Fire and brimstone
light of the infernoGenghis Khan did his most brutal work in Central Asia, and the Silk Road cities of modern-day Turkmenistan show it—there isn't much left to see but mud walls and mausoleums, which were sacred to the Mongols and left largely unscathed. Our tour of Turkmenistan included an overnight trip to Merv, a major center of civilization on the edge of the Karakum desert that was completely obliterated by Genghis' army. It was rebuilt somewhat only to be re-razed by Tamerlane a few centuries later. A common story in Central Asia, which we saw repeated in Konye Urgench, another deserted city in Turkmenistan's north. On the way there, we stopped for some real, live fire-and-brimstone at the Darveza gas crater.
Genghis' legacy
Fifteen minutes from Ashgabat the smooth tarmac degenerated into a potholed track; Turkmenbashy's vision stopped there, and nowhere else in Turkmenistan were we to see his surreal, gleaming monuments, although there was still no lack of golden Turkmenbashy statues. We drove for several hours to Mary, where we—or I should say Chris—was treated to a tour of the Mary Regional Museum (the male museum guide apparently didn't notice that I was there). The museum was in a crumbling old building and at least half of the lights were burnt out so we had to really squint at the exhibits. But it housed a truly amazing collection of artefacts from Gonur, the capital city of the ancient Margiana civilization which is now gaining recognition as a fifth cradle of civilization, alongside China, India, Egypt, and Mesopotamia. This Bronze-Age civilization existed over 5000 years ago, and the discovery of fire temples at Gonur has led archaeologists to pinpoint it as the birthplace of Zoroaster, the founder of Zoroastrianism, the world's first monotheistic religion. The artefacts on display included bronze cart-wheels, religious objects, hairpins, potion flasks, toys, and pottery, all ornately detailed. What makes the collection special is that unlike the carpet museum in Ashgabat, where the best items were reproductions of originals spirited away to St. Petersburg or Moscow, you can't view any of it in Paris, London, New York or St. Petersburg. In this sense Turkmenistan is very lucky; the discovery was made post-independence, allowing this heritage to be kept at home.
mausoleum of Sultan SanjarWe spent a morning touring the nearby site of ancient Merv, a center of continuous civilization for over 2500 years, until it was sacked by Genghis. Archaeologists consider Merv a "wandering" city; over the years it was rebuilt three times in different locations as the river on which it relied changed course. Because it wasn't rebuilt on the same site each time, the different stages of its history are all still visible. Or at least what's left of them. We started with the oldest and highest part of the city, a fortress called the Erk Kala overlooking the two other "Mervs," known as the Gyaur Kala and Sultan Kala. All that is left of any of them are the outlines of the city walls. Each incarnation of the city was larger than the last, with the Gyaur Kala a concentric circle around the Erk Kala fortress, and the most recent Sultan Kala an even bigger outline nearby. Although there isn't much to see at first, a closer look reveals literally millions of fragments of pottery that crunch underfoot as you walk. With no sound but the wind howling over the eroded walls, it wasn't hard to imagine Genghis' army pounding across the desert to smash all the dishes.
kissing mausoleum doorWe visited a now-dry cistern, and a part of the second city's walls where a cross-section reveals their construction. But dotted around Merv are several mausoleums, from various periods, the oldest of which did survive the Mongolian invasion. Our guide explained that though they didn't spare much for the living when they got in their way, they did respect and fear the dead. This respect holds today, and to us this was the most special aspect of Merv: all the extant monuments are places of shrine pilgrimmage to the Turkmen. Like most Central Asians, they are Muslim but practice a very loose interpretation of Islam, and have maintained traditions and superstitions from previous religious beliefs. Zoroastrian principles of fire, water and earth are represented in triangular totems commonly used (along with ram horns and the colour blue) to ward off the Evil Eye. A variety of ornaments with little blue eyeballs serve the same function: in fact, similar Evil-Eye protections have been common in all the countries we have crossed on this trip. (In Georgia, a Christian country, garlic was an additional adornment, perhaps to ward off vampires?) In Turkmenistan, pilgrimmages and offerings to various grave sites are an important aspect of their religious practice. At Merv, people were circumambulating the mausoleums—reminding us of Buddhists—kissing the walls, and leaving symbolic offerings: two rocks propped upright against each other are a wish for improvements in a problematic personal relationship. One of the mausoleums at Merv, that of Sultan Sanjar, was fairly well-preserved, with a beautiful geometric pattern painted on the ceiling. Melons, the quintessential Turkmen fruit, were in season; we bought a big one and picnicked with our guide and driver alongside the Turkmen pilgrims.
