Lush, green, and peaceful? Actually, yes.

Iraq: a dry, dusty, dangerous desert, filled with bombs and a hatred of all people Western... right? That's certainly the image of Iraq painted by Western media these days, although it's not an accurate depiction of the country as a whole. Desolation Travel member Joe Scarangella has recently relocated to northern Iraq (after being evacuated - rather against his will - from Yemen), and he has been recounting his adventures on his blog, Joe's Trippin'. As you can see, it hardly resembles stereotypical Iraq!

Check out Joe's first two posts from Iraq:Iraq's B-Side and Takin' the High Road
And follow Joe's Iraqi adventures here!

desoLINKS

I know that we haven't posted anything in rather a while... unfortunately we haven't yet figured out how to make a living off of full time Desolation Travelling, so we all have jobs that keep us boringly occupied doing hundrum and non-desolate things.

Well, except for Joe who is about to get evacuated from Yemen and, as such, is hardly occupied with the humdrum! In fact, prior to the eruption of all the recent violence in Yemen, he did a good bit of travelling (desolate and otherwise) about that country. Here are some links from his pre-evac travels:

Salalah-blah-blah-blah

Gettin' tanked in Aden

Thrill on Silent Hill

A Ho-hum al-Khokha
Highs and Lows
Tunin' up Thulla

Moving on... we've got some pictures from Kyrgyzstan posted on our website, taken by me (Jane) and by Ben S. They can be seen at the following links:

From Bishkek to Osh

Karakol, Altyn Arashan, and the Valley of the Flowers

And lastly... this coming August, the Desolation Travel team is going to Chernobyl! In honor of this fabulous upcoming event, here are some articles on Chernobyl which have recently found their way into the news:

Chernobyl, My Primeval, Teeming, Irradiated Eden

Lessons from Chernobyl for Japan

Visiting Planet Turkmen

by Joe
CLICK HERE to see the entire set of photographs.

Psychological profilers, social commentators and some guy looking for an excuse will often babble on about how it's a fine line between genius and insanity. Actions or decisions somehow walak a tightrope, balancing between inspired brilliance and doltish idiocy. For CEOs, political leaders and military commanders, time is usually the final judge and history books record these decisions with a blasé “matter-of-factness” that only comes with hindsight. But there are other times that such evaluations are rendered irrelevant. When needing a yardstick marker of just how nuts some choices can be, one need not look further than Turkmenistan.
His Excellency Saparmurat Niyazov Türkmenbaşy, President of Turkmenistan and Chairman of the Cabinet of Ministers took a common Central Asian path to totalitarian leadership. As first secretary of the communist party during the “good ol' days” of the USSR, Niyazov was essentially leader from 1985 until his death in 2006. After Soviet collapse, he was declared president (then president for life). This is hardly atypical in a region fraught with dictators. And in and of itself is hardly grounds for calling Turkmenistan the craziest country on Earth. But it gets better.

No dictator would be complete without a propaganda machine. And back in the day, it wasn't really possible to start up some sort of TV station, or Cable News Network, to spread one's agenda to the masses. No, no. Niyazov went old school. Mao had his Little Red Book. Lenin leaned heavily on the Communist manifesto. Niyazov, henceforth referred to as Turkmenbashi (leader of all Turkmen) came up with the Ruhnama. The book, and it's a biggy, was intended as a “spiritual guide for the nation.” One half spiritual/moral code, one half autobiography and one half “revisionist” history (no, math does not apply in Turkmenistan), the book was required reading for all Turkmen students. He even went so far to state that “All students who read the book 3 times will automatically be granted entry into Heaven.” But the historical references of the book have all but been discredited. Maybe it's just me, but it's hard to claim that the history of mankind has lead up to the greatness of Turkmenbashi. However, writing a comically erroneous text and instilling its importance as moral doctrine is quite commonplace and hardly sets Turkmenistan apart. But it gets better.

