2005 Trip to Turkmenistan by Ruth Staines
At last, I was back in Turkmenistan after a gap of three years. However, my friend, the equestrian artist Bridget Tempest, had continued to visit during this time, working with artists and bringing artists and musicians to present their work in the UK, as well as painting and sculpting Akhal Teke horses and of course riding!
As usual, we started our trip with a visit to the Hippodrome to see the Sunday races. It augured well that the owner of the first race winner was also owner of the stud farm where we were to ride later. And then we were delighted to see the daughter of one of the mares we rode on previous visits running in a later race, even if she was not a winner. We were joined by her owner, who provided the mounts for our first rides in the mountains, together with Anton, who had led these trips. It is one of the joys of this country to be able to meet up with these friends in later years.
As usual, we started our trip with a visit to the Hippodrome to see the Sunday races. It augured well that the owner of the first race winner was also owner of the stud farm where we were to ride later. And then we were delighted to see the daughter of one of the mares we rode on previous visits running in a later race, even if she was not a winner. We were joined by her owner, who provided the mounts for our first rides in the mountains, together with Anton, who had led these trips. It is one of the joys of this country to be able to meet up with these friends in later years.
This time our riding was in two sections. The next day we set off for Katya’s stables, where Melechep, the golden stallion Justin Tait used to ride when he was at the British Embassy in Ashgabat, still resides. As there were threatening clouds, we were advised to stay overnight at the farm rather than camp by the river where we had first ridden in 2001.
After making friends with kittens, foals, a cow and calf, and even a donkey, we rode out of the yard straight up into the hills: the landscape was still quite green, it seems that in these days of global warming early May can be quite wet in this part of the world! We were mounted on unshod, surefooted mares, with one of the guides on a stallion. The guides, used to taking out expat weekenders, were more than pleased to lead us in many canters up the hills, which we then slithered down, indeed one descent seemed almost vertical. From time to time we came upon a plateau where we let the horses have their heads. Their hooves unlocked the scents of spring flowers and herbs.
The second day took us in a different direction: we had missed the best of the spring flowers but the smells of wild herbs were again divine. Apart from one village and the occasional flock of sheep and cattle these mountains are very empty. Stark rock formations have a strange beauty, with slopes of scrub and scree, streams or rivers being few and far between. From one viewpoint we could look down on Geok Tepe and its lake, near to our next destination.
After making friends with kittens, foals, a cow and calf, and even a donkey, we rode out of the yard straight up into the hills: the landscape was still quite green, it seems that in these days of global warming early May can be quite wet in this part of the world! We were mounted on unshod, surefooted mares, with one of the guides on a stallion. The guides, used to taking out expat weekenders, were more than pleased to lead us in many canters up the hills, which we then slithered down, indeed one descent seemed almost vertical. From time to time we came upon a plateau where we let the horses have their heads. Their hooves unlocked the scents of spring flowers and herbs.
The second day took us in a different direction: we had missed the best of the spring flowers but the smells of wild herbs were again divine. Apart from one village and the occasional flock of sheep and cattle these mountains are very empty. Stark rock formations have a strange beauty, with slopes of scrub and scree, streams or rivers being few and far between. From one viewpoint we could look down on Geok Tepe and its lake, near to our next destination.
Despite having a picnic on the edge of an escarpment, with a fierce sheepdog below daring us to approach his sheep, we were given a huge lunch on our return to the farm, where we said our farewells. We returned to Ashgabat via a new mosque, with the President’s family mausoleum beside it. It is a huge, dignified building, built by a French contractor, but with materials from many countries: white marble from Italy, doors of gold and marquetry from Syria, light fittings from Britain. In the centre was an eight pointed star shaped carpet, made in the factory of the owner of the horses we were about to ride. This was surrounded by seven doors, with an archway, the entrance to heaven, at the eighth point. Quotations from the Koran and the Rukhnama encircled the cupola above. The building, which is beautifully light, holds twenty thousand, but we had the mosque to ourselves that afternoon.
The next day, after a night disturbed by a tremendous thunderstorm, we headed west from Ashgabat for the second part of our ride, near the town of Geok Depe. While lunch was being prepared we were shown round the owner’s carpet factory. The women worked on traditional looms on the floor, but the designs (any designs we liked!) were produced with the help of modern technology. We saw a woven picture of Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ surrounded by a traditional Turkmen border!
After yet another enormous lunch under a bamboo awning, we were joined by a beautiful Tazi, a Turkmen hunting dog, rather similar to a Saluki. She had been found abandoned in the desert, surprising as they are rare and highly prized. They hunt their prey with falcons. Then we were shown the owner’s pride and joy, his horses. First the mares and foals, and the youngsters, all very friendly and inquisitive: afterwards the grooms proudly brought out the racing stallions, which were leaping and showing off as only Akhal Teke’s can. We saw Sunday’s race winner, holding his head particularly high. Another ride returned, mostly Swiss and Germans, riding golden, cremello and dun stallions.
Then we changed and prepared for a late afternoon ride. Our horses were dark stallions, Bridget’s a lively bay she had ridden before, our guide on a black, and Debo on another black, a rangy three year old, tall for an Akhal Teke. These were all racetrack horses: Trevor and I were mounted on dark bay marathon horses, mine was called Mukhan, Turkmen for music. Mukhan had a most uncomfortable trot, but with little urging would break into the most comfortable flowing canter I have ever ridden.
The desert was a great contrast to the mountains, though far from being all sand. We were glad not be going far as we could see thunderclouds and lightning all around us, until the inevitable happened and the heavens opened. Big hailstones cracking on our hats startled the horses, but they soon knuckled down into a very long canter all the way home, so we all ended up soaked to the skin. In view of the weather we stayed indoors in recently constructed hotel rooms instead of the yurts where we had had lunch. After a delicious supper of fish caught in the local lake, washed down with plenty of vodka, we had a good night’s sleep and rose early the following day.
We set out on the horses under clouds, but the temperature is perfect with a pleasant breeze. We follow a reed banked river for a while, to the accompaniment of croaking frogs and the rather incongruous sound of a cuckoo! We see a number of larks and hawks. My little horse has muscles of steel, shiny and sleek: the lightest touch of my legs brings instant acceleration. We ride on sandy tracks: a lorry passes with a camel in the back. After three hours we meet up with our lumbering Russian lorry: an awning stretches from it under which we lunch on lamb stew and salad. Time for the horses to eat and us to sleep. Then we are off into the wilds of the desert. It is far from flat, and we enjoy long, long canters, twisting and turning round bushes and switchbacking over the dunes, better than any fairground ride. We stop for a drink of camel milk with some shepherds, then gallop over three sun baked flat pans, with sandy hillocks between them. Our host comes to meet us to make sure all is well.
We arrive at the outskirts of a village where we set up camp by a school building. After unsaddling the horses we lead them out of their compound for a blissful roll in the sand — sadly the three year old could not understand what he was expected to do, and just watched with a puzzled expression on his face! The campsite, on a hill, affords a good view of the village, and we walk down to see the camels in the centre. We meet a family that Bridget had met on previous trips: we are taken to see their camels being milked, then we are offered camel cheese and given camel hair bracelets — for luck. We bring gifts of sketch pads, crayons and stickers, and artist Bridget holds an impromptu art class. Then we visit the next village, where we are plied with camel milk, and we make small purchases of slippers and purses. On the return journey our lorry shepherds a herd of camels it could not overtake — a splendid sight silhouetted against the setting sun.
We sleep outside on felts — in the early hours of the morning we realise the significance of the nearby school building as we are woken by huge lightning flashes, and we hurry inside with our sleeping bags before the rain starts pelting down. But it is dry by morning: we make an early start and several long canters and thirty seven kilometres later we are back at the farm before midday, despite having a tea stop. The horses are unsaddled — Mukhan’s back is clean and smooth, without a single white
hair, and his legs are clean as a whistle. We finish our stay with cognacs and lunch — the owner’s wife appears with many dishes, mutton soup, plov, bread and salads. Its like a wedding feast, says our host, and we do not disagree. The remainder of holiday is spent at exhibitions and concerts, visiting friends from previous trips. Bridget holds an art class for children at the hippodrome, with the daughter of one of our original horses as a model. We finish with a trip to the new hippodrome. It is set in the hills outside Ashgabat. We start our tour in the main grandstand, spacious and light, with the rooms behind furnished with chandeliers, paintings and huge carpets. We look through glass onto the racecourse, where a few horses are being exercised, and the grass is being watered. We drive across to the horse barns, where the President’s horses, including Yanardag and Pyada, in splendid condition, live in spacious opulence. There are horse walkers, veterinary blocks, everything a horse might need, but the whole place is spectacularly empty. As usual, Turkmenistan does not cease to amaze.
After yet another enormous lunch under a bamboo awning, we were joined by a beautiful Tazi, a Turkmen hunting dog, rather similar to a Saluki. She had been found abandoned in the desert, surprising as they are rare and highly prized. They hunt their prey with falcons. Then we were shown the owner’s pride and joy, his horses. First the mares and foals, and the youngsters, all very friendly and inquisitive: afterwards the grooms proudly brought out the racing stallions, which were leaping and showing off as only Akhal Teke’s can. We saw Sunday’s race winner, holding his head particularly high. Another ride returned, mostly Swiss and Germans, riding golden, cremello and dun stallions.
Then we changed and prepared for a late afternoon ride. Our horses were dark stallions, Bridget’s a lively bay she had ridden before, our guide on a black, and Debo on another black, a rangy three year old, tall for an Akhal Teke. These were all racetrack horses: Trevor and I were mounted on dark bay marathon horses, mine was called Mukhan, Turkmen for music. Mukhan had a most uncomfortable trot, but with little urging would break into the most comfortable flowing canter I have ever ridden.
The desert was a great contrast to the mountains, though far from being all sand. We were glad not be going far as we could see thunderclouds and lightning all around us, until the inevitable happened and the heavens opened. Big hailstones cracking on our hats startled the horses, but they soon knuckled down into a very long canter all the way home, so we all ended up soaked to the skin. In view of the weather we stayed indoors in recently constructed hotel rooms instead of the yurts where we had had lunch. After a delicious supper of fish caught in the local lake, washed down with plenty of vodka, we had a good night’s sleep and rose early the following day.
We set out on the horses under clouds, but the temperature is perfect with a pleasant breeze. We follow a reed banked river for a while, to the accompaniment of croaking frogs and the rather incongruous sound of a cuckoo! We see a number of larks and hawks. My little horse has muscles of steel, shiny and sleek: the lightest touch of my legs brings instant acceleration. We ride on sandy tracks: a lorry passes with a camel in the back. After three hours we meet up with our lumbering Russian lorry: an awning stretches from it under which we lunch on lamb stew and salad. Time for the horses to eat and us to sleep. Then we are off into the wilds of the desert. It is far from flat, and we enjoy long, long canters, twisting and turning round bushes and switchbacking over the dunes, better than any fairground ride. We stop for a drink of camel milk with some shepherds, then gallop over three sun baked flat pans, with sandy hillocks between them. Our host comes to meet us to make sure all is well.
We arrive at the outskirts of a village where we set up camp by a school building. After unsaddling the horses we lead them out of their compound for a blissful roll in the sand — sadly the three year old could not understand what he was expected to do, and just watched with a puzzled expression on his face! The campsite, on a hill, affords a good view of the village, and we walk down to see the camels in the centre. We meet a family that Bridget had met on previous trips: we are taken to see their camels being milked, then we are offered camel cheese and given camel hair bracelets — for luck. We bring gifts of sketch pads, crayons and stickers, and artist Bridget holds an impromptu art class. Then we visit the next village, where we are plied with camel milk, and we make small purchases of slippers and purses. On the return journey our lorry shepherds a herd of camels it could not overtake — a splendid sight silhouetted against the setting sun.
We sleep outside on felts — in the early hours of the morning we realise the significance of the nearby school building as we are woken by huge lightning flashes, and we hurry inside with our sleeping bags before the rain starts pelting down. But it is dry by morning: we make an early start and several long canters and thirty seven kilometres later we are back at the farm before midday, despite having a tea stop. The horses are unsaddled — Mukhan’s back is clean and smooth, without a single white
hair, and his legs are clean as a whistle. We finish our stay with cognacs and lunch — the owner’s wife appears with many dishes, mutton soup, plov, bread and salads. Its like a wedding feast, says our host, and we do not disagree. The remainder of holiday is spent at exhibitions and concerts, visiting friends from previous trips. Bridget holds an art class for children at the hippodrome, with the daughter of one of our original horses as a model. We finish with a trip to the new hippodrome. It is set in the hills outside Ashgabat. We start our tour in the main grandstand, spacious and light, with the rooms behind furnished with chandeliers, paintings and huge carpets. We look through glass onto the racecourse, where a few horses are being exercised, and the grass is being watered. We drive across to the horse barns, where the President’s horses, including Yanardag and Pyada, in splendid condition, live in spacious opulence. There are horse walkers, veterinary blocks, everything a horse might need, but the whole place is spectacularly empty. As usual, Turkmenistan does not cease to amaze.
Turkmenistan and Iran 2002-3 by Ruth Staines
After two trips to Turkmenistan in 2001, the artist Bridget Tempest and myself found ourselves in Ashgabat for a third time in mid May 2002, to ride again in the Kopet Dagh mountains, and then cross the border into Iran to ride with Louise Firouz. We had a taste of what was to come before we started the ride proper: we rode for a couple of hours with Justin Tait from the British Embassy in hills which last October did not support a single leaf or blade of grass. Now a sea of red stretched as far as the eye could see, poppies, their seeds presumably stirred into life by heavy rainfall in early May.
We set out to meet the horses at the first campsite near Bakharden, west of Ashgabat. Imagine our delight when we set eyes on the mares we rode last year, plus two foals! The black stallion which accompanied us then had been busy. The next morning we saddled up (with more comfortable saddles purchased from Iran through Louise) and set off up a river gorge. We were not to venture far that day. An hour on we arrived at a checkpoint manned by young soldiers. Our Russian horseman and guide, Anton, had explored a route for us through land that had long been closed to foreigners, running parallel to the Iranian border. The travel firm had moved heaven and earth to get the required permits — alas the young soldiers were not convinced! We talked, waited, officers came and went, we could not proceed. Realising we would not make our camp that evening, we turned round and headed for the nearest signs of habitation.
Without seeming to bat an eyelid, the owner of the small farm that we, eight humans, ten horses and four foals, descended upon, welcomed us with open arms. The horses were put in a compound, the humans were fed and bedded down on carpets under the stars in front of the little mud and straw house. The next morning we had to wait for our travel agent to arrive and sort the situation out — we were not sure who was entertained more, us looking at remains of buildings ruined by Ghengis Khan, helping with the onion harvest, playing cats cradle with the children, and watching carpet weaving, or the family and their friends and relatives, intrigued by these strange westerners. Such unplanned events often turn out to be high points of visits to these faraway places. After lunch and many toasts in vodka, we tried again. This time the guards were all smiles as we ventured into the unknown.
We set out to meet the horses at the first campsite near Bakharden, west of Ashgabat. Imagine our delight when we set eyes on the mares we rode last year, plus two foals! The black stallion which accompanied us then had been busy. The next morning we saddled up (with more comfortable saddles purchased from Iran through Louise) and set off up a river gorge. We were not to venture far that day. An hour on we arrived at a checkpoint manned by young soldiers. Our Russian horseman and guide, Anton, had explored a route for us through land that had long been closed to foreigners, running parallel to the Iranian border. The travel firm had moved heaven and earth to get the required permits — alas the young soldiers were not convinced! We talked, waited, officers came and went, we could not proceed. Realising we would not make our camp that evening, we turned round and headed for the nearest signs of habitation.
Without seeming to bat an eyelid, the owner of the small farm that we, eight humans, ten horses and four foals, descended upon, welcomed us with open arms. The horses were put in a compound, the humans were fed and bedded down on carpets under the stars in front of the little mud and straw house. The next morning we had to wait for our travel agent to arrive and sort the situation out — we were not sure who was entertained more, us looking at remains of buildings ruined by Ghengis Khan, helping with the onion harvest, playing cats cradle with the children, and watching carpet weaving, or the family and their friends and relatives, intrigued by these strange westerners. Such unplanned events often turn out to be high points of visits to these faraway places. After lunch and many toasts in vodka, we tried again. This time the guards were all smiles as we ventured into the unknown.
As we followed the river further, we could see the results of the earlier floods. For hours we descended steep gorges, waded through the fast flowing water, scrambled up the far banks, crossing and recrossing the rerouted river many times. We saw huge boulders that had been dislodged, trees that had been uprooted; and our unshod horses patiently carried us over all this devastation. Dusk fell as we left the river. It was late at night when we fell into our camp, having ridden the last few kilometres in magical moonlight. When we finally woke the next morning we found ourselves under walnut trees, with nightingales singing, little waterfalls to wash in, and a delightful Turkmen sitting cross legged, in his pin striped suit, on a dun stallion, to guide us for the next few days!
In contrast to the stark dry mountains we rode in last year, most of this ride was in lush greenery. We lunched in a gently rolling grassy valley, sitting comfortably on springy turf. We trotted and cantered over hillsides dotted with juniper trees. We shared campsites with cattle , sheep and goats, the only passing traffic being men and boys on horses and donkeys. One day we arrived at a turquoise blue lake. After Anton’s stallion had sat down in it, we humans took up the idea and went for a blissfully cool swim.
