12th September – Turpan – China

Turpan is an old city with a long history. Traces have been found of humans living there, dating as far back as 6,000 years ago. Turpan means 'the lowest place' in the Uygur language and 'the fertile land' in Turki. Lying in the Turpan Basin, the elevation of most of the places in the area is below 500 meters (1,640 feet). Turpan is the city with the lowest elevation in China.

The city, which is also known as Huo Zhou (a place as hot as fire), is the hottest place in China. The annual average temperature is 14 C (57.2 F). It is reckoned that there are 152 summer days on average, and 28 really broiling days with the temperature above 40 C (104 F). Although the high temperature can be oppressive people can also get some benefits from it. The abundant sunshine gives the melons and grapes ideal conditions to grow. The fruit here is widely known for its high sugar content, especially the grapes. The locals are quite fond of sand therapy which has a history of hundreds of years in Turpan. People lie or sit under sheds, burying their bodies in hot sand about 50 C (122 F) to 60 C (140 F). It is said to be a good way to treat rheumatism and skin ailments.

Turpan is a marvelous city blending Western and Eastern religions and culture together perfectly. The geographical position of Turpan is rather important. Lying at the junction of the east and the west of China, it has been a key point on the Silk Road since ancient times, with a great number of historical relics as well as unique landscapes.
As a city inhabited by minority groups, you can find Uygur snacks in the streets and lanes. Kebabs, Zhua Fan (Rice Eaten with Hands), Nang, Roast Lamb will make your mouth water. There are also many traditional drinks in Turpan, including milk tea, black tea, grape wine and mare's milk. The traditional handcrafts are exquisite and are worth collecting. Carpets, clothes, caps and knives are favorites, with distinctive folk characteristics.

6th – 9th September 2010 – From Sary Tash in Krygyzstan to Kashgar - CHINA

Arrived in Sary-Tash, a minor village and major crossroads in the Alay Valley of Osh Province, Kyrgyzstan, after a nerve wracking drive on a muddy dirt tract over a mountain pass that was 12k feet high. Made it to Kashgar – China – had a long albeit entertaining crossing at 12,000 ft!

The Problems Begin in Bukhara

The ‘Stans’ and particularly Bukhara that is fighting a constant battle with the encroaching desert is in short, HOT! To illustrate how hot Bukhara was and is we found that the after our 6 night stopover the candles we keep in the van had melted into a morphed mess. In fact if you were after an easy life the best career to pursue in the Stans would be to become a weather forecaster were predicting the next day’s underpants sweltering temperature wouldn’t be a problem. To further illustrate how hot it was, Chrissy, who could give a camel a run for their money at withstanding the blistering heat, for the first time came out of the van after doing some washing up and looked like the life had been sucked out of her. I asked her if she was ok? If anyone else had endured a 45 degree heat in an airless van as long as Chrissy did they would have replied, ‘If I keel over and die, it was nice knowing you and don’t forget to tell my family that I loved them’. But as optimistically as ever she replied, ‘At least there is one good thing about the heat! I didn’t have to boil the washing up water’. Chrissy exposure to the sweltering temperature made two us and Miranda, the final member of our team fell victim days later.

Unfortunately, when we tried to leave Bukhara I placed Miranda into reverse as normal with the electric control on my door, however, nothing happened and the gears remained firmly in Park. At the same time a lot was happening to Chrissy. Unbeknown to us hundreds of bacteria must have been forming in Chrissy’s stomach after a dubious dinner in a fly infested dungeon-like restaurant the night before, which seemed to be run by pubescent work experience volunteers who had kidnapped the owner and stuffed him down the trap door that all the flies were exuding from. The consequence of these two sequences felt deflating but even more so for poor old Chrissy, who by this time was dashing to the toilet every half an hour. The thought of not being able to put Miranda into gear and of being unable to find an automotive electrician to help us was worrying, to say the least. Moreover, Miranda was parked in a courtyard that trapped the heat during the middle of the day, which made the prospect of lingering in the van to work out what the problem was as irresistible as spending the afternoon in a morgue listening to a dripping tap. Fortunately, our hosts at the Amelia Guest House where we were staying came to our rescue and organised an automotive electrician (or ‘Masters’ as they are know) to meet us the next day, so in the meantime we relocated to another air conditioned refuge, the Atlas Hotel. Over the next few hours I could see that Chrissy’s health was deteriorating as quickly as the toilet paper was disappearing. In spite of being incredible worn out Chrissy managed to battle through the afternoon whilst managing to help me at the same time. For the rest of the day a lot went through our minds. Prior to leaving the UK it was one of our greatest concerns that one of us would fall ill on our proposed overland adventure and we now both wondered anxiously whether I would pick up Chrissy’s bug too. Added to that the worst case scenario for Miranda’s electric problem could mean the end of the trip!

