Posts Tagged ‘Sarakhs’

Day 133. 110km. Sarakhs – Hauz-Han

Posted: September 11, 2015 in Cycling, Iran, Turkmenistan
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A lizard darts across the hot, dusty road. We stop, and watch the black beetle waddle past. On either side is a flat, bare expanse – just a few shrubs dotted around, and the sun blasting down from above. Turkmenistan nature. And the people! Beautiful, friendly, and such wonderful clothes. We’ve now tasted Turkmenistan and are addicted.

In the Turkmenistan desert

In the Turkmenistan desert

We greeted the same unfriendly people at the border crossing at Iran. They were surprised we were back so quickly from Mashhad. Our papers were checked, and it looked like it was going to be another long affair before they waved us through.

We crossed the bridge over the wet patch in the dry earth that is the border. Our first experience with the beautiful clothes of the beautiful Turkmenistan people. A camouflage uniform with a floppy broad brimmed hat. A belt with a shiny metal buckle with the Turkmenistan stars.
‘Welcome to Turkmenistan!’

The women all wear a bright, colourful head scarf – such colour matches their broad smiles and the twinkle in their eyes. A small boy introduces himself in English, and asks how he can help. Everyone waves and everyone looks happy.

And then an indication of the other aspect in this country – the Turkmenistan state is watching. In the evening we are taken to our hotel room / dining room and are told to not to leave it. It is a holiday, and the hotel is meant to be closed. The hall lights are off, and the water is turned off. If the police find they are open on this happy holiday, there will be ‘problem’. I know there is a language barrier, but understand the importance of keeping quiet. Who knows what is allowed and what not on this joyous occasion adorned with a holiday.

A highlight of today was the cycling. The road was small, and void of people – a truck or car passes every half an hour. Stop, and the silence reigns. It was warm, and the steady side wind worked as an airconditioner. The road was often like a slalom course through the desert. Avoiding the holes called for concentration.

The Turkmenistan desert

The Turkmenistan desert

The Turkmenistan desert

The Turkmenistan desert

On speaking to an Italian cyclist, we realized that the total distance to be travelled is under 500km. We’re going to try to do it – cross the country by bike in 4 days – not 5. We don’t have 5 days in our visa any more. It is going to be a real Turkmen dash.

Day 132. 1km. Sarakhs – Mashhad – Sarakhs

Posted: September 5, 2015 in Cycling, Iran
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Today we had a lovely 200km drive through the Iranian countryside, escorted by the Iranian border police – destination Mashhad immigration police station. This after a cordial 4 hour stay in the border station. The normal smiles and warmth I have learned to expect from the Iranians was missing. We were, however, offered one cup of tea! My visa was apparently old and not valid, and both Thomas and I had to pay a visit to Mashhad.

We entered the border post at the Turkmenistan border at 8:15am, we left for Mashhad at 12. Every inch of our luggage was checked without our presence in Mashhad (and on the border), Thomas was interviewed for hours, and I was left outside waiting without any explanation. We were not allowed to call the German embassy (we are both German citizens).

At 18:00 we were allowed to pay for a taxi to bring us back to where we started the day – in Sarakhs. We were also allowed to pay for our extra hotel night in Sarakhs. And we were lucky. If we had been difficult, the normal, longer protocol might have been used, which would involve an extra night in Mashhad and one extra day of delay. In that case, we might have, however, received a documented protocol of our visit. And we might have been able to speak to the German embassy. We chose the shorter protocol, and thanked out interviewer with all our hearts.

Today I felt frustrated. Frustrated that I will no longer be able to cross Turkmenistan by bike in the time remaining on my visa. I felt anger. Why was my visa invalid? I had got it from the official Iranian embassy in Tbilisi. I felt immense irritation. The people checking our papers were cordial but unfriendly. They were going to keep me, and a day was going pass. They were just doing their job. And then I felt helplessness. Noone spoke English at the immigration police in Mashhad, and could not explain the problem. I felt helplessness – we were not allowed to call a friend to translate, and we were not allowed to call the German embassy. I felt helplessness – I waited outside for hours while Thomas was being interviewed not knowing what was happening.

When waiting, my mind invented stories. Things that might be wrong. What if they do this? What if they demand that? I had done nothing wrong. Why am I here?

Thomas was the problem. He was questioned for 2 hours. I was questioned for 5 minutes. We could go. No problem. We spent the trip home in the taxi coming up with theories why it all happened. In brief, we don’t know. How do we feel about the day as a whole? We don’t know. We need to sleep over it.

I now feel I can leave, saying that I know Iran. I have experienced the people – their warmth and hospitality. I have felt the watching eye of the Iranian government. Iran is not like any country I have visited, and I am grateful for the experience to travel here.

Day 131. 94km. Mazdavand – Sarakhs

Posted: September 2, 2015 in Cycling, Iran
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A quiet road winding through the rolling dry hills, slowly flattening out to a wide, dry expanse. Warm, but not roasting, cooled by the steady headwind, we plodded along to our goal – to be at the border of Turkmenistan, ready for the upcoming 5-day Turkmenistan dash.

The road to Sarakhs

The road to Sarakhs

Cycling with Thomas has a different focus. We stop for scenery shots – both him and I do that. Then, all of a sudden, I find myself sitting next to a mud hut in a small village, next to the village women rolling cheese. They sit around a central metal vat with a big chunk of white gooey mass, and take handfuls, rolling it into a diamond shape for drying. Grandmothers, mothers and little kids join in, laughing and talking as they work. We sit next to them drinking the tea they gave us, and tasting the bread and cream.

Cheese?

Cheese?

The little village

The little village

Then we stop next to a shepherd watching his sheep graze on the side of the road. A young boy – probably about 10 years old – he laughs and jokes with us. He suddenly whistles and bangs a stick on the road sign to put the sheep back into place. How life can be different to the one I have grown up with and know.

Shepherd

Shepherd

Sitting in the border town’s only hotel, our electrical devices hang from every powerpoint. Masses of water is bought, and I have filled my snack bag as well as possible in the small market that has little that I want to buy. Turkmenistan – here we come!

The road to Sarakhs

The road to Sarakhs