Now we rode into paradise. First a handful of scarlet poppies were scattered around us, the numbers increased as we rode. We stopped for a breather amongst the poppies, having time to discover daisies, cornflowers, wild gladioli, gentians and many other species. Then the poppies were replaced by hillsides of yellow, of pink, of white, we rode over this ungrazed and uncultivated land for hours. Finally we descended a gentle slope of blue forgetmenots, larks singing overhead, our guide Mehmet singing at the front of our little caravan, as if for eternity. Surely this must be Trapalanda, horse heaven. We were rudely awakened from our reveries by a steep drop into a river gorge, a descent which our sure footed horses took us safely down. Then we followed the river Sumbar to our camp which had been set up near a high waterfall. Who needs shower facilities in places like this?!
In contrast to the stark dry mountains we rode in last year, most of this ride was in lush greenery. We lunched in a gently rolling grassy valley, sitting comfortably on springy turf. We trotted and cantered over hillsides dotted with juniper trees. We shared campsites with cattle , sheep and goats, the only passing traffic being men and boys on horses and donkeys. One day we arrived at a turquoise blue lake. After Anton’s stallion had sat down in it, we humans took up the idea and went for a blissfully cool swim.
Now we rode into paradise. First a handful of scarlet poppies were scattered around us, the numbers increased as we rode. We stopped for a breather amongst the poppies, having time to discover daisies, cornflowers, wild gladioli, gentians and many other species. Then the poppies were replaced by hillsides of yellow, of pink, of white, we rode over this ungrazed and uncultivated land for hours. Finally we descended a gentle slope of blue forgetmenots, larks singing overhead, our guide Mehmet singing at the front of our little caravan, as if for eternity. Surely this must be Trapalanda, horse heaven. We were rudely awakened from our reveries by a steep drop into a river gorge, a descent which our sure footed horses took us safely down. Then we followed the river Sumbar to our camp which had been set up near a high waterfall. Who needs shower facilities in places like this?!
The waterfall was a popular picnic spot for Turkmen — we spent a delightful rest day while children brought us flowers, adults invited us for meals, we took photographs, Bridget painted and even gave painting lessons! We rode for another day on a high grassy ridge, then descended to drier land and camped between a mosque and a graveyard, again sharing the spring water supply with a huge flock of goats. As we headed further west our lush greenery gave way to strange moon-like hills of green rock and flat scrubland. We bade the horses farewell and drove over this flat land along the border fence to Kyzil Etrek, where we were to cross into Iran.
After much waiting and many checks that are a feature of these border crossings, we were delighted to meet up with Kheder, Louise’s right hand man, who drove us to Garah Tappeh Sheikh. This was to be an adventure for Louise as well, we were to ride east to Jargalan, close to the Turkmenistan border. Louise had driven there many times, but never made the journey on horseback. We spent that evening meeting the horses, tethered stallions, mares and foals, and an assortment of Turkoman horses that Louise is buying locally both for her treks and to save them from the meat trade or being sold to Tehran.
After much waiting and many checks that are a feature of these border crossings, we were delighted to meet up with Kheder, Louise’s right hand man, who drove us to Garah Tappeh Sheikh. This was to be an adventure for Louise as well, we were to ride east to Jargalan, close to the Turkmenistan border. Louise had driven there many times, but never made the journey on horseback. We spent that evening meeting the horses, tethered stallions, mares and foals, and an assortment of Turkoman horses that Louise is buying locally both for her treks and to save them from the meat trade or being sold to Tehran.
I was lucky enough to ride Jamal for the third year running, Louise had ‘reserved’ for me. She is dark brown, about 16hh, pure Turkoman with Akhal Teke blood — her father’s father was an Akhal Teke from Moscow. We made an early start on the first day so that we rode over the hot dusty wheat plains before the full heat of midday. Then we began climbing to a ridge, having to find a different track as the one I had ridden up previously had been washed away by the rains in early May. We camped in a cool forest with excellent washing facilities: springs, streams, pools and waterfalls!
On this side of the border every possible piece of land is cultivated. Wheat and cumin were much in evidence. The tops of spurs were flattened to make planting possible, making the landscape appear to have been carved by a giant chisel. We would skirt fields with sheer drops to one side — wild flowers were much in evidence, but along the tracks rather than over whole hillsides. The second campsite had a stream flowing through the valley and a wooded hillside as a backdrop.
Our planned guide on horseback failed to make an appearance, but two wheels took the place of four legs as a guide appeared on a motorbike. After a couple of days riding along ridges with spectacular views of the hills on either side, we found ourselves looking down at the wide Etrek valley. This river flows on to become part of the border between Turkmenistan and Iran. As we descended the land became drier and dustier, and we crossed the river near a bridge, giving the horses a long, welcome drink. We camped on the far side of the next village. We had several invitations to stay in the village — one from a man who said he did not often get the chance to meet foreigners, another from the head man who was concerned that we females should not be subjected to such conditions! — or, as Louise suspected, they were worried about our female honour! On leaving camp, we were climbing again. We were back in a green land, even some woodland, a land, as we christened it, of troglodytes. Every so often we would come across what looked like mud huts by the fields, although they were in fact substantially built of wood and then covered with mud. These were summer quarters for villagers to stay in while they gathered their harvests. We were to camp by a couple of abandoned ones, and as we found when we used one as a dining room they were very warm in the cool evening. One of our party made friends with the inhabitant of one, a 62 year old woman who was desperate to have a photograph. Louise said that as the post rarely made it even to her this could be impossible. However, we had an artist in our midst, and in no time at all the woman was the proud possessor of one of Bridget’s watercolours!
Now we left the temperate lands, and as we approached Jargalan the tracks were hard and dry. At one point to the north we could see a mountain only a few kilometres away, close to where we had last camped in Turkmenistan. If only there were no borders….! Many of the mud covered houses in the villages had attractive wooden verandahs. At one it was carpet cleaning day — the women were all out shaking their carpets. By another a felt covered racing stallion was tethered. The people of Jargalan are mostly Tekke Turkmen, still retaining many of their ancient customs.
On this side of the border every possible piece of land is cultivated. Wheat and cumin were much in evidence. The tops of spurs were flattened to make planting possible, making the landscape appear to have been carved by a giant chisel. We would skirt fields with sheer drops to one side — wild flowers were much in evidence, but along the tracks rather than over whole hillsides. The second campsite had a stream flowing through the valley and a wooded hillside as a backdrop.
Our planned guide on horseback failed to make an appearance, but two wheels took the place of four legs as a guide appeared on a motorbike. After a couple of days riding along ridges with spectacular views of the hills on either side, we found ourselves looking down at the wide Etrek valley. This river flows on to become part of the border between Turkmenistan and Iran. As we descended the land became drier and dustier, and we crossed the river near a bridge, giving the horses a long, welcome drink. We camped on the far side of the next village. We had several invitations to stay in the village — one from a man who said he did not often get the chance to meet foreigners, another from the head man who was concerned that we females should not be subjected to such conditions! — or, as Louise suspected, they were worried about our female honour! On leaving camp, we were climbing again. We were back in a green land, even some woodland, a land, as we christened it, of troglodytes. Every so often we would come across what looked like mud huts by the fields, although they were in fact substantially built of wood and then covered with mud. These were summer quarters for villagers to stay in while they gathered their harvests. We were to camp by a couple of abandoned ones, and as we found when we used one as a dining room they were very warm in the cool evening. One of our party made friends with the inhabitant of one, a 62 year old woman who was desperate to have a photograph. Louise said that as the post rarely made it even to her this could be impossible. However, we had an artist in our midst, and in no time at all the woman was the proud possessor of one of Bridget’s watercolours!
Now we left the temperate lands, and as we approached Jargalan the tracks were hard and dry. At one point to the north we could see a mountain only a few kilometres away, close to where we had last camped in Turkmenistan. If only there were no borders….! Many of the mud covered houses in the villages had attractive wooden verandahs. At one it was carpet cleaning day — the women were all out shaking their carpets. By another a felt covered racing stallion was tethered. The people of Jargalan are mostly Tekke Turkmen, still retaining many of their ancient customs.
We made our way for many kilometres along a near dry river bed, the horses enjoying gallops despite having been on the move for many hours. The bright turquoise of beeeaters flashed past. After a week’s riding we arrived at Yekke Sud, the village where Louise’s colleague, Dr Ghiadi, lives. This amazing man is devoting his life to this area forgotten by the government. A Turkoman himself, he moved there about eight years ago. He is a medical doctor, and has set up a clinic for the local people.. He kindly invited us to lunch, and after we had all had welcome showers, we tucked into a feast cooked by his wife and family. As we ate, he would frequently be called to the clinic to attend to patients. Over the past few years he has managed to bring roads and electricity to this impoverished area. But there is still much to be done, mainly in the area of the people being able to earn a living. Now he is trying to set up cooperatives to make it possible for the people to sell their carpets and textiles, at the same time as trying to get governments to ease border and export restrictions. He wishes to encourage tourism — horses are still bred here (Louise says they do better here than in her own area, although nobody knows why) and used for racing, transport and farm work. Traditional races for occasions like weddings and circumcisions are still held, and the Doctor feels these could attract tourists.
Then he took us to see his own breeding stock, including a fine stallion bred by Louise. Mares, young stock and stallions were in superb condition. The Tekke people here may breed Tekke horses, but not the Akhal Tekes as in the closed stud book. Other strains are also used, most of Dr Ghiadi’s mares were Yomuds. We visited other villages to see carpets, textiles and traditional clothes, of course making some purchases. This was the end of our Iranian trip. The horses were trucked back home, we returned to Ashgabat to fly back home.
I can hardly envisage a year now without a trip to Central Asia. Sadly, this year, no tourist visas for Turkmenistan were being issued because of the outbreak of SARS. I had hoped to join the artist, Bridget Tempest - who was already out there showing art students in Ashgabat how to use the lithography press she had sent out — to ride with her for a week or so, but this was not to be. This time I flew to Iran, and Bridget joined the rest of us for a few days, with Justin Tait from the British Embassy in Ashgabat, a keen horseman, who had come on last year’s ride.
I was pleasantly surprised at our treatment at Tehran airport — on my first visit in 1999 everyone’s luggage was thoroughly searched, and my pockets were turned out by stern veiled women. This time there was no such hassle: we were able to walk straight out with no hold ups, and were met by the charming Maziar, a young colleague of Louise, who rides some of Louise’s young horses in Tehran as well as his own show jumpers. He was to drive us to Louise’s farm, a journey of some eight hours, and accompany us on the ride. We were pleased to find he spoke excellent English!
As we approached the Caspian Sea, and then turned east onto the Gorgan Plain, I could not fail to notice that the landscape was still very green. In former years this has been harvest time (the end of May), but not this year. There had been almost continuous rain for the first five months of the year, something unheard of in years gone by, and indeed it had been raining heavily the day before our arrival.
We were greeted on our arrival at GTS (Garah Tapeh Sheikh, Louise’s village) by the blissful sight of mares and foals, and hens with chicks of various ages. Louise welcomed us with open arms, then set about preparing a supper of sturgeon kebabs and homegrown peas and salad — another result of the recent rains. Bridget and Justin drove over from Ashgabat, and we were to do some local riding as they were only with us for a couple of days.
Our first ride was along Alexander’s Wall (probably later than the time of Alexander the Great — it stretched from the Caspian Sea possibly as far as Afghanistan, but is now no more than a bank) to Garah Tapeh, the Black Hill from which the village takes its name. We rode over plains and wheat, and dropped down steep hills into river valleys. The ‘hill’ is a man made mound, many centuries old, built up to be easily defended from marauding hordes. Its steep sides are criss crossed with the tracks of sheep and goats. There are not even any ruins remaining from the many communities which have lived there over the ages, but we rode over many shards of pottery, there were jug handles and bricks appearing in the earth on the hill sides. It would make an archaeologist’s paradise.
My mount for this day was a small grey Turkoman mare called Omid, fast, tireless and a pacer. These Turkoman horses still have to be all-purpose, used for transport, agriculture, and, on occasions, racing. Indeed, a race meeting was in the offing. Pashei, a village an hour’s ride away, had a flat piece of grassland beside it deemed suitable for a gallop, so the next day we rode over to check it out. Now I was mounted on my old friend Jamal, who is the mother of a race winner. Our horses needed no urging to test the track! Afterwards we visited the nearby village of Sufyan where they manufacture horse rugs — Bridget wanted one for her horse back home in England. After the purchase had been made we were ushered to what looked like a large garage. The doors opened to reveal a huge mound covered in cardboard. The villagers lifted the card to reveal a mass of fat white silkworms, busily chewing on mulberry leaves. We had noticed that every mulberry tree was bereft of leaves — the locals gather them to feed the worms till they turn into cocoons and are sold on to be spun into silk. Then on to the town of Gonbad and Louise’s local tack shop. I could not resist purchasing a Turkoman saddle — a pity it does not fit the Shire horses I am currently riding! While tucking into sturgeon kebabs, a gentleman asked if we would like to see his mares and foals. We were expecting to drive out of town, but he took us a couple of streets away, where indeed were two mares with their foals in his garden!
When we returned to GTS, we had visitors. Several Turkomen with their horses, some with saddles like the one I had just purchased. These were some of the race entrants. Word had got round fast. One mare had a foal at foot, and there was much talk of who would race who. They were all back early the next morning, to join our jockeys for the ride to Pashei. Two of Louise’s grooms plus Bridget, Justin and some of the villagers from GTS made up an excited procession to the racetrack. The rest of us piled into jeeps and waited at the village for them to arrive. A few local horses were already there, and the whole village was ready to watch. Dozens of small boys were showing off on their donkeys, and young men whizzed around on motor bikes, clearing sheep from the race area! A young woman escorted a turkey and her brood out of harm’s way!
There was a hiatus while the heats were decided. Only two horses raced at a time, and care had to be taken that they were as evenly matched as possible. All the losers complained they should have been paired with a different horse! Finally the jockeys made their way to the far side of the plain. The village nestled at the base of hills which had been carved out long ago by the river, with the plain extending to hills on the far side of the valley.
The first race took us unawares. We could barely see the start of the race, and were rudely awoken by the first pair of horses thundering past. The finish was marked by two tall sticks pushed into the ground, but, racing into the sun, the riders failed to see them as the crowd frantically tried to direct them. The course was straight, a true point to point, and the riders, especially Bridget and Justin, revelled in giving the horses their heads and flying flat out. These horses, including Louise’s, were not the tall and elegant Akhal Tekes of Ashgabat, but small and wiry, tough jacks of all trades, and with an incredible turn of speed. Bridget and Justin had their own race — Bridget’s horse won with an amazing burst of speed as they neared the finish. All too soon the horse races were over: incredibly there is no betting, the honour and glory of winning is incentive enough to set up a race meeting.
After the horses came the donkeys — one or two ran straight to the finish, but as the animals were a mixture of stallions and mares, at least one of which was in season, the race soon descended into chaos. The young men on motor bikes raced, as did the children on foot. A crowd was gathering — we were ushered to the front of the circle by the villagers, and the wrestling began. Two men tied pieces of cloth round their waists and twisted their wrists through that on their opponent. They then pushed and shoved each other, with much shouting from the crowd and the stick wielding referee, till one was pushed to the ground.
All too soon the festivities were over, before the heat of the day, and we all dispersed back to our respective villages, to sit with cooling tea, nibbling at succulent water melon. Then we were off to Gonbad once more for the real races — sitting in a concrete grandstand waiting for ages while the crowd placed their bets by computer. Thank goodness the course director spotted Louise and invited us in to his office for tea and cakes! The dusty racecourse was in the full glare of the sun, and the jockeys had to walk across the course to the starting stalls while their mounts were led round to them! The race was over in a flash — not nearly as exciting as our village meeting. We retired to an ice cream parlour for cooling refreshments.
The next day Bridget and Justin return to Turkmenistan, and the rest of us set off with Louise, Maziar and her groom for a few days riding by the edges of the forests of the Golestan National Park. Our camps are varied, by a Scythian burial mound, under the trees, by turbulent streams, on hills with spectacular views. We see a robbed burial chamber, find fossil ammonites and our horses are chased by a shepherd’s colt! There has been so much rain during the preceding months that the wild flowers are again spectacular, carpets of poppies and multicoloured hillsides.
All too soon we are back at the farm. We washed down he horses for the last time, cooled off with enormous slices of water melon, and I tried out my saddle on a willing mount round the farm. I was shown how to tie the girth, or chaki, over the saddle, and a second one over a sheepskin.
A combine harvester had moved in on the surrounding fields. As the corn was poured into the lorries, we moved the fences to allow the mares and foals onto the huge area of stubble. Though the spring grass had been good, it had all but been finished, and we watched entranced as the horses picked up their speed when they realised what a treat was in store. Thirty or so animals cantered onto the golden stalks, plunging their heads down to tear at the welcome feast, then everyone, young and old, indulged in a blissful roll. A memorable sight on which to end the holiday.
