Travelling time: 10:00 – 17.40  – Distance: 244 miles – Weather: 8 – 14ºC, stair rods of rain

Marvellous monuments in Batumi

Taking our hosts’ advice we set off after the main throb of commuter traffic had subdued at 10.00. It was still pretty congested and hurtled along with high winds and torrential rain to boot. Combined with the aggressive Georgian driving, the mix made for some testing driving conditions.

We took the westerly highway out of the city towards Gori, the birthplace of Stalin, bordering South Ossetia. We had intended to stop at Gori and take a look at Stalin’s house, now a museum – a curious thing to memorialise such a brutal figure. However the weather prevailed and we had to push on through vast amounts of standing water if we were to make it to Batumi before dark.

We glimpsed the Russian base on the border with South Ossetia, a stark reminder of the troubles within Georgia, and noted on the Georgian outskirts the red roofed houses built by the Georgian government for their internally displaced people. There were pockets of these settlements throughout the region, and mapped candidly as Internally Displaced Settlements.

The highway petered out just west of Gori where we took the hill road northwest towards through the wonderfully named Zestaponi to Kutaisi – incredibly this winding single lane road is the only route to the coast and the Black Sea ports. Inevitably it was slow with heavy, long vehicle lorries heading to the coast. The rain continued and as we followed the valley and the spate river visibly filled with the torrents of muddy waters flowing off the hillsides.

The Kvirila River about to burst its banks

A little breezy by the sea!

We’ve made it to the Caspian coast

Reaching the Black Sea (not the Caspian as I have previously written!) coastline the roads were more congested but the rain had eased off so we progressed slowly along the pitted route until Batumi finally came into view on the mist soaked skyline. The sea swelled and the waves crashed into the shore. The sun shone through a break in the heavy grey clouds. We stopped to take in the striking scene and to breathe the sea air. It was invigorating and exciting to have finally made it through the Caucuses.

Batumi was barmy! Not only was the traffic crazy, more extreme forms of Georgian driving were being proudly performed, the actual place is an eccentric but delightful mix of traditional seaside town, thriving ferry port and some expressive architecture both old and new. There was a sense of a real crossroads of cultures and faiths, but overall one of vibrancy and fun. It was just a shame that the weather was so awful – had the sun shone on the cobbles of the old lanes and the colourful night lit monuments had a chance to glow I feel sure it would have had a great holiday feel.

Having pushed on a couple of kilometres through the heavy traffic to try and find a specific brand of diesel (really) that particular branded fuel was no longer at the spot shown on Maps.me (ugh!). Turning around and forging our way back through the traffic we returned to our seafront hotel, suitably named the Admiral – great hotel. I now get the distinct feeling every time we arrive somewhere new that we inspire a sense of amusement among staff and hosts. Glad to bring a smile – albeit a bemused one on occasion! We took ourselves off into the windy night and found a great restaurant with charming staff. The old town clearly has a great café and art culture but I couldn’t help noticing the proliferation of massage parlours with pictures of at the same serene looking Thai lady on every window – what a franchise she has!

Batumi after the storm

This vessel vanished from the harbourside as we had a restorative beer . . . or maybe be two or three

Distance travelled: 95 miles – Travelling time: 10:00 – 12.30 – Temperature: 17°C

Looking across Tbilisi from Mount Mtatsinda

After a decent night of the deepest sleep we were given a traditional Georgian breakfast of spiced minced beef and rice stuffed pancakes, cheese coated, oil soaked naan like bread called khatchapuri (or heart attack on a plate) and black tea we were then asked to pay our very modest bill. We eschewed using the ATM at the border the night before simply because we were too tired to stop and so the only cash we had was in Euros – this was not an agreeable form of payment and was met with a deep frown when suggested. A credit card machine was swiftly produced somewhat surprisingly as everything else about us was rather last century.  We duly paid a very reasonable amount for our lodgings, breakfast and supper from the night before, which included a vat of wine. Rounding up the sum to 200 GEL, which also included two bottles of wine to take away, our host warmed up in his demeanour considerably.

Breakfast in the dining/trophy room

Chateau Bruale vines

Taking my arm and calling me by my first name our tour of the working vineyard commenced. It was fascinating. The winery itself looked to be newly built but in an old fashioned style, the façade resembling a castle. The wine, using native Saperavi grapes, was produced by the traditional Georgian method in vast sunken egg shaped earthenware jars, or qvevri. The grapes are pressed and placed in these sunken jars, sealed and covered with woven willow mats and left for 6 months to ferment. When the wine is ready it is filtered and bottled and the remaining grape skins, stalks and pips are used to make chacha, a grappa like spirit. We were astonished to be proudly shown a homemade still, running with crystal clear Chacha – which of course we had to try at 9 o’clock in the morning – it was actually rather smooth and good! Nothing was wasted, the twice used grape pulp was then put on the soil as compost where enormous squashes and melons were growing.

