Planalto Cycles

To give Wayne the opportunity to do something with his tablet and internet connection, we went to the bicycle café one last time. However, since every app he wanted to use required two-factor authentication, he decided to buy a mobile phone in Gülüstan (Russkiy Bazar), where we had bought chocolate. But even there he couldn’t do anything, as foreign SIM cards don’t work in Turkmenistan.

He will try to get everything he can sorted out during his next stop in Jeddah and then hopes to have it repaired in Egypt.

We drove to the airport, said goodbye to Gulsan, said “Sagbul” (thank you) a few more, but last times, and went to the gates to say our goodbyes to each other. Both flights were scheduled to depart at 1:10 p.m., but only Wayne’s flight was on time. The planes are large (ten seats in a row) but almost empty. The passengers mostly looked Turkmen.
In Frankfurt, I was one of the few Europeans who could use an additional, automated gate, collect my backpack, and depart. I wanted to visit Negin in Bonn. (Negin is the daughter of Arash, whom I wanted to visit in Shiraz, but for whom I wasn’t allowed to enter Iran.) Then I saw a sign that said “To the train stations” (there were apparently several). I wasn’t prepared for this, as I knew there was a train station right at the airport. So I asked at the information desk.

The man said I’d have to take a shuttle, since it was 3 km and the stop was right in front of the airport.

But I could only find a bus to the South Station. Negin had offered to reserve the train tickets, and the situation was a bit confusing for both of us. At least she figured out that I could take the train from the South Station to Bonn, because the bus driver had told me I’d have to change trains at the South Station to get to the main station and then on to Bonn. But I didn’t want to do that, since the bus was already stuck in traffic and I didn’t want to miss a train – trains are unreliable enough as it is.

So she organized my ticket and I went to the South Station.

I took a train earlier from “South” to “main” that was anyway late too, and I almost certainly would have missed my connecting train at the main station, at least if the train to Bonn had been on time (which it wasn’t – 15 minutes late).

And now came the “strange” part: The first stop of the train from Frankfurt, main station to Bonn was:
 the airport!

So I had paid €6.60 for a bus that took me 40 minutes away from the airport, then I had the train from the south to the main station and came back to the airport?!
And I don’t know exactly where I had made the crucial mistake that led to this completely unnecessary detour.
But I can’t even say that it’s further evidence that I should stop traveling, because even though it shows that I’m overwhelmed by a train journey from Frankfurt to Bonn, this is still within my own expectations of commuting in the future.

But back to the past, or rather, the present:
The journey is over, the actual trip is finished, goodbye, world!

Wayne and I were allowed a short, unsupervised morning walk before our early breakfast, as we still had a long way to go, and we set off at 8:40.

To me, Yangykala Canyon doesn’t look like a typical canyon with walls on both sides, but it wasn’t formed by a river, but by a former sea. That’s why you find shells everywhere on the ground.

We stopped at the “Crocodile’s Mouth,” where I accidentally stood in a spot I wouldn’t normally stand in. Wayne will send me the photo; here he is in the same spot.

We had a (late) lunch in Balkanabad before driving back to Ashgabat.

Suddenly, Wayne shouted “Stop!” and pointed at the first sign that said “Workers” on our entire trip! There was no particular reason why it was on that street and not on any other before, but it was just there!
A former school friend collects photos of this sign from all over the world, and on my trip, I was able to take some from the Nangan Islands, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and now finally from Turkmenistan. (At least that he will not have yet.) Needless to say, we (in this case, first Guljan, then someone else for photos, and later me too, though photos weren’t needed anymore) met up again after the ice was broken.

Wayne and I decided to skip dinner and went straight to the hotel. Guljan also got home sooner than expected. Wayne and I wanted to write something in our travel journal, but suddenly his phone completely switched off and wouldn’t even respond to charging. That’s never convenient, but perhaps it was a particularly inconvenient moment, so close to his departure from Turkmenistan and his onward flight to Saudi Arabia, where you do so much with your phone these days…

Today we had to wait for someone to handle the registration, as our stay was longer than three days.