As our appointed loomed with the automotive masters the next day it was obvious that Chrissy wasn’t suffering from just a 24 hour bug. However, she determinedly held out for hours, whilst three automotive elections swarmed over Miranda’s electrics like marauding safari ants. To say that I was nervous is an understatement about these non-English speaking masters fiddling with Miranda’s complicated and intricate electrics. I thought that if they accidently broke my electric accelerator and brake that would be the conclusion to Driving Chrissy Home. At the point when I thought all of my hair was about to fall out whilst watching the 3 masters fiddled with countless wires under the dashboard I heard the familiar clunk of the electric actuator pushing the transmission into gear. Hallelujah, they’ve solved the problem went through my mind and sure enough one hour later all of the wires that were hanging out of the bottom of the dashboard like the intestines of a gutted cow where carefully put back in place and Miranda clunked into gear at every push of the button.

As soon as that problem was solved we were faced with another, which ordinarily we take for granted – filling the van with diesel. The rumours on the street was that whole of Uzbekistan had a fuel shortage. Thankfully, the country has a thriving ‘Black Market’ and after some acute bargaining the dealers of the black market diesel handed the merchandise over during the cover darkness in an unlit street – very dodgy. By the time we left Bukhara the antibiotics that Chrissy had taken were beginning to take effect. During our dilemma’s Chrissy handle the problems admirably despite facing a major one herself.

Our time in Bukhara

Being wheelchair bound has it obvious disadvantages when trying to visit a historical city like Bukhara, however, the effort to at least to give it a go can leave you well rewarded. The old city of Bukhara has to be one amazing cities that I have ever travelled to. Echoes of the past are everywhere in this ancient Silk Road stop over, so much so that if it wasn’t for people dressed in western clothing mingling between carpet stalls you would be convinced that you have travelled back in time. Bumping down cobbled streets it is not long before you stand astonishingly looking up at Bukhara’s intricately tiled mosques and madrasahs. The latter were places of study that housed some great Islamic thinkers over their history, which gave way to theories that the earth rotated around the sun and span on its own axis. It made the city a magnet for learning and culture. Not bad for the 9th century. In between the many madrasahs we passed vital resting and watering points for traders and camels on the Silk Road, which were called caravanserai.

Added to the amazing architecture you can’t help being drawn to the city with a tinge of morbid fascination. Apparently, many unsavoury tyrants ruled over the city during its life time and committed many appalling acts to ensure the people remained under their ruthless control. One such act was to sentence individuals who had committed a crime to death by bundling them into a sack and hurling them off the top of an intricately designed tower that is over 50 meters tall. Incidentally, when Genghis Khan was rampaging through the area and leaving a wake of destruction behind him he thought that the ‘Tower of Death’ as it was nicknamed was so magnificent that he didn’t allow his troops to destroy it.

The Ark, which we arrived at last, is a walled fortress where the oppressor of the time lived in, stashed his goods and imprisoned his victims and was the scene of other numerously distasteful acts. Including beheading two English soldiers who were caught up in the cat-and-mouse shenanigans between the English and Russia in the struggle to acquire more land/assets during a period in the early 1900’s nicknamed the ‘Great Game’ by the British.