Anglo Georgian friendship

The Qvevri – wine vats

Being shown the wine making process

The wine making process

Chacha – the grappa like spirit

The chacha waste product ready to compost

The distillery set up!

The Chateau Bruale sideline – the Chacha distillery

Having watched us pack up the car and seeing that everything had its place, and carry out the engine checks before setting off, our now very attentive and hugely hospitable host produced and insisted we took the most enormous of his squashes – just what we needed, along with two hunks of cooked pumpkin as a snack for the journey. How could we possibly turn it down?!

Our little pumpkin snack for the road

The warm farewell – N.B. the red Corps Diplomatique plates are back on the car

Room for one wafer thin squash . .

After all the hassle we had had with the Azerbaijani police we decided to put our red Corps Diplomatique plates back on the car – we had elected to travel with less conspicuous white plates (with the same number) through Central Asia but it was time to declare ourselves and make life a little easier – the police would be less likely to stop us out of curiosity due to our unusual plate, as long as we obeyed the local laws. Laden and loaded to the gunnels we set off for Tbilisi. The weather was fair, we were carrying wine for our next hosts and a large squash. All was well and we were on our way.

First sighting of a castle

The steppe and Caucuses mountains

A typical Sunday drive in Georgia

Travelling through Georgia one quickly becomes attuned to the regional driving style, fast, close and impatient. It is said to be the car scrapyard of Europe, bumpers appear to be an optional accessory and panels need not necessarily match! Even the police are speedy, but thankfully very straight, both in their driving and their practice – they are not allowed to handle money and their presence is more comforting than menacing.

We were to stay with the British Defence Attaché and his wife in Tbilisi. They had very generously and kindly offered us a bed and secure parking while we stayed in the city. To make up time we elected to stay only the one night and as we arrived shortly after midday and the weather was clear we made the most of looking around Tbilisi. It is fast becoming a popular destination for a short break and it is easy to see why. It’s a great city, nestled in the hills on the banks of the Kura and Mtkvar rivers. It has a handsome mix of old and new architecture, imposing buildings of State and Church and an easy, relaxed atmosphere with a great diversity of people, young and old. The restaurants and cafés are plentiful and the infrastructure is good making it easy to get around.

The Kura River running through Tbilisi

The Georgian oligarch’s incredible home

The crumbling, dilapidated buildings of the old city in amongst the new – a curious juxtaposition given the investment in the new

We strolled up the hill from our very well located apartment in Mtatsminda to the funicular and sped half way up Mount Mtatsminda to see the National Pantheon of Writers and Public Figures and to step inside St David’s Church – a beautifully decorated Georgian orthodox church. It was very moving to finally be in a place of Christian worship. We lit candles and took time to think of our loved ones.

Saint David’s Church at the pantheon

Taking the funicular the rest of the way up to the top of the hill we had spectacular views across the city, strolled through the amusement park and then took the scenic walk back down into the city. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon! Thank you Dave and Sara for your advice and suggestions. We learned much and appreciated it all.

A shrine nestled in the hillside

By day a crumbling Soviet relic, by night stunningly lit edifice

A variation on a well known theme!

On Liberty Square

The evening was spent with our lovely hosts and hostess’s parents who had arrived early that morning. A very jolly evening was had chatting and sampling more Georgian wine and putting to test the theory that the lack of sulphites in the wine won’t bring on a hangover. (I concur, it might just be true!)

St George and the Dragon in Liberty Square

Fabulous night time views

Distance travelled: 278 miles – Temperature: 15°C, clear skies, high winds – Miles on the clock: 3,204 – Departure: 0750

Chateau Bruale, Tkhilistskaro, Kakheti region, Georgia

It would be wrong to deny that we both felt more than a little trepidation as we set off. It had been a major job to get the car fixed and we had put our trust entirely in two young men with initially no notion of their scruples. They had turned out to be deeply honourable, committed and kind to a fault. With those thoughts in our head we drove off in surprisingly heavy traffic out of Baku on the top road (M4) towards Georgia. Foremost in our minds was the fact that we still had 3,500 miles to cover and a pressing deadline to be in France towards the end of the following week.

The engine was sound and all seemed well although the clutch pedal was very soft with a lot of free play before disengaging the clutch and would probably need some adjustment. Murray drove through maniacal city traffic, I volunteered to drive once we were on the highway. However, after 20 minutes or so the clutch started to play up, changing down into lower gears was becoming problematic. Murray felt it was simply a case of the car having to settle down and so we pressed on out of the city into the suburbs and the surrounding reclaimed Gobustan desert and then up into the rolling hills above Baku.