So we had breakfast at 9:00 a.m. and, after receiving our papers, were finally able to drive to the Kow-Ata Cave with its warm water.

“broken-hearted” is a too literal translation of the Turkmen expression for heart problems

There are stairs leading down, but getting into the water is difficult because of the sharp stones. Aside from the warm temperature, the water, with its foam, didn’t seem particularly inviting because everything that went in stays there (pigeons flew around, cats roamed about). Guljan told us that the water was supposedly used to heal soldiers’ wounds in old days.

Afterward, we drove on to the mountain village of Nokhur. Guljan showed us a man selling various types of tea next to a thousand-year-old plane tree.

She then bought pomegranates and two kinds of melons, and we went into a restaurant to eat them inside (it was cold enough to prefer that). The people there also cook for charity, so we were able to leave the remaining (large) melons with them without any problem.

After lunch, it was still a long drive to Turkmenabashi, where we arrived at 9:00 p.m., had dinner, and went to our hotel.

We set off at 6 a.m. under a dark, starry sky. I had a problem and hoped to postpone it until we arrived in Ashgabat, but after an hour and a half of driving, I heard myself say, “Please, can we stop here?!” I had wrestled with this decision for a long time and was surprised that something inside me had made the decision for me. Finally back in Ashgabat, we had to stop at three different places before we found something for breakfast since it was Sunday. The food was good, but there was no Wi-Fi, so Wayne couldn’t pay for the tour yet.

We made a stop at the hotel to drop off our luggage and get rid of the desert sand. Unfortunately, the internet wasn’t working properly. (But I was able to upload the report for “Day 76.”)

The afternoon was dedicated to a museum visit and sightseeing. First, though, we went back to the café with VPN and Wi-Fi, since Wayne still hadn’t managed the transfer for the tour. While he struggled, Guljan accompanied me to the bazaar to buy Turkmen chocolate and look at souvenirs. However Wayne was still having internet problems…

At the impressive museum, we had to get an additional guide. Her way of speaking was hard to understand—too fast, too monotonous, and with a difficult accent. Nevertheless, we were able to learn something and re-connect it to Merv and Alt-Nisa.

Afterward, we drove past the state buildings, took a ride on the largest indoor Ferris wheel, and visited the monument to the poet Magtymglary Pyragy. After dinner, Wayne could fix the payment at “our” café (we’d been there at least three times before), and before entering the hotel we took several dozen more photos.

After the short night and long day, I was hoping for some rest, but I just couldn’t fall asleep. I really had nothing more important to do than deal with my toilet phobia and charge my phone (though I only wanted to set my location anyway, since I had no signal). At 5 a.m., I gave up, read the latest newsletters I’d received in Uzbekistan, and then went into the bathroom with my laptop to write without disturbing Wayne.

The bathroom is a good example for many others, perhaps even better: you have marble and gold and loose tape to fix things.

Guljan picked us up and we drove to a place for breakfast (with better Wi-Fi, including a VPN). Afterwards, we visited the ruins of Nisa

Along the way, we saw a salt lake, enough camels (well, not enough to not point at and shout “Camels!”), the water crater, and the mud crater (with some fires).

Along the way, we saw a salt lake, enough camels (well, not enough to not point at and shout “Camels!”), the water crater, and the mud crater (with some fires).

It was already getting dark when we reached the gas crater. It was formed in 1971 by an accident and had been burning ever since, until it was decided to extinguish it soon.

Meanwhile, the driver drove to the yurt village and began preparing dinner. After taking many photos, we went there, ate dinner, and returned in the dark (except for the moonlight) for more photos.

We slept in yurts: Guljan in one, the driver in one, and Wayne and I in another. The rest of the camp was empty, as a large group of women from Ashagbat had decided to leave which meant their drivers had to travel for three hours in the dark on a difficult road. We had warm blankets on the simple beds, and since I kept my pants and jacket on, I slept quite well without feeling cold.