I suppose it's covered in the first chapter of “An Idiot's Guide to Dictatorship,” but one of the first steps any leader takes is to flood the market with his own image. Whether it's on the money, plastered on billboard-size banners throughout the country, or in a larger-than-life monument, your face must be seen. I guess Turkmenbashi figured, if you're going to do it, you might as well do it in style. Every town, every village, and even random roundabouts in the middle of nowhere are graced with golden statues of the exalted leader. But what makes them cool is the status they carry within the community. Walk into any given town in Turkmenistan on a Saturday and you are likely to be confronted with hordes crowding around the central statue. This is not a weekly protest against the brutal regime. Instead, newlywed couples come, dressed in traditional wedding garb, to stand in line and lay flowers at the feet and have a photo taken to record the moment for an eternity. Some even kiss the feet on the figure (a true sign of unconditional admiration. But it gets better.

In the capital, Ashgabat, the truly marvellous statues come to play. In 1948, a devastating earthquake all but wiped the capital city off the face of the earth. Estimates range from 10,000 to 100,000 deaths. But one notable casualty was diverted as if protected by God himself (here's a hint, it was Turkmenbashi). To commemorate this tragic time in Turkmen history, a monument was erected. The Earth is shaken by a mammoth bull, with Ashgabat lying in ruins. But (and here's the kicker) a tiny golden Turkmenbashi rises from the rubble. It is without question the most comically tragic shrine ever. But wait, it gets better.

In the centre of town, mounted on a rocketship-like tower, stands yet another statue of Turkmenbashi. Arms outstretch, superman-like cape inflated by the wind. While that might seem odd enough, it wouldn't really be worth mentioning for only that. Instead, this one stands out for its non-motionlessness. As the sun rose in the East, the statues arms seem to greet the waking sun. But than the most curious thing happens: as the sun moves across the sky, the statue follows it, as if guiding it along its path until sunset when the statue resets to the East to prepare for the next day. Sadly, it was dismantled in mid-2010.

Ok. Statues and fabricated propaganda might not be enough. So how's this? Turkmenbashi renamed the days of the week and the months of the year. January was renamed, Turkmenbashi (after himself), April was changed to Gurbansoltan (after his mother), September was swapped to Ruhnama (his book) and the list goes on. Not enough? Niyazov banned the use of lip syncing at public concerts in 2005. He banished dogs from the capital Ashgabat because of their "unappealing odour." Right hand-drive imported cars converted to left-hand drive were banned due to a perceived increased risk in accidents. Niyazov requested that a palace of ice be built near the capital, though Turkmenistan is a desert country with a hot and arid environment (that said there is an indoor ski hill in Dubai). After having to quit smoking in 1997 due to his resultant heart surgery, he banned smoking in all public places and ordered all government employees to follow suit. In February 2004 he decreed that men should no longer wear long hair or beards. He also banned news reporters and anchors from wearing make-up on television. Gold teeth were outlawed in Turkmenistan after Niyazov suggested that the populace chew on bones to strengthen their teeth. And so on... and so on... and so on....

Sadly, in one final bit of irony, Turkmenbashi died of a heart attack in 2006 after forcing his government employees to walk up the staircase to nowhere to promote healthy living. Given a little more time, the guy might have been able to do something so unimaginably outer-worldly, that would have made the Pyramids or Great Wall would pale in comparison. Ahhhh, Turkmenbashi, you a will forever be the measure of lunacy to which we compare all others. Thanks for being a nut-job.

Seaside of Death: The perils of progress in Sumgayit, Azerbaijan

by Joe
To see the complete set of photographs accompanying this post, CLICK HERE.

Are there really degrees of dirty? I mean, once something is dirty, can it be “really” dirty? Well, the global consulting firm Mercer's seems to think so. The company releases an annual report which countless major corporations and even the U.N. use as a bible to decide where to set up shop and how much to pay the poor employees that are sent there. While the majority of celebrated pomp focuses around the “Most expensive city” report, it is not the only fruit of their labour. Their quality of living surveys have grown to the point that they can make or break cities. But what happens to the cities that are already broken?

One of the contributing factors in the ordainment of the best city award is the quality of health and sanitation services:

“Scores are based on the quality and availability of hospital and medical supplies and levels of air pollution and infectious diseases. The efficiency of waste removal and sewage systems, water potability and the presence of harmful animals and insects are also taken into account.”

One would assume that the Mercer's title of dirtiest and unhealthiest city would have to go to somewhere in China or India. But oh no!! The answer is rather surprising.

