Wine, Mud and Crossing the Caspian

Apologies for extended the radio silence, we've been rather held up on a ferry but at last find ourselves in the desert heat of Turkmenistan.  All present and correct we are happy to report. We survived the night we last left you on, despite the gale force winds wrenching the awning from the side of the truck, nothing a spot of drilling and riveting over breakfast wouldn't fix.  Of course our next night with a roof over our heads would be completely still with no rain.

Heading East into our last corner of Georgia, the Kakheti region, we started entering wine country, with row after row of vines neatly crossing the fields.  Another fabulous homestay with the group divided into 3 houses on the same street.  The dull cracked plaster on the outside of the houses misrepresenting the luxury inside, with handsome solid wood furniture and ornate coving that wouldn't look out of place in an English stately home, each house sporting a piano and one even a grand!  A Georgian all you can eat feast was enjoyed in the evening, topped off with a huge slice of cake, baked especially by our host Asmat to celebrate Georgian Independence Day, complete with Georgian flat on top.  Some tuned into watch the Eurovision song contest being broadcast from nearby Azerbaijan whilst others sat around the piano.

Hels and Rogs with the lady of the vineyard

What better way to experience wine country than by doing some wine tasting.  After a lunch stop in Gremi, Kakheti's ancient capital, the Citadel still remaining, we visited two different wineries.  Both offering generous tastings of red and white wine, and the local fire water Chacha.  The variety with added fruit only slightly more palatable than the clear 60% alcohol version.  The second winery always look forward to an Odyssey visit and welcomed us like family.  Proudly scooping jugs full of wine out of the huge underground vats and pouring glasses to the brim for tasting, delighting in our enthusiasm for the wine.  After some hours we reluctantly dragged ourselves away and with some dancing in the aisle we found a suitable riverside bushcamp nearby.  Followed closely by an inquisitive local just wanting to check we were ok, and leaving us with a bottle of Chacha as a gift, as if we needed more!  More locals arrived later armed with freshly picked cherries, strawberries and their own wine.  One of the girls Tata spoke good English and traded some Georgian dancing moves with our Scots, Rowan and Dianne.  A favourite quote from Chris, as he packed his camp chair away for the night: “Quite pissed.  Totally happy.  A great way to be.  See you lovely folk in the morning”.

Gremi

Wine from underground vats, decanted into 5L bottles

Winery food

Underground wine storage

Gareth, Shelagh, Jeff and Jim buying chacha after a couple...

Kev & Jody - wine glass on your head is never a good idea, you can guess what happened next...

Jase, Julia, Jim and Shelagh enjoying wine tasting

Nick not so convinced about the chacha

The fruit helps a bit, but only a bit...

Cheers to drinking Zaza under the table...

Post-wine-tasting dancing in the aisles

The ubiquitous Lada

Cindy making friends with the local Georgians

A low-productivity day followed, a short distance on to Sighnaghi, an attractive town with a distinctly and slightly peculiar Italianate feel, we even found pizza for lunch.  A final bushcamp in Georgia and we found a lovely field with some welcome shade from a big tree.  The 3,000m peaks of the Lagodekhi Nature Reserve loomed over us, teeming with bears, lynx and wolves.  Lightening threatened around us as the evening wore on, causing the wolves to start howling.  Our last night in Georgia meant our last night with Zaza who has been with us for the last couple of weeks guiding us through his country.  He will be missed and remembered as we continue our journey.  Mikkel was on fine form apparently just stumbling upon these specimens whilst going to the loo.  This time a slightly more venomous snake and a real Miss Tiggywinkle of a hedgehog.

Signaghi

Less than a kilometre drive the next day to the Azerbaijan border, the Georgian's marking their side of the border with a sign wishing us luck, which we were grateful for as it all went rather smoothly.  We spent the night in Sheki, one of Azerbaijan's most attractive towns and on the old trade route of the Silk Road, hence our accommodation for the night was in a traditional Caravansary, where the traders would have stayed.  A visit to the petite Khan's Summer Palace and an evening soaking up the atmosphere and getting a feel for Azerbaijan.  The random acts of kindness continue, a small group of us sitting in a local square eating bread and rotisserie chicken were first wished bon appetit by passers by.  We then watched as local enthusiastically went to great lengths to cut down bunches of fresh cherries and to our surprise presenting them to us for pudding.

Enjoying an afternoon in Sheki

Our lovely hotel in Sheki

Our destination the next day, some lesser known mud volcanoes, just over a high pass near Samaxi.  It was a hot bumpy drive and just as we started to climb up towards the pass an unmarked black Lada full of policeman pulled us over and indicated we could go no further, possibly due to landslides.  The detour would have taken us to the coast via Baku and there was no way we would be able to reach it that day.  However all was not lost, we pushed on til near dark and made it to another set of mud volcanoes we'd read about, 100km South of Baku, with the ideal bushcamp a few hundred metres away.  Mini bubbling mud volcanoes entertained us as the sun set, belching, gurgling and occasionally throwing up cool grey mud.