Despite the excellent organization, the taxi ride to the border would have given me a sleepless night. At least I had enough time to pack my luggage.

At 6:00 a.m., I made some noise to wake the manager. He came out at 6:10 a.m. At 6:15 p.m., he called the driver, who said he would be there at 6:30 a.m. (as previously agreed). At 6:37 a.m., the manager called again. At 6:40 a.m., Wayne asked if we were coming (he didn’t have internet outside the hotel, so I had told him I would send an “OK” as soon as we left). At 6:45 a.m., we left, picked up Wayne, and walked to a large bus station I hadn’t seen before, which even had “Olot” as an option. The driver stopped, got out, another man came over, and told us the taxi wouldn’t leave until we had paid for the two empty seats. Wayne started negotiating, we even got out to collect the luggage, and agreed on a departure time of 7:30 am (we were supposed to be at the border by 9 am, with 100 km to go).

At 7:37 a.m., another guy joined us, we were able to set off, and later picked up another one. In the end, we paid 200,000 SUM, which was a good price for both the driver and us, and arrived at 8:45 a.m. So, it was good, but beforehand I regretted not having used Yandex with its fixed prices and star ratings.

The Usbek border crossing opened at 9:00 a.m. Everything went smoothly, then a bus was waiting for transfer. We had to pay a small fee, and I had some sum. After this border crossing, another bus was waiting; we had to pay with mandat, which we didn’t have, but we were able to ride for free.
Turkmenistan border:

Mostly waiting. They had trouble reading my passport with the machine. Meanwhile, our tour guide came and asked if I had a second passport – and I did! That worked out perfectly. Then came payment, a stamp on the invitation letter, a COVID test, more stamps, but all in all it only took an hour and a half until we were on the last bus, Guljan, our tour guide, paid, and we met our driver. In Turkmenbad we had lunch (more like brunch for us).

Some good food, some incredible food and for me enough for the rest of the day.

Then we drove along a bumpy road to Merv. According to my schedule, we should have gone to Mary, but Wayne was determined to go to Merv. For me, it was the same thing, and essentially it was, because Mary has been the name of the city since Soviet times, and Merv refers to the ruins of the old city that the Mongols destroyed, killing hundreds of thousands.

It was a long drive, and besides some ruins, we also saw some reconstructions. It’s hard to say whether the long drive was worth it. But we also had a long chats with the tour guide, including about our personal lives. She has two children and left her husband when their second child was born. She now lives with her mother, brother, sister, and their children. This has allowed her to offer tours for the past year.

We had a flat tire along the way, but changing it wasn’t a problem. On the way from Merv to Ashgabat, we had lunch and visited a small museum. I was happy with just tea, but the tour guide also shared some Russian chocolate with us. Turkmenistan produces its own chocolate; we saw a branch later.

After another three hours of driving, we reached Ashgabat around midnight. My expectations were not met, even though I knew that the city had to be completely rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1948 and had been shaped by the ideas of dictators since 1989. I had seen other cities before, but the names “Turkmenistan” and “Ashgabat” still conjure up images of narrow alleyways, old markets, and imposing architecture. While the second image is accurate, what we saw along the way were mostly long rows and fields of uniform buildings in residential areas, mostly two stories high, with flocks of eight- and rows of twelve-story buildings. The streets looked polished, the bridges were illuminated (electricity and other energy are free), and the underpasses were made of gleaming white marble.

The hotel looked crazy, and we walked through corridors of empty rooms, but in the end Wayne and I had to share one, and the tour guide slept outside at her aunts place.

Bukhara lies on the same latitude (40° N) as Beijing, Yerevan, Ankara, and Madrid (Vienna = 48° N). At the end of October, it’s warm, but the sun can still be intense, and it’s somewhat cool at night. In Beijing, it was colder during the day than here at night (of course, it all depends on the specific weather).