From Merv, we headed back to Ashgabat, stopping for tasty fried catfish (and probably our yearly dose of heavy metals) from a canal along the way. This was our last day with Bahtiyer as our guide, and he invited us to his house for dinner. Being from Turkmenabat, he can't officially be resident in Ashgabat, so he lives with his in-laws in a typical middle-class Turkmen apartment: Soviet-era construction, but clean and furnished primarily with red carpets (a throwback to yurt-dwelling days). Although they owned a couch, nobody sat on it; we ate dinner on a cloth on the floor in front of it. We were served plov (a sort of greasy rice pilaf with carrots and small bits of mutton that is common all over Central Asia), bread, watermelon, biscuits and tea. This menu didn't change much until we left Kyrgyzstan, and in Central Asia we finally started to lose weight, or at least to notice it—something we'd been counting on much sooner from this trip.
Pushing, shoving, and complaining
complainingThe next day, we were picked up by Gypbar, our guide for the northern part of our tour. He is an ethnic Turkmen who was born and raised in Afghanistan and Pakistan: his parents had been wealthy and fled to Afghanistan during Stalin's collectivization; during the Afghan war they were made twice refugees and fled to Pakistan. Gypbar returned to Turkmenistan soon after its Independence. Having lived outside the Soviet Union, and being widely travelled, he had a fairly objective (and more critical) view on Turkmenistan and its regime. Nonetheless, you could sense him looking over his shoulder when we asked questions that were too political. Gypbar had been a doctor in Pakistan, but wasn't practicing in Turkmenistan because of the extremely low wages paid to government doctors (and the illegality of private practice). We learned too that our driver for this portion of the trip had studied law in Kazakhstan only to find his degree not recognized in his home country.
need a new hatBefore leaving town, we stopped at the Tolkuchka (Russian for "pushing and shoving") bazaar. It was Sunday, the most bustling day, when people come from all over Turkmenistan to buy and sell everything from livestock and cars smuggled from Dubai, to kimchee and metal springs. We started with the livestock market. Most of the selling was over when we got there, but we saw people carting away their purchases and, most amusingly, camels being loaded into trucks. This was done with a crane and, disagreeable creatures that they are, the protesting began long before any discomfort could possibly be felt. Photos somehow just don't capture the groaning, hissing, spitting and complaining. Other sections of the bazaar sold carpets, antiques, embroidery, clothing and housewares, food, auto parts, and there was even a section where Korean ladies sold kimchee and salads (we later learned that a sizeable Korean community arrived in Central Asia as refugees in World War II).
A glimpse of Hell
We drove by 4X4 straight into the Karakum desert. This was the first sand desert we saw on this trip (the part of the Middle East we visited was rocky), but there was plenty of life: the dunes were scruffy with desert plants and we saw tracks of small animals and birds everywhere. Our destination was a little piece of Hell on Earth: the Darvaza gas crater. Stuck smack in the middle of the desert, this 60-meter-wide hole in the ground was created by a Soviet gas exploration accident (no record of how, why or how many fatalities remains). The ensuing fire, fueled by natural gas escaping from the exposed earth, has not gone out. We arrived at dusk (after stopping at two other craters, one filled with water bubbling like Perrier and the other with boiling mud, both of uncertain creation), and set up camp near the crater. Even at dusk, the glow from the crater was a real contrast against the desert; as night fell, it became—well—a giant flaming hole in the ground.
