My three-week tour through five of the strangest countries on Earth

Telegraph

6 days ago

The five 'Stans', independent nations since 1991, are influenced by their neighbours, but distinctive and fascinating.
Each is a complex melange of tribal cultures, linguistic groups and geopolitical pressures. Binding them is the Silk Road, which left a wealth of architectural wonders as well as a culture of bazaars and warm hospitality.
The topography is as diverse as the human geography, comprising deserts, snow-capped mountains, steppe and the fertile Fergana Valley.
They are also surprisingly easy to explore. I've just come back from a three-week group tour that encompassed all five. It was essentially a road trip; a whistle-stop ride through some of the strangest, most thrilling and undiscovered places on the planet. Here's what I learnt about each of the five.
Turkmenistan: dystopia in the desert
When does quirky become disturbing? The standard Western take on Turkmenistan is that it's North Korea lite. I wanted to see it through unjaundiced eyes, but Ashgabat, the capital, didn't help.
On landing at the airport, you first run a bureaucratic gauntlet, queuing for an hour to give away almost £100 to cover a visa and Covid test, having already shown you were 'invited' by a local tour firm.
Our hotel was in the Olympic Village, a large district full of stadia and convention centres. In 2017, Ashgabat hosted the Asian Indoor and Martial Arts Games, and billions were spent making the capital appear first-world.
Result: roads, malls, mega-hotels, fake modernity. No one walks, not because it's hot, but because the blocks are immense. All cars in the centre have to be white. They also have to be clean, if the driver wants to avoid a fine. Also, all cars are taxis, claimed the guide, in that you can stop anyone and ask for a lift.
Whiteness is a theme here, as is marble.
The independent nation's first president, Saparmurat Atayevich Niyazov, imported millions of tons of it to build government ministries, mosques, a massive Ferris wheel and monuments.
Many of the latter are on roundabouts (the guide cited a presidential decree that 'no roundabout should be empty') and feature centrepieces such as a giant arch, a golden globe inside a frame of auspicious eight-pointed stars, statues and a giant replica of a book he wrote to instruct his people.
None of this looks classy so much as cold.
Ashgabat was levelled by an earthquake in 1948. It was de-Sovietised in the 2000s, but it has also been artlessly stripped of character and any patina of time. In the end, it felt like a combination of 1984's Oceania, Gilead in The Handmaid's Tale and The Truman Show.
From here, we were bussed across the Karakum Desert, which George Curzon (future Viceroy of India), visiting in 1888, called 'the sorriest waste that ever met the human eye'
It wasn't that bad, and there were lots of dromedaries to break the monotony, but the appearance of an ominous sandstorm did cause some alarm. Our main goal was Turkmenistan's most famous 'sight' – the Darvaza gas crater, also known as the Door to Hell.
A man-made burning gas field, caused when drilling punctured a natural-gas cavern and a roof collapsed, it was initially ignited to prevent poisonous gases from spreading. When Turkmenistan began to open up in the 1990s, it became a sort of dark tourism attraction. Sadly – or happily – it is currently dying out.
Crossing the northern half of the desert brought us to Daşoguz. A smaller version of Ashgabat, it had bits of marble here and there, a few OTT hotels and more of the same mall-restaurants serving shish kebabs and salads. Sixty miles to the northwest on the left bank of the Amu Darya (Oxus) River was the Unesco World Heritage Site of Kunya-Urgench – notable for its towering minaret, mausoleums, mosque ruins and the gate to a caravanserai.
Deserted in the early 18th century, it's a dustily evocative ghost town. There were no other visitors. We crossed the border.
Uzbekistan: shimmering Silk Road sites
The big-hitter of the Five Stans, Uzbekistan can fill a two-week tour by itself.
Benefitting from good railways, this is the country posh firms tend to focus on. Its roads are of varying quality, but gold, gas and oil bankroll a fair degree of development.
I got to see the famed trio of ancient cities – Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand – and found them enthralling.