As we approached the forbidding walls of the Ark along a tree lined walkway I was already feeling the heat despite it being only 10.30am in the morning. My personal woes were abruptly knocked into shape as we passed a boy of around twelve and his mum sitting in the shade. The Uzbek boy had Cerebral Palsy and was sitting in an antiquated steel wheelchair that was 2 sizes too big for him that deceivingly made him look smaller than he actually was. As I wheeled passed the two of them it a struck me that this young boy has to cope with the heat and probably many other hardships that aren’t visible to the naked eye day after day. These thoughts rushing through my mind made me feel very fortunate to live my life in the UK. Moreover, despite any discrepancies that one might envisage the West to have they are mere inconveniences compared to problems that people in other countries in the world face. This alternative view made me feel very lucky with my lot and on our way back to the van we stopped briefly to talk to the mother and sun but unfortunately the language barrier stood in the way.

Travelling in the Stans

Travelling to countries in the world that are off the Beaton track can be some what challenging if you have a disability. However, if you travel with the right frame of mind it can give you unique insight into a country and the people that inhabit it. Generally, the experiences I have gained since sustaining my spinal cord injury has provided me with many interesting experiences.


We had been the road 2 months by the time we reached the ancient city of Bukhara. In that time I had managed to grow a half convincing beard, which has evidently brought me to a new level of vagabondage. This became apparent for the first time in Ashgabat when waiting outside a supermarket for Chrissy to buy another 16 packets of cereal a small boy came up to me with a fist full of coins and tried to place them in my hand. When I realised that his mum had sent him to give me a donation I called out, ‘No, no, tourist’ and accidently sent the coins flying over the supermarket floor. I thought this was a one-off experience and I didn’t think about it again. Well not until after a morning of sightseeing around Bukhara when I was sat under the shade of a tree with my head bowed and with my arm (and with my hand upturned) resting on my lap suffering from the 45 degree heat when yet more money was shoved into my hand. Again, I called out, ‘No, no Tourist’ and the Uzbek man withdrew the wad of Uzbek notes. On reflection I thought it must have been because I looked like an exhausted vagabond with an open hand but it did make me start to wonder why they weren’t differentiating me from an Uzbek as there are obvious differences. To my surprise this happened for a third time in Samarkand at the Registan, where I turned down yet more money.

Astonishingly it happened a forth and fifth time in Kazakhstan. The fourth time, Chrissy had some money shoved in her hand as we meandered around a busy market and the fifth time occurred as Chrissy was helping me down a curb before we crossed a chaotic road when all of a sudden a car on the opposite side of the road swerved and pulled to a skid within inches of us. In the passenger seat a woman started furiously rummaging around in her handbag while the man in the driver seat just stared blankly at me. I thought to myself ‘Jesus Javens, I hope she’s not going to pull out a gun’ when suddenly she pulled out a fist full of coins. I knew exactly what she was about to do so I said ‘No, no tourist’ at which point she looked slightly embarrassed, muttered something to her husband and the car sped off faster than it had come to a halt. Chrissy asked me at that point ‘Is that beginning to annoy you?’ and I shouted back over my shoulder as she helped me weave across the road without getting run over, ‘No I think it is fantastic. In countries where the infrastructure may not be set up to support people with disabilities then if these people would help me, hopefully they would support their own people who have disabilities too.’ To date I’ve been handed money 8 times. We later joked that we would have made a killing in the Stans if we had accepted each of the generous donations.