Waiting for the perfect photo

A short drive the next day into Baku, still a buzz in the aftermath of the Eurovision  song contest, held there less than a week before.  It was straight to the customs compound at the port for Calypso to ensure she didn't overstay her 72 hour permit on the roads, and time to start the Caspian Sea crossing adventure.  We tried our best to get around the new visa rules and persuade immigration to let us sail without our Turkmenistan visas but it soon became clear this was not an option.  While in Georgia we had been reminded of the unpredictability of the countries we are visiting on hearing the news that we would need to obtain visas for Turkmenistan before boarding the ferry in Azerbaijan, rather than on arrival as usual.  Even though Turkmenistan are still happy to issue on arrival the Azeri authorities are not willing to let you leave without it.  So the next morning off we ventured to find the embassy, the first challenge.  Knowing the embassy had recently moved and giving the driver the new address he still thought he knew better and went to the old address.  Eventually in the right area, but getting no closer to actually finding it, the crew jumped out and split in 3 different directions, running down narrow streets and asking locals, eventually finding it, an hour later than hoped, especially as the consul had been expecting us.  The process turned out to be quite straightforward although lengthy with form filling, scanning, copying, printing, paying, sticking, stamping, signing and all for 24 passports, it took the entire day.

Rushing down to the port and just catching the ticket office we heard there was a ferry leaving that night, some time between 10pm and midnight.  Tickets bought and more paperwork completed we felt relieved that a day dashing around in 35 degree heat had been well worth it.  The group heard the good news at one of the 3 hourly arranged rendezvous we'd been having at the hotel (the hotel we'd checked out from that morning and who were still more than hospitable), each time everyone gathering, bags packed and ready to go in anticipation of hearing we would be on our way, and this time we were.  At 9pm we walked in convoy to the port.  The word port should be used in the loosest sense of the word.  An unmarked turning led to a thin boom gate and along a dusty road to the sea where sets of train tracks ran right up to the edge.  Cargo ships dock regularly and trains load directly in to the bowels of the ship, an impressive sight.  As passengers we would be added extras, at the mercy of the cargo, tagging along with the clinker, cement, chicken feed or whatever it was being traded across the seas. 

Word had it our ship, Professor Gul, was due in at 10pm, then 11pm, midnight and so on.  The previous ship still being in the harbour and little activity loading or unloading we knew we would be in for a wait so settled down on roll mats by the breezy dusty dock to try and get some sleep.  Sickness would choose an opportune moment to strike, with some suffering from an earlier meal and one particularly unfortunate person, who shall remain nameless, an excruciatingly painful bout of haemorrhoids, wincing as he paced up and down, the border guards took pity and brought him some fresh tea.   Engines sounded and activity increased in the wee hours and the previous ship left and in came ours.  At 4am we were finally on board and at 5.15am we set sail.  The Caspian Sea crossing has a legendary status as being tough, rough and downright dirty, blocked loo’s and the cabins being so awful it better to sleep on deck, we had prepared for the worst.  On boarding the ferry, which looked quite clean at first, the doors were opened and we were presented with spacious cabins, brand new mattresses, bedding, sinks, plumbing, power, curtains, flushing loos, loo paper, SHOWERS, HOT WATER, not a cockroach in sight and it was not a dream!  Professor Gul, whoever you are, from the bottom of our hearts, thank you.   Some were almost disappointed at how civilised it all was but soon agreed we could certainly not complain, with numerous different ferries crossing the sea every day it was pot luck which one we would be get, we most definitely lucked out.  The sun rose over Baku as we sailed East enjoying a long awaited celebratory beer after nearly 24 hours awake, not a bad day's work.

Sleeping through a lot of the next day's crossing, we wandered the ship and relaxed on deck in the sun in complete peace, the welcome breeze reducing the heat blowing across the water from Turkmenistan, the hottest country in Central Asia.  We appeared to be the only passengers aboard the ferry, apart from Cedric, a solo motorcyclist from France who we had gone through the port and visa proceedings together with the day before, and who spoke a useful amount of Russian.  For the time we were on the ferry he became a part of the group.  Imagine a P&O ferry, take away all the trimmings, shops, restaurants and people and that is what you have.  Even crew were rarely seen, a small restaurant without a menu served food and tea if wanted.

Proof of the shiny new bathrooms!

As the day drew on and land came into sight we began calculating timings and distances, knowing if we docked at that point it would mean finding a bush camp in darkness, sleeping for a few hours and then driving all the way to Ashgabat the next day.  We all secretly hoped perhaps it might take a little longer giving us a few more hours to sleep in the comfort of our cabins before returning to the truck and pitching tents.  Suddenly great clunking noises were heard and the ship's anchor was dropped and the engines shut off.  Occasional intelligible announcements were made over the tannoy and the sun slipped away, we returned to our cabins for another night, not knowing when we would be awoken.

The next morning after a full night's sleep and still no engine sounds, the rations were out, cereal for breakfast, hot dogs for lunch.  With no idea how long the wait would be or the reason for it, the search for information began, starting with the lady from the canteen, at first just a shrug of the shoulders but then followed an elaborate sign language which we deciphered as meaning a ship was in port and would need to come out before we could go in.  Eventually in the early afternoon a loud grinding noise indicated the anchor was on its way up and once again we were moving.  Docking at 3pm and finally disembarking the ship at 5pm there was still a further wait at customs before Calpyso was released.  We eventually discovered the reason for the delay was high winds making the port unsafe to enter, something Turkmenbashi is prone to and not an uncommon occurrence.  Our crossing at 34 hours was nowhere near a record. 

We arrived in Ashgabat late the following day after a desert bush camp not far from port (cue Mikkel going off in search for desert dwelling creatures and finding a giant camel spider, picture to follow) and a long hot, bumpy drive through the desert.  A bit like driving into Las Vegas from the surrounding nothingness, the City appeared, wide tree lined streets, mosques, shiny gold statues and smooth marble buildings.  Poor Laura did not have the most exciting of birthdays bumping along in the truck all day but we made sure to head out before the 11pm curfew and persuade a small restaurant to stay open so we could enjoy a few cold beers.  Next stop, a burning gas crater in the middle of the Karakum desert then out the other side and into Uzbekistan, see you there!