among the longest of my life, since I spent almost all of that time on a ferryboat which was only moving for about 12 hours. The rest of the time we were stuck in the dock. I boarded around 10:30 am on May 15, and the boat didn't start moving until 2:30 am. Since I had already had my exit stamp put on my visa, I could not return to Baku. The presence of three other American travelers (they were biking from Turkey to China, or trying
to) made the time somewhat more bearable.
All of us sighed in relief when the ferry moved, and the actual passage was calm and uneventful. The eastern shore of the Caspian looks suitably exotic, with carved desert mountains. Our boat entered the harbor at Turkmenbashi (formerly Krasnodovsk) around 2:00 pm. One of the bikers, either more suspicious or with more nautical experience than the rest of us, pointed out that several other vessels were anchored and seemed to be waiting for loading or unloading. About two minutes later, we came to a halt and the crew dropped the anchor. The captain first told us we might unload in four hours, but about 15 minutes later he decided on honesty over encouragement and informed us we'd be spending another night on the ship. It turned out that Turkmenbashi harbor had been closed the previous day due to a storm (which did not affect the western Caspian shore), and dealing with the backlog of ships would take the rest of the 16th. We would be the first to unload on the 17th, although that didn't seem like much consolation. We took advantage of the lack of safety regulations to climb the crow's nests and poke around in just about every part of the ship except the crew quarters and the engine room. On our second night aboard, we spent some of our last Azeri money on a bottle of vodka and played cards.
On May 17 I finally entered Turkmenistan. Turkmenbashi (literally "father of the Turkmen", the name adopted by Turkmenistan's dictator Niyazov in imitation of Ataturk) is not the most interesting of cities, but after two days on the ferry it seemed incredibly vibrant. Our guide picked us up at immigration, and our first stop was a bazaar where we exchanged money at the illegal market rate (four times as many Turkmenistan manat per dollar as the official rate). For $100 I got a stack of 10,000 manat bills about an inch thick. The unofficial exchange rate is around 24,000 manat to the dollar. Central Asia is definitely not the place for anyone who wants monetary calculations to stay simple.
Then we were zipping along a well-maintained highway to Ashgabat, the country's capital. The scenery was reminiscent of the American west, only with dromedary camels and brick villages. And, in the villages, pictures of Turkmenbashi all over the place. We made a brief stop at a mosque Turkmenbashi built after converting to Islam and performing the hajj. It was much cleaner and shinier than the mosques I'd seen in Turkey, but there were no worshippers present and our guide said it rarely had more than 50 or 100 people in it, although it could hold thousands.
By the time we reached our hotel in Ashgabat, I was so tired I barely noticed that four or five birds were nesting in the hotel's enclosed atrium. On May 18th I discovered what you get when you combine a megalomanical dictator, a French construction company, and a bunch of oil money: a city that looks something like Las Vegas, only less fun. Ashgabat is easily the most bizarre city I have visited. The huge highways, gleaming white buildings set wide apart, and fountains all over the place (in a desert) instantly reminded me of Las Vegas. This impression was strengthened when I finally realized who Turkmenbashi reminded me of: Wayne Newton. It's no separated-at-birth resemblance, but they do look like cousins at least. The Bouygues construction company seems to be Turkmenbashi's favorite, and their signs are all over the city's many construction sites.
Ashgabat was leveled by an earthquake in 1948, so there is no old city. Instead, there are grimly uniform rows of decaying Soviet apartment blocks and grimly uniform rows of gleaming new marble hotels, few of which seem to be more than half full (our hotel was 75% empty). For cultural offerings, there are many museums, most of which I had been advised against, but the carpet museum was very impressive. It has both a good collection of historical carpets of a variety of designs and also the world's biggest handmade carpet, which weighs several tons and required 41 weavers.
I realize I have not brought the story all the way to Khiva, but I will have to do that in another update.
Apologies for the long delay since my last update. I believe I have better-than-average excuses, though.
