The Yaks Visit a Dictatorship
Seafaring Yaks
The magnificently handsome yaks strutted into Yaku Port at around midday, foaming at the mouth with the prospect of finally setting sail across the Caspian and into Central Asia. In searing heat, they greeted a rabble of ralliers in the car park of the port, and headed to the ticket office to guarantee spots on the voyage to the Promised Land for the tremendous trio.
After three hours waiting at the port to buy a ticket, the Yaks were reliably informed to return at 5pm to board the boat. Returning at 4.30, Elliott and James were greeted with shouts of ‘Hurry! Get in a taxi and get to the main customs building in central Yaku, you have a fine to pay!” Continuing the usual Mongol Rally vain of act dumb when asked to pay a fine until they get bored, Elliott and James were genuinely confused by what was going on. After 5 minutes, it became clear that they had not got their car to the port in time, having only been allowed 72 hours from entering the country. A taxi was hurriedly called for them and the driver given instructions that we hoped were ‘step on it’. The resulting journey confirmed this to be the case, as the two, now rather alarmed Yaks, sped through the Yaku rush hour at a hurtling pace, gripping the sides of the car for dear life – this was rather tricky as yaks lack opposable thumbs. Once they arrived at the Customs Head Office, Elliott and James bounded up the stairs to be greeted by an empty seat – the officer had gone out! Frantically pacing the room waiting for his return, the Yaks become more and more nervous. After what felt like an age, the officer eventually returned and the Yaks quickly paid their $30 fine. The return journey was similar to the last as the driver continued to play Crazy Taxi with the traffic. Rushing into the port and racing to the new point that all the cars had now moved to, the Yaks felt triumphant as they had made it back in the nick of time. Little did they know, they had a further five hour wait until they embarked upon the ferry...
Elliott and James were shown to their cabin, shared with 3 Danish travellers, and proceeded to enjoy some whiskey (unfortunately not Yak Daniels) and the company of 5 other teams aboard the vessel, which finally left at around 1am.
Having been quoted an estimated journey time of 16 hours, the previously yawn-laden yaks awoke the next afternoon at nearly 3pm with great glee, expecting their floating stable to dock in very soon. Their hopes were however quickly dashed, with intel now suggesting Turkmenistan would not be asSAILED until 1am. The 13 hour sleep however was still an achievement to be celebrated. With yaks being poor swimmers, they decided to trot up to the highest deck of their cruise ship to stay as far away from the depths of the Caspain, and spend the rest of the day lounging about with some fellow daredevils heralding from the Universities of Southampton and Oxford.
Unsurprisingly, the Mongolian-bound convoy were soon informed of a new ETA of 7am the next day, despite the boat having been bobbing about just 20km from the coast from about 3pm. Not delighted with the prospect of spending another night in the sweat box of a cabin, the group decided to enjoy some more of the Yak Daniels imposter, before eventually succumbing to fatigue and reluctantly dragging themselves down to the smelly depths of the ancient (1970s) vessel.
The 16-come-36 hour aquatic adventure finally reached its conclusion at 1pm the next day, with our yaks allowed off the ferry at 3pm due to Catharine being positioned on the top deck, surrounded by some pretty substantial lorries. Delighted to be reunited with their chariot, Elliott and James were chomping at the bit to finally start cruising again, having not driven since their arrival to Yaku some 6 days previously. Only the Turkmenistan border control stood between our hairy heroes and the open plains of the ‘stans.
That final barrier however was some beast, even with the help of a Russian-fluent Spanish rallier who guided every team through the maze of offices and forests of expensive paperwork. The entire process took 8 hours to complete. Turkmenistan is an incredibly difficult country to gain entry to, with the rally only able to travel through on the basis of an exceptional circumstances clause and a transit rather than tourist visa (meaning the yaks had to drive a set path from entry to exit of the country in Turkmenabat).
