ASHGABAT

We hit mid-90s gas prices in Turkmenistan - less than a buck a gallon. Back in Turkey, where gas prices are some of the highest in the world, we'd payed ten times that much. The gas station price-boards in Turkmenistan weren't even changeable, no digital display or plastic cards, the prices were literally fixed - painted on. 

With the fall of the Soviet Union, Turkmenistan gained its independence and Saparmurat Niyazov became president for life, running the country under a big-brother-like, one-party government. After Niyazov's unexpected death in 2006, Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow came into power and started building his own cult of personality, keeping Turkmenistan under tight watch as one of the most censored countries in the world. It's not the easiest place to visit, tourists can only stay for seven days and are required to go through an agency-guided tour. We were able to get a seven-day transit visa as a part of the Mongol Rally, but entering the country was a drag. There was not a single computer in the maze of offices that we pinballed through, and after five hours, we left customs with 250 dollars less and a confusing stack of papers.

We got off to an early start on our first morning, after our bizarre homestay with Roshan. Derick drove for most of the day. The roads were riddled with potholes, and the heavy truck traffic had carved out long stretches of deep ruts. Our little Hyundai had low clearance and small wheels, and the going was slow as we straddled, dodged, and weaved our way through the desert towards Ashgabat. It was dusty and dry. Craggy mountains rose from the horizon and camels dotted the landscape. It had been while since we'd put in a good day of driving, and we were excited to be on the move again.

We'd heard that Ashgabat had more fountains than Las Vegas, and as we drove into the capital, and transitioned from broken desert roads into smooth wide boulevards, we felt like we'd entered an oasis. The city was immaculate - gleaming white-marble buildings, gold statues, gushing fountains, and lush gardens. Even the street lights were ornate. But pedestrians were almost nowhere to be seen. It was extravagantly eerie, a garish ghost town. Policemen ushered traffic down streets lined with grandiose buildings, where no one came and went. The sidewalks were empty, and gardeners tended vacant parks. It was a strange scene, and we were breaking the law by not having washed our car before entering the city.

We got the hell out of the city-center and drove into a more welcoming neighborhood. It was nice having arrived with some daylight to spare, and we enjoyed the afternoon over some beers at an outdoor cafe. It had been almost a week since we'd been online, so after some food, we found an internet cafe - we're alive! Finding a place to stay was a challenge. The first two hotels turned us down, claiming there were no more vacancies. Both places had key racks behind the front desk that were full of room keys. We were beat by the time we found a hotel that would take us. It was a little more pricey than we wanted, but we were approaching the 11PM national curfew, so we had no choice. 

The next day we took another spin around the candy-coated capital. After getting reprimanded by a policeman for stopping the car to take pictures, we decided it was time to head back into the desert. Next stop, the Door to Hell...