Roadside stalls

Vacuum packed grape sweets – sort of flattened strawberry shoe laces!

The rolling hills of north western Azerbaijan

The police check points were becoming an issue as gear changing was steadily becoming worse and setting off in 3^rd gear up hill under the scrutiny of an Azeri policeman does not induce a relaxed drive. Vacillating between deciding whether to return to Baku (not something either of us wanted to do) or to find a local mechanic on the roadside we pressed on in silence for half an hour before pulling into a service station and expressed serious concerns. Murray was convinced that we didn’t have a serious problem, but all that was needed was a tweak! We tried to raise Elmir, but we were conscious it was his much needed day off. We needed him to speak to the mechanic and seek his advice. A number of men at the service station poked their heads under the bonnet and within about half and hour a local mechanic arrived with an 8mm spanner in his pocket, Elmir had called the mechanic and the air that had accumulated in the clutch fluid had been expelled by vigorous pumping of the clutch pedal!

We set off again, now knowing that we would periodically need stop and release the air from the system – I felt this was something I would not have needed to do if Toyota Salisbury had done the job but since they were thousands of miles away I kept the thought to myself!

We pressed on but were plagued by ninja traffic police who seemed to appear from nowhere in our rear view mirror to pull us up and impose a traffic fine. On the first attempt Murray sat in the police car for 15 minutes schmoozing his way out of a random 100 manat (£50) fine, claiming honestly that he had no manat other the 3 in his pocket, the policeman reduced the fine to 50 manat and eventually gave up! Subsequent stops (four in all over a 60 km stretch) were met with measured outrage, a wave of the diplomatic passport and English dismissiveness. It was clear these guys were out to make a fast buck, something we had been warned about.

Taking the northern route towards Georgia we were going on to Sheki, a popular tourist spot up in the Azerbaijani Zagatala Reserve hills, and then planned to cross the quieter border post into Lagodekhi, rather than the more direct Red Bridge route towards Tbilisi which we knew to be busy. We were so keen to make some progress to make up for the down days in Baku. Sadly the day was tinged with an undertone of anxiety, not quite knowing it the car would continue to perform.

Sheki was a little suboptimal – although interesting with its impressive caravanersary and old Shah palace, it was full of hawkers and rather extraordinarily groups of women trying to coerce us into various tiny museums situated within the walls of the old town. It was all a bit down at heel and we did to have the metaphoric rose tint required for sight seeing. It was time to press on with an Army ration picnic on the go.

Sheki caravanersary

Familiar architecture seen along the Silk Route through Central Asia

The Shah’s Palace

The roads had been good to a point but we suddenly hit 20 km of unpaved road  just northwest of Balakan, leading to the border, in the process of being graded. It was not good on the nerves but we were committed. We were following endless heavy lorries and the dust was abysmal but there were no more police – the upside!

First sighting of Dagestan – a no go area for us

Beautiful deciduous trees – the first we’ve seen since the Northern Areas of Pakistan

A Christian church!!

A hint of autumn

Balakan gate, very like Playmobile!

The unpaved road to the border with Georgia

We swiftly crossed the border into Lagodekhi in little more than 30 minutes – fantastic! We had booked a night at a vineyard only 25 km from the border. It was interesting to note at this point that the roads were great, even though we were very much in the countryside and in the shadow of the Dagestan mountains – we had been lead to believe that once we were in Georgia it would all go to ratchet. Not so.

Within half an hour we had arrived at Chateau Bruale, in an unpronounceable village (Tkhilistskaro – we were beyond tired to even hazard a guess at how to combine so many consonants before a vowel!) and our day was close to an end. With neither English from our host nor Georgian or Russian from us we managed through an intermediary on the phone to order a delicious supper before collapsing into a very comfortable bed in a rather spartan but perfectly adequate room.

Temperature: 14 – 19°C, windy, damp, overcast initially, sunny later

Delight, bemusement  and amusement – in the UPS office in Baku

Friday the 13^th, an inauspicious day in many cultures. We had been checking the UPS tracking website routinely throughout the night, it was like watching the proverbial kettle boil. Our package seemed to be stuck in Turkey. It was showing as ‘arrived’ in Turkey at 8 am on the 12^th but had not moved since, despite still showing as being on track to arrive by the close of business today. Despondency descended. The garage workshop had agreed to work through the night if necessary but we had really hoped the part would arrive during the day so that they could work in daylight and not be pressed to do a rushed job through the night. We had also quietly hoped that might be able to set off in the early evening to try and make up some distance to get to Georgia.