Turkmenistan travel agent who arranged the first part of the ride in 2002: www.ayan-travel.com (tourist visas are again being issued)
Rides with Louise may be arranged through In the Saddle or by contacting Louise direct: [email protected]
Then he took us to see his own breeding stock, including a fine stallion bred by Louise. Mares, young stock and stallions were in superb condition. The Tekke people here may breed Tekke horses, but not the Akhal Tekes as in the closed stud book. Other strains are also used, most of Dr Ghiadi’s mares were Yomuds. We visited other villages to see carpets, textiles and traditional clothes, of course making some purchases. This was the end of our Iranian trip. The horses were trucked back home, we returned to Ashgabat to fly back home.
I can hardly envisage a year now without a trip to Central Asia. Sadly, this year, no tourist visas for Turkmenistan were being issued because of the outbreak of SARS. I had hoped to join the artist, Bridget Tempest - who was already out there showing art students in Ashgabat how to use the lithography press she had sent out — to ride with her for a week or so, but this was not to be. This time I flew to Iran, and Bridget joined the rest of us for a few days, with Justin Tait from the British Embassy in Ashgabat, a keen horseman, who had come on last year’s ride.
I was pleasantly surprised at our treatment at Tehran airport — on my first visit in 1999 everyone’s luggage was thoroughly searched, and my pockets were turned out by stern veiled women. This time there was no such hassle: we were able to walk straight out with no hold ups, and were met by the charming Maziar, a young colleague of Louise, who rides some of Louise’s young horses in Tehran as well as his own show jumpers. He was to drive us to Louise’s farm, a journey of some eight hours, and accompany us on the ride. We were pleased to find he spoke excellent English!
As we approached the Caspian Sea, and then turned east onto the Gorgan Plain, I could not fail to notice that the landscape was still very green. In former years this has been harvest time (the end of May), but not this year. There had been almost continuous rain for the first five months of the year, something unheard of in years gone by, and indeed it had been raining heavily the day before our arrival.
We were greeted on our arrival at GTS (Garah Tapeh Sheikh, Louise’s village) by the blissful sight of mares and foals, and hens with chicks of various ages. Louise welcomed us with open arms, then set about preparing a supper of sturgeon kebabs and homegrown peas and salad — another result of the recent rains. Bridget and Justin drove over from Ashgabat, and we were to do some local riding as they were only with us for a couple of days.
Our first ride was along Alexander’s Wall (probably later than the time of Alexander the Great — it stretched from the Caspian Sea possibly as far as Afghanistan, but is now no more than a bank) to Garah Tapeh, the Black Hill from which the village takes its name. We rode over plains and wheat, and dropped down steep hills into river valleys. The ‘hill’ is a man made mound, many centuries old, built up to be easily defended from marauding hordes. Its steep sides are criss crossed with the tracks of sheep and goats. There are not even any ruins remaining from the many communities which have lived there over the ages, but we rode over many shards of pottery, there were jug handles and bricks appearing in the earth on the hill sides. It would make an archaeologist’s paradise.
My mount for this day was a small grey Turkoman mare called Omid, fast, tireless and a pacer. These Turkoman horses still have to be all-purpose, used for transport, agriculture, and, on occasions, racing. Indeed, a race meeting was in the offing. Pashei, a village an hour’s ride away, had a flat piece of grassland beside it deemed suitable for a gallop, so the next day we rode over to check it out. Now I was mounted on my old friend Jamal, who is the mother of a race winner. Our horses needed no urging to test the track! Afterwards we visited the nearby village of Sufyan where they manufacture horse rugs — Bridget wanted one for her horse back home in England. After the purchase had been made we were ushered to what looked like a large garage. The doors opened to reveal a huge mound covered in cardboard. The villagers lifted the card to reveal a mass of fat white silkworms, busily chewing on mulberry leaves. We had noticed that every mulberry tree was bereft of leaves — the locals gather them to feed the worms till they turn into cocoons and are sold on to be spun into silk. Then on to the town of Gonbad and Louise’s local tack shop. I could not resist purchasing a Turkoman saddle — a pity it does not fit the Shire horses I am currently riding! While tucking into sturgeon kebabs, a gentleman asked if we would like to see his mares and foals. We were expecting to drive out of town, but he took us a couple of streets away, where indeed were two mares with their foals in his garden!
When we returned to GTS, we had visitors. Several Turkomen with their horses, some with saddles like the one I had just purchased. These were some of the race entrants. Word had got round fast. One mare had a foal at foot, and there was much talk of who would race who. They were all back early the next morning, to join our jockeys for the ride to Pashei. Two of Louise’s grooms plus Bridget, Justin and some of the villagers from GTS made up an excited procession to the racetrack. The rest of us piled into jeeps and waited at the village for them to arrive. A few local horses were already there, and the whole village was ready to watch. Dozens of small boys were showing off on their donkeys, and young men whizzed around on motor bikes, clearing sheep from the race area! A young woman escorted a turkey and her brood out of harm’s way!
There was a hiatus while the heats were decided. Only two horses raced at a time, and care had to be taken that they were as evenly matched as possible. All the losers complained they should have been paired with a different horse! Finally the jockeys made their way to the far side of the plain. The village nestled at the base of hills which had been carved out long ago by the river, with the plain extending to hills on the far side of the valley.
The first race took us unawares. We could barely see the start of the race, and were rudely awoken by the first pair of horses thundering past. The finish was marked by two tall sticks pushed into the ground, but, racing into the sun, the riders failed to see them as the crowd frantically tried to direct them. The course was straight, a true point to point, and the riders, especially Bridget and Justin, revelled in giving the horses their heads and flying flat out. These horses, including Louise’s, were not the tall and elegant Akhal Tekes of Ashgabat, but small and wiry, tough jacks of all trades, and with an incredible turn of speed. Bridget and Justin had their own race — Bridget’s horse won with an amazing burst of speed as they neared the finish. All too soon the horse races were over: incredibly there is no betting, the honour and glory of winning is incentive enough to set up a race meeting.
After the horses came the donkeys — one or two ran straight to the finish, but as the animals were a mixture of stallions and mares, at least one of which was in season, the race soon descended into chaos. The young men on motor bikes raced, as did the children on foot. A crowd was gathering — we were ushered to the front of the circle by the villagers, and the wrestling began. Two men tied pieces of cloth round their waists and twisted their wrists through that on their opponent. They then pushed and shoved each other, with much shouting from the crowd and the stick wielding referee, till one was pushed to the ground.
All too soon the festivities were over, before the heat of the day, and we all dispersed back to our respective villages, to sit with cooling tea, nibbling at succulent water melon. Then we were off to Gonbad once more for the real races — sitting in a concrete grandstand waiting for ages while the crowd placed their bets by computer. Thank goodness the course director spotted Louise and invited us in to his office for tea and cakes! The dusty racecourse was in the full glare of the sun, and the jockeys had to walk across the course to the starting stalls while their mounts were led round to them! The race was over in a flash — not nearly as exciting as our village meeting. We retired to an ice cream parlour for cooling refreshments.
The next day Bridget and Justin return to Turkmenistan, and the rest of us set off with Louise, Maziar and her groom for a few days riding by the edges of the forests of the Golestan National Park. Our camps are varied, by a Scythian burial mound, under the trees, by turbulent streams, on hills with spectacular views. We see a robbed burial chamber, find fossil ammonites and our horses are chased by a shepherd’s colt! There has been so much rain during the preceding months that the wild flowers are again spectacular, carpets of poppies and multicoloured hillsides.
All too soon we are back at the farm. We washed down he horses for the last time, cooled off with enormous slices of water melon, and I tried out my saddle on a willing mount round the farm. I was shown how to tie the girth, or chaki, over the saddle, and a second one over a sheepskin.
A combine harvester had moved in on the surrounding fields. As the corn was poured into the lorries, we moved the fences to allow the mares and foals onto the huge area of stubble. Though the spring grass had been good, it had all but been finished, and we watched entranced as the horses picked up their speed when they realised what a treat was in store. Thirty or so animals cantered onto the golden stalks, plunging their heads down to tear at the welcome feast, then everyone, young and old, indulged in a blissful roll. A memorable sight on which to end the holiday.
Turkmenistan travel agent who arranged the first part of the ride in 2002: www.ayan-travel.com (tourist visas are again being issued)
Rides with Louise may be arranged through In the Saddle or by contacting Louise direct: [email protected]
A ride in Turkmenistan by Elizebeth Barrett
Turkmenistan is a country virtually unknown in the west but it is one of the fragments resulting from the breakup of the old USSR and it borders on Iran. To Akhal-Teke horseowners, however, the country is known as the cradle of the early horse breeds, possibly dating as far back as at least 6000BC or even longer. Turkmenistan is a mainly desert country, including the famous Kara Kum or Black Desert. The western side of the country borders on the Caspian Sea while where we rode, close to the Iranian border, is mainly mountainous. Turkmenistan is on the ancient main trade routes and was crossed by Alexander the Great and Marco Polo and many other travellers going further east on The Silk Road.
The four of us in the party consisted of myself, Lisa, Ruth and Bridget. We arrived by Turkmenistan Airlines in Ashgabat, the capital of the country. The population of the country is about 5M. It possesses natural gas and petroleum and the main crop is cotton. Most of the capital was sadly wiped out in the late 1940s by an earthquake but it has been completely rebuilt. Since independence, around 10 years ago, it has been rebuilt again and is now said to be the most modern city in Central Asia. It boasts tree-lined wide streets, modern parliament buildings and a presidential palace, and an up-to-date museum. There are also numerous modern hotels but, to our observation, not many guests.
On Sundays and Thursdays there are lively markets where on display can be seen rows of carpets, native crafts and hand-made silver bracelets and necklaces. The export restrictions are on old carpets, rugs and Zergar silver jewellery, or anything antique. Carpets have to be taken to the museum of carpets, tagged for exportation, with a certificate to show to customs.
We had timed our arrival, unbeknown to us when we booked, to coincide with the fourth annual Akhal-Teke conference. A few hours after our arrival we were whisked away to visit the Hippodrome or racecourse built in the 1980s. There are stands alongside part of the race circuit, and there are also various American type barns with perhaps as many as forty horses in each. We looked in about three barns and were told that the horses were fed on clover (but I think this must have been alfalfa), barley, sugar (beet?), hay and carrots; all that we saw was alfalfa and barley.
We asked if we might see a horse in the open and a boy of twelve, who was small for his size, brought a horse outside and with a bridle and blanket only and no saddle galloped it up and down. These horses are very lean with hard feet and most of them are unshod. It appears that they are not trained to UK or US standards, but are simply mounted and ridden. All the horses we came into contact with were very gentle, no doubt because they have lived close to man for thousands of years.
The horses are apparently galloped early in the morning and in the afternoon they are walked round the course by young boys, mainly with no saddles and just a blanket to sit on. I had been told before I went out that there are no saddlers in Turkmenistan. There is certainly a need for better tack but it has to be borne in mind that this is a poor country struggling hard to make its way following independence, having lost all the financial and other support which it used to receive from the USSR.
The next morning, another hot day at about 28°C, we were off to the colourful Tolkuchka bazaar which is held in the desert outside Ashgabat. The Thursday market is smaller than the Sunday one but there were on display rows of carpets from Iran in brilliant reds, local silver jewellery and traditional handicrafts. Telpeks (local hats), made from long or short goat or sheep wool, were all there for the haggling. Beware, you are not allowed to bring out anything of great value: silver jewellery, for instance, would be taken off you at the airport.
Back to the Hippodrome and we visited the stable which was the President’s, which had recently been built, again on the American barn system, but photographs were not allowed. The horses in this stable were mainly all stallions and look well cared for, but we noticed that the better the horse the closer it was stabled to the racecourse. Many horses in the country have a hand-woven camel-hair "necklace" round their necks "to ward off the evil eye". Later I purchased one for my horse Cameron.
Horses and yet more horses - we visited a private stud in the desert outside Ashgabat. This had several stallions and many mares and foals. The Akhal-Tekes come in many colours and here there was a variety, including the "golden colour" in which the coat has a metallic sheen. There were also to be seen brown, chesnut, cream and many shades of dun. All the horses looked well cared for and the mares and foals were outside with shelter from the sun.
The four of us in the party consisted of myself, Lisa, Ruth and Bridget. We arrived by Turkmenistan Airlines in Ashgabat, the capital of the country. The population of the country is about 5M. It possesses natural gas and petroleum and the main crop is cotton. Most of the capital was sadly wiped out in the late 1940s by an earthquake but it has been completely rebuilt. Since independence, around 10 years ago, it has been rebuilt again and is now said to be the most modern city in Central Asia. It boasts tree-lined wide streets, modern parliament buildings and a presidential palace, and an up-to-date museum. There are also numerous modern hotels but, to our observation, not many guests.
On Sundays and Thursdays there are lively markets where on display can be seen rows of carpets, native crafts and hand-made silver bracelets and necklaces. The export restrictions are on old carpets, rugs and Zergar silver jewellery, or anything antique. Carpets have to be taken to the museum of carpets, tagged for exportation, with a certificate to show to customs.
We had timed our arrival, unbeknown to us when we booked, to coincide with the fourth annual Akhal-Teke conference. A few hours after our arrival we were whisked away to visit the Hippodrome or racecourse built in the 1980s. There are stands alongside part of the race circuit, and there are also various American type barns with perhaps as many as forty horses in each. We looked in about three barns and were told that the horses were fed on clover (but I think this must have been alfalfa), barley, sugar (beet?), hay and carrots; all that we saw was alfalfa and barley.
We asked if we might see a horse in the open and a boy of twelve, who was small for his size, brought a horse outside and with a bridle and blanket only and no saddle galloped it up and down. These horses are very lean with hard feet and most of them are unshod. It appears that they are not trained to UK or US standards, but are simply mounted and ridden. All the horses we came into contact with were very gentle, no doubt because they have lived close to man for thousands of years.
The horses are apparently galloped early in the morning and in the afternoon they are walked round the course by young boys, mainly with no saddles and just a blanket to sit on. I had been told before I went out that there are no saddlers in Turkmenistan. There is certainly a need for better tack but it has to be borne in mind that this is a poor country struggling hard to make its way following independence, having lost all the financial and other support which it used to receive from the USSR.
The next morning, another hot day at about 28°C, we were off to the colourful Tolkuchka bazaar which is held in the desert outside Ashgabat. The Thursday market is smaller than the Sunday one but there were on display rows of carpets from Iran in brilliant reds, local silver jewellery and traditional handicrafts. Telpeks (local hats), made from long or short goat or sheep wool, were all there for the haggling. Beware, you are not allowed to bring out anything of great value: silver jewellery, for instance, would be taken off you at the airport.
Back to the Hippodrome and we visited the stable which was the President’s, which had recently been built, again on the American barn system, but photographs were not allowed. The horses in this stable were mainly all stallions and look well cared for, but we noticed that the better the horse the closer it was stabled to the racecourse. Many horses in the country have a hand-woven camel-hair "necklace" round their necks "to ward off the evil eye". Later I purchased one for my horse Cameron.
Horses and yet more horses - we visited a private stud in the desert outside Ashgabat. This had several stallions and many mares and foals. The Akhal-Tekes come in many colours and here there was a variety, including the "golden colour" in which the coat has a metallic sheen. There were also to be seen brown, chesnut, cream and many shades of dun. All the horses looked well cared for and the mares and foals were outside with shelter from the sun.
Mountains, here we come
The four of us piled into the jeep with David at the wheel, our luggage having been sent to base camp separately. We journeyed westward for about 50 miles and headed into the Kopetdag Mountains, leaving the tarred roads behind. We took a detour along the foothills into the Firuza Gorge, a spectacular landscape with cliffs climbing 200m into the sky. Later the track at times disappeared and there were large gullies caused by water rushing down the mountainsides, but David skilfully kept the jeep out of trouble. About an hour later we met Stanislav with his ex-army Russian lorry with bald wide tyres. He operates solely within the mountains, acting as transport for the shepherds and villagers. With him on board were Oleg our "cook", as well as our luggage and most of our camp equipment. He normally works in the office but his hobby is cooking. How brave, to cook for four women. We now had to follow the lorry and it was thought that we would need a tow from time to time. Already Stanislav had placed stones and rocks across the river to enable the jeep to get a grip - some of these crossings would be quite difficult even on horseback.
The mountains are high desert, with scrub, loose shale, large rocks and boulders, the tracks are hard surfaced, this is an unforgiving landscape. The mountain range is vast, covered with thyme and sage, and with a few juniper trees. On the way up to the first camp, David gave us a warning about moving rocks as there might well be a black widow or a tarantula lurking beneath. And because of scorpions one always has to shake out ones boots before putting them on. Also, there were ticks in the area but luckily we escaped their attentions. As soon as we arrived at camp, a hooded cobra slithered by. Also one had to keep clear of the bushes for fear of what they might be concealing.
It took four hours for us to reach the horse camp by the Sekizyap River. The camp was placed well above the river as in the previous week it had rained, causing a dramatic mud slide, and we could have been in danger of further slides and flash floods, although Turkmenistan is said to have only 50 days a year when it rains. But this probably reflects the weather in the capital and the desert, rather more than the mountains.