There have been experiences whilst travelling with a disability that we have just had to laugh at too. When we arrived in Tashkent in the north of Uzbekistan we checked into another hotel that was being patronised by numerous Mongol Rally teams. As I was getting out of the van I was surprised to be met by one of the Uzbek Hotel staff who greeted me in a broad London accent with, ‘Alwight mate?’. It turned out Alan (not sure if that was his real name?) was born in England and returned to his ancestral home on a mission of love. Despite the bottom falling out of his promising relationship he has remained in Tashkent and continues to surprise unassuming English speakers with his ‘Only Fools & Horses’ manner and tossing in ‘yeh, mate’ and ‘in’it’ after every sentence. After meeting Alan for a few minutes it was obvious that he must have been standing in front of Annal (from Gallipoli) when God was handing out funny characters. Not long after checking in I had to ask Alan and his 2 other colleagues (who couldn’t speak any English) to lift me up a short flight of stairs that lead to our room. Although, I weigh 60 kilos (a manageable weight for three men) the weight of my chair takes me deceivably up to a total of 100 kilos. This often takes willing testosterone fuelled volunteers by surprise, which can lead to a few vein popping moments for the person lifting the heavy back end of my chair. Normally this surprise is covered up manfully and not a word is spoken. Not Alan though, who had pulled the short straw and positioned himself eagerly at the back of my chair. After I had finished lining up at the stairs the strain was taken up the back as if Alan had lifted what he thought was an empty hessian sack and got surprised by a heavy anvil that lay hidden at the bottom. At which point I heard the air gush out of his lungs and instead of covering up his surprise, he shouted out, ‘F*ck’in ell you’re evy mate!’ I couldn’t help but laugh as this undiplomatic comment in a foreign accent that rang out strangely down the corridor of our Uzbek Hotel.

Different countries use words for disable people that if they where used in the UK the meaning would be very likely to offend countless people. It isn’t long before you realise that the word they have used is actually just a translation of the word ‘disabled’ and the person using the word is not meaning to be offensive. Having said that it comes as quite a surprise the first time somebody calls you an ‘Invalid’ in a broad Russian accent. In the Stans this has happened numerously as the people we have met stand next to my driver’s door in surprise when they see for the first time a vehicle driven not only with hand-controls but by someone sitting in a wheelchair. Having got used the term it has actually come in good use and has been particularly useful at the copious police road blocks. Initially, I would pull Miranda up cautiously to the policeman who had waved us down with a plastic batten that looks uncannily like a toy light-saver from Star Wars films. After using up all the greetings I have learnt, which consist of two (Salaam aliekum and Priviot) we would then get thoroughly questioned by the policeman. Chrissy would then impressively spend the next 10 minutes using her knowledge of Ukrainian to get us through the interrogation. The experience finally concludes with their last question – ‘Invalid tourist, da?’ at which point we reply ‘Da!’ and they wave us on. Becoming savvy to their line of questions it turns out 2 words spoken as you roll to a stop at a check point in the Stans gets you waved through in record time and they are ‘Tourist and Invalid’.

Mary to Bukhara in Uzbekistan

With another mammoth day ahead of us we were up again at 6am the next day and hit the road 2 hours later heading for the Uzbekistan border another 300 km away. On the way we’d stop off at the historical city of Merv and then we would drive through the Karakum Desert before reaching the border one hour past the city of Turkmenabat. Once we crossed the border we would then have to drive another 90km to Bukhara. Anxious about the heat we had a flying visit around the historical site of Merv. Being a UNESCO world heritage site Merv didn’t disappoint and it was hard not to be impressed. Driving through the Karakum desert was amazing. The sand had a bronze tinge and was slowly been blown across the road by a strong wind. Thankfully, this stretch of the road was in much better condition than the previous section and we were able to get up to 50mph again. By midday the temperature had reached 45 degrees and the water spray and fan began to loose there effectiveness. Later the strong wind seemed to die away, which only made it feel hotter and added to the impotence of the water spray. Every mile we completed seemed to take a lifetime.

