Turkmenistan: From marble excess to fiery desert, the country's surreal, utterly over the top

You know how some people are excellent at digging holes for themselves? Lying on a mattress - which, in comparison, makes even a slab of marble seem soft and bouncy - in the middle of Turkmenistan's Karakum desert, not even the heat of the Darvaza gas crater nearby could offer any solace from the deadly cold. A few months ago in Mongolia, we had promised each other never to stay in a stupid yurt again. Yet, there we were.

Visiting the reclusive nation of Turkmenistan is akin to stepping into a rabbit hole. A driver and guide are mandatory, interactions with locals are avoided. And the obligatory story at each stop is a cautiously rehearsed performance. Capital Ashgabat is constructed almost exclusively of white marble, and on its elegant roads only white cars are permitted.

Scattered across its urban landscape are the most baffling monuments dedicated to the nation's leaders. Bedecked in gold and under the watchful eyes of stern-looking guards, we were the only visitors.


On arrival at the bird-shaped airport, we followed the tour company's instructions, handed over our official 'letter of invitation' for visa-stamping, and submitted to a mandatory Covid test. The swab was waved in front of our faces like a magical wand, and we never heard about the results.

We were then whisked off to our hotel, the iconic 11-storey Wedding Palace, shaped like an 8-pointed star. The massive cube that sits on top incorporates a ball with a diameter of 32m, symbolising Earth, with Turkmenistan as its only visible nation. Naturally, we were the only guests here, too.

Initially, there's a certain charm to having a whole city and its sights to yourself. But you start wondering what all this is for. Turkmenistan holds vast reserves of natural gas and oil. This has allowed its leaders to cultivate the most outlandish personality cults. Perched on an outcrop of white marble some 20 m off the ground, its second president, Gurbanguly Berdymukhamedov, gallops atop a majestic horse for all eternity.

Cast in bronze and covered in 24-carat gold leaf, upon ascending to the throne, he undid some of the more eccentric decisions of his predecessor - who, among others, had the days of the week and months renamed after himself and members of his family. Berdymukhamedov's son is now president, and his image is unavoidable, lording over empty parks and streets, and smiling benignly from government buildings.

After sundown, the city is lit up by a spectacle of rainbow-coloured lights. Not unlike your auntie from Jalandhar having taken charge of the organisation of a shaadi to rival all others. Resembling a jewel box carved out of ivory by day, at night the building that houses the world's tallest ferris wheel evokes the sense of a portal to another dimension.

Independence Monument, which sits next to it, is shaped like a rocket, and with lights changing colour while running up, it seems in a hurry to take off and head for the stars. To see the moon, all you need to do is head into the desert, though. When, in 1971, the Soviets started drilling for gas at Darvaza, it caused the soil to collapse, and a deep crater was formed. To prevent poisonous emissions, it was set on fire under the assumption that it would burn only for a few days.

In the company of a formidable Turkmen hound known for keeping sheep safe from wolves, we trudged over to the crater at night to relish this oddity that has been burning for some 50 years. Staring into the hole, and revelling in its heat, we briefly found ourselves contemplating whether we should move our mattresses to its bottom. Yet with rain predicted, this did not seem smart. At all. Our hole was deep enough as it was.