While David got straight to work erecting the two man tents, Oleg brewed much needed tea and coffee. We then all walked down to the river were the horses were and met Anton our Russian guide for the next week. We were camping at about 5000ft with mountains all around us at about 6500ft. The river valley was quite lush with grass, small trees, rushes and other plants. The river sparkled in the sun and was completely clear; the following day we saw trout in it. We walked through the water to inspect our mounts and tack. There were five mares and one stallion Akhal-Teke, Iomud or Yomud and perhaps part bred, chesnuts, bays, duns, a black/brown stallion and a golden mare. We looked at the saddles which had been provided: in the main they were new Russian Cavalry saddles with one Eastern flat (UK). Anton our guide had a cross between a Turkman and Russian Cavalry saddle which looked the best of the bunch as far as comfort was concerned. We were asked if we had brought our own snaffle bits, and we must have looked a bit blank - Russians evidently take their own bits on riding trips. However, we had been asked if we were bringing saddles and I had hoped to but realised that my own long distance saddle is too heavy to drag around. I was hoping to take a Wintec synthetic saddle with me - they are not only light-weight but have adjustable gullets and I would like to try one on a future occasion.
Some of the horses looked as if they had worked hard, and some showed scars from old injuries. However, they all appeared sound and lean and had been mountain trained. Don’t, by the way, let anybody tell you that they can be used only in the desert and don’t forget the old saying "don’t judge a book by its cover". The stallion is kept tethered along with the oldest mare a fourteen year old blue dun, and the youngest a yellow dun. Otherwise they run free, feeding on the scrub and sparse grass and anything else they can find. They probably lead a near perfect life, running free and doing hours of steady work.
During the night a porcupine paid us a visit, leaving some quills behind. After I had returned home I was told that a tiger had eaten some foals somewhere in Turkmenistan. Horses are normally good at keeping predators at bay and moving on as soon as foals are born, so one must assume that in that instance the foals were very young.
The night was windy and in the night we had some rain and in the middle of the night I had to scoop up our bags and boots and bring then into the tent. Oleg, the camp cook, filled me with admiration with his ability to give up cordon bleu type menus and to gauge accurately the amount of food which would be needed on the trip. He served up cooked breakfasts, lunches of soup and salad, dinners of beef, mutton, fish and Italian cuisine, all cooked on a two ring cooker or an open fire. Afternoon tea was, however, served at 5 o’clock instead of 4 o’clock! In the late afternoon we tended to walk up the valley to watch the sun playing on the mountains and to see the changing colours as it lowered in the sky. On the way down we gathered wood for the fire that evening. The days were hot, a dry heat, and only the coldest night called for a three season sleeping bag.
The first day’s riding was short at my request, but this could have been extended to 30km. We rode along the riverbed and criss-crossed the river a number of times before climbing out of the valley onto the Aksu Plateau which stretches along the northern foothills of the Dushak Mountain, the highest peak in the area. The horses brushed through the thyme and sage, sending lovely aromas wafting across to us. Wild lavenders just coming into flower completed the scene. The mountains are harsh, and with shades of browns, reds and greys their appearance was always changing as the sun moved round and light played on the canyons.
We returned for a late lunch to the simple camp where we used the river for washing and had no loos. What struck me was the complete remoteness of the area, with no people to be seen but birds, many flying high above us, wild animals and plants and, on the mountain tops, juniper trees. The tracks and mountains are hard shale and the horses made their way down the sheer mountainsides. We had to sit quietly, let the horses have their heads and lean back because the steep slopes made it necessary to keep one hand on the back of the saddle. I found the Russian saddle difficult to sit, owing to the fact that the stirrup bars are placed much further to the rear than on an eastern or long distance saddle, throwing my normal balance out. For the first day’s ride the stallion was left at home, and we had a loose mare travelling with us which we nicknamed "Bossy Boots". She had been stolen and her back damaged by, I believe, a wild animal: Anton believed that if she were given another six months off she would recover completely. Bossy Boots planned her tactics well, placing herself as third horse in the pecking order and challenging any ridden horse that wanted to overtake her. She excelled herself at the water crossings, completely blocking the way for the last two ridden mares and also the stallion. At times, she would leap straight down a steep bank into the river - these horses are certainly good jumpers.
My horse, on one occasion, hesitated before entering the water but then, instead of wading across, leapt the whole river from a standstill.
Saturday. On the following day we had another ride out from the first camp. Although I normally don’t like to stop more than one night in a place, the camp sites have to be decided on the availability of water and food for the horses. Today we set out in a different direction across the western plateau, passing the remains of an ancient settlement. At times we rode close to the rocky overhangs to get relief from the hot sun beating down on us. We covered about 40km, riding from about 9am to 2.30pm. We rode mainly at a walk, interspersed with long trots and short canters. When we were on the tops we were asked if we would like to gallop but we declined. Part of the problem was that I found the Russian saddle quite difficult to ride on and not really suitable for galloping on that terrain.
We came across our first settlement with cultivated fields close to the river, and tethered close by were three red cattle and a youngster - they looked much like the Suffolk Red Polls only smaller. In the same place there was a large body of goats and sheep being looked after by two herdsmen. The white, black and brown sheep had long fleeces and most had lambs. Many of the sheep and goats had clambered high up on the shale to gain whatever little food was available. I was most impressed with Anton who made us skirt around the animals so as not to disturb them. Most of the flocks had large guard dogs, but not vicious ones such as I had encountered in Turkey a few years earlier. Today the black stallion came with us to bring up the rear, ridden bareback by the groom with just a blanket to sit on and a snaffle bridle with very short reins. Indeed they were so short that when we stopped to water the horses the poor chap was half way down his neck. How did he manage to stay on up and down the mountainside?
Sunday. Another long ride starting after an early breakfast of omelettes. Today we had a lot of cloud cover which meant it was not so hot as the previous day. We retraced our way along the river and then climbed to the high plateau with a number of trots and canters on the way. On the tops with its steppe type of landscape we came across a large herd of sheep and goats, the herdsman having a large donkey to ride and two large guard dogs.
Every day the smell of herbs wafted around us as we rode, the horses brushing against the plants released the oils that give us the scent. Other plants we saw were poppies, including opium poppies, marijuana growing wild, broom, yarrow, cornflowers and lavender. The mountains are home to many tortoises and they regularly criss-crossed our path, from tiny ones to large ones of a great age. We also saw lizards and poisonous snakes, including cobras and the deadly gaboon viper which is so deadly that if bitten you would be dead in two hours. No help was available here as we were many hours from anywhere by horseback. We also saw large lizards called "sand crocodiles", together with silver foxes. In the area there are hyenas and leopards but we did not see any. What we did see, however, was an abundance of fossils.
Monday, a day of rest for the horses, the others hiked to the waterfall with Anton and Starrs while I had a lazy day, read my book and washed my clothes. A surprise - it rained and the others returned from the waterfall soaked. The camp was soaking wet and as we had nowhere dry to sit Anton invited us into his tent, which had a central hearth used for cooking which would also give out some warmth at night. His tent had open sides with a canvas top. In these comfortable surroundings Oleg served us lunch.
Tuesday. We moved today to the Bakcha camp, riding some 40km across the western plateau to the spring of the Bakcha River. It was very hot and we had a long ride ahead of us, starting at 9am and reaching camp at 5.30pm.
We began by retracing our steps, criss-crossing and riding along the river for an hour, then climbing steeply to the mountain top and the vast plateau. We climbed and descended, only to climb again over three mountain ranges. A break at lunchtime but no lunch and I just made use of my water bottle, but we were grateful for the break in which to sit in the shade of our horses’ bodies and gaze at the view, as we still had at least four hours ahead of us.
Later on we came to a difficult river crossing that was not safe to ride the horses over. The stallion was tethered while we dismounted and Anton asked us to hand him our horses one at a time while we crossed the river and clambered up the far bank. He then sent each horse to the lad on our side who in turn sent it up to the rider. All went well until the stallion’s turn came. He panicked and tied himself in knots rearing and plunging, and getting caught in the overhanging branches. He kept veering off to join a cow that was watching the proceedings. At the third attempt he did manage the crossing and joined the mares. We then wound our way along the valley beside the river for an hour to the camp at the head of the gorge. It was a long hot ride but I would not have missed it for anything. The horses finished the long, arduous day as fresh as when they started. How incredible they are.
This was a beautiful gorge. We camped close to the water and Anton and the groom just slept in the open for the first night. Our camp kitchen straddled the stream close to the spring. I thought to myself that if heaven is like this it will be OK. The best grass in the valley, according to the horses, was underneath the tents, so in the night they were trying to push underneath us and I had to shield Lisa from being trodden on. The horses kept returning to the camp kitchen, looking for tit-bits and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
A beautiful silver grey fox then slunk through the camp, followed by an unwanted guest in the shape of a rabid or distempered red fox. It started behaving in a most bizarre fashion, biting at one of the tents. We quickly chased it off. It returned later and we had at job to get rid of it. Next day we saw it further along the gorge, biting at wood. I kept a large piece of wood by the tent just in case!!! It was later described by Oleg as "absent minded". While Lisa and I, together with Anton and Oleg, were chasing the fox away, Bridget sat calmly painting and Ruth tried to take photos. To each his own.
The next day’s ride took us back up Kyzyl Kaya Valley and a large loop of 30km with stunning scenery on the plateau tops, with miles and miles of open steppe. These mountains go on for hundreds of miles. Another great day’s riding and, sadly, we spent the last night in camp.
Our last ride was about 45km towards the Bakharden Underground Lake. After an hour along the river we climbed back to the tops where a herd was grazing. Shortly afterwards we met two young boys on a very sweaty Akhal-Teke horse, riding it only with blankets. They had been up on the plateau galloping - the horses are incredible how they just go on and on, living on next to nothing. We stopped for a break by an old Soviet Union lookout post, now unmanned, before continuing down and round the next valley to the ride end.
We had hoped to see the wild or feral herds of sheep and horses, presumably the horses coming from Iran. Whether these were Turkoman horses or Caspian I had no idea. At the time of the Shah’s departure horse breeding establishments were broken up and large numbers of horses went feral. It was also decreed that no one could keep more than one horse.
Anton took his horses back to the last camp, before taking them to the mountain tops to avoid the worst of the summer heat. There was a little more feed up there and also, interestingly, a telephone. He also would be preparing his own horse for the big endurance race in the coming October. I have been told that they hope to get 1000 horses taking part, racing across the desert. Anton is Russian and has a wide knowledge of plants and herbs: he goes round the villages treating horses with herbal remedies. While we were in camp, he produced herbs for the cooking pot, for tea and also a plantain type leaf which he used to heal Bridget’s grazes successfully.
On our return there was an e-mail from David, telling us on the night we left there were big mud slides which destroyed the camp site at Bakcha - no doubt the horses warned Anton of the forthcoming hazard! The horses had been taken back there because of damage to the water system at the underground lake.
The jeep ride back to Ashgabat was somewhat hairy, speeding down mountain tracks. We got covered in dust and the windscreen wipers had to be used to see!!! Back in Ashgabat, after bathing we could have made sandcastles with the sand left in the bottom of the bath.
Friday, our last day, we set off early to visit a private stables known as Katch’s Place. The horses were well look after and correctly fed, even though obtaining food is difficult at times. We were shown round by and American lady whose husband is with their Embassy. She loves it out there and has two horses of her own, an Akhal-Teke and an Iomud cross, which breed is a little heavier (there are variations in the spelling according to whether one is in Turkmenistan or Iran). This lady was trying hard to impress correct riding and proper training on the Turkmen - at present in some quarters it is "use your heels and saw the mouth to stop". Anton certainly rides correctly and expects others to do so.
We were also able to visit The National Stud out in the desert but we were able to look at only the 40 or so stallions stabled there. They were variable not only in size but in type and condition. Unfortunately, we were not able to speak to anyone about the horses.
Russian Cavalry Saddles
The saddles are placed on a large shaped felt which is leather covered and is split along the spine. The saddles are built up from a number of components which are laced together. The tree is similar to that on a US Decker pack saddle. It is of wood, lined with two layers of felt, with two metal hoops at the pommel and cantle. The tops of the hoops are covered with soft padded leather laced to form a suspension-type seat between the pommel and cantle hoops. The girths or clinches are threaded through the saddle sidebars and there is a number of areas for making adjustments on the tree. The stirrup leathers loop over and through the sidebars. The whole is covered with leather, giving a seat and skirt. The siting of the stirrups is much nearer to the cantle than on a UK saddle. The skirts have no lining so underneath your leg is not only the stirrup leather but also the rigging or girths. The saddle does not have girth straps as such. The pommels and cantles are high.
The saddle tree was long for the size of horse, but none of the horses suffered from sore backs. The treatment of the horses back after many hours’ riding was just to remove the saddles at once and, only if they were sweating, rub them with a towel. In the dry heat the horses sweated very little.
The horses
I am interested in the history of the various breeds of horse and so was naturally led to Turkmenistan, one of the cradles of horse breeding and horsemanship. At present I am carrying out research from primary sources in England and I have travelled on horseback in parts of Rajasthan, India, on Marwari and Kathiawari, horses which are similar to the Akhal-Teke and from which they developed from early times. In type they are nearly look alikes - the Akhal-Tekes even have their ears turning slightly inwards. The stamina of both breeds is well known and both have the ability to travel long distances and have hard legs and feet. Recently Dubai hosted a 100 mile endurance race and whatever times the Arab horses took over that distance, the Akhal-Tekes could better them by two hours.
Some of the colours are not often seen in the UK, although perhaps they are more so in the States. Many of the range of dun, chesnut and bay/brown have not been seen in the UK since the 18thC. I discovered that the Icelandic horses possess similar colours, owing to the fact that they have been isolated for 900 years. (A small book by Sigurour A Magnusson, "The Natural Colours of the Iceland horse", gives excellent colour definition with photographs.)
The other breed of horse in the area is the Iomud. This ancient breed is slightly heavier than the Akhal-Teke and has an average height of 14.2 – 15.2hh. It is developed from the ancient Turkmenian breed by the Iomud tribe in the Tashauz oasis in southern Turkmenistan. This is another breed that is extremely resistant to the desert heat and can survive without water for long periods. The colours are grey or chesnut, or occasionally black or golden chesnut. Unlike the Akhal-Tekes, this breed is kept in herds in the desert and semi-desert. Similar horses are bred in Iran and are known as the Yamud and the Goklan, taking theirs names from the tribes.
Many of the light horse breeds have developed from the Akhal-Teke, the English throughbred and the Arab being two of them. It is almost certain that the influence of The Silk Road enabled the horse to travel from Turkmenistan to Europe and the Far East. Finds in China reveal the same type of horse. The Gilded Bronze from the Western Han Dynasty (206BC-AD8) is thought to be modelled on one of the "heavenly horses of Ferghana" and it is recorded that in 101BC, as the horses neared Chang’an, the people sang this hymn awaiting their arrival:
The Heavenly Horses are coming,
Coming from the Far West,
They crossed the Flowing Sands,
For the barbarians are conquered.
The Heavenly Horses are coming
That issued from the waters of a pool,
Two of them have tiger backs:
They can transform themselves like spirits.
The Heavenly Horses are coming
Across the pastureless wilds
A thousand leagues at a stretch,
Following the Eastern Road.
The Heavenly Horses are coming.
Jupiter is the Dragon,
Should they choose to soar aloft
Who could keep pace with them?
The Heavenly Horses are coming
Open the gates while there is time.
They will draw me up and carry me
To the Holy Mountain of K’un-lun.
The Heavenly Horses have come
And the Dragon will follow in their wake.
I shall reach the Gates of Heaven,
I shall see the Palace of God.
This sums up why I was drawn to Turkmenistan.
To take advantage of the wonderful riding on good horses you need to get your own party of 4-6 people together. If possible, take out a saddle and also a snaffle bit measuring about 5.5" between rings. The country is very short of good tack and if you have any surplus items such as a bridle, girth, breast girth or even a saddle they would be most welcome. If Anton did not need the tack (and we were provided with sound tack) there are many other stables in the area who would be grateful to receive it.
The people on the ride
I, Elizabeth am virtually a lifelong horserider, having owned by own horse since the age of 13 and I am now a grandmother. My hobby for many years has been long distance riding, not competitively. There is nothing I like better than saddling up my own horse and riding across England. My present horse has ridden across 23 counties of England (that's a big chunk of the country and this means that I've ridden him from the south to the north and back again, and also criss-crossed the country as well). Just over 10 years ago I followed the footsteps of Celia Fiennes (pronounced fines!) who rode around England just over 300 years ago. This was extremely adventurous at that time. We published a book on the trip "Horseback Journeys of Celia Fiennes - 1000 miles across England" which is still in print. In recent years Bill, my husband, and I have run a small company working on access for horseriders. We initiated The Icknield Way Trail which runs across the country for about 140 miles and the final link will open this October.
I am also a collector of equestrian travel books and on the history of the horse. I am doing research on that subject from primary sources. Oh, I must tell you that I own a horse Cameron who is thoroughbred cross Welsh cob, stands at 16.1 and I have owned him since he was 6 months old. He is now 21 but I am pleased to say he is still fit to travel.
