Streits in Turkmenistan - Entry # 10

June 24, 1999

Almost a week ago, we put our car in storage, took our kitten to be cared for by a friend, and packed to spend a week in Turkmenistan while Ted worked there. Our adventure began just before midnight when the embassy staff came to pick us up at the house to take us to the airport. As is routine, once in the car, we produced passports, visas, and airline tickets. Then they asked me for an identification card which I have never had and we didn't realize I needed. "Oh," they said, "they won't let her leave the country." We all sat in silence in the back seat of the vehicle, greatly disappointed. Ted would have to go anyway, and the girls would be allowed to go, but we all knew that probably wasn't a good idea. I was thinking "how can I spend the next week with the girls at home, with no vehicle, without our pet, and somehow make it a week equal to the vacation we had planned for?"

The staff decided to take us to the airport anyway and try to talk to the authorities. What made it more difficult is we were in the middle of a two-week crackdown on illegal aliens in the country, which meant tighter controls and identity checks. The girls were very good sports although I could tell they were devastated at the thought that we would probably just see Ted off, then go back home with our suitcases.

Somehow, the staff pulled the right strings, and after several tense minutes of sitting in the waiting room, we were waved through to begin the trip. "You are very lucky," the staff whispered to me. My only fears were would I be allowed to enter the next country, and would I be allowed to return to this one?

Soon, we were boarding a 727 with the crowd of passengers, all without seat assignments. We were able to sit together and settled in for the three hour flight. They served hot tea, bread and cheese, and a tiny candy bar. Rose slept through this and was upset the next morning to learn she had missed a snack, even though we had saved the candy bar for her.

At our 4 AM arrival in Turkmenistan, we had about an hour wait while visas were processed for us, with no trouble. We were now in the desert, where the daily temperature is 105 - 108 degrees F. What made it very bearable was the usually constant breeze.

We had been given the use of a vehicle and a house slightly out of town at the American residential compound. What this means is that within a large fence on the desert is a piece of America, with green grass and small planted trees and modern condominiums. There is literally a line in the sand, with lush grass on one side and barren, blowing sand on the other.

Like in Almaty, we looked out on high mountain ranges. But in Kazakhstan, we see green mountains, covered with snow at the peaks. Here the mountains have cliffs of dirt, rock, and sand and there are no plants at all. We were just a few miles from the mountains and on the other side was the border with Iran. As I looked at the mountains, I wondered if people try to cross this border as they do in other places. Remember the final scene in Sound of Music where the children hike off with belongings in tow to cross the Alps to freedom in another country? It would be life threatening here due to the elements of nature.

The best part of where we stayed was the pool. In Almaty, we don't have many safe places to swim. The local water is contaminated and the technology needed to keep a pool safe doesn't exist there yet. So, the girls spent hours in the pool each day, quickly turning brown in the desert sun. They have Italian blood in them to give them dark skin pigments. My mostly northern European ancestry doesn't help me in the sun. Even staying in the shade and fully dressed, I developed a mild form of sun poisoning on my exposed skin. Sun block doesn't stop the power of the sun in the desert.

Frequent dust storms would blow by, and we saw the phenomenon called a dirt devil, which looks like a tornado, but is swirling dust, traveling slowly across the sand. Swallows lived near us and liked to swoop low to drink out of and bathe in the pool. At times, they would be circling high above the water, and I would see the wind blow against them to the point where they were stationary for awhile in the sky, then would be blown backwards out of it. This didn't seem to phase them for long. The compound was pretty deserted, and we had the pool to ourselves. We truly felt "on vacation", the only thing missing was the waiter bringing drinks on little trays.

Each evening we went into town to eat at different restaurants with friends and colleagues of Ted's. Our favorites were the Turkish and the Iranian foods. The Iranian menu was filled with wonderful varieties of rice pilafs, which have inspired me to experiment with pilaf recipes back in Kazakhstan.

The local culture is very much alive in Turkmenistan; therefore it is much less "Westernized" than Kazakhstan. Most of the women wear long flowing dresses with embroidered panels around the neckline. Most of these dresses are made of velvet. There is a smaller percent of the dresses made in flowered, lighter-weight fabrics. The men wear loose fitting tunics and pants and a large hat made of sheep's curly wool. The dresses are not purchased, and most are probably homemade. I plan to buy some of the embroidered panels and make these dresses for the girls. The girls say they would rather wear them in the cold winters than in the heat we experienced in the desert. The only standardized clothing I noticed on the young boys was made by a brand name sporting goods company in the USA.

On the weekend we went to a neighboring town to explore a large outdoor market where merchants and their families camp for three days each weekend to sell goods. As we approached the acres of activity, we encountered herds of camels resting for the return trips home. A small body of water provided enough grass for grazing. On the outskirts of the market were the very large items for sale: large outdoor ovens over a meter and a half square; huge (larger than bushel baskets) heavy aluminum cooking pots which are suspended over open fires and cook gallons of rice or soup at one time; bales of raw cotton; the portable wooden structure poles and cap pieces for the nomad dwellings that are similar to the yurts in Kazakhstan but are much more open to the air for ventilation; sheep, goats, and more familiar things like lumber, propane tanks, and plastic soft drink bottles filled with used motor oil.