Taking stock, and finding the local UPS office contact details, Murray called them to see if they could double check the consignment details. To our amazement and delight, the package had arrived early that morning and was less than a mile from our hotel! The online tracking system was clearly a little off kilter but at least the logistics were working brilliantly – we love UPS. To save any more delay we hopped in a taxi and collected the package – I think the UPS staff thought we were utterly bonkers. We were so relieved to have the correct fly wheel – all thanks James in the Toyota spare department in Salisbury.

On our return the Marriott boys, Elimir and Muraz, who had been helping us way, way above and beyond their call of duty, were on point. Both now looking significantly paler and shadowed under the eyes, having consecutively done the 18 hour round trip across the border to Tbilisi and back, first to source the wrong fly wheel – it was for a manual petrol car, not a diesel manual car as we had needed – and then to do battle to return the part and negotiate with some very hardened Georgians to get the money back. It was a hard lesson all round.

Elmir drove us in one of the hotel Mercedes to the mechanic’s workshop – my goodness that was an eye opener! We were in a part of town we would not have otherwise entered. As we were to discover, we were taken to a very typical Caucases set up where four or five workshops are congregated in a row, each independent of the other, working day and night on cars in varying states of degradation. Azerbaijan and Georgia have roads populated by manic drivers of ancient Ladas at one end of the spectrum and renovated Mercedes discarded from Europe at the other.

Baku Philharmonic Hall

Icherisheher – The Gate into Old Walled City

Another afternoon exploring Baku

The mechanic was to work on the car that afternoon. He checked the part, it was correct, and we were told to expect it to be fitted, checked and working by the early evening. Being realistic we knew we would have to have one more night in Baku but prepared to be ready to move at first light on Saturday morning. It meant we could pack the night before, ensure the car was right and miss the Friday commuter traffic.

The return! Two very relieved chaps – we were now off their books

The car was eventually brought back to the hotel at 9 pm and after a quick drive around the block to make sure it was all working well we were jubilant and celebrated. With our gratitude shown to the Marriott staff, the car now packed ready for the off the next day, we headed to the Fairmont Hotel at the Flame Towers for a valedictory cocktail and some jazz. . . much needed.

At sunset

After dark

One of the three Flame Towers, by day and by night, they are an impressive sight on the Baku skyline. By day they gleam in the sunshine and by night all three towers are lit by multicoloured lights.

Temperature: 16°C and extremely breezy

The much needed clutch fly wheel on its way from Salisbury

The one o’clock deadline given by the concierge for the return of our car came and went. After a couple of phone calls it became clear that the car had not been fixed and the fly wheel bought in Georgia was not the correct one – Toyota had made two sorts in 2002 and ours happened to be of the other variety, just a 1mm difference in the machining of the fly wheel plate meant it didn’t fit. Deeply disappointing for all but we were still grateful for massive efforts everyone had made so far.

Plan B: fire up into action the plan for James at Westover Group in Salisbury to expedite the spares he had cleverly thought to order should the contingency plan be needed. Great forethought. With an hour’s deadline for the latest collection in the UK we set up a UPS account, arranged for collection and shipping and got the customs documents drawn up (never been more grateful for fast wifi, WhatsApp and Google!). Now all we could do was wait, and remind ourselves that this is all part of the mission: the drive.

Feeling more than a little downbeat I logged on to my Gordon’s email and distracted myself by catching up on some work, Murray returned to planning and reorganising our route and over night stops for the reduced time that we now had.

Waking early we checked the UPS tracking website and were delighted to see our fly wheel had reached Germany and was on its way to Turkey, inching ever closer. I prayed that it wouldn’t be held up in customs when it finally reached Baku.

There was nothing for it but to carry on being tourists so we took a taxi to Gobustan to see the petroglyphs and mud volcanoes and carry on with our wait.

Ancient petroglyphs – three men and a boat!

Not entirely sure what these are

Modern markings – now watching out for snakes

The view to the Caspian

Dancing men?

Gobustan Reserve

Mud, glorious mud! The vaunted mud ‘volcanoes’.

Nodding donkeys on the outskirts of Baku

I had wondered how they got the massive ships on the Caspian!

The source of Azerbaijan’s wealth – from the oil rigs

The industry on the outskirts of Baku

Balmy and sunny, 23°C

The fabulous Flame Towers. The whole of Baku is a feast of incredible architecture 

Feeling a great sense of relief at having completed Phase One of our trip we felt the need to celebrate and so checked into the JW Marriott with the intention of having two very spoiling rest days before pushing on and taking in Azerbaijan. We had gained a couple of days in terms of planning, having allowed for four days in Turkmenbashi, as our target was to get to France to meet up with the family mid way through the half term school break. It was a bit tight but doable if we stuck to the plan.

A heavenly pool

Ha!! Murray’s favourite things

Quirky ducks

Bacon!!!!

View from the pool looking to the Formula One pits and Government House

Our replacement transport! Not convinced we’ll get very far . .