Lisa I've known for many years and she has accompanied me on some of my travels round England. She has a small stud of Welsh section A ponies and her own riding horse is a thoroughbred which she bred herself, of about 16.1 also. We have ridden in India together, riding nearly all the way from Jodhpur to Udaipur in desert country. Last year we rode in the Smoky Mountains and went to the Int Museum of the Horse in Kentucky to see the Chinese exhibition. She is also a grandmother by the way.
Ruth does not own her own horse but for her vacations enjoys visiting far flung places. She has ridden in Mongolia, Ladakh in N India (where we met), Iran and Pakistan. On this last trip together she travelled to Iran for a few days, having crossed over from Turkmenistan. She works in a theatre doing design and stage management.
Bridget we only met on the trip, she is a friend of Ruth's. She is an artist of some ability especially her horse paintings. On the trip she spent every spare moment painting. She was the youngest of the party. She has painted Akhal-Teke horses and her interest in them began when she painted John Major's (our former prime minister) horse which he received as a gift.
The book "Horseback Journeys of Celia Fiennes - 1000 miles across England" is ISBN 0-9516011-1-3 "See more about Elizabeth" on <http://www.thelongridersguild.com>www.thelongridersguild.com. This is a new website on which we've been working for a year with CuChullaine, collecting info about long distance riding. You will also see a photo of me and my horse.
The four of us piled into the jeep with David at the wheel, our luggage having been sent to base camp separately. We journeyed westward for about 50 miles and headed into the Kopetdag Mountains, leaving the tarred roads behind. We took a detour along the foothills into the Firuza Gorge, a spectacular landscape with cliffs climbing 200m into the sky. Later the track at times disappeared and there were large gullies caused by water rushing down the mountainsides, but David skilfully kept the jeep out of trouble. About an hour later we met Stanislav with his ex-army Russian lorry with bald wide tyres. He operates solely within the mountains, acting as transport for the shepherds and villagers. With him on board were Oleg our "cook", as well as our luggage and most of our camp equipment. He normally works in the office but his hobby is cooking. How brave, to cook for four women. We now had to follow the lorry and it was thought that we would need a tow from time to time. Already Stanislav had placed stones and rocks across the river to enable the jeep to get a grip - some of these crossings would be quite difficult even on horseback.
The mountains are high desert, with scrub, loose shale, large rocks and boulders, the tracks are hard surfaced, this is an unforgiving landscape. The mountain range is vast, covered with thyme and sage, and with a few juniper trees. On the way up to the first camp, David gave us a warning about moving rocks as there might well be a black widow or a tarantula lurking beneath. And because of scorpions one always has to shake out ones boots before putting them on. Also, there were ticks in the area but luckily we escaped their attentions. As soon as we arrived at camp, a hooded cobra slithered by. Also one had to keep clear of the bushes for fear of what they might be concealing.
It took four hours for us to reach the horse camp by the Sekizyap River. The camp was placed well above the river as in the previous week it had rained, causing a dramatic mud slide, and we could have been in danger of further slides and flash floods, although Turkmenistan is said to have only 50 days a year when it rains. But this probably reflects the weather in the capital and the desert, rather more than the mountains.
While David got straight to work erecting the two man tents, Oleg brewed much needed tea and coffee. We then all walked down to the river were the horses were and met Anton our Russian guide for the next week. We were camping at about 5000ft with mountains all around us at about 6500ft. The river valley was quite lush with grass, small trees, rushes and other plants. The river sparkled in the sun and was completely clear; the following day we saw trout in it. We walked through the water to inspect our mounts and tack. There were five mares and one stallion Akhal-Teke, Iomud or Yomud and perhaps part bred, chesnuts, bays, duns, a black/brown stallion and a golden mare. We looked at the saddles which had been provided: in the main they were new Russian Cavalry saddles with one Eastern flat (UK). Anton our guide had a cross between a Turkman and Russian Cavalry saddle which looked the best of the bunch as far as comfort was concerned. We were asked if we had brought our own snaffle bits, and we must have looked a bit blank - Russians evidently take their own bits on riding trips. However, we had been asked if we were bringing saddles and I had hoped to but realised that my own long distance saddle is too heavy to drag around. I was hoping to take a Wintec synthetic saddle with me - they are not only light-weight but have adjustable gullets and I would like to try one on a future occasion.
Some of the horses looked as if they had worked hard, and some showed scars from old injuries. However, they all appeared sound and lean and had been mountain trained. Don’t, by the way, let anybody tell you that they can be used only in the desert and don’t forget the old saying "don’t judge a book by its cover". The stallion is kept tethered along with the oldest mare a fourteen year old blue dun, and the youngest a yellow dun. Otherwise they run free, feeding on the scrub and sparse grass and anything else they can find. They probably lead a near perfect life, running free and doing hours of steady work.
During the night a porcupine paid us a visit, leaving some quills behind. After I had returned home I was told that a tiger had eaten some foals somewhere in Turkmenistan. Horses are normally good at keeping predators at bay and moving on as soon as foals are born, so one must assume that in that instance the foals were very young.
The night was windy and in the night we had some rain and in the middle of the night I had to scoop up our bags and boots and bring then into the tent. Oleg, the camp cook, filled me with admiration with his ability to give up cordon bleu type menus and to gauge accurately the amount of food which would be needed on the trip. He served up cooked breakfasts, lunches of soup and salad, dinners of beef, mutton, fish and Italian cuisine, all cooked on a two ring cooker or an open fire. Afternoon tea was, however, served at 5 o’clock instead of 4 o’clock! In the late afternoon we tended to walk up the valley to watch the sun playing on the mountains and to see the changing colours as it lowered in the sky. On the way down we gathered wood for the fire that evening. The days were hot, a dry heat, and only the coldest night called for a three season sleeping bag.
The first day’s riding was short at my request, but this could have been extended to 30km. We rode along the riverbed and criss-crossed the river a number of times before climbing out of the valley onto the Aksu Plateau which stretches along the northern foothills of the Dushak Mountain, the highest peak in the area. The horses brushed through the thyme and sage, sending lovely aromas wafting across to us. Wild lavenders just coming into flower completed the scene. The mountains are harsh, and with shades of browns, reds and greys their appearance was always changing as the sun moved round and light played on the canyons.
We returned for a late lunch to the simple camp where we used the river for washing and had no loos. What struck me was the complete remoteness of the area, with no people to be seen but birds, many flying high above us, wild animals and plants and, on the mountain tops, juniper trees. The tracks and mountains are hard shale and the horses made their way down the sheer mountainsides. We had to sit quietly, let the horses have their heads and lean back because the steep slopes made it necessary to keep one hand on the back of the saddle. I found the Russian saddle difficult to sit, owing to the fact that the stirrup bars are placed much further to the rear than on an eastern or long distance saddle, throwing my normal balance out. For the first day’s ride the stallion was left at home, and we had a loose mare travelling with us which we nicknamed "Bossy Boots". She had been stolen and her back damaged by, I believe, a wild animal: Anton believed that if she were given another six months off she would recover completely. Bossy Boots planned her tactics well, placing herself as third horse in the pecking order and challenging any ridden horse that wanted to overtake her. She excelled herself at the water crossings, completely blocking the way for the last two ridden mares and also the stallion. At times, she would leap straight down a steep bank into the river - these horses are certainly good jumpers.
My horse, on one occasion, hesitated before entering the water but then, instead of wading across, leapt the whole river from a standstill.
Saturday. On the following day we had another ride out from the first camp. Although I normally don’t like to stop more than one night in a place, the camp sites have to be decided on the availability of water and food for the horses. Today we set out in a different direction across the western plateau, passing the remains of an ancient settlement. At times we rode close to the rocky overhangs to get relief from the hot sun beating down on us. We covered about 40km, riding from about 9am to 2.30pm. We rode mainly at a walk, interspersed with long trots and short canters. When we were on the tops we were asked if we would like to gallop but we declined. Part of the problem was that I found the Russian saddle quite difficult to ride on and not really suitable for galloping on that terrain.
We came across our first settlement with cultivated fields close to the river, and tethered close by were three red cattle and a youngster - they looked much like the Suffolk Red Polls only smaller. In the same place there was a large body of goats and sheep being looked after by two herdsmen. The white, black and brown sheep had long fleeces and most had lambs. Many of the sheep and goats had clambered high up on the shale to gain whatever little food was available. I was most impressed with Anton who made us skirt around the animals so as not to disturb them. Most of the flocks had large guard dogs, but not vicious ones such as I had encountered in Turkey a few years earlier. Today the black stallion came with us to bring up the rear, ridden bareback by the groom with just a blanket to sit on and a snaffle bridle with very short reins. Indeed they were so short that when we stopped to water the horses the poor chap was half way down his neck. How did he manage to stay on up and down the mountainside?
Sunday. Another long ride starting after an early breakfast of omelettes. Today we had a lot of cloud cover which meant it was not so hot as the previous day. We retraced our way along the river and then climbed to the high plateau with a number of trots and canters on the way. On the tops with its steppe type of landscape we came across a large herd of sheep and goats, the herdsman having a large donkey to ride and two large guard dogs.
Every day the smell of herbs wafted around us as we rode, the horses brushing against the plants released the oils that give us the scent. Other plants we saw were poppies, including opium poppies, marijuana growing wild, broom, yarrow, cornflowers and lavender. The mountains are home to many tortoises and they regularly criss-crossed our path, from tiny ones to large ones of a great age. We also saw lizards and poisonous snakes, including cobras and the deadly gaboon viper which is so deadly that if bitten you would be dead in two hours. No help was available here as we were many hours from anywhere by horseback. We also saw large lizards called "sand crocodiles", together with silver foxes. In the area there are hyenas and leopards but we did not see any. What we did see, however, was an abundance of fossils.
Monday, a day of rest for the horses, the others hiked to the waterfall with Anton and Starrs while I had a lazy day, read my book and washed my clothes. A surprise - it rained and the others returned from the waterfall soaked. The camp was soaking wet and as we had nowhere dry to sit Anton invited us into his tent, which had a central hearth used for cooking which would also give out some warmth at night. His tent had open sides with a canvas top. In these comfortable surroundings Oleg served us lunch.
Tuesday. We moved today to the Bakcha camp, riding some 40km across the western plateau to the spring of the Bakcha River. It was very hot and we had a long ride ahead of us, starting at 9am and reaching camp at 5.30pm.
We began by retracing our steps, criss-crossing and riding along the river for an hour, then climbing steeply to the mountain top and the vast plateau. We climbed and descended, only to climb again over three mountain ranges. A break at lunchtime but no lunch and I just made use of my water bottle, but we were grateful for the break in which to sit in the shade of our horses’ bodies and gaze at the view, as we still had at least four hours ahead of us.
Later on we came to a difficult river crossing that was not safe to ride the horses over. The stallion was tethered while we dismounted and Anton asked us to hand him our horses one at a time while we crossed the river and clambered up the far bank. He then sent each horse to the lad on our side who in turn sent it up to the rider. All went well until the stallion’s turn came. He panicked and tied himself in knots rearing and plunging, and getting caught in the overhanging branches. He kept veering off to join a cow that was watching the proceedings. At the third attempt he did manage the crossing and joined the mares. We then wound our way along the valley beside the river for an hour to the camp at the head of the gorge. It was a long hot ride but I would not have missed it for anything. The horses finished the long, arduous day as fresh as when they started. How incredible they are.
This was a beautiful gorge. We camped close to the water and Anton and the groom just slept in the open for the first night. Our camp kitchen straddled the stream close to the spring. I thought to myself that if heaven is like this it will be OK. The best grass in the valley, according to the horses, was underneath the tents, so in the night they were trying to push underneath us and I had to shield Lisa from being trodden on. The horses kept returning to the camp kitchen, looking for tit-bits and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
A beautiful silver grey fox then slunk through the camp, followed by an unwanted guest in the shape of a rabid or distempered red fox. It started behaving in a most bizarre fashion, biting at one of the tents. We quickly chased it off. It returned later and we had at job to get rid of it. Next day we saw it further along the gorge, biting at wood. I kept a large piece of wood by the tent just in case!!! It was later described by Oleg as "absent minded". While Lisa and I, together with Anton and Oleg, were chasing the fox away, Bridget sat calmly painting and Ruth tried to take photos. To each his own.
The next day’s ride took us back up Kyzyl Kaya Valley and a large loop of 30km with stunning scenery on the plateau tops, with miles and miles of open steppe. These mountains go on for hundreds of miles. Another great day’s riding and, sadly, we spent the last night in camp.
Our last ride was about 45km towards the Bakharden Underground Lake. After an hour along the river we climbed back to the tops where a herd was grazing. Shortly afterwards we met two young boys on a very sweaty Akhal-Teke horse, riding it only with blankets. They had been up on the plateau galloping - the horses are incredible how they just go on and on, living on next to nothing. We stopped for a break by an old Soviet Union lookout post, now unmanned, before continuing down and round the next valley to the ride end.
We had hoped to see the wild or feral herds of sheep and horses, presumably the horses coming from Iran. Whether these were Turkoman horses or Caspian I had no idea. At the time of the Shah’s departure horse breeding establishments were broken up and large numbers of horses went feral. It was also decreed that no one could keep more than one horse.
Anton took his horses back to the last camp, before taking them to the mountain tops to avoid the worst of the summer heat. There was a little more feed up there and also, interestingly, a telephone. He also would be preparing his own horse for the big endurance race in the coming October. I have been told that they hope to get 1000 horses taking part, racing across the desert. Anton is Russian and has a wide knowledge of plants and herbs: he goes round the villages treating horses with herbal remedies. While we were in camp, he produced herbs for the cooking pot, for tea and also a plantain type leaf which he used to heal Bridget’s grazes successfully.
On our return there was an e-mail from David, telling us on the night we left there were big mud slides which destroyed the camp site at Bakcha - no doubt the horses warned Anton of the forthcoming hazard! The horses had been taken back there because of damage to the water system at the underground lake.
The jeep ride back to Ashgabat was somewhat hairy, speeding down mountain tracks. We got covered in dust and the windscreen wipers had to be used to see!!! Back in Ashgabat, after bathing we could have made sandcastles with the sand left in the bottom of the bath.
Friday, our last day, we set off early to visit a private stables known as Katch’s Place. The horses were well look after and correctly fed, even though obtaining food is difficult at times. We were shown round by and American lady whose husband is with their Embassy. She loves it out there and has two horses of her own, an Akhal-Teke and an Iomud cross, which breed is a little heavier (there are variations in the spelling according to whether one is in Turkmenistan or Iran). This lady was trying hard to impress correct riding and proper training on the Turkmen - at present in some quarters it is "use your heels and saw the mouth to stop". Anton certainly rides correctly and expects others to do so.
We were also able to visit The National Stud out in the desert but we were able to look at only the 40 or so stallions stabled there. They were variable not only in size but in type and condition. Unfortunately, we were not able to speak to anyone about the horses.
Russian Cavalry Saddles
The saddles are placed on a large shaped felt which is leather covered and is split along the spine. The saddles are built up from a number of components which are laced together. The tree is similar to that on a US Decker pack saddle. It is of wood, lined with two layers of felt, with two metal hoops at the pommel and cantle. The tops of the hoops are covered with soft padded leather laced to form a suspension-type seat between the pommel and cantle hoops. The girths or clinches are threaded through the saddle sidebars and there is a number of areas for making adjustments on the tree. The stirrup leathers loop over and through the sidebars. The whole is covered with leather, giving a seat and skirt. The siting of the stirrups is much nearer to the cantle than on a UK saddle. The skirts have no lining so underneath your leg is not only the stirrup leather but also the rigging or girths. The saddle does not have girth straps as such. The pommels and cantles are high.
The saddle tree was long for the size of horse, but none of the horses suffered from sore backs. The treatment of the horses back after many hours’ riding was just to remove the saddles at once and, only if they were sweating, rub them with a towel. In the dry heat the horses sweated very little.
The horses
I am interested in the history of the various breeds of horse and so was naturally led to Turkmenistan, one of the cradles of horse breeding and horsemanship. At present I am carrying out research from primary sources in England and I have travelled on horseback in parts of Rajasthan, India, on Marwari and Kathiawari, horses which are similar to the Akhal-Teke and from which they developed from early times. In type they are nearly look alikes - the Akhal-Tekes even have their ears turning slightly inwards. The stamina of both breeds is well known and both have the ability to travel long distances and have hard legs and feet. Recently Dubai hosted a 100 mile endurance race and whatever times the Arab horses took over that distance, the Akhal-Tekes could better them by two hours.
Some of the colours are not often seen in the UK, although perhaps they are more so in the States. Many of the range of dun, chesnut and bay/brown have not been seen in the UK since the 18thC. I discovered that the Icelandic horses possess similar colours, owing to the fact that they have been isolated for 900 years. (A small book by Sigurour A Magnusson, "The Natural Colours of the Iceland horse", gives excellent colour definition with photographs.)
The other breed of horse in the area is the Iomud. This ancient breed is slightly heavier than the Akhal-Teke and has an average height of 14.2 – 15.2hh. It is developed from the ancient Turkmenian breed by the Iomud tribe in the Tashauz oasis in southern Turkmenistan. This is another breed that is extremely resistant to the desert heat and can survive without water for long periods. The colours are grey or chesnut, or occasionally black or golden chesnut. Unlike the Akhal-Tekes, this breed is kept in herds in the desert and semi-desert. Similar horses are bred in Iran and are known as the Yamud and the Goklan, taking theirs names from the tribes.