When we finally reached the border that day I felt like an exhausted wretch. I found that it was a huge effort to talk and even hold myself upright. Thankfully (again) Turkmenistan have recently built a swanky new border post with air conditioning, which came as a great relief. I had to sit under the air-conditioning unit for 30 minutes before being able to go through the border rigmarole. In record time we crossed the customs department but when we went out side again the heat hit me like a giant custard pie and no sooner had we gone outside did I have to shoot back into the air-conditioned building. ‘Please can we stay here a little while longer?’ I asked the border official. Thankfully (again) he agreed. I think he could tell that I was in a bit of a state by how I looked. Sitting under the air-conditioning unit (again) Chrissy gave me 3 Iranian plums (and 2 more to a extremely inquisitive Uzbek lady who wouldn’t leave Chrissy alone. Until that point I had never heard of anyone bribing someone to stop asking questions = well done Chrissy!) and one dry piece of bread that seemed to boost my energy levels. Strangely, my tonsils had swollen and where hanging down in the back of my throat like couple of old cow’s teats? I didn’t know what was going on and wondered if the heat had caused this problem? Sorry for all the breast analogies but that’s what I imagined it must feel like. Thankfully (again) I felt much better after 45 minutes and my swelling throat had subsided, so we decided to cross no-mans land to the Uzbekistan border control. Still feeling the heat I managed to convince the guard to lift me into their air-conditioned building whilst Chrissy went to get a declaration and other paperwork filled out. Unfortunately, the Uzbek border control wasn’t quite so new or swanky and to my disappointment they didn’t have air-conditioning. Thankfully (again) the two stern looking females who were stamping all the passengers passports beckoned me to sit next to their oscillating fan and even gave me cups of ice cold water. Whilst I waited for Chrissy to return I watched Uzbek ladies drag huge bags of sanitary towels past me (Chrissy later told me what they were?) after they were made to wait for ten minutes in the doorway whilst the border guards finished their conversation or what they were scribbling down in their books. As the time drag past, Chrissy still hadn’t returned and I could see that the female guards were beginning to feel the heat because I was blocking the breeze from their fan. This turned out to be a godsend and the most Russian looking lady asked me what Chrissy’s name was. In a strong Russian accent she then shouted something impatiently on her short wave radio. The only word I could pick up was ‘Christine’ and not long after the radio message Chrissy walked in through the door with the completed paperwork. After they had stamped our passports in record time I thanked them for their help and by the large grins on their faces I guessed they were relieved that I was finally leaving them alone so that they could have their fan back. We left the border behind us as the sun was sinking towards the horizon and we finally arrived in the historical city of Bukhara one hour later.

Turkmenistan was the most challenging country so far. The travel restrictions enforced by the government meant that we had to transit through the country so quickly otherwise we would have had to pay extra money per day for the guide and it was illegal not to stay in government registered hotels, so we couldn’t wild camp either. We did really enjoy our time following an ancient part of the silk route and meeting many really nice Turkmen people. However, Turkmenistan with its expanding marble cities and broad canal’s irrigating acres of cash crops in a desert made me think about a trait that human’s have across the world and it’s the ‘want’ to have more. That thought, along with watching the BBC World News for the first time in months and witnessing the climatic disasters in Pakistan, China, Russia and Greenland all at the same time made me wonder how long humans can carry on depleting the world’s resources for their own good before the bubble really does burst.

Ashgabat to Mary - Turkmenistan

Due to the travel restrictions we knew we were in for a challenge whilst travelling through Turkmenistan as we were only permitted fours days to transit through the country but I didn’t realise we were about to encounter the hardest two days on our journey so far. With our mandatory guide called Jennet sitting in the back we left Ashgabat on our second morning heading for Mary, which was over 300km away. Prior to leaving I wondered why Serdat had asked me, ‘What do you think about the roads?’ Generally that is a question that you only get asked by a local somewhere like Kenya, where the roads aren’t so good. In Ashgabat they were so flat and clean you could eat Plov (national dish) off them, so curiously I asked our guide what the road to Mary was like? She replied, ‘Oh, its good but there are 1 or 2 diversions along the way. It should take us 5 hours to get to Mary.’ My suspicions continued to dull as we left the Ashgabat on a beautifully tarmaced road. However, 20km out of the city small pot holes started to appear and as minutes passed the holes began to increase in size. Having prior experience at dodging bathtub sized potholes this wasn’t too hard to get used to. The worst part about the roads was that you would be driving along what you think is a relatively flat section at 50 mph and then out of nowhere the whole van lurches downwards and just as quickly launches skywards again and then bounces back to normality. The whole experience feels like you are galloping along on an 18 hand stallion without a saddle or stirrups and the beast drops down a small gulley and then launches itself over a Grand National sized hedge, which leaves you feeling dazed and like you’ve just been thorough frisked by marauding aliens on a swoop in-and-out mission. What really happens is that Miranda drops in and out of sections of the road that has subsided (or potholes that have been filled in) which creates these huge ambush-like speed bumps. My wheelchair that is locked to the floor (by the means of a bolt under my chair and a locking mechanism) acts as a pivot and amplifies the experiencing making me seesaw violently forwards and backwards. To try to reduce this I wedge my head into my headrest.