Khiva is small and still has its ancient wall. Whether you walk the ramparts or drift around the maze of pedestrianised streets, it's beguiling. Despite the best intentions of the guide, it was hard to keep track of the multitude of mosque and madrasa (Islamic school) names.
The Kaltaminor memorial minaret, ringed by turquoise, green and white tiles, is especially beautiful. This, and many other structures in Khiva, are highly photogenic – if you can ignore the souvenir stalls that have sprouted up all over.
Bukhara has a major archaeological site in its heart surrounded by large, lively squares, with souvenir stalls sited (sort of appropriately) under towers where Silk Road traders plied their wares.
Its big draw is the Ark, a citadel where two British agents, Captain Arthur Connolly and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Stoddart, were imprisoned in a verminous pit before being brutally executed by order of the Emir of Bukhara.
Outside its walls stands a gorgeous minaret from which numerous malefactors were flung. Like other Uzbek centres, Bukhara is a visual whirl of tiling, domes and lofty iwans (entrance halls) – its four-towered Chor Minor is one of the most photographed buildings in the region – but the all-brick Samanid Mausoleum was the most entrancing architectural attraction; tenth-century bricklayers knew a thing or two about geometry, physics and understatement.
Samarkand is probably the Stans' most fabled destination. It's an elegant modern city with ancient sites dotted around, and a convivial place to walk around. The Registan is the most magnificent public square in Asia, perhaps anywhere. You have to buy a ticket to enter, mind you, but there are no unsightly stalls.
Other must-see sights include the Ulugbek Observatory, built in 1420 by Timur's star-gazing grandson, and Shah-i-Zinda necropolis, a pilgrimage site.
Visiting the three cities was eye-opening, but crowds are crowds and it was a relief to roam around the desert castles of Khorezm – sand-coloured ghost-cities in what climate change has made the middle of nowhere.
I also enjoyed a random, unheralded stop at the Rabati Malik caravenserai – a bona fide Silk Road roadside inn beside the bumpy Bukhara-Samarkand M37 highway, between the petrol stations and fast-food joints.
Tajikistan: Rahmon is watching you
The World Heritage Site of Sarazm might date back 5,500 years but, after Uzbekistan's in-your-face glories, its scattering of rough foundations under corrugated canopies and adjoining patchily curated museum were underwhelming.
The gurning mug of president Emomali Rahmon adorns the latter's façade, as it does every roundabout, public building and bazaar entrance. Ruling the poorest of the five Stans since 1994, Rahmon bolsters his dictatorship by means of a personality cult.
The Tajiks are descendants of Bactrians, Sogdians, Scythians – Silk Road peoples par excellence.
They speak a variety of Persian, while their neighbours speak Turkic languages. This might seem no big deal, but guides in the Stans like to make a point that their country is the oldest/strongest or most admired/feared.
Three days wasn't long in Tajikistan, but enough. The highlight was a drive into the Fann Mountains to visit the Seven Lakes, though we only saw six as the road petered out and we didn't have time for the hike to the last.
Fed by the Shing River, the lakes, which range from deep blue to bright green, lie beside a winding road hemmed in by vaulting cliffs and canyon walls. At lake number three we stopped to eat a delicious stew at a campsite beside rushing white-waters, and one brave member of the group took a dip in the gelid lake.
While the scenery was undeniably dramatic, the road was hairy and busy with tour buses – Tajikistan visas are hard to get but that isn't keeping people away – and there were pylons all the way. Our driver was a veteran of the Soviet Afghan war; his experience at the wheel of tanks filled him, at least, with confidence.
A far less nervous ride followed the next day, as we passed from Panjakent up the valley of the Zeravshan River and then turned north for Khujand. It was the most impressive piece of road so far, dynamited through the rocky slopes. On the left were high brown mountains and on the right the lofty Fanns, snow-stained and rugged.
Tidy villages were wedged in beside pale green fields. Wherever the land was reasonably level it was tilled. People have been refining agricultural techniques here for millennia.
Stopping for lunch at Istravashan, we saw where a local mayor had levelled what remained of the hilltop site of Mug Teppe – possibly founded by Cyrus the Great. Now a sterile reconstruction, it was a classic case of misguided heritage tourism.