The staff at the hotel were beyond helpful in every way. We were clearly not their typical guests, I suspect more used to corporate guests, wedding groups and wealthy oil magnates! Our 15 year old Rav4 sat a little incongruously amongst the shining Mercedes in the underground car park but it also raised curiosity – particularly the noise that was now undeniably coming from the under the bonnet, not so much of a whine but a loud rattle when idling or in low gear.

The young man in charge of the hotel fleet of Mercedes agreed to drive around the block to try and diagnose the issue – a scary thing in itself as the local people seem to have aspirations of Formula One driving. I’ve never been in such fast moving traffic in an urban environment. There is no such thing as a traffic jam here – it all moves rapidly on wide, straight boulevards!

The hotel mechanic felt we had a problem with the gear box – not a loose manifold as we had hoped. After some discussion he offered to take the car to his cousin who was also a mechanic and together, on his day off, he would endeavour to get it fix. And an endeavour it certainly was. Three days later, an 18 hour round trip to Georgia, and much contingency planning on our part, the wonderful Muraz returned late into the night having found a replacement clutch fly wheel. At this point I have to mention the most marvellous young fellow back in Salisbury in the Toyota spares department: James Jones. Prior to setting off on the trip he had gathered all the spares we needed to prep the car (suitcases full were carried back to Islamabad over the course of the summer!) and now he had worked his socks off to get the fly wheel and bolts we needed and ready to express expedite just in case the parts couldn’t be sourced regionally. He is an absolute star.

There was nothing for it but to make the most of being in the wonderful city of Baku. It is breathtaking, not just for its modern architecture. It is steeped in history, has a beautiful old town and many historic sites. Add great food, flourishing culture and ease in getting around, this place really is fantastic. We would thoroughly recommend it as a the next best destination.

Within Icheri Sheher, the old city

The 15th century Shirvanshahs´ Palace

The old and the new

The star of Islam

The Maiden Tower

A hint of Europe meets East in the designs

Architecture of the old city

The Crystal Concert Hall

One for Charlotte – the cactus collection

Cycling the Boulevard

Just a big prep school kid – even has the shorts!

Aquatics Centre

Some of the amazing modern architecture (not sure how another old engine got in here!)

Roaming through the old city

The Carpet Museum, resembling a rolled up rug

The flag of Azerbaijan

From the top of the Maiden Tower

Wandering about down town

The truly incredible structure of Zaha Hadid’s Heydar Aliyev Cultural Centre

Zakir Huseynov, 2002?

Siruz Mirzazadeh, My Song, 1991

Boyukagha Mirzazade, Rita, 1967 – a beautiful portrait of its time

Very akin to L.S. Lowry; , 1947

Maral Rahmanzade, Lankaran (the tea growing areas), 1982

Maral Rahmanzade, Karabakh ?

An evocative Soviet era portrait, I think by Boyukagha Mirzazade

Khalida Safarova, Training, 1970s

The collection of Azeri national artists’ works

We heard late on the night of the 10th that the car parts needed had finally been found in Georgia and there was every expectation that they could be fitted by the early afternoon the following day. We were so so grateful for the immense efforts everyone had made. Now the wait to see if the car would work . . . .

Temperature: 20°C

[For those of you who have kindly signed up to the blog, please forgive the splurge of posts – we have been in and out of a wifi black hole and so with super fast broadband in Baku I am making the most of it before we press on through the Caucuses.]

After a fitful night even with earplugs firmly inserted, I was trying to ignore the scraping chair noises and drivers’ conversations in the corridor and the mildly irritating tapping noise only to realise that at just before 07:30 someone was knocking at our door. Hissing at Murray to answer it he got up and was met by a mild mannered member of the crew who said, ‘You must take you car off the ferry.’ NO!!!!! This was not happening, please God. It wasn’t, thank God. They were asking us to move the car because one of the lorries had not got the correct technical papers – you might have thought they’d have been properly checked in the hours and hours before loading. So, the errant lorry from cargo deck 3, 16 back, had to be removed, entailing all the preceding lorries to be taken off before reversing back on. Painful. It took some three hours more to shuffle the lorries back and forth. We were actually mightily impressed by the skill of the drivers, it was no mean feat to get these massive 18 wheeled articulated lorries on board. So instead of setting off at 07:00, we left at 10:00. Situation normal . . .

Unloading the lorries in the morning. (Note the combat jacket far left – lovely mauve fur collar!)

About to set sail

Very keen for a photo!

Leaving Turkmenbashi at last!!