In Bukhara (and perhaps elsewhere), drivers use their hazard lights to signal to pedestrians that they will stop for them. When I was waiting for a car to pass, the driver thanked me with a gesture (right hand on heart), even while still rounding the bend.

So, now for my tour today… First, I found the place where Wayne and I were supposed to meet for lunch. He had sent me directions, so it was easy to find. (Just the address/location wouldn’t have been enough.)

Then I acted like a typical tourist and ticked off one attraction after another on my list.

Wayne and I met up, chatted for a while about traveling, and discovered some similarities (and of course, differences). Afterwards, we had a late lunch; he continued his rounds as a tourist, and I returned to the hotel.

The manager had found a driver for tomorrow for only 100,000 Sum. That’s far too cheap for me—€7.20 for 90 km. Yesterday, the cheapest price he quoted on Yandex was 230,000 Sum (€16.50), which would have been cheap enough. Today, I negotiated with a driver who initially asked for far too much, then 400,000 Sum, and finally 350,000 Sum (€25.20).

I most likely did laundry for the last time on this trip, as I should have enough by the time I get back to Vienna.

The breakfast was arranged beautifully and on the other table elder Arabs took theirs seats with one woman covered up to the eyes.

From time to time peered over to see who she will get food inside. But she did it in an easy way and just removed the cover.

My first touristic task was the summer palace. The path led past a market hall, the bus station and a living area, so local things. And then around the corner was a yard with tourist busses, flocks of tourists and merchants for tourists’ needs.

The entry was 60ooo sum (~5$) and you could walk around the garden and enter some buildings with stuff mainly from the 19/20 turn of the century. It was not even enough to make an involuntary tourist like me tired.

On the way back I tried to find out about buses to Olot, the last town before Farap, the Turkmenistan border. Some taxi drivers said there are no buses but for 50ooo they would bring me there. Not sure if this can be the price for a 95km drive, so I will try to get more information. At least they told me that they only go there and then we (that means Wayne, an Australian who joined that trip) and I would have to change to another taxi.

In the afternoon I visited another bus station. It looked better organised but was empty. The signs showed morning, noon and evening buses but not any going to Olot.

I didn’t go back directly but made a round, however not near enough to the center to see one of those sights that are called must-sees.

In a small shop I bought the Uzbek crafers chocolate, besides brooms and cemeteries another recurring theme throughout the blog to get local chocolate. I must keep it for a while but today I made some progress in stocks reduction.

At the hotel the manager confirmed that only taxis go to Olot and the price is around 250.000. He would order a taxi for Friday morning.
I told this to Wayne who already had arrived in Bukhara. We will meet tomorrow for lunch.

The night offered no opportunity for sleep, as it was less a train ride than a border crossing. After the Kazakh checkpoint, it was only a short distance to the other side, where the same procedure began. The same procedure? No, the longer version. And after everything was done and the luggage was repacked, it was only 15 minutes until getting off the train.

I had already tried to connect the e-SIM to Uzbekistan on the train and left the station at 4:30 a.m. The situation reminded me of my arrival in Urumqi: no money, no Wi-Fi (I’d have needed a SMS confirmation, but the server wasn’t working anyway), no phone connection, and no Google Maps. As you can see, I’m very dependent on digital services. My task would be to get from this station to Tashkent South (6.5 km) by 9:30 p.m. Doable with the help of the offline map.

But while I worked on a plan B, where all systems were out of range, the situation gradually improved.
First, I looked for a SIM card. A shop in the station would open later, but neighbouring was a bank exchange office, so that solved the second problem. My efforts with my cell phone were starting to bear fruit. I suddenly had a list of providers, and the third one accepted me. During my walk around, I had seen the timetable for the North Station, and there were two trains to Bukhara in the morning!
I was exhausted enough to try this option, as I would be spending another night in Bukhara instead of taking a sleeper train, and I was prepared to skip Tashkent and lose my sleeper train ticket. Only with the help of a fellow passenger from the last train was I able to get to the ticket office somewhere outside the station and actually get a ticket for 7:30 a.m.