The so called road to Mary runs parallel to the Kopet Dag range and borders the Karakum Desert. Despite this dry climate there are fields of cotton and other crops growing on either side of the roads, which makes the mind boggle at how these plants survive during the harsh summer months? The answer soon comes when you bounce over bridge that expands a gushing brown river the width of the Nile. However, what you think is a river is actually a man made canal that runs over 1000km from north of the country. It is absolutely staggering how many tons of water flow down the canal every minute. Of course creating a man-made river through a desert is an amazing feat of engineering that creates livelihoods along it banks and produces revenue from irrigated cash crops but unfortunately the base of the canal isn’t concrete and tons of water must soak uselessly away into the desert. Added to that the canals aren’t covered and tons more water must aimlessly evaporate in the intense summer heat. All of which is having huge implications at the Aral Sea – the worlds fourth largest lake. The two main rivers that feed the Aral Sea (the Syr-Darya and Amu-Darya) were tapped by the Russians during the soviet era to irrigate cotton fields and according to one source the soviet planners fully expected the lake to dry out! Apparently in the 1950’s 55 cubic kilometres of water was brought into the lake by the two rivers every year and as a result of the irrigation the flow into the Aral Sea fell to just 10% of the original intake by the 1980’s. This lake-slaughter has resulted in the water receding by 80km; leaving skeletons of fishing boats behind and eventually the lake split into 2 in 1987 (a north and south lake). The fishing harbours that sustained a huge community are now redundant because navigateable fishing lanes failed to stay open and most of the indigenous fish have been wiped due to pollution (herbicides & pesticides from cotton production), falling sea levels, rising salt levels and loss of feeding and spawning grounds. Apparently, the human cost has been huge. People living around the lake now suffer from respiratory illnesses and cancer of the oesophagus due to the salt and dust. Typhoid, hepatitis and dysentery are on the increase as the water quality deteriorates. It has also dramatically affected the animal species around the lake and the flora and fauna of the river delta’s.


As the hours increased the road continued to deteriorate, which slowed our progress at times down to less than 20mph. At the same time the temperature was rocking up compared to the cool air that morning. To combat the heat I wore a water soaked cobber around my neck; our 8 inch fan was on full power and Chrissy blasting me with a fine mist spray from our pressurised garden sprayer. Despite all of this I could feel my body temperature taking on the outside temperature. It is commonly known that people who have suffered from a spinal cord injury loose the ability to regulate their body temperature by either sweating or shivering and I was finding that the heat was really beginning to get to me. I imagined my body was like that of a crocodile heating up in the midday heat and having no water around to cool me down. And strangely, just like a crocodile I felt that I unconsciously had my mouth open and was breathing harder than normal. This was a thought I only considered days later and I have know idea whether this was my bodies natural response to combat the heat or not. What I did know at the time was that 5 hours had passed and we were still only halfway there. As we progressed into the afternoon heat the relief from the spray and fan began to loose its effects. Not only was the air from the fan feeling like I had just stuck my head in a fan oven but the water from the garden sprayer felt like it had come from a freshly poured hot bath. Every bump I hit would lurch me forward into my tight chest strap and almost knock the wind out of me. Moreover, my head that was generally wedged into the headrest was throbbing from the friction that was caused by the bumpy road. All my body wanted to do was to stop driving in the intense heat but I knew if we stopped I’d just get even hotter.