The sea was flat and calm and we had the most perfect conditions for crossing. The boat was immaculate, so immaculate that there was nothing in the shop, nor the café/bar, nor a promise of any food in the ship’s canteen! Spartan doesn’t come into it, but we had each other, some Army rations and a dubbed version of the Pirates of the Caribbean spurting out in harsh Russian tones. We were not complaining, we were on our way west towards Azerbaijan! Phase One complete!! Turkmenistan was behind us.

Minor repairs, piles of reading and movies – and rather incongruous rose patterned flannelette bedding – sweet!

We arrived in Baku at 21:30 and disembarked at 22:30 to eventually be greeted by the most charming man, the vessel agent, who took it upon himself to see us through all the procedures to get the car off the ferry and registered for transit through Azerbaijan. He was truly wonderful and his help was enormously appreciated. The Azerbaijanis we met in the port oozed kindness and hospitality – while Murray went off to fill out the paperwork in a far off container I was offered a seat in a heated cabin until it was time for the vehicles to be offloaded. It was bliss. Phase Two had begun, but so had our car troubles.

Azerbaijan just coming into view at sunset

The promising lights of Buku on the horizon with the Flame Towers coming into view

The sun rising and shining through a clear sky – good news for crossing the sea

I could write a book (I know this blog is already rather more long winded than intended!) on the experiences that we had over the next 36 hours but I think I would need therapy first to safely exorcise the memories of it all!

We spent the night in a surprisingly good hotel with great night staff (who tried their best to find out if the ferry would sail that night) – and a hotel lobby with a huge photographic portrait of the current president sporting a rather jaunty sailor’s hat, poised with binoculars a speedboat racing past in the background. It was rather surreal.

Having just about got over the loss of the ferry contact phone number, we had a restless night wondering if we’d get a call to move at short notice. Murray woke early in our ‘suite’ – the only room available when we arrived at midnight – and was mid downward dog (it’s a yoga position) when I woke and looked out of our top floor window, over the harbour, to see that the ferry had just set sail. Oh my God, what a sinking feeling. I momentarily faltered before asking him to take a look to confirm my fears. It was indeed the ship we had hoped to take. (We later found out that it was carrying hazardous cargo and we would not have been allowed to board it – phew!)

Turkmenbashi harbour

The Çarlack Oteli

‘Enjoying’ a day at the seaside?

We were now resigned to try and get on the other ship that was in harbour, the newest ship in the ‘fleet’, the Bagtyyar. It was a beautiful day. We had found a contact at the port through the guide we had met at the Dervaza crater and agreed we would take the morning to recover and get ourselves prepared for processing the car export documents and secure a place on the ferry. Affirmative action!

What follows was long, testing, tedious and mind numbingly senseless but we were in motion, albeit slow, to leave Turkmenistan. Over the next 13 hours we waited variously in different offices, the grim passenger hall with an unspeakable excuse of a lavatory, watched the conscripts change shifts and don fantastic mauve fur-trimmed winter combat jackets with belted waists (Topshop should take note!), and cooked up our Army rations – thank you Jules, they have been a life saver. We had one ‘friendly’ conscript who spoke good English and while obviously piqued by our repeated asking of what happens now and how much longer will this take, was never the less as helpful as he could be. The bottom line was that no one really knew how long any of this would take.

Cracking into the Army rations – there are no amenities of any description at the port

Passing time – and for the train enthusiasts just look at those bogies!!

While hanging around the guarded and secluded customs and immigration offices, having eventually forced the customs people to process our papers at 6pm by waving our diplomatic papers, we had been told that we could either load first ahead of all the lorries, or last. If we loaded last we would be first off at Baku, so we opted to wait, slightly nervously, just in case they couldn’t fit us on after loading the 63 lorries.

All 63 lorries – most them vast juggernauts – had to reverse on to the ship up a ramp at an oblique angle to the dock. It took 5 hours for them to load. We eventually loaded our car at 22:45 but we still had to be processed through immigration, along with 63 lorry drivers and another 20 foot passengers. To do this we had to walk 2.5 km, in the dark through lorry and trailer compounds, over the train tracks, back to the immigration office before pushing our way into the immigration area – queuing isn’t a recognised action in this part of the world! It took another couple of hours, a lot of hanging around in the dark and chilled night air before fighting to get on a bus to take us back to the ferry. It was tantamount to being herded like cattle, or refugees. What was extraordinary is that everyone else just excepted it as the way it is. There was no concurrent activity by the authorities, people were processed one by one and we were all held before the next step, even though all the officials were in place to carry out the subsequent steps. Just inexplicable. It was less disorganised and seemed more of a means of controlling people – any sign of complaint or dissent and I sense it would have been met with arrest.

Last on . . . first off? We could but hope.

Once on the ferry a bun fight ensued to get a cabin. By 01:00 we were in our cosy, clean double birthed cabin – M was a little surprised it didn’t have a double bed until I reminded him that the majority of passengers were hardened lone lorry drivers and this wasn’t the QEII!