Trotting through Turkmenistan
Setting off in a convoy of 6 teams- The Yaks, some Oxford boys (Varsity Mongol Rally), a group of engineers from Southampton in a Land Rover ambulance, some Danes, Kiwis and a trio of 2 ex-military guys and a photographer- the horde finally set tyre on the roads of Turkmenistan in the early hours of the morning. With the capital of Ashgabat too far for the weary group, they made camp in the middle of a dusty field at around 3am, after fuelling their steeds on petrol that cost just $0.30 per litre.
The following day, the explorers raced East, being completely mobbed by local children who were keen to play football and adorn Yik Yak stash every time they stopped for provisions. With the country being extremely cut off from the rest of the world, tourists were almost as rare as the elusive Istan the Bull- the Yaks thoroughly enjoyed their new found celebrity status. With progress slow due to their crowds of fans following them for the 450km journey to the city, the groups decided to visit an underground warm sulphur lake on the edge of the mountains. The cavern was dark, smelly, incredibly hot, full of bats, but absolutely spectacular! Post-wallowing in the warm spring for an hour, the now refreshed yaks began the final stretch of the road to Ashgabat with the rest of the group.
With the city within touching distance, the Land Rover broke down, leaving the Yaks as the only alert team to keep the engineers company while the British beast went under the knife. With the monster machine nearly back on the road, the helpful yaks trotted off into the heat of the capital in order to find the rest of the teams and find a hotel to rest in.
Ashgabat was a really weird and absolutely unique place, acting almost as a shrine to those few that ran the country. The Central Asia guide Elliott and James had been browsing before arrival talked in great depth of the political changes that had taken place in Turkmenistan, with the death of a dictator in 2006 making way for a democratically elected President- with 97% of the last vote and even his opponents praising him, he must be some guy! So well-loved was this leader that there didn’t seem to be a street that lacked a giant portrait or statue of him, surrounded by great marble buildings and fountains that were built as Soviet influence diminished.
Unfortunately, the teams were unable to spend much time in the Jewel of Turkmenistan, with all 3 hotels either being full or hideously expensive. Consequently, it was decided the intrepid trail blazers would camp just outside of the city, but even this presented some issues since all roads out of the capital were shut for a time as the glorious leader returned home, naturally requiring the use of every possible entry point. Camp was eventually made at about 3am in the desert about an hour north of Ashgabat, after dinner was cooked up in a pretty eerie neighbourhood on the edge of the city as the yaks awaited to be allowed to escape.
The following day was based around reaching the completely illegal, as it was off the designated transit visa route, ‘Gates of Hell’ 250km north of Ashgabat. The yaks, Oxford, the engineers and the army men headed off back to Ashgabat to get a fix of WiFi and search for the only ATM in the country. With Oxford lost in the depths of the city however, and the army requiring some work to be done to their car, only two of the teams made it out by 6pm- the elusive cash point was never found.
Catharine really did herself proud on the treacherous pot-hole ridden roads on the way to the gate, weaving her way around the majority of the potential booby traps, and eating the ones she did hit up for breakfast. With just 4km of a track left for Catharine to conquer before the gates were reached at a glorious sunset, the yaks got cocky. Despite the warnings of the locals, Elliott and James bet everything they had on Catharine being able to keep pace with the land rover through the sand of the Karakorum Desert- how wrong they were. At the second attempt and with some tow-help from the Land Rover, our stallion of a car made it up a steep sandy hill, but eventually became entrenched a few metres later. Despite towing from the Land Rover and a number of locals desperately trying to push courageous Catharine to the finish line, she was buried immovably in the dunes, and so the Yaks decided to leave her with the snakes and scorpions for the night.