At the turn of the last century, one city in particular got a leg up on the oil race. Baku, the capital of present day Azerbaijan, was sitting on a gold mine. Well, a “black gold” mine anyway. With the onset of the infectious Bolshevik revolution, the newly crowned commie Baku was pumping out the old Texas tea faster than a white guy filling his car at a Compton gas station. There was actually a time where little Baku was supplying over 70% of all the world's oil needs. It doesn't take a genius to guess what an environmental toll this took on the city and the Absheron peninsula it calls home. Even with today's so-called safety standards, major spills and general filth occur with distressing frequency. So imagine the case 100+ years ago in Soviet Azerbaijan. Besides seemingly irreversible damage to the Caspian Sea, and the superficial ground level decimation of the top soil, the area’s entire watershed was subjugated to more abuse then is handed out at a US army prison. The effects, as noted in the Mercer's report, are still felt to this day, with disproportionately high rates of disease from pollution. One might think the Soviet bigwigs would sit back smoking a big Cuban content in all the destruction it caused. But the worst was yet to come.

During the industrial push of the USSR, Baku (more accurately its satellite suburb of Sumgayit) was blessed with over 40 of the empire’s biggest factories. Industrial and agricultural chemicals, petro-chemicals and a variety of other nasties were produced and refined in the smog churning cauldrons. As the stories go, happy little commuters would leave home in their work-best whites, only to show up at work in yellows, their clothes having been stained by the particulate in the air. But the locals didn't mind. As a matter of fact, people wanted to work there. There was a time factory workers were making more than doctors. Unbeknownst to them, this death money would be given back to the doctors in the form of medical bills. Sumgayit had one of the highest morbidity rates during the Soviet Era and the legacy of illness and death persist. A study jointly conducted by the UNDP, WHO, Azerbaijan Republic Ministry of Health and the University of Alberta demonstrated that “residents of Sumgayit experience intensely high levels of both cancer morbidity and mortality. Cancer rates in Sumgayit are 22-51% higher than average incidence rates in the rest of Azerbaijan. Mortality rates from cancer are 8% higher. Evidence suggests that lower reported cancer rates are flawed as a result of underreporting.”

If that wasn't depressing enough, according to the World Bank, Azerbaijan has an infant mortality rate twice as high as neighbouring Georgia and 3X higher than that of Armenia. As a matter of fact, Azerbaijan ranks up with places like Afghanistan and Iraq as having the highest infant mortality rates outside of Africa. Sumgayit has a constant reminder of this. At the edge of the city limits, a cemetery devoted strictly for children sits as a morbid landmark of the perils of progress.

Most of the factories have since been shut down, forming their own little graveyard. But the toxic onslaught is far from over. Countless heavy metals and other carcinogens continue to seep from the very foundations of the Soviet relics. The ground is essentially unable to bear any fruit, and that's not even mentioning the continued rate of premature death of children. Even with all these reports, even with the blatant in-your-face evidence of the death that surrounds them, locals still go fishing off the shore. Even using a rotting old chemical ship as their make-shift pier. If that wasn't enough, the beach at Sumgayit still attracts weekend sunseekers and... you guessed it... they still bathe in the toxic sludge.


The government of Azerbaijan has obtained international support for the economic and environmental rehabilitation of the city from several United Nations organizations, including the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and the World Health Organization (WHO). The UNDP helped to create the Sumgayit Centre for Environmental Rehabilitation (SCER) to research and prioritize the environmental problems and propose programs to address them. A number of environmental epidemiology courses were held in Baku to strengthen the capacity of local experts.

In 2003, the World Bank launched a US $2.7 million project for the cleanup of a chlorine producing plant where 1,566 tons of mercury were spilled, including the construction of a secure landfill. Other international projects funded by UK and Japan have also been implemented.

Sadly, with Azerbaijan ranking near the top of the corruption index, it is safe to assume that this money intended to save the lives of the innocent is instead padding the pockets of overseers. Yet the government continues to mislead. In an effort to reverse mass urbanization, and the inevitable migration of workers seeking employment in the capital, the government has set programmes trying to encourage families to move to Sumgayit. There have even been talks of linking a high speed railway from Baku's metro system all the way to the Sumgayit seashore. Perhaps it's merely a case of survival of the fittest. But if the global experts can be believed, the health (and indeed ultimate survival) of the people in Sumgayit seems highly unlikely.