May 15 and 16 were among the longest of my life, since I spent almost all of that time on a ferryboat which was only moving for about 12 hours. The rest of the time we were stuck in the dock. I boarded around 10:30 am on May 15, and the boat didn't start moving until 2:30 am. Since I had already had my exit stamp put on my visa, I could not return to Baku. The presence of three other American travelers (they were biking from Turkey to China, or trying
to) made the time somewhat more bearable.
All of us sighed in relief when the ferry moved, and the actual passage was calm and uneventful. The eastern shore of the Caspian looks suitably exotic, with carved desert mountains. Our boat entered the harbor at Turkmenbashi (formerly Krasnodovsk) around 2:00 pm. One of the bikers, either more suspicious or with more nautical experience than the rest of us, pointed out that several other vessels were anchored and seemed to be waiting for loading or unloading. About two minutes later, we came to a halt and the crew dropped the anchor. The captain first told us we might unload in four hours, but about 15 minutes later he decided on honesty over encouragement and informed us we'd be spending another night on the ship. It turned out that Turkmenbashi harbor had been closed the previous day due to a storm (which did not affect the western Caspian shore), and dealing with the backlog of ships would take the rest of the 16th. We would be the first to unload on the 17th, although that didn't seem like much consolation. We took advantage of the lack of safety regulations to climb the crow's nests and poke around in just about every part of the ship except the crew quarters and the engine room. On our second night aboard, we spent some of our last Azeri money on a bottle of vodka and played cards.
On May 17 I finally entered Turkmenistan. Turkmenbashi (literally "father of the Turkmen", the name adopted by Turkmenistan's dictator Niyazov in imitation of Ataturk) is not the most interesting of cities, but after two days on the ferry it seemed incredibly vibrant. Our guide picked us up at immigration, and our first stop was a bazaar where we exchanged money at the illegal market rate (four times as many Turkmenistan manat per dollar as the official rate). For $100 I got a stack of 10,000 manat bills about an inch thick. The unofficial exchange rate is around 24,000 manat to the dollar. Central Asia is definitely not the place for anyone who wants monetary calculations to stay simple.
Then we were zipping along a well-maintained highway to Ashgabat, the country's capital. The scenery was reminiscent of the American west, only with dromedary camels and brick villages. And, in the villages, pictures of Turkmenbashi all over the place. We made a brief stop at a mosque Turkmenbashi built after converting to Islam and performing the hajj. It was much cleaner and shinier than the mosques I'd seen in Turkey, but there were no worshippers present and our guide said it rarely had more than 50 or 100 people in it, although it could hold thousands.
By the time we reached our hotel in Ashgabat, I was so tired I barely noticed that four or five birds were nesting in the hotel's enclosed atrium. On May 18th I discovered what you get when you combine a megalomanical dictator, a French construction company, and a bunch of oil money: a city that looks something like Las Vegas, only less fun. Ashgabat is easily the most bizarre city I have visited. The huge highways, gleaming white buildings set wide apart, and fountains all over the place (in a desert) instantly reminded me of Las Vegas. This impression was strengthened when I finally realized who Turkmenbashi reminded me of: Wayne Newton. It's no separated-at-birth resemblance, but they do look like cousins at least. The Bouygues construction company seems to be Turkmenbashi's favorite, and their signs are all over the city's many construction sites.
Ashgabat was leveled by an earthquake in 1948, so there is no old city. Instead, there are grimly uniform rows of decaying Soviet apartment blocks and grimly uniform rows of gleaming new marble hotels, few of which seem to be more than half full (our hotel was 75% empty). For cultural offerings, there are many museums, most of which I had been advised against, but the carpet museum was very impressive. It has both a good collection of historical carpets of a variety of designs and also the world's biggest handmade carpet, which weighs several tons and required 41 weavers.
I realize I have not brought the story all the way to Khiva, but I will have to do that in another update.
posted by jeros | 5:16 PM
1 Comments:
These Turkmenistan names seem to be made for the Tintin books. I wonder what substitutes the Turkmen translations would use.
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