Absolutely shattered we were comatose for about 20 minutes before the loud speaker announcements started and we were roused to get any belongings from the car that were needed for the duration of the crossing.

We were not due to set sail until 08:00 the following morning so having finally got to sleep at 02:30 we hoped for a bit of lie in with a 12 hour crossing ahead of us.

Travelling time: 09:45 – 17:40 – Distance: 373 miles – 10°C and windy – cumulative milage: 3134

One of the many monuments to the former president of Turkmenistan, Niyazov, in his golden cape 

Heading west at last to the Caspian sea port of Turkmenbashi, we set off with laundered clothes and the prospect of great roads – happy days!

Before leaving the surreal marble clad wonder that is Ashgabat we went in search of the elusive US dollar as we needed these to pay for the ferry crossing. (As a foreigner one is not entitled to pay in local currency.) We failed on this mission but agreed we really ought to be able to find some once we got to Turkmenbashi. We took one last drive through the city to try and absorb the sense of it – it was immaculate, manicured and devoid of shops with very few people other than those cleaning or gardening – but the presence of policemen at regular and frequent intervals made up for the lack of city dwellers.

There were possibly 100 marble tower block like these built on grid forming the inner city

A monument to the President’s book ‘Ruhnama’ – his spiritual guide to being a Turkmen and compulsory reading for any wishing to enter university

The golden Monument of Neutrality – the President rotates to always face the sun

Fascinating and fabulous architecture

This was stunning at night

The Asian Olympic Arena

More imposing structures (and gold)

We followed signs to Turkmenbashy for as long as they lasted (to have any signs at all was remarkable in itself) and then resorted to the map which took us past a small airport, much to the driver’s excitement as it looked to be a military base with Hind helicopter gunships whizzing about. I really did have to put my foot down at this point when repeatedly asked if I would take a photo of the incoming helicopters, purely for professional interest, right in front of a police check point; clearly a bad idea from every aspect, in my opinion. The memory of the mind’s eye would have to suffice.

A sign . . . with distances listed. OMG, we’ve got a way to go!

All hail the the mighty Ibex!

Looking to Iran and the Köpetdag Mountains

Another camel. Oh how times have changed in the modern world . . or did the ‘worm’ finally turn?

Our journey to Turkmenbashi was swift and comfortable and we took turns in driving – it was great not to cause curiosity as a female driver, unlike Uzbekistan where I think I might have caused whiplash in certain instances – I hasten to add through looking, not crashing!

We passed Gök Depe (written Geok Tepe in the history books – all part of the Great Game) – the site of a terrible battle between the Turkmen and the Russians in 1880. 6,000 Russian troops defeated 25,000 Turkmen in a siege lasting 23 days with the Russians finally tunnelling under the fortified walls of the town and blowing it to smithereens.

The route follows the Köpetdag Mountains, bordering Iran, before levelling out into the Köpetdag basin. At this point we thought we were about to hit a log jam on the highway, multiple cars ahead were bunched up across the road with hazard lights going, five across and goodness knows how many deep. As we got closer we saw that it was a wedding procession! It looked like the bride was in the centre car, which had a crown-like floral arrangement on the roof, and all the other cars took it in turns to shroud and protect her. Quite terrifying at speed. We managed to get past by squeezing through between the outer cars and the central crash barrier and carried on.

Our first glimpse of the Caspian – a joyous moment

We arrived in Turkmenbashi at 17:40 and made our way to the port after some considerable dithering as there are no signs and there was an enormous amount of construction being carried out both on the roads and the the surrounding infrastructure. By chance we met a guy who worked on one of the ferries – he helped enormously showing us where to go. It was a start.

One of the potential sticking points of our whole adventure was the Caspian sea crossing – we were not allowed into Iran, nor Russia, so the way westward for us was via the sea.  The only way for us to cross with the car was to seek passage on a cargo ferry, either from Turkmenistan or Kazakhstan. I had been very concerned about this from the get go of this madcap plan as there is no guarantee of getting aboard nor do the ferries run to a schedule. They simply sail when they are full and then there is the possibility of staying at anchor just outside the port for an indefinite time. People spend days waiting for passage. For foreigners there is the added concern that transit visas are finite, often just three days in total. We had ten days on our visa, with four already used we had less concern on that front.

Murray had tried to quell my concerns by tracking all the ferries that cross from Azerbaijan to Turkmenistan on http://www.marinetraffic.com over the past 6 weeks and creating a spreadsheet to see if there was any pattern to the crossings. He had his mind set on one particular ship working for us, the Bagtyyar, as it was the most reliable and crossed regularly. It just so happened to be in port when we arrived but it was not sailing for two more days. However, there was one other ship that we established was sailing that night. With every hope that we had got lucky we hung around in the grim port waiting area to see if we could get on it. This was the beginning of our trials to make sense of the process and procedure to board a Caspian ferry, it was akin to entering a black hole.

