“80% of the country of Turkmenistan is desert.”
This was one of the first bits of information imparted by our guide after arriving and finally making it out of the border zone and into the country. And the very next morning, we ventured into one corner of the desert. Our goal: Yangykala Canyon. Distance to get there: 140km. Average speed: 23 km/h. Yes, really.
About half of the drive was on a road that involved asphalt. Said asphalt, however, had kind of a hit-and-miss application, with some sections relatively smooth, others heavily pot-holed, still others with an asphalt that was more like large gravel stones roughly held together by something black (and driving over these sections felt a lot like being on a Power Plate).
The other half of the drive was entirely off-road. Washboard sand and dirt tracks, bumpy sand tracks through the dunes, salt-encrusted, fossilized mud remains of historic seas. It was very, very slow going. And then the section driving up to the rim of the canyon to enjoy the hard-won views – dusty, narrow tracks lurching over large rocks and around tiny switchbacks on the precipice of a steep fall.
They say that an adventure is about the journey, not the destination. Such was our day. The destination was impressive, don’t get me wrong. The multi-colored striped walls of the canyon, the famous Crocodile’s Mouth rock outcropping (upon which we of course garnered some insta-worthy photos) and the story of the ancient sea which used to cover this entire area, connecting today's Caspian and Aral Sea. But the 30 minutes spent there in contrast to the 9 hours of driving (plus another 4 hours the following morning) is indeed a mind-bending ratio!
So we are learning to make the most of the journey. The very exciting first sightings of camels along the road or languidly roaming the desert plains, for example, have lent us our current traveling joke of “Hey look! Camels!” – because by now, we’ve seen plenty of them but why not retain the joy? (wink)
We stopped at a couple of pilgrimage sites along the way back from the canyon. And learned some of the local legends (like of …. Who, when inevitably being overrun by the Mongols, asked Allah to turn his hug flock of sheep to stone, so that the enemy couldn’t eat them and be nourished. The hundreds of alien-looking stones strewn around a watering hole and the sandy, flat desert ground are still there today and do indeed look out of place, appearing through divine intervention or alien work. We met some pilgrims who had sacrificed a sheep and were preparing their feast. They invited us to sit with them and join. It would have been impolite to decline (and frankly, when does one have such an amazing opportunity!). So we curbed our German-tendencies of pushing on towards a goal, paused our journey, sat on the carpets and ate the delicious stew, breads, cucumbers, fruits and sweets. Learning how to carefully enjoy the very hot chunks of meat, tearing them from the bone and eating with fingers while trying not to get burned. And we were sent on our way with giant plastic bags filled with different kinds of bread, a kind of Turkmen pastry much like a less-sweet donut but in parallelogram shapes, sodas and a box of meat.
During the meal, our guide translated questions from the Turkmen about life in Germany. They were very interested in knowing what the price of meat is. When they heard “about 30€ per kilogram,” there were sharp intakes of breath and shaking heads. We then were informed that their president takes good care of his people, they spent 30€ for the entire sheep that they bought for their sacrifice and feast. We appropriately nodded and commented on what a good deal this is, internally shaking our heads about people being thankful for their authoritarian, controlling dictator. Although that said, who am I to talk? Much to my distaste and chagrin, half of my country seems to feel similarly inclined.
The endless hours of driving have provided plenty of time to engage in some interesting and insightful conversations with our guide. One of my favorites was a follow-on to the discussion yesterday about meat. I was driving, he was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat and Achim somewhere in the back of the Giraffe. We were talking about the landscape – the dry, dusty desert of Turkmenstan and their 200mm of rainfall per year vs. Germany's green fields and forests, with 800mm rainfall. And he thoughtfully inquired, “but why then is meat so expensive? I would expect it should be very cheap, because there must be plenty for the animals to eat. Doesn’t everyone have their own cows and sheep, and lots of meat to eat?” A very logical question in a country where the livestock simply roams free, finding food wherever they can. Trying not to smile, I explained that things are regulated differently and land is all privately owned – so if you want to have livestock, you have to first purchase the land. And land is very expensive, because it’s a small country (smaller than the Caspian Sea) and has 82 million people. He was shocked – by the number of people, by the concept that animals cant just go to wherever there is food available, that we would have such a lush and bountiful country but still have to spend so much money for meat.
Likewise, we are surprised (no, not really surprised – we’re informed well enough to expect it, but are still taken aback somehow) by the local way of life. Our guide kindly invited us to his home for lunch when passing through today. He has a large 4-room flat for his family (wife and three young children) and shares it with his brother’s family (wife and 2 babies). The flat is pretty much devoid of furniture, aside from closets to store mattresses, blankets and clothes and the kitchen. The main living room is also a dining room (table cloths spread on the carpet and piled with golden trays and baskets of food) and is also a sleeping room. Every evening, the wife brings out the mattresses, blankets and pillows and every morning she stows them away again. She is also a great cook (we had wonderful homemade dumplings and chicken soup), a friendly and pretty young woman who seems like a loving and fun mother. And he appreciatively announced that her job of taking care of the home and family (in line with their traditions) is a full-time job.
We’re now headed towards Ashgabat and are curious to discover if city life is significantly different from the country, village, and town life we’ve seen so far. Or if it’s highly similar and just on a larger scale. We’ll let you know! 😊
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