For more detailed information on how to get to Sumgayit, check out Joe's blog, Joe's Trippin'.

To see the complete set of photographs accompanying this post, CLICK HERE.

A bit of Yemeni desolation

Last month I noticed that my friend and Desolation Travel buddy Joe, who currently lives in Yemen, seemed to have vanished from that alternate reality known as Facebook. Now, I know that Joe has a habit of buggering off to places like Afghanistan and whatnot, so I wasn't particularly concerned (although I did make a few jokes along the lines of Joe having been kidnapped by AQAP). By late November, however, when I received a message from one of Joe's family members inquiring as to his whereabouts I started to wonder if perhaps indeed my jokes hadn't been too far off the mark. Not sure what AQAP would want with a big, hairy Canadian, but you never can tell with those guys.

But in the end, there was no cause for concern. It turns out that Joe had been vacationing on the remote and internetless island of Socotra off the Yemeni coast:

Since his return to mainland Yemen, Joe has worked to put up a six part detailed series on his experiences (including quite a few photographs), which can be viewed by clicking on the links below. Enjoy!

Socotra 101
The Socotran South
Wicked Western Socotra
Gettin' wet and dirty in east Socotra
The Heart of Socotra
Horrible Hadibo

Abkhazia: Conflict in the Caucasus

by Joe

To see the complete set of photographs, CLICK HERE.

Impossible is an ugly word. Some sort of diabolical locution whose sole purpose is to discourage great men from accomplishing great things. I am certainly not delusional enough to call myself “great” and the greatest thing I've done was put the word “quiz” on a triple word score during an internet game of Scrabble. But that doesn't diminish the vile connotations of the word “impossible”. I heard this word a lot while researching my onward travel plans when I was in Georgia. The plan was to visit the break-away republic of Abkhazia.

The early '90s were a particularly tough time for cartographers. Stuck in their windowless basement offices (I'm guessing at the windowless bit) they were forced to change and re-change their world maps as Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union shattered into a million different pieces. Perhaps they went on strike or perhaps they ran out of ink, but whatever the reason a few of these newly independent republics went unrecognized by the world at large. Transnistria, Nagorno-Karabagh and South Ossetia were but a handful of these states that didn't make the cut for UN acknowledgement. Located in the north-west corner of Georgia, Abkhazia was another of these places whose cries for independence were overlooked. That is, by everyone else but Georgia. Georgia launched an offensive in 1992-1993 to squelch the movement. With heavy backing from Russia, Georgia lost. This led to a mass exodus and ethnic cleansing of Georgian nationals in the region, a period in history that is still a sensitive subject for Georgians today. In 2008, during the summer Olympics, aggressions in the area flared yet again. The short-lived South Ossetia war ended with official recognition of Abkhazia as an independent state (by Russia, Nicaragua, Venezuela and Nauru only).

Regardless of international designation, Abkhazia is very non-Georgian. The vast majority of people speak Russian, not Georgian. They use Russian Rubles, not Georgian Laris. They have Russian passports. Even the international calling code is Russian.

But here's the Catch-22 for a visit to the region. Like most countries in the area, you need a visa to visit Abkhazia. But without external diplomatic representation (certainly not in Georgia), the only place to get a visa is IN Abkhazia. But you can't get into Abkhazia without a visa, but to get the visa..... And thus continues the merry-go-round of international relations. Things seem always in motion, but never get anywhere. The whole exciting paperwork procedure (written with sarcastic overtones) can be found at

Joe's Trippin'. But the general gist is you contact the Ministry of Foreign affairs in the capital Sukhumi, and they eventually send authorization to cross into Abkhazian territory. Or at least that's the theory.

I've never really been the kind to sit back and allow some apathetic bureaucrat decide my future. After repeated phone calls and e-mails, I essentially told the Abkhazian consul that I would be at the border on a certain date, and that clearance should be arranged for me. It wasn't. I got to the Georgian border, and the guards, completely perplexed by a foreigner trying to cross, felt compelled to give me a short history lesson. “You know there's a war, right?” they asked assuming my ignorance. “Yeah, do you have a gun for me?” I replied to much giggling and merriment. They let me through with little hassle. More out of morbid curiosity than in an attempt to promote tourism. The walk across no-man's land was filled with every, very heavily armed, guard checking my paperwork and asking, “You know there's a war, right?” I eventually ran out of witty retorts as my Russian is mediocre at best.