Many of the light horse breeds have developed from the Akhal-Teke, the English throughbred and the Arab being two of them. It is almost certain that the influence of The Silk Road enabled the horse to travel from Turkmenistan to Europe and the Far East. Finds in China reveal the same type of horse. The Gilded Bronze from the Western Han Dynasty (206BC-AD8) is thought to be modelled on one of the "heavenly horses of Ferghana" and it is recorded that in 101BC, as the horses neared Chang’an, the people sang this hymn awaiting their arrival:
The Heavenly Horses are coming,
Coming from the Far West,
They crossed the Flowing Sands,
For the barbarians are conquered.
The Heavenly Horses are coming
That issued from the waters of a pool,
Two of them have tiger backs:
They can transform themselves like spirits.
The Heavenly Horses are coming
Across the pastureless wilds
A thousand leagues at a stretch,
Following the Eastern Road.
The Heavenly Horses are coming.
Jupiter is the Dragon,
Should they choose to soar aloft
Who could keep pace with them?
The Heavenly Horses are coming
Open the gates while there is time.
They will draw me up and carry me
To the Holy Mountain of K’un-lun.
The Heavenly Horses have come
And the Dragon will follow in their wake.
I shall reach the Gates of Heaven,
I shall see the Palace of God.
This sums up why I was drawn to Turkmenistan.
To take advantage of the wonderful riding on good horses you need to get your own party of 4-6 people together. If possible, take out a saddle and also a snaffle bit measuring about 5.5" between rings. The country is very short of good tack and if you have any surplus items such as a bridle, girth, breast girth or even a saddle they would be most welcome. If Anton did not need the tack (and we were provided with sound tack) there are many other stables in the area who would be grateful to receive it.
The people on the ride
I, Elizabeth am virtually a lifelong horserider, having owned by own horse since the age of 13 and I am now a grandmother. My hobby for many years has been long distance riding, not competitively. There is nothing I like better than saddling up my own horse and riding across England. My present horse has ridden across 23 counties of England (that's a big chunk of the country and this means that I've ridden him from the south to the north and back again, and also criss-crossed the country as well). Just over 10 years ago I followed the footsteps of Celia Fiennes (pronounced fines!) who rode around England just over 300 years ago. This was extremely adventurous at that time. We published a book on the trip "Horseback Journeys of Celia Fiennes - 1000 miles across England" which is still in print. In recent years Bill, my husband, and I have run a small company working on access for horseriders. We initiated The Icknield Way Trail which runs across the country for about 140 miles and the final link will open this October.
I am also a collector of equestrian travel books and on the history of the horse. I am doing research on that subject from primary sources. Oh, I must tell you that I own a horse Cameron who is thoroughbred cross Welsh cob, stands at 16.1 and I have owned him since he was 6 months old. He is now 21 but I am pleased to say he is still fit to travel.
Lisa I've known for many years and she has accompanied me on some of my travels round England. She has a small stud of Welsh section A ponies and her own riding horse is a thoroughbred which she bred herself, of about 16.1 also. We have ridden in India together, riding nearly all the way from Jodhpur to Udaipur in desert country. Last year we rode in the Smoky Mountains and went to the Int Museum of the Horse in Kentucky to see the Chinese exhibition. She is also a grandmother by the way.
Ruth does not own her own horse but for her vacations enjoys visiting far flung places. She has ridden in Mongolia, Ladakh in N India (where we met), Iran and Pakistan. On this last trip together she travelled to Iran for a few days, having crossed over from Turkmenistan. She works in a theatre doing design and stage management.
Bridget we only met on the trip, she is a friend of Ruth's. She is an artist of some ability especially her horse paintings. On the trip she spent every spare moment painting. She was the youngest of the party. She has painted Akhal-Teke horses and her interest in them began when she painted John Major's (our former prime minister) horse which he received as a gift.
The book "Horseback Journeys of Celia Fiennes - 1000 miles across England" is ISBN 0-9516011-1-3 "See more about Elizabeth" on <http://www.thelongridersguild.com>www.thelongridersguild.com. This is a new website on which we've been working for a year with CuChullaine, collecting info about long distance riding. You will also see a photo of me and my horse.
Trip to Turkmenistan by Amrita Ibold, April 24th 2001
I had decided to go to the 4th Annual Akhal Teke Conference in Ashgabat, and with a month left to go I thought I had plenty of time to get things organized...the short version of the story is that I got my passport back 3 days before I left, I now have some gray hair, but everything worked out.
On the 22nd of April I flew to Amsterdam, with the 9 hour difference between Seattle and Amsterdam this means I arrived on the morning of the 23rd. I spent the day with my childhood friend and caught up on stories. Slept in a bed for one night and left in the afternoon to meet Siggy at the Amsterdam airport. She is the author of the new book "'Akhal Teke 1 past and present''. She drove from Germany to hand me 6 of her books to give to several people in Ashgabat. Flew to London to catch the plane to the final destination. According to my travel agent, Baloo travel of Birmingham, England, the plane left at 6 or 7 PM. So I opted to get there at 5. The Turkmen Airline check-in ( which doesn't exist according to my local travel agent ) was at the very end of the airport. There was no one there, except for a voice calling out to me; Amrita! So Allegra made it! She had to go to her post office and dig through the mail to find her passport the day she had to leave. Soon enough Sue Waldoc, president of the British AT Association, Maria Marquise and Jerry Watkins showed up and more travelers, we checked in and boarded a pretty empty plane. My plan was to sleep the 6 hour flight so I would be fresh arriving in Ashgabat and ready for the day. But my curiosity and excitement was to great. Besides people from India there were some other westerners on the plane, I had to find out their story.
There were 2 ladies from England, past their fifty's I could guessed. They had planned a riding trip through the mountains on AT's for 10 days. I asked if I could contact them on my return and she gave me her email address. Then there was a young couple, she had blond hair and turned out to be from Ashgabat going to visit her family with her Russian boyfriend. Her mother was given 3 AT's as a thank you for either doing some work or helping on a project. She told me to contact her once we knew where we'd be staying to get together. Her Mom's horses were going to be in the race on Sunday, the National day of the horses. Then there was the lady missionary on her way back to her post. Allegra talked mostly to her, and she warned us we'd be on TV, and she'd be looking for us.
Day 1
At the airport we were greeted by Izis, Geldi's secretary. He had a bus waiting for us, music playing, and we were off in no time. Off to the hippodrome we were taken, where Geldi has his office, and asked to hand over our passports. Luckily Maria Marquise spoke fluent Russian, and could let us know what was going on. We sat around for quite a while, and were offered some tea. Then into the bus and off to the place were the endurance races were held. All the while the tape in the bus is playing this upbeat dramatic Russian? music.
The road from the hippodrome to the place in the desert skirts town a little and then it's irrigated plantations and wheat fields. People drive pretty fast, and every now and then there is a police car by the road that flags people over at random it seems, to....well, they seem to talk and shake hands a lot. Everything that isn't irrigated is yellow sand. And everywhere there is yellow sand there seems to be building debris, pieces of concrete, metal straps, rebar sticking out off the ground at different angles. The bus stops by the side of the road and we get out, leave all our belongings except camera's on the bus, cross the street and on to a dirt road toward the Kopet Dag mountains. In the distance there are some cars and horses. It is hot, I already stink, we are sweating and none of us have water. Whose endurance race is this anyway. Looking back, this was not my favorite day.
The horses looked beautiful, super shiny but skinny. Finally some trot in from the race to be checked. Vets are there. The only concern seems to be to take a heart beat. Everything else is ignored. The horses are given water and alfalfa, and go back out. It is very different from an endurance race in America. Also the equipment of the riders is old, poor quality and ill fitting. There is a table set up with drinks in glass bottles, pita style bread and dishes with sliced tomato, cucumber and cilantro, garnished with flies. We got so thirsty that together we raid the bottles, managing to knock the tops off on the side of the table. It's hot but it's liquid. About some hours later Geldi arrives, cheers us up and invites us for lunch. He walks to the table we raided the drinks off earlier and we politely sit down. In the back someone is starting a small wood fire and soon they serve us tea and mutton stew, that we eat with the now toasted bread and garnish. We ate, we drank, and felt much better.
After another hour, the wind had come up and started blowing quite hard we left to our hotel. With the same tape playing in the bus Allegra and I were dropped off at hotel Turkmenistan. We where going to share a room. Sasha showed us the room, nice but one bed. So in gestures we let him know 2 beds. We get 2 beds. We were told to be ready by 6, I believe we had one hour to freshen up before dinner.
The bus picked us up and before we had dinner at one of the bigger AT breeder's house we went to see Geldi's horses. He has many, and they all looked superb. I video taped instead of taking pictures. Never have I seen so many AT's, and all so nice. Our dinner host had a huge long table set up in his courtyard, with an open air kitchen. The table was beautifully set up, with little side dishes of different delicacies. We all sat down and talked and got to know each other. There was a French man with his daughter, she had ridden in the endurance race, Maria Solidad and her husband, Sue, Maria and Jerry, Geldi and his wife, his wife's sister Diana who translated for us as well, Tony Watkins from Ireland, there to help Geldi set up a lab for blood typing and DNA testing, some more people, I didn't catch everybody's name. The food was delicious ( I am vegetarian, hence the order of descriptions ), potato salad, an eggplant dish, smoked sturgeon, caviar, another little bean salad, egg salad, on our plates we were served stew then a soup, then more barbecue, and when you think dinner is over there is more. With plenty of vodka and assorted soda pop. And above all, the toasts. Toasts to thank the president, the host, congratulate the riders, the horses the breeders. Toasts to get to know each other, and the toasts to hint to wishes for each other. We had a wonderful night. The bus took us home, always playing the same tape, always the same driver. I slept that night not moving once. It was that morning we discovered we did have hot water in our room. It just takes a while to get there. And Allegra had her coffee making stuff.
On the 22nd of April I flew to Amsterdam, with the 9 hour difference between Seattle and Amsterdam this means I arrived on the morning of the 23rd. I spent the day with my childhood friend and caught up on stories. Slept in a bed for one night and left in the afternoon to meet Siggy at the Amsterdam airport. She is the author of the new book "'Akhal Teke 1 past and present''. She drove from Germany to hand me 6 of her books to give to several people in Ashgabat. Flew to London to catch the plane to the final destination. According to my travel agent, Baloo travel of Birmingham, England, the plane left at 6 or 7 PM. So I opted to get there at 5. The Turkmen Airline check-in ( which doesn't exist according to my local travel agent ) was at the very end of the airport. There was no one there, except for a voice calling out to me; Amrita! So Allegra made it! She had to go to her post office and dig through the mail to find her passport the day she had to leave. Soon enough Sue Waldoc, president of the British AT Association, Maria Marquise and Jerry Watkins showed up and more travelers, we checked in and boarded a pretty empty plane. My plan was to sleep the 6 hour flight so I would be fresh arriving in Ashgabat and ready for the day. But my curiosity and excitement was to great. Besides people from India there were some other westerners on the plane, I had to find out their story.
There were 2 ladies from England, past their fifty's I could guessed. They had planned a riding trip through the mountains on AT's for 10 days. I asked if I could contact them on my return and she gave me her email address. Then there was a young couple, she had blond hair and turned out to be from Ashgabat going to visit her family with her Russian boyfriend. Her mother was given 3 AT's as a thank you for either doing some work or helping on a project. She told me to contact her once we knew where we'd be staying to get together. Her Mom's horses were going to be in the race on Sunday, the National day of the horses. Then there was the lady missionary on her way back to her post. Allegra talked mostly to her, and she warned us we'd be on TV, and she'd be looking for us.
Day 1
At the airport we were greeted by Izis, Geldi's secretary. He had a bus waiting for us, music playing, and we were off in no time. Off to the hippodrome we were taken, where Geldi has his office, and asked to hand over our passports. Luckily Maria Marquise spoke fluent Russian, and could let us know what was going on. We sat around for quite a while, and were offered some tea. Then into the bus and off to the place were the endurance races were held. All the while the tape in the bus is playing this upbeat dramatic Russian? music.
The road from the hippodrome to the place in the desert skirts town a little and then it's irrigated plantations and wheat fields. People drive pretty fast, and every now and then there is a police car by the road that flags people over at random it seems, to....well, they seem to talk and shake hands a lot. Everything that isn't irrigated is yellow sand. And everywhere there is yellow sand there seems to be building debris, pieces of concrete, metal straps, rebar sticking out off the ground at different angles. The bus stops by the side of the road and we get out, leave all our belongings except camera's on the bus, cross the street and on to a dirt road toward the Kopet Dag mountains. In the distance there are some cars and horses. It is hot, I already stink, we are sweating and none of us have water. Whose endurance race is this anyway. Looking back, this was not my favorite day.
The horses looked beautiful, super shiny but skinny. Finally some trot in from the race to be checked. Vets are there. The only concern seems to be to take a heart beat. Everything else is ignored. The horses are given water and alfalfa, and go back out. It is very different from an endurance race in America. Also the equipment of the riders is old, poor quality and ill fitting. There is a table set up with drinks in glass bottles, pita style bread and dishes with sliced tomato, cucumber and cilantro, garnished with flies. We got so thirsty that together we raid the bottles, managing to knock the tops off on the side of the table. It's hot but it's liquid. About some hours later Geldi arrives, cheers us up and invites us for lunch. He walks to the table we raided the drinks off earlier and we politely sit down. In the back someone is starting a small wood fire and soon they serve us tea and mutton stew, that we eat with the now toasted bread and garnish. We ate, we drank, and felt much better.
After another hour, the wind had come up and started blowing quite hard we left to our hotel. With the same tape playing in the bus Allegra and I were dropped off at hotel Turkmenistan. We where going to share a room. Sasha showed us the room, nice but one bed. So in gestures we let him know 2 beds. We get 2 beds. We were told to be ready by 6, I believe we had one hour to freshen up before dinner.
The bus picked us up and before we had dinner at one of the bigger AT breeder's house we went to see Geldi's horses. He has many, and they all looked superb. I video taped instead of taking pictures. Never have I seen so many AT's, and all so nice. Our dinner host had a huge long table set up in his courtyard, with an open air kitchen. The table was beautifully set up, with little side dishes of different delicacies. We all sat down and talked and got to know each other. There was a French man with his daughter, she had ridden in the endurance race, Maria Solidad and her husband, Sue, Maria and Jerry, Geldi and his wife, his wife's sister Diana who translated for us as well, Tony Watkins from Ireland, there to help Geldi set up a lab for blood typing and DNA testing, some more people, I didn't catch everybody's name. The food was delicious ( I am vegetarian, hence the order of descriptions ), potato salad, an eggplant dish, smoked sturgeon, caviar, another little bean salad, egg salad, on our plates we were served stew then a soup, then more barbecue, and when you think dinner is over there is more. With plenty of vodka and assorted soda pop. And above all, the toasts. Toasts to thank the president, the host, congratulate the riders, the horses the breeders. Toasts to get to know each other, and the toasts to hint to wishes for each other. We had a wonderful night. The bus took us home, always playing the same tape, always the same driver. I slept that night not moving once. It was that morning we discovered we did have hot water in our room. It just takes a while to get there. And Allegra had her coffee making stuff.
Day 2
We got picked up by the bus with our favorite tune playing, Sue, Maria and Jerry already waiting. We were taken to the hippodrome again. Sat around in the lobby, waiting. Then it was time for the auction. We walked through the building to the winners circle, in the middle of the stadium. There was a long table with chairs set up and we all took a seat. All of us received a program in English, with the names and pedigrees of the horses. I had my video and camera ready, my note book and pen.
The first horse arrived, and looked nothing like the description in the catalogue...turns out they didn't follow the order printed in the catalogue, and pure-blood means a pure AT, pure-breed stands for half bred. The last 10 + horses were not mentioned in the catalogue. So we where all scrambling for names, numbers, translatioins, taking pictures... The horses were quite a sight, I'd like to take them all home! To add to my personal frantic effort to get the right name with the right horse the TV crew started to interview me, in Russian. I freeze. I don't understand the questions, so I start to mumble, beautiful horses you have, and a lot of uuuuh. I call Allegra in a very demanding voice and unsuspecting she comes over and is thrown into the interview, relief! She is doing a great job talking 80 miles an hour. What a team we are! I resume my picture taking duty and information gathering, luckily I sat next to Luise Firouze's friend who speaks Persian/Russian and English and I manage to get all the non catalogued horses information.
For lunch we went up to the VIP room in the middle of the stadium, overlooking the racecourse, mutton stew with bread and fresh tomatoes, cukes and cilantro, vodka for those who wish and soda bottles. When finished eating Geldi asked us if we would like to see some horses again. We all made a list and gave it to him. Back to the winners circle we went and the horses showed up, for us to touch and ask questions and photograph some more. That night we had dinner on the huge plaza behind our hotel, but we were still picked up by the bus. We laughed when we got out, we could have easily walked!
The night was warm, a beautiful table awaited us, we could hear the music from the wedding party in the restaurant below the terrace wich was in full swing. We overlooked fountains galore, statues and impressive buildings. It was like we were in a dream. Again the table was full of food, and we had many more toasts. During the auction I had fallen in love with a stallion and finally I decided I should at least inquire how much money the owner wanted for his gorgeous stallion. A lot. Crushed I went back to the table, reasoning that with a starting price so high, there is no sense to pursue this.