First class was for the posh (I noticed this while waiting to board, including tour groups, apparently from Indonesia and Great Britain), but I only had a VIP ticket, which is one above that. I didn’t fit in the scheme, so several officials checked my ticket and could only confirm that I was on the right train, in the right carriage (number 1), and in the right seat (number 11).
Well, money can buy that!
And just to give you an idea: I had already booked the train from Bonn to Vienna (~800km) and got a ticket at a good price, namely €60. Sharing a salon compartment with a bunch of arrogant locals in Uzbekistan with free food, tea and drinks is cheaper (570km high speed train).
When we entered our guest room, snacks, drinks, and grapes were already on the table, but when I returned from the restroom, the table was full of food. As a member of high society, I didn’t want to flaunt my ignorance by taking photos, but rather tried to learn from the others how to handle the situation. However, I could have learned to take a small bite here and a sip there and send the food back, so my next strategy was just to avoid making a mess on a rocking high-speed train with yogurt that was sticky like honey. I was brave, but even so, a plate of cheese was two-thirds full, and there was nothing I could do about it. The waiter, however, placed a plate of something croissant-like from the next table in front of me. I thought it was time to activate the emergency part of my sweet stomach ddivision, but I soon discovered that it contained strong-smelling and strong-tasting meat. Did I deserve this?

Whatever my food plans for that day might have been, it was too late.

I tried several times to take a photo of one of the rooftops that seemed typical to me.
At one roof I saw a wooden ladder to the gap in the roof and on another pigeons were sitting but this is too small evidence for any theory.

A traditional band was playing at the station Samarkand, and outside my train neighbor was respectfully greeted by many officials before he returned to his seat and we continued on to Bukhara. The train attendant changed back her shoes, jacket, and hat into waitress clothes and once again attended to us, the pampered and/or high-ranking people.

At one small station, everyone else had already left, and now the staff came and thankfully continued eating the leftovers. I’m not sure what they’ll do with their own leftovers, but at least most of the food was salvaged.

Since I still wasn’t hungry enough to eat my second gift from the station restaurant, Arys 1, I decided to walk. The distance initially seemed 11 km, as the address was unclear, but in the end it was 18 km and took me 3.5 hours.

So I arrived at the hotel dusty, tired, and finally hungry enough to finish not only this meal but also some bread I had left over from Almaty. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening writing, doing laundry (and what was inside them on the train for two nights), and making plans for tomorrow (researching a possible bus to Olot/Alat or even Farap combined with some sightseeing).

After a completely normal night on a train, we arrived at Arys 2. The station impressed me. There were a few people offering food to passengers and a small building with an entrance but no exit. So I had to walk around the building, and there was Arys. First, I met a group of people standing around. The younger ones were happy to see a stranger (I was the only person to leave the train), and an older man came to shake my hand. At least four men had offered a taxi ride, but I wanted to walk.

On my way, I saw at least four traffic lights, some at intersections, whose status seemed to have been enhanced by this honor. Google Maps showed a few restaurants, but they had closed long before I, as a customer, could have saved them.

Near Arys 1, however, the situation changed; a few shops, a market, bakeries, and restaurants appeared. I went into a bakery and bought a kind of croissant, or at least that’s what the owner called it. I wouldn’t say buying was necessary; my backpack was full enough and I wasn’t that hungry, but it was another psychological phenomenon happening inside me: 20 meters away was a very colorful pastry shop with beautiful creamy cakes. Of course, I was attracted, but I resisted. And then there was the outsider with less fancy items—how could I not support this shop?

From there, Arys 1 was already visible, as was a more prestigious building than Arys 2, to which a park-lined avenue led. At first, I sat down to eat some food to prevent it from going moldy, but the thought of catching an earlier train drove me to the station.