Packing the essentials into the Land Rover and riding the roof of the ambulance to the pits, the yaks eventually made it to Satan’s front door at around 10pm. The pit was absolutely incredible in the darkness, with any pictures not capable of doing justice to one of the most astonishing and terrifying sights the yaks had ever witnessed. The giant crater was engulfed in roaring flames, pumping up billows of hot wind to pummel anyone who got too close to the completely unrestricted edge. With the landmark being James’ most eagerly awaited spectacle of the trip, he was fully prepared to make the most of the occasion with a golf club and balls. With enough to go round for everyone, the teams who made it enjoyed an evening pitching into the blazing fire pit, after a standard meal of sausage pasta. With midnight signalling the birthday of one of the engineers, the festivities quickly accelerated, especially as the military men pulled in at 1am, and the Oxford boys finally rolled in at about 3am.
The following day, the fragile convoy eventually began the trek towards the border with Uzbekistan, after Catharine was rescued from her predicament. A couple of hours into the march, the yaks stopped at a horrendously uninviting looking lake for a much needed wash with 3 other teams, reasoning that if the camels were drinking from it, it must be ok. The water turned out to be unbearably salty, leaving our filthy mammals feeling even filthier as the salt quickly tried in white stains all over their fur. The engineers were happy enough however, as they used their car to drag a wakeboard up and down the lake to varying degrees of success.
The city of Mary, half way to the Uzbek border, was reached by all of the teams at around midnight. With nowhere appearing to be open for dinner, the convoy struck gold when an English speaking local jumped in the Land Rover and directed everyone to an outdoor restaurant for some barbecued meats, local beers, and even accommodation for all 18 people in one of the establishment’s giant indoor rooms. Rumour has it said local was a spy.
Enticed by the enthusiasm with which the Oxford boys spoke about the ancient city of Merv, the yaks split off with them the following day to snoop about the ruins while the rest of the convoy sped towards the Uzbek border- agreeing to meet up later on. Elliott’s historical ‘nerdiness’ meant he seemed to be far more enthralled by the array of broken monuments, mosques and castles than James, although both Yaks could appreciate the unique beauty of the place. The two teams had free reign to roam the ruins littered about the once great Silk Road city due to the lack of the tourists in the country- had the site been almost anywhere else in the world, it would have been teaming with people.
The detour took out a fair chunk of the day- too great a chunk in fact- with it turning out that by the time the Uzbek border was reached, it was closed. This did not however stop the teams for arguing with the officials for an hour, believing that the payments the guards were demanding the next day were bribes. After conferring with those now in Uzbekistan, it turned out the payment were entirely legitimate exit fees. Whoops. After heckling the guards, the teams then refused their advice to camp near to border entry, and proceeded to explore a number tracks into the wilderness in search of the perfect camping spot. It quickly materialised that there was no-where to pitch up the tents, especially after some ‘helpful’ locals, promising the magnificent motorists a flat comfortable place to sleep, sneakily led them straight out of their gated community. Consequently, the Yaks and Oxford returned to the border to set up camp, tails between their legs (literally for Elliott and James).
The pot holes are starting to take their toll
The border process began the next day at around 10am, after batting away some demands for dollars from the police. It transpired that although the drivers of the two cars were still in the country within their visa time frame, their great steeds had outstayed their welcome by a day. Payment of $45 per car was demanded. The incomprehensible reasoning behind the visa process, of having yak and car on separate time frames, led a calm exchange of views to take place for almost 2 hours. Eventually it materialised that the groups were getting nowhere, with the government leaving no room for exceptions to be made. Fortunately, the bureaucrat the teams had been heckling for the past few hours somehow still had some sympathy for the situation and slyly halved the fine.
Turkmenistan was an absolutely fascinating place, with the locals being some of the friendliest people the yaks had ever encountered. With the government limiting a huge deal of foreign influence, both in the form of tourists and news channels, everyone Elliott and James encountered were amazed that they had managed to gain entry to the country, with cars continually pulling up alongside Catharine on the roads and starting up conversations or wishing the trio luck. Having expected the country to be riddled with crooked cops and a population unwelcoming of foreigners, the yaks could not have been more wrong, and were truly humbled by the welcome they received almost everywhere they went.