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| The Darvaza Gas Crater | ||
We had to approach the crater from the upwind side to avoid the searing heat. Sticking out over the edge, you could see the remnants of the gas exploration equipment, broken off and charred. When you got close enough to see down into the crater, it was an incredible sight: jets of fire blazed out of the rocks at hundreds of points, some big, some small. With no apparent fuel, it seemed that the rocks themselves were on fire. It was exactly as one imagines Hell. Images of sinners agonizing while little demons danced around among the flames popped into my head. Both of us just stood there and giggled in amazement for a long time. Even Gypbar, who'd been there several times, was excited. Heading back toward our camp, we noticed a rocky hill poking out of the desert, bathed in red light from the fire, looking like Mars.
Our driver cooked up a massive amount of lamb shashlyk—the Russian word for shish kebab—and we feasted on that, bread, and tomatoes and cucumbers for dinner; cold shashlyk also became our breakfast and lunch the next day. It was a clear night so we slept in the open, but the moon was so bright it was difficult to stay asleep.
Around 6am, another 4X4 and a 4WD Mitsubishi van showed up with six other tourists. We were a bit surprised to see them, as it's at least a four hour drive to Darvaza from anywhere. They explained that their driver, going too fast in the dark, had run headlong into a massive pile of gravel dumped in the middle of the road for forthcoming improvements. No-one was hurt, but the vehicle was totalled, and they'd spent the night by the side of the road waiting for a replacement. The van, driven by a retired British couple on their way from Norway to South Africa, hadn't been involved but was on the same tour (you are not allowed to travel independently in Turkmenistan) and had waited with them. The group took a cursory look at the crater (less impressive in daytime) and left about half an hour ahead of us. On the way out, we found them, the van stuck in a sand dune, and the 4X4 digging itself in as it tried to pull it out. We pulled them all out (getting ourselves temporarily stuck in the process), and our guide showed them a flatter alternate route.
The road north from Darvaza got steadily worse and it took the better part of the day to get to Dashoguz, a modern city in the Khorezm oasis that divides the Karakum from Kyzylkum deserts, and is another ancient center of civilization. The Turkmen-Uzbek border divides this oasis straight down the middle—a result of Stalin's deliberate drawing of boundaries to divide the peoples ruled by the Soviet Union. Our Soviet hotel in Dashoguz was, well, very Soviet, but we had a decent meal in the restaurant with Gypbar, with whom we had discovered a common sense of humour, and his enthusiasm was a real treat.
Moving on
cradle for a childThe next day, the last of our tour, we drove to Konye-Urgench, another Silk Road city razed by Genghis. Like Merv, there wasn't much left but several fine but crumbling mausoleums and, remarkably, two medrassas with blue majolica tilework leaning precariously toward each other across a courtyard. Here too, Turkmen pilgrims laid offerings on shrines and mausoleums. In one spot was a particularly moving display of dozens of homemade miniature cradles, all left in hopes of conceiving a child. In a culture that places immense importance on family (and the first question we are always asked is how many children we have), infertility must be extremely difficult.
From Konye-Urgench, we drove to the border. We arrived at lunchtime, which turned out to be perfect timing because the customs officers didn't want to search our bags. Gypbar accompanied us on the Turkmen side. The guards were very friendly and all wanted to have their picture taken with us (normally you'd be insane to pull out a camera at a border crossing). One of them spoke a bit of English and asked Chris, "Did you see any camels in Turkmenistan?" On a whim, Chris said "no," even though we'd of course seen hundreds. It turned out by fluke to be the right answer: Gypbar explained that having "not seen camels" is akin to a nod and wink, an end to questions.
our driver and GypbarLeaving Turkmenistan was difficult, with Gypbar waving to us and looking genuinely sad to see us go, and us getting that all-too-familiar feeling of leaving a piece of us behind. But we walked on across no-man's-land to the Uzbek border, where they really were on lunch break. We sat on our backpacks and tried to mentally prepare ourselves for real travelling again, without a guide to answer all our questions and do all our bargaining, a driver to chauffeur us and our bags around, and all our arrangements made for us.