Soon, the entire station staff surrounded me, and it became clear that only the evening train was running. Since I’d already arrived and there were “only” 10 hours left until departure, I asked if I could sit in the waiting area. Yes, I could. Then two police officers came over, shook my hand, asked for my passport and ticket, and warned me to be cautious around strangers (but I am the stranger!) and to protect my luggage. It was clear that there was no great danger, but what else could they do when a real foreigner finally crossed Arys?

The ladies in the office then offered me coffee or tea, and all conversations took place exclusively by phone. It was a very nice gesture, and I hope it wasn’t rude to decline the offer in a very friendly and cheerful manner, but I was afraid of getting into a long, awkward situation where we wouldn’t have anything to discuss, and that only digitally.
I wasn’t sure if they’d called the police, because I looked like an elderly, confused man stranded in Arys who might need help.
Every now and then, someone came into the waiting area, and a police officer came again and, after a phone call, took photos of my passport stamps and Ugandan visa.
After a while, I wanted to take a walk and asked the officer if I could leave my luggage somewhere. They were sitting in a large office, and a backpack in a corner wouldn’t bother them. However, they wrote that there was no luggage storage at the station. Instead, they said there was a restaurant inside and opened an unmarked door. Behind it was an elegant café. Shortly after my hearty breakfast, I would get something to eat again.

I ordered a cake that looked less classic and by that, I thought, could be a bit more authentic, and a tea. The waiter asked me something, and I said yes, but I should have said “Thanks, just the little one!” even though I was thirsty.
Because:
A few minutes later, the waiter came back, holding a beautiful wooden plate in one hand and a phone in the other, explaining that this was a traditional dish and that I was invited as a guest. I hadn’t yet finished my surprise, confusion, joy, and embarrassment when the other waiter arrived with a large bowl of clear soup and a similar explanation.
I asked Aruzhan via WhatsApp for a Kazakh “Thank you!” and she replied from Italy with “Rakhmet.”

Similar to yesterday, but different from yesterday, I had consumed too much liquid and, in this case, too much food. But like yesterday, I had plenty of time, so although it hurt, I was able to eat everything, and now were only six hours left until departure.

I wrote my name, contact details, and an invitation to Vienna on a piece of paper (it was the delivery information from the delivery guy in Urumqi), which made them a little happy. The owner approached me later, asked about my travel plans, and finally invited me to rest on his sofa. Well, the sofa was inviting, the invitation itself was inviting, but it was too much to accept. So I waited until the owner and his wife were gone, paid for my order, and left.

The sun and the temperature on the platform were inviting, so I sat down on a bench to write this.
The wait passed faster than expected, as the ticket inspector came and chased me to the platform for an incoming train. But before she could push me in, I found my ticket on my phone and it became clear that this train was going to Almaty, even though the order of stations on the screen showed Tashkent as the last stop and my real train would arrive at the expected time.

The train arrived, and the waiter from the restaurant arrived with a takeaway box containing another gift from there!

The train’s arrival was spectacular:
It was a carriage without compartments, and from every bed, one or sometimes two pairs of eyes stared at me. My seat was already taken, and it took several shunting operations before my two backpacks, the food, and I found a free spot.

The woman across from me started talking to me in a funny, flirtatious way, and everyone laughed. It went on like this for a while. So they knew my age, the number of children, and a few other details, and I knew that they were coming from Moscow to Tajikistan and would leave at the border.
There not only my new girlfriend (who got jealous whenever someone else used my phone for a “translation-talk”), but at least two-thirds of the train car was empty. Instead, the Kazakh border guard came, stamped our passports, and let their sniffer dog run free. I had to unpack my two backpacks until “my” official got impatient or had seen enough food and clothes, and I was allowed to pack everything back. After this overview I knew I won’t be able to eat everything before I get to Vienna, or I’ll have to start running again or doing something else more calorie-intensive.