Disney Land in the Desert - Turkmenistan

Rosal writes…

Over the Kopet Dagh mountain range the road is pin-drop quiet and naked cliffs move in around us as we leave the all-consuming desert below. Without even a cursory glance at our panniers, we exit the Islamic Republic of Iran surrounded by colourful, cheeky Turkmen women - their gold teeth flashing, grasping bundles of Iranian macaroni and washing powder unflatteringly branded 'Barf'.

Amongst this bawdy throng an old Turkmen 'Aksakal' (white beard) eyes us suspiciously. A picture of quiet dignity as he sits, cane in hand, dressed in coat and breeches. His military medals pinned safely to his chest and his distinctive 'telpek' hat spilling down to his shoulders.

Freewheeling into Ashgabat - spectacular in its own right as an oasis sprouting from the desert floor - we're as taken aback by this city as the cities' people are of us. While waiting on a street corner a policeman asks me to move on as the tandem is too distracting to the passing motorists! The bike creates immediate attention - from the women dusting the already clean, wide streets, to the usually blasé young drug traffickers cruising by in their black BMW saloons.

Like a film set of Cecil B. De Mille scale, parks erupt with stupendous sized fountains as people sweep marble paths and tend overflowing flowerbeds. New palaces, mosques and statues glint with their shining marble, gold and turquoise in the strong desert light.

Turkmenbashi, the self proclaimed 'Head of all Turkmen' is fundamentally the dictator of this supposedly democratic, ex-Soviet state. Surrounded by as much fact as fiction, this charismatic and increasingly eccentric leader adorns every building. One of his most recent flights of fancy has been to impose a $50 000 USD bride tax on foreigners marrying Turkmen women to boost the countries' depleted coffers.

After five days of Central Asian bureaucracy we finally have our Uzbek visas in hand. With only five days left we make a mad dash cross country, through the Karakum Desert.

We leave Turkmenbashi's Disney Land in the hottest and most heartbreaking headwind I've ever experienced. The desert sand veils all to haze, the asphalt melted like toffee and we wear sand on our teeth like Central Asians wear gold.

Sitting under a scrawny bush with eddies of grit swirling around us, we wonder at what the hell we are doing. Then continue on as there's nothing we can do to find respite from the heat, the wind and the sand.

It's like this for the next four days.

For two days the extensive canal network crosses our path, chequering the desert to green, then there's long stretches of lonely desert and perhaps a small oasis to quench our unquenchable thirst.

We sleep fitfully in fly and mosquito infested restaurants and truck stops, leaden with exhaustion. Twice I nearly doze off as we're cycling and despite pinching my legs I'm unable to stay awake. Calling out to Cass to stop, I take a catnap in a patch of shade at a lonely bus stop, strewn with gravel and shattered glass.

From the ancient capital of Merv north it becomes true 'dune' desert like I've never experienced before. Lizards scuttle from the verge as we pass, snakes slither through the sand and camel bones lie bleached white, desiccating in the baking sun.

Discarded oil filters, fan belts and tyres adorn scrubby trees by the roadside like forgotten Christmas baubles. By midday we reach an isolated outpost of small squat sun baked mud houses, dunes banked up around them and spilling across half the road.

After sleeping on the floor of a truck stop with desert spiders the size of a man's splayed hand, we've one more day of riding to go before Uzbekistan and the "Golden Road to Samarkand". Turkmenistan has been a revelation of ancient history, ex-Soviet struggle and an emergence of a new era based on the nationalistic pride of a once proud nomadic people. A fascinating introduction to the 'heart' of Central Asia.