Three or so hours later and with no information forthcoming, other than being told by various young army conscripts to ‘just wait’ (more on those later), we decided to sack it for the night and find a hotel. We were pretty tired and cold and no further forward in trying to work out how to get on the ferry. But we had the mobile number of the ferry worker who had helped us earlier, so in theory we could call to find out if the ship would sail that night, only I had misplaced the piece of paper it was written on ( – eek!).

[Note to others trying this escapade – having entered the port, one needs to buy a ticket to get out of the port. This we only established having driven the kilometre to the barrier and then back again, twice, having had the phrase for purchasing the required ticket written on the said piece of paper. It was a not what we needed after a long day.]

Travelling time: 09:45 – 13:40 – Distance: 170 miles

Looking up to the tunduk, the circular sky light cum vent in the centre of the yurt’s roof. It’s shape is depicted on the Kyrgyzstan flag

We had repaired a little merry after a jovial evening to our respective bed spaces the night before; Natalie and her guide to their tents, their driver to his car and us to the yurt. The shepherd had sensibly taken himself off home to his winter abode, to return shortly after first light. It had been a bitterly cold night in the yurt although we had more than enough sleeping bags and blankets to keep us warm.

Waking at 4 am with the cold and not wanting to move lest it make one any colder, it was time to reluctantly pop out for a pee. I am so glad I did. The night sky was magnificent. The stars shone brilliantly, the glow from the crater fires gave off an unearthly glow and the sand dunes were silhouetted by a near full moon. It was a magical scene and well worth the detour from Burkhara to the northern boarder.

At sunrise

Reluctantly emerging from the yurt wrapped in multiple blankets

Blankets cast aside – now I need to find a hairbrush!

The start of a new day . . a little creaky and not a little cold!

We were warned . .

A well known watering hole!! At least this pothole had something good to offer.

On the road to Ashgabat – fortunately we weren’t going at breakneck speed (unlike the majority of local drivers) when we came across this little train of camels noisily slurping and draining some rare rainwater. 

After a tasty and long breakfast, prepared by the very hospitable shepherd, with our new friends we shared our plans (and coffee) and more travel advice and set off for the capital of Turkmenistan, Ashgabat. We had heard much of this relatively newly built city, clad with imported Italian marble and marked with golden monuments of Turkmenbashi, ‘Leader of the Turkmen’, the now deceased former president, Niyazov.

Ashgabat had been completely destroyed in 1948 by a massive earthquake killing two thirds of the country’s population, the extent of which was kept from the world during the Soviet period but it has since become recognised as and a national day of mourning on its anniversary on the 6^th October. After independence in 1991 the old Soviet built city was razed and in its place gleaming white buildings, immaculately manicured parkland and striking monuments form the inner city.

It is forbidden to drive a dirty car in the city and so we dutifully stopped at a fortified cleaning station teaming with what we found to be men offering a taxi service into the city – it was a mistake to enter this compound with our windows down and quite remarkable how many heads can fit inside an open car window. The aroma this in itself manifested was almost knock out! It was the beginning of a bizarre experience.

With car now gleaming and rid of all signs of the desert and anything else that might have clung to the wheel arches on our trip thus far we timidly entered the city cautious of the many roadside police waving their striped batons and rigidly sticking to the varying speed limits – now recognisable to us from a distance by their silhouette of an enormous Russian style hat! Rows and rows of sterile white houses lead on to rows and towers of palatial city buildings. Had the day been sunny it would have been awe inspiringly dazzling but in the gloom of a grey sky it was slightly unnerving. While there were cars on the road there were so few people to be seen or signs of habitation in any of these monoliths.

Entering Ashgabat on a grey old day – had the sun shone the gilded monuments would have dazzled

We drove on, aware that photographing buildings not advisable as no government building should be photographed, nor certain monuments and since we were not sure what was what we (I) thought it best to stick to the advice we had been given.

We made our way to the hotel, the Ak Altyn, again, kindly arranged for us by the British Embassy, this time in Ashgabat and incidentally situated next door to our hotel. We unloaded, de-gunged from our desert excursion and made our way to say hello to the UK deputy Head of Mission and his assistant. It was great to be with a fellow Brit, albeit briefly. We then headed out to take in the city and find somewhere to eat. The city was a welcomed respite from the tourist towns and rural areas. A great restaurant was recommended to us, Köpetdag, named after the mountains beyond Ashgabat and bordering Iran. It’s a funky restaurant with a diverse international menu and very well run and popular with the well heeled city dwellers.