Day 3
The day of the congress. Allegra woke up sick. Throwing up and bathroom visits one after the other. She gave me her speech she had prepared in America so I could give it. She was very bummed out she couldn't go. In the bus, the music blaring as always Jerry looked extremely pale, Maria too, and Sue was hanging in there. It had hit them too. The meeting was held in the Sheraton conference hall, a big room with tables in U shape and a podium and microphone. In the lobby old hand written records where on display and sketches. Also paintings of horses by local artists that were for sale, and some statues. The old records I could not read, but some of the dates seemed very old, early 1800. These and the sketches I was told are usually locked up. The sketches were beautiful pen and ink drawings of mostly horses heads. We were called in the meeting room to take our seats, and the national hymn was played. The TV crew was there filming. We had some hot discussions about Turkmenistan taking back the stud book, having a lab for blood testing and DNA, making it a world organization with a yearly newsletter. We discussed artificial insemination, and how important it is to have, and voted on people filling office positions within the new MAAK.
During break I called Allegra to see how she was doing and she decided to come. I asked Geldi's driver to pick her up and she managed to hold up long enough to give her speech and go back to bed, sick. Todd gave his speech, and presented Geldi with 2 pictures of AT's. The one of the horse jumping a tall fence, the picture taken straight on got translated as Turkmenistan taking on the world got a big roar of approval. Maria Soledad was voted in as representative for Europe and Allegra Steck for America. It was an exhausting meeting.
Then we bussed to the memorial statue errected to remember the thousnands of people that died in the terrible earthquake and we laid flowers down in a ceremonial way while being televised. After that we went to another memorial for soldiers and again we laid flowers down. Then we went to the hippodrome to have a late lunch, it was about 4 by now. First we had to grade their horses. About 30 horses were in a group, and 7 or so would walk in the winners circle. The ones we didn't like, we had to throw out, and new ones would come in, until only the best ones remained. I started to video but then it hit me, I had to find a bath room fast, instead I found Geldi's driver and he quickly took me to the Hotel. Once done with my business in the bathroom I went to bed early and had a good nights sleep.
Day 4
Allegra and Todd are still discussing the issues of the conference over coffee in our room. As they did late last night. Today the bus takes us to market! It's a bit of a drive, but it's fun to see the country side. Very dry. Camels here and there. By the time we get there it is quite busy already. There are these huge walls with big arched doors to get in. Outside the walls people are selling everything. From Barf laundry soap to jewelry, household items, spices, home made goodies and so on. Our escort/translators told us to go through the doors, and that's where most of the carpets and robes were. And the telpek hats, necklaces for the horses, some old silver decorated tack we all admired but knew we couldn't take out of the country. After market, we went to the historical museum. It was a great building and we had a guide from the museum. Her English was great, and her passion for history even greater. The things I remember most fondly are the miniature recreations of Nissea, beautifully done with painted backgrounds and several other early settlements. Looking at those small scale fortresses I could just picture life there, a 100 years ago or 3000, it almost doesn't seem to matter, things don't change very fast in these parts. The vitrines with the ceremonial dresses and saddles and tack, the biggest carpet in the world, the stuffed wild life, tigers, leopards, all kinds of big cats. Incidentally Geldi has lost 2 foals this year to tigers. His mares with his stallion roam the hills. Unfortunately you are not allowed to take pictures in the museum.
Then we went to see a mosque, just recently built. For dinner we were invited by one of the breeders again at a restaurant. Again we had a lovely meal, while entertained by belly dancers. Funny concept since most of the foreign conference attendees were women. We all had our turn with speeches, which got better and more touching as the week progressed. But I must say, it was a great group of people. And they had delicious fresh fruit juices that night, I dared to try the vodka in it, very good indeed !
We got picked up by the bus with our favorite tune playing, Sue, Maria and Jerry already waiting. We were taken to the hippodrome again. Sat around in the lobby, waiting. Then it was time for the auction. We walked through the building to the winners circle, in the middle of the stadium. There was a long table with chairs set up and we all took a seat. All of us received a program in English, with the names and pedigrees of the horses. I had my video and camera ready, my note book and pen.
The first horse arrived, and looked nothing like the description in the catalogue...turns out they didn't follow the order printed in the catalogue, and pure-blood means a pure AT, pure-breed stands for half bred. The last 10 + horses were not mentioned in the catalogue. So we where all scrambling for names, numbers, translatioins, taking pictures... The horses were quite a sight, I'd like to take them all home! To add to my personal frantic effort to get the right name with the right horse the TV crew started to interview me, in Russian. I freeze. I don't understand the questions, so I start to mumble, beautiful horses you have, and a lot of uuuuh. I call Allegra in a very demanding voice and unsuspecting she comes over and is thrown into the interview, relief! She is doing a great job talking 80 miles an hour. What a team we are! I resume my picture taking duty and information gathering, luckily I sat next to Luise Firouze's friend who speaks Persian/Russian and English and I manage to get all the non catalogued horses information.
For lunch we went up to the VIP room in the middle of the stadium, overlooking the racecourse, mutton stew with bread and fresh tomatoes, cukes and cilantro, vodka for those who wish and soda bottles. When finished eating Geldi asked us if we would like to see some horses again. We all made a list and gave it to him. Back to the winners circle we went and the horses showed up, for us to touch and ask questions and photograph some more. That night we had dinner on the huge plaza behind our hotel, but we were still picked up by the bus. We laughed when we got out, we could have easily walked!
The night was warm, a beautiful table awaited us, we could hear the music from the wedding party in the restaurant below the terrace wich was in full swing. We overlooked fountains galore, statues and impressive buildings. It was like we were in a dream. Again the table was full of food, and we had many more toasts. During the auction I had fallen in love with a stallion and finally I decided I should at least inquire how much money the owner wanted for his gorgeous stallion. A lot. Crushed I went back to the table, reasoning that with a starting price so high, there is no sense to pursue this.
Day 3
The day of the congress. Allegra woke up sick. Throwing up and bathroom visits one after the other. She gave me her speech she had prepared in America so I could give it. She was very bummed out she couldn't go. In the bus, the music blaring as always Jerry looked extremely pale, Maria too, and Sue was hanging in there. It had hit them too. The meeting was held in the Sheraton conference hall, a big room with tables in U shape and a podium and microphone. In the lobby old hand written records where on display and sketches. Also paintings of horses by local artists that were for sale, and some statues. The old records I could not read, but some of the dates seemed very old, early 1800. These and the sketches I was told are usually locked up. The sketches were beautiful pen and ink drawings of mostly horses heads. We were called in the meeting room to take our seats, and the national hymn was played. The TV crew was there filming. We had some hot discussions about Turkmenistan taking back the stud book, having a lab for blood testing and DNA, making it a world organization with a yearly newsletter. We discussed artificial insemination, and how important it is to have, and voted on people filling office positions within the new MAAK.
During break I called Allegra to see how she was doing and she decided to come. I asked Geldi's driver to pick her up and she managed to hold up long enough to give her speech and go back to bed, sick. Todd gave his speech, and presented Geldi with 2 pictures of AT's. The one of the horse jumping a tall fence, the picture taken straight on got translated as Turkmenistan taking on the world got a big roar of approval. Maria Soledad was voted in as representative for Europe and Allegra Steck for America. It was an exhausting meeting.
Then we bussed to the memorial statue errected to remember the thousnands of people that died in the terrible earthquake and we laid flowers down in a ceremonial way while being televised. After that we went to another memorial for soldiers and again we laid flowers down. Then we went to the hippodrome to have a late lunch, it was about 4 by now. First we had to grade their horses. About 30 horses were in a group, and 7 or so would walk in the winners circle. The ones we didn't like, we had to throw out, and new ones would come in, until only the best ones remained. I started to video but then it hit me, I had to find a bath room fast, instead I found Geldi's driver and he quickly took me to the Hotel. Once done with my business in the bathroom I went to bed early and had a good nights sleep.
Day 4
Allegra and Todd are still discussing the issues of the conference over coffee in our room. As they did late last night. Today the bus takes us to market! It's a bit of a drive, but it's fun to see the country side. Very dry. Camels here and there. By the time we get there it is quite busy already. There are these huge walls with big arched doors to get in. Outside the walls people are selling everything. From Barf laundry soap to jewelry, household items, spices, home made goodies and so on. Our escort/translators told us to go through the doors, and that's where most of the carpets and robes were. And the telpek hats, necklaces for the horses, some old silver decorated tack we all admired but knew we couldn't take out of the country. After market, we went to the historical museum. It was a great building and we had a guide from the museum. Her English was great, and her passion for history even greater. The things I remember most fondly are the miniature recreations of Nissea, beautifully done with painted backgrounds and several other early settlements. Looking at those small scale fortresses I could just picture life there, a 100 years ago or 3000, it almost doesn't seem to matter, things don't change very fast in these parts. The vitrines with the ceremonial dresses and saddles and tack, the biggest carpet in the world, the stuffed wild life, tigers, leopards, all kinds of big cats. Incidentally Geldi has lost 2 foals this year to tigers. His mares with his stallion roam the hills. Unfortunately you are not allowed to take pictures in the museum.
Then we went to see a mosque, just recently built. For dinner we were invited by one of the breeders again at a restaurant. Again we had a lovely meal, while entertained by belly dancers. Funny concept since most of the foreign conference attendees were women. We all had our turn with speeches, which got better and more touching as the week progressed. But I must say, it was a great group of people. And they had delicious fresh fruit juices that night, I dared to try the vodka in it, very good indeed !
Day 5
This is the big day! The national day of the horse, races all day, entertainment with dancers and singers, food vendors. It was already pretty crowded in the stands when we got there. We where seated in the VIP area just above the row of Turkmen dressed in traditional clothes, all wearing their telpeks. In this section which is in the center of the hippodrome, with below us the winners circle, above us the private viewing room, all the concrete tables were covered with rugs, and decorated with fresh flower vases, and we had chairs to sit on. The TV crew was there and the national hymn was played, as Janardag and another horse were standing on the track. Then they were brought to the winners circle and given a carpet which they tried to put on their back. Each time they reared the crowds went crazy, which was a lot, the carpets didn't last long. There were a lot of races planned for the day. I saw Tanya from the airplane and she didn't know when her horses were on, the races didn't follow the program. It is quite a site, beautiful horses, the roaring crowd, horses jumping big fences next to the track. Justin Tait from the Brittish Embassy was kind enough to go buy us some programs. The winners come to the circle and receive a carpet. The jockey has it rolled up over the horses neck and rides back to his stable like that.
We had lunch in the private viewing room again. Jerry, Todd and I decided to visit the stables at the opposite side of the track. We walk along the track and in between races on the track. It is hard. The sand is coarse and compact, with little rocks mixed in. The stables are made of concrete. Isles are wide, the stalls are roomy, the floors concrete. They do have a little dusting of sawdust. The sawdust must be expensive here in the desert. Water comes from the irrigation ditch outside, out of a hole in the line. Young stable boys feed the horses buckets of water at lunch time. They also feed the horses 2 types of whole grain and mustard seeds and a white powder (sugar?). The grain is stored in the feed room, in piles on the floor. We saw some beautiful horses.
That night we went to Geldi's house, Sue, Maria, Jerry, Allegra, Todd and myself, and discussed the disagreements we had. Thanks to Geldi's wife he understood our need for artificial insemination and it's importance. We talked about how to set up the stud book. It was a very fruitful time. Geldi is a great man, passionate for the breed, and a good business sense and understanding. We also had our first sweets served, puff pastry filled with custard and a cake, chocolates and tea.
Day 6
We went to the hippodrome in the morning. Allegra, Sue and I walked the stables again, ooing and aahing over the horses. They gave us the race programs from the day before with all the results hand written in. The afternoon we were on our own, finally a chance to explore! Allegra opts to catch up on sleep. The thing that always surprised me is how European some of the people look. And some times dressed quite westernly in mini skirts and tight Tee's. And to my 5 year old son I reported that there are no toy stores in Ashgabat. Until I found the little mall where the internet cafe is. How exciting, sending home an email...but the doors where locked and the room empty. There was a children's store up there with mostly clothes and some toys and baby items. I found the Russian market with a huge indoor area where perishables are sold.
Time flew, and I returned to the hotel to get ready for our last dinner sad but true. Our crowd had diminished, some people had left for home already. Again we had a great meal, with many toasts, and gifts given to our host ( this happened almost every night ). Allegra had the honor of tasting sheep brain.
Day 7
Our last morning! Sue and Allegra went to see Geldi's stallion Djanali, who was retrieved from the herd in the mountains for them to see. I decided I had to take my chances and go see Keramately, the stallion I would love to have one more time, Maria came with me to translate. I asked if I could ride him and they were very hesitant, but agreed in the end. He is as magnificent to ride as he is to look at. We also drove to were he keeps his mares and showed me one he'd like to sell.
We went back to the hippodrome where the others where already in Geldi's office finishing up discussing the last details on the new foundation. Geldi also gave us each group pictures of us all, a bottle of Vodka, brandy and wine, a box of chocolates and a box of dried fruits and nuts. Then he took us to market were he bought us all hats, a robe a bag and a horse necklace. Then he took us to lunch at an open air cafe under the trees, and we had delicious barbecued food. We said our good-byes, and the bus took us to the airport, playing it's tune for the very last time. Going through customs was a bit of a hassle, we had Todds carpets with us, he didn't have the time to get them approved by the museum before he left, Allegra's felt horse blanket got a strange look. Then we had to check in and pay for being overweight. And overweight I was! The holding room was a whole different scene then in London, as if we had stepped through the door to India. Then I remembered the words of one of the French translators who works for Total oil, one time this plane was so crowded 6 people had to stand in the kitchen. We made a pact that the first one in would save seats for the rest.
The doors opened and people ran to the plane! A man from England going home for his one month off working on a oil tower in the Caspian Sea took pity on me and carried my paintings for me, while I hauled my camera bag stuffed now with precious bottles, one of which was already leaking. We all made the plane, said our good-byes in London and Allegra and I got a hotel room together. England is expensive! So we ate a sandwich at the bar and I called home. The next day we helped each other with the numerous heavy bags we had to the airport were Allegra flew home and I went back to Amsterdam, Germany
The next day I caught the train to Hanover, Germany and Siggy picked me up. She has her old stallion Perchat and broodmare Dongula who she boards in a beautifull old farm 10 minutes from her house. She has a house full of information about the AT's, tapes and stories. And she breeds hunting dogs, and has many of them, jumping up and down and all around. We did a lot of talking, she gave me lots of photo's and information and copied tapes for me. She had a bag ready for me with 20 of her books I had ordered for America. We visited a friend to whom she sold one of her babies.
Traffic jams were so horrendous we cancelled our plans to go visit Sabine Topfer-Gebert and Birgit and Edwin Bauerle. I was pretty tired as it was, and there just wasn't enough time. So instead we talked, ate nice lunches, and still the time flew. When I left I had two heavy bags, to add to my already full bags waiting for me in Holland. The train was packed and all the seats taken, I found a fold down seat in the hall way, and stuffed the bag with the books underneath it. About over half way (6 hour train ride ) I realised the books are holding the seat up, meaning I'm smashing them!!! Luckely Siggy packed them well, with lots of padding and there was no damadge done. At my friends place in Holland I repacked everything, she made me weigh them and declared me nuts, it would be cheaper to by my own jet to get the stuff home she said. I checked in early and not once did anyone comment about my bags, I didn't have to pay overweight charges, nothing broke or leaked and my video and pictures came out good! It was an unforgettable trip.
Back at home I couldn't help but compare my 2 mares with the horses I saw in Ashgabat. Their sheen is hard to see. Compared with the horses in Ashgabat their summer coat looks like a winter coat. So fine was the hair on the horses over there, I had to touch it to believe it, as if painted on. Maybe some day I'll succeed in importing a horse from over there...altough it might hate it over here, the rain in the North West, ice in the winter, cold summer nights, and no mustard seeds...
This is the big day! The national day of the horse, races all day, entertainment with dancers and singers, food vendors. It was already pretty crowded in the stands when we got there. We where seated in the VIP area just above the row of Turkmen dressed in traditional clothes, all wearing their telpeks. In this section which is in the center of the hippodrome, with below us the winners circle, above us the private viewing room, all the concrete tables were covered with rugs, and decorated with fresh flower vases, and we had chairs to sit on. The TV crew was there and the national hymn was played, as Janardag and another horse were standing on the track. Then they were brought to the winners circle and given a carpet which they tried to put on their back. Each time they reared the crowds went crazy, which was a lot, the carpets didn't last long. There were a lot of races planned for the day. I saw Tanya from the airplane and she didn't know when her horses were on, the races didn't follow the program. It is quite a site, beautiful horses, the roaring crowd, horses jumping big fences next to the track. Justin Tait from the Brittish Embassy was kind enough to go buy us some programs. The winners come to the circle and receive a carpet. The jockey has it rolled up over the horses neck and rides back to his stable like that.
