Trials and Tribulations of Travel in Turkmenistan (2002), Part 1: Ken Gibbs

by Ken Gibbs

Extracts from a personal diary of a visit to Turkmenistan, examining school sanitation.

Ashgabat – Dashoguz:

I was given to understand that the flight from Ashgabat to Dashoguz was by Boeing 737, taking 50 minutes.  It wasn’t; it left 30 minutes late, was in an Antonov 24 and took an hour and 20 minutes.  Luggage is weighed and handed back to you before you leave the counter in Ashgabat.  You carry it by hand to the aircraft and load it; and unload and carry it at the far end.  Not surprising when the flight of an hour and twenty costs you only US$ 33.

Having travelled on Antonov 32s and 24s, the sound was very familiar.  LOUD and everything shakes and buzzes.  The engineer topping up the oil in the engine nearest me had to screw the oil cap closed with a hammer and screwdriver - very reassuring.  Then the cowling obviously pops open in flight so that, too, had to be wired closed with baling wire.  I really felt at home.

I was seated in the middle of a budding tryst.  In the row in front of me was a stolid gentleman of around 45 married to an attractive younger woman who was obviously equipped with a fully wound biological clock about which her husband was blissfully unaware.  Beside me to my right was a young and rather suave 30 year old man who was taking a decided interest in the young woman.  I should add that she sat immediately in front of me, with her husband to her left.  Pyramus and Thisbe couldn’t have done it better between the seats and she obviously passed a piece of paper to the young man beside me for his phone number – which I didn’t see passed because it was done so well – but the next thing I knew was that my knees were being groped to try and get the piece of paper back without her husband seeing.  All this even before take-off !

Travelling by air for short term assignments often requires one to work while in the air, but when you occupy a seat on an Antonov, the rules are different.  It’s not about comfort, it’s about survival.  One wonders who issued the design criteria, and who was used for testing the seats before mass production started ?  I felt I had even to remove my teeth lest they developed cracks from the vibration.  Suffice it to say that because I am writing this account, I made it to Dashoguz in one piece – albeit considerably rattled.

*****

Dashoguz to Kuneurgench:

Today, we travelled 6 hours over appalling roads to see two tiny schools, one with 140 students, and one with only 43.  And, I have to say, most of it in a Russian Jeep.  This one is an up-market version with black curtains so you can keep out the sun; a cushion for the arm where I sat facing back; a roof vent (25cm x 20cm) made of metal but it at least lets in some air which is marginally less dusty than the stuff pouring in through the side windows; and chairs made of metal with some material suspended between the bars.  Yes, I think I can say with certainty why Russians always look serious – they are constantly worrying about their next trip in a Russian Jeep.  Even the gear change sounds like Russian –‘Nyet !’ every time it happens – which is quite frequently.  Presumably, the word ‘synchromesh’ does not translate into Russian. 

This evening, my local Dashoguz landlady was scandalised.  When she did her steppe’s cooking for me which was really delicious, and asked me how it was (she speaking in Russian and me in English, of course) I said that it was ‘Perfect !’  She noted to Galina (my translator) that I made a sign showing approval and was smiling but apparently the word ‘poofek’ or something roughly equivalent means ‘shit’ in Russian.  Communications interface disparity. . . . . .  Galina nearly split her sides laughing when she explained.  This is one term which has gained something in translation.

Periodically along the road, there are check points.  You drive slowly through them and if the police feel so inclined, they whistle and you stop to explain what you are doing.  Shades of the control systems that Mother Russia left in place, I guess.  Frustrating if you are stopped in four out of four check points but the last one on Friday was good natured.  It was manned by a jolly, red faced fellow who asked our business.  He was told and heard that there was a foreigner in the car.  ‘American ?’ he asked.  ‘No, Zimbabwean.’  That really threw him because while he knew that Zimbabwe was in Africa, somehow, I didn’t quite fit the mould.  Why wasn’t I black ?  ‘Well, I fell into the bleach as a child.’  That was translated and he fell about laughing and waved us on our way.  I suppose that they can relate to ethnic differences since many Russian consider themselves to be Turkoman and do they ever look different 

The days are long and the roads are really poor in many places.  However, against that must be put the fact that I am a paid tourist and loving every moment of it.  We travelled 3½ hours into the desert two days ago and found a very interesting school where the UNICEF project appears to have changed their lives.  They still don’t use toilets at home because each time they build one, a dust devil (whirlwind) takes it away, so they say - but I can believe it as they are pretty fierce and the toilets pretty flimsy.  It’s so dry anyway that everything is desiccated within an hour or so, so why bother ?

*****

Ken Gibbs can be contacted via kengibbs1941@gmail.com

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