Monday 8th August
With the scuzzy hotel in our wake, we
explored Ashgabat for the day. By stark contrast the city had the most
unbelievable marble architecture. Gleaming white pillars, shimmering golden
turrets and shiny blue tinted full-length windows lined the streets. Even the
bus shelters were a work of art. There was no litter, no dirt and more
noticeably no people. The place was deserted. The dictator’s vision to build an
affluent city that showcases Turkmenistan has proven to be misguided, as local
people cannot afford to live there. This and the immense difficulty in
obtaining a Turkmenistan visa is the reason why Ashgabat is one of the least
visited capital cities in the world.
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| Ashgabat |
Ashgabat holds 1 of only 4 cash
machines in the whole of Turkmenistan that can take MasterCard. On the search
for this elusive cash machine we figured that by drawing out large sums of
Manat, we could change some of it back to dollars and prop up our dwindling
money supply – a surely faultless plan. Upon finding the cash machine in a
hotel, vast sums of Manat were withdrawn. Despite the notes looking relatively
attractive we couldn’t exchange it fast enough to the king of all currencies,
the Dollar. To our utter dismay, the cashier at one of the local banks refused
to change our Manat, citing the dictator’s new “let’s minimise tourism” law.
Asking around it soon became apparent that nowhere in Turkmenistan was it
possible to convert Manat back to Dollars. Short of splashing all this excess
cash on the roulette table or buying a Siberian tiger each, it was now useless.
Desperation took over and we started
asking random people in the street. As what has more often been the case so far
on the rally, this approach works more often than not. Sure enough some guy
told us he could give us part of the amount, but that it would have to be done
out of sight of Big Brother’s prying eyes. Him and his Ashgabat Mafia friends
then led us away to a parking lot where the deal went down. Shifty
out-the-back-of-the-hand cash transactions were flying about all over the place
under the disguise of football related small talk. Once satisfied, we parted
company and kept our nut down. That was until Caleb realised he had massively
short-changed the guy. Our panic stricken faces turned to the rear view mirror
in an instant and there they were bearing down on us. Gesturing for us to pull
over, Caleb got out and headed over to right his wrong. Never have I seen a man
say sorry so many times, but fortunately they were okay with it. Relieved but
slightly ruffled, jurors Alford and Horton issued him with his 4th
strike of the trip.
We left the relative serenity of the
city and headed towards the famous Door to Hell, a very popular stop amongst
ralliers. Located directly north of Ashgabat, we arrived at what seemed like
the middle of nowhere in the pitch black. Greeting us were a few smirking
locals leaning against their 4x4s and we soon found out why. To get to the Door
to Hell we needed to veer off the road and negotiate an undulating sandy track
for another 8km. The hardest part was at the start where a long gradual slope
rose out of the desert surroundings. Backing our little golden princess, we
deflated Marigold’s tyres slightly, flicked on the rally headlights and gave
her a quick pep talk. Alf crunched her into first gear, lined up in front of
our Everest and paused. Marigold was stamping her hooves ready to explode at
the Matador.
Like a bird of prey being released
from its cage, she uncoiled up the runway and zoomed towards the ambitious
ascent to the top. Bumping all the way up, she skipped over the deep sandy
trenches and gathered momentum as she miraculously approached the summit. But,
agonisingly close to the top, Marigold’s legs ran out and she sunk into a sandy
grave. She wasn’t going to make it. The now grinning locals offered their
deepest commiserations by demanding ten dollars each for a lift up to the top
and reluctantly we agreed.
Back in 1971, Soviet
engineers had discovered what they thought was a substantial oil field. When
instead they found gas, the ground beneath the drilling rig collapsed into a
wide crater. Fearing for the wellbeing of the immediate vicinity, scientists
ignited the natural gas supply to burn it off. What was expected to extinguish
in a matter of weeks instead still burns today. With the king of all campfires
in our midst, we settled down for our signature pasta and beans dish. It was at
this point I wished I had at least learnt up to the bridge section in Wonderwall
so I could be that “prick with a guitar” round a campfire. Oh well.
Posted by: Rich