Turkmenistan > The border is closed

What a beautiful place to wake up at the Darvaza gas crater. We pack our things again and get ready to drive north toward the border with Uzbekistan. Just before we’re about to leave, one of the villagers rides up on his scooter. He had helped the motorcyclists yesterday with the sandy track. He has a flat rear tire. We help him patch it. Afterwards, he guides us along another, less sandy route back to the main road. In a small roadside restaurant, in the middle of the desert, we have some tea. Chamrat had already said yesterday that the road we took then was good compared to today’s route. In the summer, the asphalt gets so hot that trucks leave tracks in it. In winter, any remaining water freezes and cracks the asphalt. Sometimes it seems as if there are more holes than remaining asphalt. The shoulder is then a good alternative. Some potholes are even ten centimeters deep. It’s hard to imagine that ordinary cars can drive over this. Our vehicle is not unscathed either. One of the cables under the hood has been shaken loose. A door pillar also comes loose. None of this is critical, but it shows how much the car is enduring. We have to plan our fuel stops carefully. There are no gas stations in the desert. The stations are sometimes 250 kilometers apart. Our Land Rover has a range of about 500 kilometers, but the motorcycles only go 250 km on a tank. Oncoming cars often honk and flash their lights—not to warn us of police, but to welcome us.

Turkmenistan - Camping on the border between Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan

People wave enthusiastically. Next to the road, a second lane is being built. Only the gravel base is laid. Several drivers choose to drive here. We try it too. It drives more slowly but more consistently. Occasionally, we have to bypass a sand barrier. We drive about 50 kilometers on this parallel track until Chamrat signals us to return to the original road. Further ahead, there is a police checkpoint. In the afternoon, we arrive in Konye Urgench. Here stand minarets and old mausoleums from the 11th century of the Khorezmshah dynasty. We walk rather hastily among the remnants of this UNESCO city. We still have to reach the border before it closes. The Turkmen border closes at five o’clock. Around half past four, we approach the first gate. The usual procedure with forms and stamps is skipped, but there is above-average interest in the luggage. All personal bags must be opened. It’s unclear what the customs officers are looking for—perhaps they just enjoy seeing what we carry. Compared to the personal luggage, the vehicle check is mild. Only the hood has to be opened to see if anything is hidden underneath. The border guards wish us a safe journey. We continue to the border with Uzbekistan. The gate is closed with a padlock. The border is closed. A soldier walks over and confirms this. The border closes at six o’clock. Because the clock moves one hour forward, we are more than an hour late. Quickly, we get some water from the Turkmen colleagues. It looks like we will have to camp tonight in no man’s land between Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Bizarre! While we are eating in the evening, the patrol comes by. They patrol around the border. Their boss, with an impressive hat, is not pleased that we are here. “This is a military zone,” he says. He wants us to move our tents to the other side of the border and complete the formalities from there tomorrow. It is almost dark, and packing up is not really an option. Eventually, he gives in, and we are allowed to stay.