Once at the Abkhazian border control, turns out my permission to enter wasn't there. They were polite and courteous as they told me to get the hell out and go back to Georgia. I wasn't amused by the sarcastic questions of, “So how was Abkhazia?” as I slinked back the same way I had come only moments earlier. But, I had a trick up my sleeve. I had the consul's personal mobile number. After numerous attempts to get hold of him, he eventually worked out that everything was the border's fault, not his. He was infallible and the border guys were the idiots. Whatever! At least I had confirmation. Skipping back across the de-militarized zone (literally), I was immediately allowed to officially cross into Abkhazia.

From the border, mini-buses wait to bring “crossers” to the one-horse town of Gali. Well, truth be told, I think I counted 8 horses and 9 chickens. There are no paved roads. No money changers. Just a bunch of people looking downtrodden. After a quick visit and cup of tea with the local police, I was given permission to hop on the bus for Sukhumi, the “country's” capital. The county-side is pretty. Abkhazia is the place where the Caucasus mountains come to melt away into the Black Sea. But the state of development, of lack there of, is pretty much what you might expect of a state-less region which has been at war for the better part of 2 decades. But like all troubled regions, locals put up with it the best they can.

Sukhumi was a place that happy little Soviets would come to frolic away in the '60s and '70s. The seaside town once had a thriving port and a booming tourist industry. But nowadays, the boats lie rusting and tourists are few and far between. Sure Russians still come, but that's about it. The buildings haven't been remodelled since the heydays some 40 years ago. But to add to the desolation and depression, the vast majority of buildings, once the pearl of the Black Sea, sport a unique architectural style I like to call “war-torn.” Bullet holes are everywhere. Countless building are mere shells, having been burnt down in conflict. There's no money or motivation to fix them up. This has become the new Sukhumi. Nowhere exemplifies this more than the old parliament building. A once mighty structure in all it's Soviet grandeur has been reduced to a wild greenhouse and make-shift refuse dump. And locals seem willing to accept it.

There is hope. Local attractions like Novy Afon Monastery and cave system has received foreign funding and is in the midst of a sprucing up. When I visited, the whole visa procedure was in its infancy, but with a little streamlining, it is becoming easier for foreign tourists to visit. The infrastructure is there. There are a number of hotels for the old days. There are several restaurants. They just need people to fill them.

Novy Afon Monastery

Abkhazia is not dangerous. And while I wouldn't use descriptors like “luxurious” there are options for easy travel to the region. Besides, why would anyone turn down the option of having a one-time vacation hotspot with mountains and seaside and monasteries and caves all to yourself? To see the complete set of photographs, CLICK HERE.

Following Polo

From Osh to Murgab, by Joe
To view the complete set of photos, click here.

Sometimes it's not about travel itself, but instead about the epic fables you manufacture to impress your friends around the dinner table. Some 700 years ago, a young Italian by the name of Marco Polo (no relation to the t-shirt guy) set off to some of the most remote and uncharted lands of his time. His narrative of travels through China and Central Asia are nothing short of legendary, if not half fictitious. Not being one to simply take the words of others at face value, I opted for a little exploration of my own. However, this was not a journey about the destination, oh no. This was a glaring example of the old aphorism, “Getting there is 98.4% of the fun.”

When one arrives into the southern Kyrgyz city of Osh, you might think you've reached the end of the civilized world. Although an important town in the days of the Silk Road, it has fallen somewhat out of favour in last several hundred years. This is the new wild west. But the ubiquitous tumble weeds have been replaced by plastic bags. And instead of a shoot-out at high noon, you are more likely to see a dispute settled by some pissed off motorist chasing a guy down in an antiquated Lada death-trap (actually saw this happen). Sadly, not even a place like this is backwater enough for some. I did not come for Osh. I was here to blindly leap from this “end of civilization” into the unknown desolation abyss.

