Being the tale of Susannah and Mike's many tribulations, failures and eventual success in crossing the Caspian Sea, a twelve hour journey by ship from Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan to Baku, Azerbaijan.
Day 1: Arrive in Turkmenbashi at 7pm after a 10 hour drive across the desert from Ashgabat. Checked conditions at the port; clear weather with ships stacked up and ready to depart and no waiting line for passage. Guide advises us to retire and depart for Baku first thing in the morning.
Day 2: Buy provisions at market minutes after it opens at 8am; advised by guide to purchase enough food for possible delays at sea. Find delicious smoked sturgeon for dinner tonight, in case our ship does not have a restaurant. Arrive at port to discover no ships present, except a departing vessel on horizon. Ship arrives at 3pm, but will not take passengers as it is carrying fuel. As of midnight, no further ships sighted. We settle in for the night: Susannah curls up on a steel bench, Mike in the trunk of guide's SUV in the parking lot.
Day 3: Dawn. No ships sighted. We wash using water leaking from a rusty pipe behind the port building. Bathrooms lack running water, conditions unspeakable. Susannah befriends large Azeri family camped in the corner of the waiting room.
Noon. No ships sighted, wind picking up. We watch movies dubbed in Russian on guide's tiny portable TV. Mike plays marathon series of chess games against a team of seven Turkmen.
Evening. No ships. Winds at gale force. Turkmen flag in tatters on the pole. Golden bust of Turkmenbashi looks on, unfazed.
Over 100 people now wait for passage, with space for 11 available on each ship. Young men begin gambling for better places in line. Rumors of ships out to sea, waiting for good weather to dock. In an effort to save our dwindling food for the passage, we eat at highly suspect, dingy port cafe. Guide goes to hotel, prepares to leave in in am with fresh clients. Mike settles in on bench, Susannah curls up on top of our packs.
Over 100 people now wait for passage, with space for 11 available on each ship. Young men begin gambling for better places in line. Rumors of ships out to sea, waiting for good weather to dock. In an effort to save our dwindling food for the passage, we eat at highly suspect, dingy port cafe. Guide goes to hotel, prepares to leave in in am with fresh clients. Mike settles in on bench, Susannah curls up on top of our packs.
Day 4: 4am. Mike wakes up on bech with stomach pains. Susannah hurredly dispenses medication. Vomiting begins 20 minutes later. Susannah and Mike huddle behind a wall near railroad tracks so Mike can vomit in privacy. Wind continues to howl as sky lightens.
Morning: Guide arrives with local man, Max, whom he assures us can do whatever deal is necessary to get us on the first ship out. Guide leaves for Ashgabat. Mike continues to vomit behind a shed next to a dog skeleton, can't stop thinking about Cormac McCarthy novels. In mid-morning, Max takes Susannah to market to purchase more food. After vomiting subsides, Mike collapses on bench, exhausted. Max departs without explanation, leaving his 18-year old daughter with Susannah (who does not speak Russian). Weather clears, and a ship arrives, to everyone's great joy.
Chaos ensues in the booking office, as dozens desperately scramble for tickets. Girl assigned to help us does nothing, despite Susannah's pleas. Awakened by Susannah, Mike sprints to ticket office, discovers ticket agent called his name for ten minutes but finally sold all tickets to others. Susannah somehow refrains from throttling the girl. After banishing girl, Mike negotiates in Russian with port officials. Wheels are greased. Second ship arrives hours later, Mike secures tickets.
Chaos ensues in the booking office, as dozens desperately scramble for tickets. Girl assigned to help us does nothing, despite Susannah's pleas. Awakened by Susannah, Mike sprints to ticket office, discovers ticket agent called his name for ten minutes but finally sold all tickets to others. Susannah somehow refrains from throttling the girl. After banishing girl, Mike negotiates in Russian with port officials. Wheels are greased. Second ship arrives hours later, Mike secures tickets.
11 passengers clear Turkmen customs and immigration, taking five hours. We board rusty Soviet-era freighter through loading ramp along with Turkish trucks, Soviet-era rail cars, Susannah's adopted Azeri family and an erudite French journalist traveling undercover as an historian.
Once aboard, we secure a small cabin with broken toilet for $200, over twice the expected price. Jubilant, we watch the port and golden Turkmenbashi bust recede into the distance as the sun goes down. Weeping with joy, we squeeze into the cabin's tiny bunk.
Once aboard, we secure a small cabin with broken toilet for $200, over twice the expected price. Jubilant, we watch the port and golden Turkmenbashi bust recede into the distance as the sun goes down. Weeping with joy, we squeeze into the cabin's tiny bunk.
Day 5: Incognito French journalist wakes us to the news that Baku has been sighted off the bow. We share the best of our food with him for breakfast, planning to leave the rest behind. Mike returns the increasingly fragrant sturgeon to the sea. At 9:30am, crew drops anchor a mile offshore.
The First Mate, who has befriended Mike, informs him we will be ashore in no time at all: only five hours! 5 hours later, Mike asks about docking again, and mate confidently replies "five hours!" Mike detects ominous pattern. Since we are all out of local currency, French journalist begins trading cigarettes for food in the ship's bar. Mike discusses politics, education, history and Angeline Jolie on the bridge with Captain, crew.
At 8pm, we weigh anchor. Captain leaps into action on our behalf, shepherds us down the gangway, through customs and into a cheap taxi. We arrive at hotel by 10pm, have dinner at 10:30, and collapse into bed at 11:00.
The First Mate, who has befriended Mike, informs him we will be ashore in no time at all: only five hours! 5 hours later, Mike asks about docking again, and mate confidently replies "five hours!" Mike detects ominous pattern. Since we are all out of local currency, French journalist begins trading cigarettes for food in the ship's bar. Mike discusses politics, education, history and Angeline Jolie on the bridge with Captain, crew.
At 8pm, we weigh anchor. Captain leaps into action on our behalf, shepherds us down the gangway, through customs and into a cheap taxi. We arrive at hotel by 10pm, have dinner at 10:30, and collapse into bed at 11:00.
There is no water now between us and Istanbul, and for that, we are glad.
