Western Union, Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan. We turned up at the border last night with no visas and no money. Yes, we are dicks. So now I'm at the bank, trying to explain what I need: $500. Otherwise my friends can't get in the country. Or, I suspect, back out of the country.
The girl speaks no English, which could be a problem. If this doesn't work, we're in the shit. But as the team motto goes: duntwurryboudit.
I'd left Jeff and Steve sleeping in the car, on the tarmac next to the ferry, a couple of hours before. It made for a brilliant introduction to a country - just wandering out of the passport building, crossing some railway tracks and picking an alleyway down the back of a row of crumbling sandstone houses, past dusty back yards formed of bits of wood, home to big dogs, barking their rabies at me. Exactly what makes trips like this so good. Where am I? Turkmenistan. What's going on? I've no idea. But I need a bank.
I've got a proper mission. Namely:
Find the bank.
Work out whether I can wire money to myself.
Failing that, call home and get someone to loan us some, and quick.
Buy some supplies.
Take money and food back to my boys, get the visas and get the fuck out of visa hell.
It's hot already. The sun is coming up over the arid hills, a huge white ball glowing ominously at 8am. Again, there's no air. I've got the sum total of $2 to my name, which I use to get some essential supplies to see me through the mission: a bottle of water, a Mars bar and a can of 7-Up.
I go to the bank, and the security guard tells me I have to wait. Turns out the time is an hour earlier than I thought, thanks to the dual hassles of time zones and the weird clock on my Nokia phone, the battery on which died on the way over.
Which means I'll need to use a public phone to call England. With no money. I just spent everything I had on sugar. Ah, balls. So I'm sitting in front of the bank, in the rapidly rising heat, running through possible options:
Call England from the bank. Unlikely.
Go to the decent hotel where they speak English and explain my predicament, use the phone or internet there. That's fine, but it's 2km in the wrong direction.
Walk the 2km back to Steve and Jeff empty-handed, asking to use Steve's phone. Can't do that.
Somehow charge my mobile. That's not going to happen.
The bank opens and I go up to the Western Union office. This isn't like any bank I'm used to. It's more like an old school, with groups of people hanging out, going in and out of different rooms. There's a snooker table at the top of the stairs. The girl in the Western Union office is pretty, wearing traditional long dress and headscarf. She speaks no English. I'm trying to ask whether I can transfer money there myself, from myself to myself. She has absolutely no idea what I'm on about.
I'm just starting to think it's going to be impossible to do anything, when a bloke comes in who speaks English. I explain my predicament, and he starts warming to me. Ok, he says, you just need to get someone in England to stick $500 in and you'll have it in 15 minutes. That's ideal. Except I can't call anyone in England to organise that. I've got no money. I wave my phone at him, and he scurries off with it, coming back five minutes later with a charger which actually fits. 'Dave,' he says, ushering me into one of the offices. And there I sit, on the chair in front of his desk as he's dealing with an incessant flood of clients cashing in their wages. I'm sitting there the whole time sipping coffee and eating donuts, looking vile, and being waited on by an incredibly fine-looking girl in traditional garb.
Turns out his name is Vepa, and he has a brother living in the UK. He's a lovely bloke. And not just because he's feeding me coffee. He keeps interrupting his work to ask me more questions. He's a life-saver - he hosts me for over an hour, as I wait to connect with Pat & Trev back at home, who come through superbly at 6am and manage to sort it all out. thanks muma and dad. Bingo.
Moolah in hand, I retrace my steps to an area that had a lot of taxis and a few shops. I go into one to buy water, and the kid there starts talking English. He sorts me out some water, and talks me through the weird currency, then even takes me across the road to another shop where I can buy food, and helps me sort out some nibbles. And then he takes me bakc into the street to hail me a cab, something made far trickier here by the fact that no cab has a sign on it. You just have to pick a Lada and guess.
So thanks to the second huge act of kindness of my first few hours in Turkmenistan, I'm soon stocked up with food, sharing a Lada-cab with two other blokes, and treated to a mini tour of Turkmen housing estates - sandstone houses and enormous satellite dishes - before being dumped back at customs.
Unfinished. To come:
Bureaucratic ping-pong. Unbelievable.
Lunch with the border cashier.
Drive. Finally free - four days to leave Azerbaijan.
Through the desert, camels around us.
Really friendly people. Less pushy than Az. Very mellow. Warm hand-shakes.
Cops - friendly. Wave us through after chatting about the car.
End day - driving through darkness again. Heading for underground lake. Won't make it. Pull into cafe. Bloke suggests 5km away spot. Go for 10km to show us. Next to reservior. Beautiful night of stars, if random spot - drive past military compound to get in. Still everyone's fucking melllow. Boys with guns wave us through.
Set up and settle in for an incredibly moist night.
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