Osh is typically where travellers come to find transport to the Pamir Highway, the eastern 2/3 of Tajikistan made famous by that young Italian explorer. This was the frontier of the Soviet Union, the bounds of all things refined in a largely unrefined empire. Whereas most holidayers will base their travel decisions on such non-sensical ideals as logic and rationality, these are not for me. Instead, I was travelling to the region at the very end of the short lived tourist season. While the summer months can be lovely along the mostly 4,000+ meter high roadway, winter here is harsh. We're talking 1,000s die due to the extreme cold. Matters aren't helped much by the apathetic central government that provides a mere 3 hours of state electricity a day. And remember, there are no trees for burning at these altitudes.

With no public transport system along the highway, travellers are forced to arrange shared taxis. These go for around $200+, one-way, for the trip from Osh to the Tajik “town” of Murgab. But let me remind you that my rather harebrained travel itinerary had me heading to the region when there were no others with whom to share costs. And with this single trip costing half of my monthly Kyrgyz salary, I was forced to seek out an alternative. Rumours were that I might find something around the bus terminal. When you're desperate, any sign of hope will do. That's when I met Sergei.

Sergei was doing a supply run in a couple hours from Osh to Murgab in his old Soviet Raf van. Loaded with tomatoes, roofing shingles, ghettoblasters, and a variety of “mystery” packages, there wasn't a lot of room for a passenger. But at an agreed price of $20, I was quite happy to forsake a little leg room. I scurried around town, collecting my things and making last minute purchases of road trip grub as I wasn't fully convinced Sergei would let me chow down on his precious commodities. As the time came to leave, I wasn't sure my anachronistic chariot would even make it out of the parking lot. Even so, I carved out a makeshift seat for the 10-12 hour journey.

My fellow passengers

I couldn't figure out if my pilot was lost, but we circled Osh a fair few times. It soon became clear; the van wasn't fully loaded yet. In the nearly 2 hours of make-shift city tour, we managed to pick up more surprise gift bags and even a couple other passengers. We became very closely acquainted, very quickly. It's hard not to when you're essentially sitting in another man's lap. But we were finally on our way. Or so I thought. A couple hours outside town we turned onto a dirt road that would belong in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie. Convinced of my looming disembowelment, I toyed with the idea of eating all of Sergei's tomatoes in a last defiant act. But all was for not as we pulled into Sergei's house to pick up the last few items. But as we prepared to leave, again, a rather chilling, disheartening sound came out of what was supposed to be the motor. We weren't going anywhere. Sergei and the other's toiled away for hours, disassembling, reassembling, banging, grunting and swearing, all in an attempt to solve the problem until they finally gave up. He apologized for the delay, and his wife served some meat flavoured water and stale bread as we were put up for the night. We'd try again in the morning.

Daybreak brought good news. Sergei had gone for a replacement part and we were off as soon as we downed the tea and biscuits served by his wife. The trip to the Kyrgyz/Tajik border was uneventful. I tried a variety of contortionist positions to try to watch the beautiful scenery fly by our tiny windows. As the border approached, the normally ominous, 7,000+ meter Pik Lenin, had been rudely obscured by the clouds of an impending storm. Border formalities were shockingly easy. But as the Tajik side of the road crept ever higher and higher, it led us right into the guts of a blizzard. Even the poor mountain goats and yaks in the fields had an expression of “This Sucks!” As we crested over the first alpine pass, the snow subsided, the sky cleared and the beauty of the Pamirs revealed itself. But the show was short-lived as night set in. With no headlights, we were forced to bunk down in the lakeside community of Karakol.

Near the Kyrgyz/Tajik border

Lake Karakol, Tajikistan

The guesthouse was nice. Good food and blankets thick enough to smother a full grown elephant. Morning came soon. We had arranged to meet at 6 am for what was hopefully the final leg of our journey. However, new mechanical problems had us leaving closer to noon. I didn't mind. Lake Karakol is easily the highlight of the Pamir Highway. Finally we were off, yet again, through some of the most remote and desolate territory on Earth. No towns, no power lines, no traffic, just the guaranteed impending death sentence should the Raf decide to crap out again. Shockingly, the other passengers started to stir. A clear expression of anticipation and relief plastered all over their faces. We had arrived into Murgab. A mere 49 hours after leaving Osh. But even after quickly realizing just how backwater the town was, it didn't matter. My journey had finished. No body parts had frozen off and I wasn't forced to eat any of my fellow passengers. After a much needed stay in a banya, I hoped that I'd be able to find transport for the remaining 4/5 of the Pamir Highway.