Soon the crunch of vehicles forced us to abandon ours and proceed on foot. We encountered crowds of people with mats spread on the sand filled with items for sale. For the most part, people were spread out in rows so we could follow a path around them. Occasionally, we would come upon an elderly merchant with a blanket right in the path and the crowd would break and flow around the blanket like water. Most families had designed a small amount of shade for themselves using rugs, poles, tarps, or umbrellas. Children slept in these pieces of shade or made runs to the food venders and brought breads and bowls of food to their parents. Everywhere was the smell of spices, garlic, and hot oil.

This country is famous for special woven and mostly deep-red carpets; therefore at the market acres of them were for sale. We had gone to the carpet museum the day before to decide what type of designs and colors we liked. Although it was difficult to choose when there were thousands spread out on the sand, we found one we wanted to buy. The rest of our time at the market we were surrounded by new smells, sounds, and sights, and tried not to lose each other in the mass of humanity. Of the four of us, I have the least tolerance for the sensory over-stimulation that such places provide, and we didn't last much more than an hour and a half in the hot sun.

In order to take our carpet out of the country, we had to take it to the carpet museum to get a certificate to prove it is less than 20 years old. They were able to tell us, by the design and style of weaving, that it was made about 1990 by a tribe of people that lives along the coast of the Caspian Sea. We didn't have to pay any taxes on it because it was less than 3 meters square.

Monday night, as we drove into town, we found every street corner to have metal flag stands with cloths of many colors waving in the wind. It was beautiful and awakened my liturgical connections. We decided that it must be a national holiday. Later, when we asked, we were told that it might be a public celebration for the local school graduates. Since there seemed to be many street concerts and parties that night and a higher degree of "dressing up" by the strolling people, that may have been the answer. (Another example of lack of knowledge visitors experience by not being able to read the nightly newspaper or watch the news.)

On our last night we went to the apartment of a friend from India to eat a homemade dinner of spaghetti and watch a video together. We watched Air Force One which opens at the Palace of the Republic in Kazakhstan (which is in Almaty) and ends with all the action taking place in the "sovereign air space of Kazakhstan" and over the Caspian Sea. As current residents of Kazakhstan, we were shocked at the movie image portrayed of this region and the fictional politics created as a backdrop to the story in the movie. If any of you are movie buffs, you may understand what we mean. What it takes to make a good story often bears no relation to reality.

Most of the people we have met locally who speak English have gone to college or university in America. They have returned home to work and support large extended families. Often they are the first in their families to receive higher education.

Another interesting thing to me about almost all the local people I have met that have connections to, or work in, the energy (oil and gas) industry have spent time at the Energy Center at the University of Oklahoma in Norman, my home town. The multi-story Energy Center is about 2 blocks from where my parents still live. These people who have visited Oklahoma also remember the site nearby of the federal building in Oklahoma City that was bombed several years ago. Miles of this section of Oklahoma were recently completely flattened during record-breaking numbers of tornadoes.

Currency in Turkmenistan has an exchange rate of about 13,000 manat to a dollar. As you can imagine, this creates quite a wad of bills to carry around. Ted changed $50 for the week and we each carried part of it because it was too much to fit into a wallet or pocket. A single egg cost 600 manat. I bought ten of them (and put them in my plastic bag) for 6000, the equivalent of about 40 cents. The real wonder was gasoline, which is subsidized by the government. It costs 400 manat a liter. We overfilled our loaner car with 8 gallons and spent the equivalent of one US dollar on it.

One thing our trip to Turkmenistan did for me was give me another perspective on our life in Kazakhstan. I found that I now reference comparisons to our lives and home in Kazakhstan rather than in West Virginia. After 3 months in Kazakhstan, we have established a "home base" of comfort with customs and people that we looked forward to returning to. For example, we think in terms of Kazakh currency instead of dollars. We think metric for most measurements. Time in Turkmenistan, where flies were difficult to keep out of the liquids we were drinking and ants inside the house were a constant challenge, made us realize that we are essentially insect-free here in Kazakhstan. We have some doors and windows without screens and it is not a problem to leave them open for days at a time. Ted thinks it is because we have so many birds to eat the insects.

Here's one way we remember West Virginia: We have found a picnic site about 20 minutes into the mountains outside of Almaty that reminds us of being beside a lush rushing river in West Virginia. In many ways it is like the Pocatalico River that cut through our farm in Roane County. We are having a good summer and wish the same to each of you.

Ted has put photos from Turkmenistan on this week's update of our web site. Check it out if you can. Brecken

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