Early start today since we are crossing the border to Turkmenistan. Everything I've read about this experience stresses the need for patience. Patience with the Uzbek side, and patience on the other side with Turkmenistan's obsession with drugs. Things that are legal and prescribed in North America are banned and confiscated here, and they don't care what your doctor has to say about it.
Granted, they have a reason to be concerned. A book I'm reading details the drug trade that comes up through Afghanistan, through Central Asia and into Russia and Europe. Apparently, the Central Asia countries get the worst quality stuff and they have big problems with addiction and smuggling here. Sound familiar?
Our guide in Khiva had told us that many Turkmen live in Uzbekistan and many Uzbeks live in Turkmenistan. The lines here are not the lines we see on a map. They are ethnic lines and those people are scattered throughout Central Asia - just because someone lives in Uzbekistan, they might not consider themselves to be Uzbek. The lines on the map were made by man, the ethnic divisions and diversity was made by history. So while there are "Five Stans," there are also untold numbers of ethnicities and tribes (including Russian, Chinese, Korean, and the odd German) floating around this part of the world.
She told us that because there was this cross-cultural connection, it used to be easy for Uzbekistan's Turkmen to visit Turkmenistan. They could pay the equivalent of $8 and get a visa for a few days and go whenever they wanted. Now she said that it is more expensive and people are limited to one visa every three months. She said that "lately they (the Turkmenistan government) are harder to talk to."
We trundled along over bumpy pavement, and our guide explained that they have to use concrete for the roads because it gets so hot in the summer here that the roads will melt if they use other materials. You can imagine how the concrete has worn and pitted with the wear and the weather.
We drove about an hour and a half to a no man's land border crossing. Literally. Apparently they were having a meeting, so we arrived to an empty passport control. Once it got staffed, we were asked to produce our "Arrival" customs form, our hotel registration cards, and our two "Departure" forms. Here's a tip: never throw away any piece of paper you get in Uzbekistan. You will need all of it to get out, and back in again.
Our luggage was opened and examined.
"What's this?" Poke, poke, poke. "Here, in the bag."
My bag of Smokehouse Almonds had raised the alarm. I'd been warned that no one on the border between Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan would take kindly to lots of pills or prescriptions, but I hadn't been warned about the almond issue.
The passport control man looked impassive and stony, until I smiled. Then he smiled and his face lit up for one second, and then resumed its passive bureaucrat resting face. Stamp! Stamp! I was out of Uzbekistan - kind of.
A walk to the next check point, one more solider, another flash of the passport, then a walk through the gate, another stretch over a small bridge to the Turkmenistan side, where a new military regime demanded to see my papers - even though he had watched me walk away from the Uzbek solider. I later heard that the Turkmenistan officer asked people for "Two dollars to get through to Turkmenistan." So not a very lucrative shake down, all things considered. We tried to walk to the customs and passport office from the little shack on the river, and the same officer said, " You can walk if you want to die." Not knowing how to take that, we all piled into the mini van with bald tires for our ride to the next official building. The drive included a stretch with road barriers placed like slaloms to slow cars down. It didn't work for our driver, he never braked, just swerved at full (minivan) speed and drove on the side of the road. All while some techno pop song was blaring from the speakers. It was a Turkmen roller coaster.
We were deposited at another gate, passports out again, then entered a little white building with a massive portrait of Turkmenistan's President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow. I suspected I would be seeing more of him during my three days in Turkmenistan.
More "Arrival" forms were needed on this side. No mistakes or cross-outs allowed. I had to do mine twice, another traveler had to do it three times. Then the power went out while our passports were being scanned. More waiting. Power came back up, and it was time for our bags to be checked. The border control has a list of drugs they don't allow into the country, mostly "mood or mind altering" ones. These can be a dirty or sleep aids, things along those lines. They ask to see all the drugs you have on you and then go through prescriptions one by one, looking for the forbidden fruit. If they find it, they take it. There are no negotiations.
Customs Official: "Drugs?"
Me: "Just this." I shake one of those little lipgloss-sized containers of Advil at him.
"No, I want to see the drugs."
"It's just this."
He looked mildly disappointed, but took the container and opened it.
"Aspirin," I said.
He smelled it and looked at me. "This is all?"
"Yep."
"Ok, go wait over there. Next!"
Other travelers had some problems, and someone saw a whole group of Germans dumping out pills near the entrance to customs. One of my traveling companions remarked the "somewhere in the desert between Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, there is one sleepy snake."
Then it was onto the bus waiting on the Turkmenistan side. In Turkmenistan, the government requires tourists to have a guide, and you have to register with the authorities once you arrive. Our hotel was able to do this and we got back a very colorful government document along with our passports the next day. Again, every piece of paper needs to be kept, just in case someone asks.
We had arrived in Dashoguz, and did some minimal sightseeing before our flight to Ashgabat, which was our final destination today. One part of town had a very "lived in" feel, with school children running around (with Hannah Montana backpacks). Then we turned a corner and wham! We were hit in the face with white marble. Shiny and new, reflecting the hot sun, building after building of white marble. These were the buildings built in the last fifteen years or so, when Turkmenistan suddenly realized that it had giant natural gas reserves and was rich and now independent from Russia. So up went the white marble buildings. I didn't know it, but this was a small taste of what was to come.
The flight from Dashoguz to Ashgabat is under an hour. So you are up, they throw some bottled water at you, then you are down. When we deplaned, I saw the framed picture of the smiling president that adorned the front of he cabin. He is always smiling.
As I took the stairs down from the plane, a group of four women caught my eye. They were airline employees, dressed in various colors of overalls, and had the colorful scarves tying up their hair. They looked like a group of Turkish Rosie the Riveters. I desperately wished my camera had been accessible - and that taking pictures at the airport was allowed. But it wasn't.
Inside the baggage claim there were many young mothers in traditional dress, with there babies swaddled up. Each baby had a hat on, and pinned to the top of it was a charm which included the blue and white evil eye symbols. Every baby had one. I tried to sneak a picture casually with my iPad and got a stern finger wagging from airport security - and that was over a baby's hat. The airport was spic and span and smelled of disinfectant. Then were little aromatic sticks and diffusers on top of the decorative architecture, and teams of three women each cleaned the glass doors.
We got onto what we affectionately called the Bordello Bus (patterned red seats and red curtains gave it that whorehouse glow) and we were off to downtown Ashgabat.
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