During this time our guide who had an excellent knowledge of Turkmenistan’s history turned out to be directionally challenged and would shout directions from the back of the van. Strangely she would bellow, ‘Turn right’ on right hand bends and ‘keep going straight’ on totally straight sections of the road? Before we left she also told us that we could stop at a reservoir halfway along our journey where we could rest and eat some fresh fish if we liked. As the day progressed we still hadn’t reach this reservoir. Worse still we had to take an extended detour on a road that turned out to be a worse road than we were already on travelling on before we got to the reservoir. By 4pm we bounced passed a row of buildings that was our intended pit stop. The break couldn’t have come any sooner and as soon I had parked beside a lorry which provided Miranda with a little shade we shot into the air conditioned restaurant. Sitting in the cool interior I felt exhausted from the heat. The bags under my eyes felt as heavy as an African ladies breast that have been affected by the cruel end of gravity during a lifetime of not wearing a bra. Whilst Chrissy and Jennet tucked into some freshly battered bass (that is reared especially in the reservoir) I downed a gallon of cold coke-a-cola. Around us truck drivers tucked into huge water melons, chai, rice and fish. Even here we were reminded of Iranian friendliness when a Iranian trucker randomly came up to us to give us some limes that he was transporting to somewhere in the ‘Stan’s’. By time the girls had finished one hour had passed and I felt like my body temperature had lowered slightly. Despite this when we went out side the evening heat still was bloody hot. Hours later we rolled into Mary and Jennet finally found our hotel. What should have taken us 5 hours took us 12 and after getting my routine out of the way we crawled into bed at 1am.

Arriving In Ashgabat, Turkmenistan

As border crossings go the Iranian/Turkmenistan border wasn’t unusual. It took us four hours to go through the rigmarole of getting our passports and countless other documents stamped at various offices situated strategically in the furthest distance away from each other. What was great though was the border is situated in the Kopet Dag mountains, which meant that although the sun was in a cloudless sky it was still relatively cool. On the Turkmenistan side of the border this was a godsend. As soon as we crossed ‘no-mans lands’ Chrissy’s hejab and manteau that she had been wearing for the past two weeks came flying off. Not long after entering the ornate marble building (with a large picture of the president on the front) Chrissy and I were split up because drivers have to wait with the cars and passengers have to navigate through the maize of offices. Dotted around the border where young army privates (dressed in camouflage and wide brimmed hats) that where directing the trucks and passengers to various parts of the border post. The young man that was stationed where I had parked the van had a particular superiority complex and made all the drivers sit out in the sun. Every time you moved towards the shade you’d get barked at by this young Hitler in the making and you would have to move back into the sun. If you want to travel in Turkmenistan it can be a tricky affair. First of all you need a letter of invitation and if you enter on a tourist visa you have to be accompanied by a guide. Thankfully, we had hired the services of a agent from Stan Tours who met us on the Turkmenistan side of the border and made the whole process a lot easier and before we knew it we where weaving down the twisting road towards Ashgabat 50 km away in the distance.

Ashgabat is pristine, orderly and ornate and sits serenely at the base of the Kopet Dag Mountains and just before the Karakum Desert begins. Within hours of being in the city I started to suffer from what I have called ‘Post Iranian Driving Syndrome’ and after talking to several Mongol Rally drivers it turns out that I am not the only one who has experienced this syndrome. Basically once you leave Iran and enter a country were they drive normally you get the most intense feeling that you are out of your comfort zone. Having got used to driving through red lights and ignoring every road rule ever invented and expecting my fellow drivers to be doing the same it is very unnerving when a car in front of you actually stops at a red light, a round about or for a pedestrian on a zebra crossing. As a result you feel as paranoid as a chronic dope smoker having spent a week in Amsterdam getting a marijuana fix. You start to feverishly look around for any vehicle or pedestrian about to stop their car or walk out into the road and the final ‘cold turkey’ moment comes when you experience an intense craving for the smell of car exhausts and the sound of car’s horns ‘just to let you know they are passing’. The grip of this syndrome only began to ease after lots of team talks with myself - ‘You can do this Col. Be strong!’ and I finally started to ease back into normality.