Tajikistan felt like the most religious of the five Stans. Clothing was more traditional for both sexes, though I saw very few burqas. People touch their heart when they meet tourists, which is an endearing way of interacting and more sincere than 'have a nice day'.
Kyrgyzstan: wild upland beauty
Great mountain ranges cut across Kyrgyzstan, including the Fanns, Tian Shan, Pamirs and Karakorams. The country apparently once styled itself as a future Asian Switzerland. It's more of a Bolivia in development terms, and early experiments with democracy have given way to authoritarianism. In terms of physical geography, it lived up to expectations.
A visit to the village of Arslanbob, surrounded by soaring peaks, involved an easy ramble through semi-wilderness. An old walnut forest was the main 'sight' here, though locals had gathered in large numbers to ride on ziplines and in Lada jeeps, and take photographs in front of a waterfall.
A very long drive on horrible, barrier-free, boulder-strewn roads took us up to the pasturelands around Song-Köl Lake. Here, at almost 10,000 feet above sea level, we slept in communal yurts, visited a local shepherd, saw petroglyph sites, and admired hundreds of cattle, sheep, goats and, above all, horses.
I hiked up to a series of outcrops above the lake. Tiny flowers in improbable colours – blue, deep burgundy – carpeted the golden-green grassland. Small birds announced my presence at each jutting tor. I sat down to contemplate views over the mountains and the hazy far side of the lake, utterly alone.
Kyrgyzstan had landmark mosques and minarets, too, but its chief assets were more left field. I enjoyed a short swim in Issyk-Kul lake, where a former Soviet pioneer camp was mouldering on the beach.
I saw an ornate Dungan mosque and had dinner in a Uighur house, and visited my first Russian orthodox churches.
In the Barskoon Gorge, I admired two Soviet-style monuments to cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin.
Central Asia is full of bombastic statues of old warriors and recent dictators, and at least the celebrated spaceman achieved something (though he never visited). Along the way, we ate in service stations and Spar supermarkets; Central Asia hasn't got round to gastronomy.
One day there will be a coffee table book about Kyrgyzstan cemeteries. The mini necropolises in earthy tones seem to rise out of the desert floor. Tombs are decorated with red stars and etchings of the faces of the deceased. They are never visited by families once the funeral is over.
Kazakhstan: deep canyons and flat whites
This was the country I had most anticipated when contemplating a trip to Central Asia. I knew it was massive – the ninth largest nation on earth – and thinly populated. I knew it was largely made up of steppe. I imagined the openness, the big skies, the far-off horizons.
Alas, this tour wound up with just two days in Kazakhstan, and all I would see was Charyn National Park and the biggest city, Almaty. The former was stunning, and very popular with local tourists. I had a walk around, surveyed a deep canyon that would have been more impressive if it hadn't been such a hazy, wan day, and scored a good, pricey flat white at the on-site café.
If this was my first taste of modern urban living in 20 days, Almaty offered more of the same. A proper cosmopolitan city, with electric vehicles, Irish pubs, posh wine bars and glamorous people, it was a reminder that, while travel is often about seeking out the different and undeveloped, there is comfort in finding good food, craft ale and sourdough bread.
I walked around the centre without a map, and saw branches of Marks & Spencer and Next. I visited the national museum, in need of brain food.
The last official group lunch was a self-service canteen; adventure tourism firms don't go big on food. Afterwards I googled 'Almaty best café' and went, with three co-travellers, to a joyously pretentious place called Fika ('Whimsical interiors meet Soviet-era industrial detailing,' according to Wallpaper magazine).
We toasted a trip of a lifetime and then went to the hotel to sleep in preparation for the 2am ride to the airport.
Chris Moss travelled with Exodus (020 3553 6116). The 23-day Five Stans of the Silk Road group tour has departures from May to October. Local guides, transport, accommodation, entrance fees, breakfasts and some meals are included. From £5,149, plus £727 for return flights. Budget at least £120 for visas for Turkmenistan and Tajikistan. Tips, while not obligatory, are expected; allow £60-£100.