You can never have too many hats

A birthday toast on the ferry

We have traveled a long way and crossed Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and part of Kazakhstan since my last blog so I will give you a brief and potted version of our travels to bring you partly up to date. Turkmenistan is clearly a country where power is concentrated at the centre and the people are expected to do as they are told. There are pictures of ‘The Glorious Leader’ at the entrance to every town, and on boards strategically placed around the town, and no restaurant or hotel is complete without a similar picture. He is always smiling and looking genial; everybody’s favourite uncle. A bit like Joseph Stalin. There are policeman everywhere. In the capital, Asgabat, there were two policeman on every street corner keeping the traffic moving, all holding stout orange truncheon things which they use to point where they want you to go and which they presumably stick somewhere rather unpleasant if you fail to follow instructions.

The Turkmen desert in the early morning

Having planned poorly for the number of US dollars we’d brought on the trip we were now running a bit short and so tried to draw some money out of an ATM (there are apparently only about 4 functioning ATMs in the whole of Turkmenistan). None of our bank cards worked (despite both of us arranging worldwide clearance with our own banks before leaving — see, I CAN be responsible and think ahead). I presume the Turkmenistan banking system is not designed to help the rare foreigner who is a bit short on ready cash.

Asgabat is about as ostentatious as you can get in terms of public architecture with grand buildings and lots of gold paint in evidence. I would like to have taken photos around the centre but the authorities are very ‘twitchy’ about cameras being pointed where they don’t think they should be and I was very ‘twitchy’ about one of those orange truncheons being shoved somewhere where I thought it shouldn’t be, and so I refrained.

Turkmen market stallholders

Outskirts of Asgabat

Turkmenistan is an oil rich state and all petrol stations are state owned, with petrol at about 25p a litre. We tried to fill our Jerri cans at several places but this is clearly forbidden (presumably to prevent a black market developing) and so another of our plans was dashed.  We had heard that in the next country, Uzbekistsan, petrol was generally unavailable as all Uzbek cars run on LPG to make use of Uzbekistan’s huge gas reserves. So we were a little worried about running out of petrol several thousand miles from home and also about buying the ‘boot-leg’ petrol which is supposedly sold in old plastic bottles. This concern turned out to be completely unfounded (another urban myth), and there were plenty of places selling petrol albeit at 92 octane which caused Bluebell’s engine to ‘pink’ a bit.

So, two days in Turkmenistan, and my memory is of very friendly people who tried very hard to help and make contact and some very slim, beautiful and elegant women, many of whom wore a unique and somewhat regal type of turban which enhanced their poise and grace. And some very badly potholed roads which did for a tyre on each of the cars of two fellow ralliers when we were travelling in convoy in the dark one night to Turkmenabat.

Uzbekistan  was next on the agenda and after a relatively fast border crossing, (5 hours or so and where we met a young Danish couple who were on day 105 of their cycle from Denmark to Singapore!), we headed to Samarkand, a town on the old ‘silk road’ and one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.  We found a small family run hotel just one hundred yards from the Registan, a complex of three huge mosques at the centre of the town. This was a perfect base from which to explore the city and we visited the Registan, and a large mausoleum comprising huge and elaborately decorated monuments dating back to the 14^th century. The architecture and craftsmanship were truly stunning. I also sneaked off to a large market to while away an hour or two to indulge my passion of photographing people and fruit and veg! Don’t ask me why, I just think they make good pictures. Samarkand was a place where I would like to have stayed longer. It was beguiling and the facial features of the people betray their historic links with Mongolia’s favourite son, Genghis Kahn.

Part of the Mausoleum

Tiger sculptures in Samarkand

Part of the Registan

Another mosque at the Registan

Friendly stallholder in Samarkand

Dried fruits for sale

It was whilst I was out by myself in Samarkand that I had a moment of impetuosity and decided to buy, for $20 US, an Uzbek hat. It was primarily so that I could blend in a little with the locals and not stand out like a sore thumb and I’m sure you’ll agree that it helps to do just that. I also found a Genghis Kahn style one but when I tried that on I thought that it made me look a bit stupid and pretentious and was far less subtle than the one I finally chose  — so I reluctantly left it on the shelf. I think my purchase will be just the thing to be seen wearing out and about in Strathaven this coming winter and I’ve even thought of starting a wee importation business to fulfil what I’m certain will be a lively demand from all likeminded fashion conscious and discerning people.

At only $20 I couldn’t leave this on the shelf!!

I will leave Andy P to tell you about crossing the border from Uzbekistan to Kazakhstan. Suffice to say that my customs declaration of 1000 US dollars on leaving Uzbekistan did not match up with the one I made of 300 dollars when entering (because I had been to the bank and withdrawn a thousand dollars). I thought honesty was the best policy (how naieve is that?!), but the customs man looked at my forms and then gravely told me that there was a problem – you are not allowed to take out more foreign currency than you bring in. There was some teeth sucking and heavy breathing on both sides of the glass as I contemplated having to hand over $700 dollars cash to go towards the Uzbekistan customs festival of Eid celebrations. Eventually the rather kind and generous hearted man gave me back my declaration and whispered that it would be better if I filled in another one. I duly did this and returned a few minutes later and he processed it without comment other than to put his fingers to his lips and say ‘this is our secret’.

As for the old declaration, in order to ensure that it disappeared for ever, I tore it into pieces, screwed it into a ball and then dropped it down the little hole between the foot shaped standing areas in one of the toilets. If anybody wants to retrieve it from there I thought, they’re welcome to $700 UD!

Cheers for now, Andy Coe