As it is mandatory to stay in Government owned accommodation we ended up staying in a monumental hotel during our stay in Ashgabat. This was one in a row of equally monumental hotels that Niyazov had constructed as part of his grand plan. The front of hotel resembled the curved wall of a coliseum in Rome. Inside it was very luxurious in a soviet era kind of a way but it made us miss sleeping in the van and it was a far cry from the picturesque campsite in the Kopet Dag the night before. Nevertheless it did have two trump cards. The first was the very friendly Russian staff (including a guy who launched me accidently out of my chair) and the second was air conditioning, which provided relief from the afternoon heat. We met two excellent individuals during this time and both of them worked in the Korean Embassy that was attached to our hotel. They were Serdat and his secretary. They both were extremely welcoming and meeting them was a great start to travelling in Turkmenistan.

Picture 1, Ashgabat at night. Picture 2, Soviet hotel in Ashgabat. Picture 3, Colin & Chrissy with Serdat.

Turkmenistan Recipe – a taste of what is to come

In summer months preheat fan oven to 50 degrees Celsius indefinitely (don’t worry gas is free). Take a country (the size of Spain) that is often forgotten about on the BBC World Weather report. Sift in 90% sand and mix in a population of 5 million. Take a knife and carve out canals through the desert and allow water from the Aral Sea to flow south. Use the water to irrigate a large expanse of cotton fields. Add in a large dollop of Russian influence. With proceeds from oil and gas take all the marble you can find and start constructing palaces and grand hotels in the capital (Ashgabat) furiously. Don’t forget to bug hotels, restaurants and public places. At this point feel free to toss in a little confusion by changing the street names to four digit numbers and not erecting any road signs (anywhere). Lightly baste the potted roads with a smattering of tar. Finally, decorate with a heaped measure of flamboyance and place gold statues of the late Niyazov (Turkmenbashi) any where you feel appropriate. When you have finished sit back and enjoy the warm hospitality from the proud and elegant Turkmen people who are generous and kind.

2nd September - Osh, Krygzstan

Osh is the second largest city in Kyrgyzstan, located in the Fergana Valley in the south of the country and often referred to as the "capital of the south". Osh is a lively place, with the largest and most crowded outdoor market in Central Asia.
The city is among the oldest settlements inCental Asia. Osh was known as early as the 8th century as a centre for silk production along the Silk Road. The famous trading route crossed the Alay Mountains to reach Kashgar to the east. In modern times, Osh has also become the starting point of the Pamir Highway crossing the Pamir Mountains.

Miranda has had a problem with one of her windows and had to be fixed at the Mechanics. The roads have been better than expected.

28th August - 1st September - Otmok Pass and Lake Toktogul

Colin and Chrissy spent the night of 27th August in a Yurt similar to the one in the picture, near Talas.

The Kyrgyz Republic or Kyrgyzstan is situated in the northeastern part of Central Asia. It borders Kazakhstan in the north-west, China in the south-east, Tajikistan in the south, and Uzbekistan in the west. Kyrgyzstan is a mountainous country, with a range of altitudes from 400 m to 7 400 m. About half of the country’s territory is situated at an altitude of more than 3,000m above sea level. The mountain masifs of Pamir-Alai and Tien Shan are the dominant features. Colin and Chrissy have 5 major mountain passes to negotiate in this country, as well as driving beside:
Toktogul reservoir
The largest man-made water reservoir in Kyrgyzstan was constructed on the Naryn River as storage for hydroelectricity production. The reservoir is at 900 m altitude and situated in the Ketmen-Tubin valley of Osh Oblast. Apart from the Naryn the reservoir also receives the rivers Chychkan, Uzun-Ahmat, Nichke and Kandul. It covers 284 km2 and the full storage capacity is 19.5 km3. The mean depth is 65 m, maximum depth 210 m. The reservoir is 70 km long and the maximum width is 13 km. The gorge in the western part of the reservoir is 6 km long and 90-95 m deep. The lake-like sector is much larger but also much shallower, with a maximum depth of only 15 m.