We had lunch in the private viewing room again. Jerry, Todd and I decided to visit the stables at the opposite side of the track. We walk along the track and in between races on the track. It is hard. The sand is coarse and compact, with little rocks mixed in. The stables are made of concrete. Isles are wide, the stalls are roomy, the floors concrete. They do have a little dusting of sawdust. The sawdust must be expensive here in the desert. Water comes from the irrigation ditch outside, out of a hole in the line. Young stable boys feed the horses buckets of water at lunch time. They also feed the horses 2 types of whole grain and mustard seeds and a white powder (sugar?). The grain is stored in the feed room, in piles on the floor. We saw some beautiful horses.
That night we went to Geldi's house, Sue, Maria, Jerry, Allegra, Todd and myself, and discussed the disagreements we had. Thanks to Geldi's wife he understood our need for artificial insemination and it's importance. We talked about how to set up the stud book. It was a very fruitful time. Geldi is a great man, passionate for the breed, and a good business sense and understanding. We also had our first sweets served, puff pastry filled with custard and a cake, chocolates and tea.
Day 6
We went to the hippodrome in the morning. Allegra, Sue and I walked the stables again, ooing and aahing over the horses. They gave us the race programs from the day before with all the results hand written in. The afternoon we were on our own, finally a chance to explore! Allegra opts to catch up on sleep. The thing that always surprised me is how European some of the people look. And some times dressed quite westernly in mini skirts and tight Tee's. And to my 5 year old son I reported that there are no toy stores in Ashgabat. Until I found the little mall where the internet cafe is. How exciting, sending home an email...but the doors where locked and the room empty. There was a children's store up there with mostly clothes and some toys and baby items. I found the Russian market with a huge indoor area where perishables are sold.
Time flew, and I returned to the hotel to get ready for our last dinner sad but true. Our crowd had diminished, some people had left for home already. Again we had a great meal, with many toasts, and gifts given to our host ( this happened almost every night ). Allegra had the honor of tasting sheep brain.
Day 7
Our last morning! Sue and Allegra went to see Geldi's stallion Djanali, who was retrieved from the herd in the mountains for them to see. I decided I had to take my chances and go see Keramately, the stallion I would love to have one more time, Maria came with me to translate. I asked if I could ride him and they were very hesitant, but agreed in the end. He is as magnificent to ride as he is to look at. We also drove to were he keeps his mares and showed me one he'd like to sell.
We went back to the hippodrome where the others where already in Geldi's office finishing up discussing the last details on the new foundation. Geldi also gave us each group pictures of us all, a bottle of Vodka, brandy and wine, a box of chocolates and a box of dried fruits and nuts. Then he took us to market were he bought us all hats, a robe a bag and a horse necklace. Then he took us to lunch at an open air cafe under the trees, and we had delicious barbecued food. We said our good-byes, and the bus took us to the airport, playing it's tune for the very last time. Going through customs was a bit of a hassle, we had Todds carpets with us, he didn't have the time to get them approved by the museum before he left, Allegra's felt horse blanket got a strange look. Then we had to check in and pay for being overweight. And overweight I was! The holding room was a whole different scene then in London, as if we had stepped through the door to India. Then I remembered the words of one of the French translators who works for Total oil, one time this plane was so crowded 6 people had to stand in the kitchen. We made a pact that the first one in would save seats for the rest.
The doors opened and people ran to the plane! A man from England going home for his one month off working on a oil tower in the Caspian Sea took pity on me and carried my paintings for me, while I hauled my camera bag stuffed now with precious bottles, one of which was already leaking. We all made the plane, said our good-byes in London and Allegra and I got a hotel room together. England is expensive! So we ate a sandwich at the bar and I called home. The next day we helped each other with the numerous heavy bags we had to the airport were Allegra flew home and I went back to Amsterdam, Germany
The next day I caught the train to Hanover, Germany and Siggy picked me up. She has her old stallion Perchat and broodmare Dongula who she boards in a beautifull old farm 10 minutes from her house. She has a house full of information about the AT's, tapes and stories. And she breeds hunting dogs, and has many of them, jumping up and down and all around. We did a lot of talking, she gave me lots of photo's and information and copied tapes for me. She had a bag ready for me with 20 of her books I had ordered for America. We visited a friend to whom she sold one of her babies.
Traffic jams were so horrendous we cancelled our plans to go visit Sabine Topfer-Gebert and Birgit and Edwin Bauerle. I was pretty tired as it was, and there just wasn't enough time. So instead we talked, ate nice lunches, and still the time flew. When I left I had two heavy bags, to add to my already full bags waiting for me in Holland. The train was packed and all the seats taken, I found a fold down seat in the hall way, and stuffed the bag with the books underneath it. About over half way (6 hour train ride ) I realised the books are holding the seat up, meaning I'm smashing them!!! Luckely Siggy packed them well, with lots of padding and there was no damadge done. At my friends place in Holland I repacked everything, she made me weigh them and declared me nuts, it would be cheaper to by my own jet to get the stuff home she said. I checked in early and not once did anyone comment about my bags, I didn't have to pay overweight charges, nothing broke or leaked and my video and pictures came out good! It was an unforgettable trip.
Back at home I couldn't help but compare my 2 mares with the horses I saw in Ashgabat. Their sheen is hard to see. Compared with the horses in Ashgabat their summer coat looks like a winter coat. So fine was the hair on the horses over there, I had to touch it to believe it, as if painted on. Maybe some day I'll succeed in importing a horse from over there...altough it might hate it over here, the rain in the North West, ice in the winter, cold summer nights, and no mustard seeds...
Turmenistan's Tenth Anniversary of Independence Celebrations by Ruth Staines
I am a mother of four, grandmother of two. My husband is a dental surgeon: we live in North Oxfordshire, in the centre of England. I work in our local theatre as a stage manager and scenic artist. I have been interested in horses all my life, riding since the age of seven, but have never been a horse owner. In 1994, after all my children had left home, I started going on horse riding holidays to some more unusual destinations, Mongolia, Ladakh, Northern Pakistan, Iran and last year Turkmenistan.
As a teenager I used to read the UK publication Horse and Hound. I still have a black and white picture from a front cover of an edition in 1958, of a herd of Akhal Teke horses in what was then the Soviet Union. I never dreamt then that I would actually be seeing these creatures in their native land, so when the chance came……!
By all accounts Turkmenistan, along with the other Central Asian states, did not leave the embrace of the Soviet Union willingly, after the fall of communism. However, she had little choice in the matter, and so became an independent state in 1991. The President now encourages the Turkmen culture and customs, suppressed under communism, giving the country its unique identity: Independence is celebrated annually on 27 October, and so last year, the tenth anniversary, presented an opportunity for special festivities.
We had hints when we rode there in April of what was to come: the most exciting prospect for us was that of a parade of a thousand horses! My friend Bridget Tempest, an artist, saw another chance to paint the famed Akhal Teke horses, a major part of the Turkmen culture, so despite the fact we were quite unable to discover any sort of programme, we took the decision to return. Bridget set about successfully persuading the British Embassy in Ashgabat to organise an exhibition of her paintings that had been inspired by our previous trip.
Bridget arrived in Ashgabat a few days before me in order to give some classes to students at the Art Academy. We were fortunate to be able to stay in a house rather than a hotel: the garden contained chickens and pomegranate trees, and the owner, who cooked us delicious meals, would give Bridget Russian lessons over breakfast!
This was not to be a riding trip, but horses did, of course feature heavily. We were fortunate that Justin Tait from the British Embassy was organising everything, especially as he is an Akhal Teke fan. We rode with him in the mountains a few kilometres outside Ashgabat on a couple of occasions: he rents a golden dappled ex racehorse stallion named Melechep. On our return from the second ride we stayed on to a Halloween party held at the stables: masks, dancing, food and vodka to the accompaniment of stamps and whinnies close by!
Bridget’s exhibition was held in the Art Gallery of the National Museum, a marble hall, formerly the Railway Workers’ Palace! Some of her paintings were initially hung at the Agricultural College, where a conference on ‘The Role of Akhal Teke Horse in the Formation of World Horse-Breeding’ was held, similar to those that take place in April, but this time in honour of the celebrations. We attended the opening session, meeting up with Louise Firouz and Caroline Anns-Baldock, both of whom were speaking. The national anthem was sung, a message from the President was read, and a number of papers were given, including one by Louise’s colleague Dr Ghiadi, from the Jargalan district of Northern Iran, where the Turkmen still carry on their traditional customs, such as horse races at marriages. The conference then split into several groups, at one of which Bridget’s lecture on ‘The Influence of the Eastern Horse on British Sporting Art,’ was given in Russian.
As a teenager I used to read the UK publication Horse and Hound. I still have a black and white picture from a front cover of an edition in 1958, of a herd of Akhal Teke horses in what was then the Soviet Union. I never dreamt then that I would actually be seeing these creatures in their native land, so when the chance came……!
By all accounts Turkmenistan, along with the other Central Asian states, did not leave the embrace of the Soviet Union willingly, after the fall of communism. However, she had little choice in the matter, and so became an independent state in 1991. The President now encourages the Turkmen culture and customs, suppressed under communism, giving the country its unique identity: Independence is celebrated annually on 27 October, and so last year, the tenth anniversary, presented an opportunity for special festivities.
We had hints when we rode there in April of what was to come: the most exciting prospect for us was that of a parade of a thousand horses! My friend Bridget Tempest, an artist, saw another chance to paint the famed Akhal Teke horses, a major part of the Turkmen culture, so despite the fact we were quite unable to discover any sort of programme, we took the decision to return. Bridget set about successfully persuading the British Embassy in Ashgabat to organise an exhibition of her paintings that had been inspired by our previous trip.
Bridget arrived in Ashgabat a few days before me in order to give some classes to students at the Art Academy. We were fortunate to be able to stay in a house rather than a hotel: the garden contained chickens and pomegranate trees, and the owner, who cooked us delicious meals, would give Bridget Russian lessons over breakfast!
This was not to be a riding trip, but horses did, of course feature heavily. We were fortunate that Justin Tait from the British Embassy was organising everything, especially as he is an Akhal Teke fan. We rode with him in the mountains a few kilometres outside Ashgabat on a couple of occasions: he rents a golden dappled ex racehorse stallion named Melechep. On our return from the second ride we stayed on to a Halloween party held at the stables: masks, dancing, food and vodka to the accompaniment of stamps and whinnies close by!
Bridget’s exhibition was held in the Art Gallery of the National Museum, a marble hall, formerly the Railway Workers’ Palace! Some of her paintings were initially hung at the Agricultural College, where a conference on ‘The Role of Akhal Teke Horse in the Formation of World Horse-Breeding’ was held, similar to those that take place in April, but this time in honour of the celebrations. We attended the opening session, meeting up with Louise Firouz and Caroline Anns-Baldock, both of whom were speaking. The national anthem was sung, a message from the President was read, and a number of papers were given, including one by Louise’s colleague Dr Ghiadi, from the Jargalan district of Northern Iran, where the Turkmen still carry on their traditional customs, such as horse races at marriages. The conference then split into several groups, at one of which Bridget’s lecture on ‘The Influence of the Eastern Horse on British Sporting Art,’ was given in Russian.
Before the exhibition opening, Bridget’s paintings moved yet again, this time to the Presidential Box at the Hippodrome! When we delivered them, an amazing sight met our eyes — in the brilliant sunshine stood endless rows of ten horses, extending over halfway round the racetrack! All the riders wore the red striped silk coats of the Turkmen, with black or white shaggy telpeks on their heads, each one carrying the green flag of Turkmenistan! The tribal leaders headed groups from different villages, even more resplendent in long cloaks and colourful costumes, on very spirited horses. All who had them had brought out their old harness, many of the bridles and neck straps made of beautiful silver. So there really were a thousand horses, all of which had been rehearsing under the direction of Geldi Kyarizov, the Director of the Turkmen Atlary, since six o’clock in the morning!
We returned in the afternoon for the parade proper, though alas, the President did not put in an appearance. With many events over a ten day public holiday, he presumably had difficulty fitting everything in. Nevertheless, small boys were carefully dusting red carpets, and colourfully clad dancers and musicians were entertaining the crowds. The huge statue at the entrance to the Hippodrome of the President with a proud Akhal Teke, grey when we last saw it in April, was now gleaming gold. The afternoon began with a parade of the country’s top horses, headed by Yanardag and Piyada: to see these horses proudly posing as the long and stirring National Anthem played brought tears to the eyes. There was not a dry eye in the house during the parade, either — the chant of Halk, Watan, Turkmenbashi (people, country, father of the Turkmen people) emphasised by a very powerful PA system, with the tossing of heads, waving of flags and the endless sea of horses and horsemen (even including two lines of horsewomen, ten of which were from Justin’s stables!) produced a heady atmosphere. The entertainment was completed with several races.
An eventful day was then rounded off by the opening of the exhibition, entitled ‘Ancestral Horses’ which included equestrian works by Turkmen artists as well as Bridget’s paintings. Russia was also represented by some works of Aleksey Glukhariov, an artist from Moscow whom we met at the conference, who was in Turkmenistan to paint some of the leading Akhal Teke’s. Turkmen Television showed it all, including the speeches by our British Ambassador Fraser Wilson, the Turkmen Deputy Minister of Culture, and the Director of the National Museum. Bridget presented one of her paintings to the Museum Director, for the Turkmen people. The evening was attended by many ambassadors, and Louise was delighted to see the paintings of some of her horses. The following evening Bridget gave her lecture at the British Ambassador’s residence to the English speaking residents of Ashgabat.
The rest of our week was packed full of surprises. We drove out to the enormous encampment where most of the thousand horses were spending the week. Avenues of military tents, with medical vans and fire engines in attendance, housed the owners and riders, and many of their sons. We asked whether any of their wives had come — there were just a few women to do the cooking and the washing up, we were laughingly told! As far as the eye could see, horses small and large were tethered, some in the traditional felt blankets. They ranged from graceful looking Akhal Tekes, to scruffy village ponies, in varying condition. The owners told us each village had been given substantial sums of money for their horses to take part, and most had travelled by train! We were very sorry to learn that at the end of the week we missed seeing the horses being loaded onto trains for their homeward journey. Another regret was missing a buzkashi game at the camp one evening, we did not hear about that till after it had happened! And we did not take up the invitation to return for an evening of singing and dancing!
We returned in the afternoon for the parade proper, though alas, the President did not put in an appearance. With many events over a ten day public holiday, he presumably had difficulty fitting everything in. Nevertheless, small boys were carefully dusting red carpets, and colourfully clad dancers and musicians were entertaining the crowds. The huge statue at the entrance to the Hippodrome of the President with a proud Akhal Teke, grey when we last saw it in April, was now gleaming gold. The afternoon began with a parade of the country’s top horses, headed by Yanardag and Piyada: to see these horses proudly posing as the long and stirring National Anthem played brought tears to the eyes. There was not a dry eye in the house during the parade, either — the chant of Halk, Watan, Turkmenbashi (people, country, father of the Turkmen people) emphasised by a very powerful PA system, with the tossing of heads, waving of flags and the endless sea of horses and horsemen (even including two lines of horsewomen, ten of which were from Justin’s stables!) produced a heady atmosphere. The entertainment was completed with several races.
An eventful day was then rounded off by the opening of the exhibition, entitled ‘Ancestral Horses’ which included equestrian works by Turkmen artists as well as Bridget’s paintings. Russia was also represented by some works of Aleksey Glukhariov, an artist from Moscow whom we met at the conference, who was in Turkmenistan to paint some of the leading Akhal Teke’s. Turkmen Television showed it all, including the speeches by our British Ambassador Fraser Wilson, the Turkmen Deputy Minister of Culture, and the Director of the National Museum. Bridget presented one of her paintings to the Museum Director, for the Turkmen people. The evening was attended by many ambassadors, and Louise was delighted to see the paintings of some of her horses. The following evening Bridget gave her lecture at the British Ambassador’s residence to the English speaking residents of Ashgabat.
The rest of our week was packed full of surprises. We drove out to the enormous encampment where most of the thousand horses were spending the week. Avenues of military tents, with medical vans and fire engines in attendance, housed the owners and riders, and many of their sons. We asked whether any of their wives had come — there were just a few women to do the cooking and the washing up, we were laughingly told! As far as the eye could see, horses small and large were tethered, some in the traditional felt blankets. They ranged from graceful looking Akhal Tekes, to scruffy village ponies, in varying condition. The owners told us each village had been given substantial sums of money for their horses to take part, and most had travelled by train! We were very sorry to learn that at the end of the week we missed seeing the horses being loaded onto trains for their homeward journey. Another regret was missing a buzkashi game at the camp one evening, we did not hear about that till after it had happened! And we did not take up the invitation to return for an evening of singing and dancing!
We were driven east from Ashgabat to see if we could find the mares we rode in the spring. Stopping at a tumbledown farm in the middle of nowhere to ask about them, we saw a number of horses contentedly grazing a young green crop, wandering free with no fences — they were indeed our mares, all looking very well although covered in burrs and ticks and apparently pregnant. Our accompanying black stallion must have had a most enjoyable trip with the mares in the spring!
At the end of the week the temperature changed overnight — one evening we were walking back home in our shirtsleeves, the next morning we had to wrap up in winter clothes! This was the day of the auction at the Hippodrome. As we did not have thousands of dollars to spare, the cold soon overcame our excitement at viewing some splendid animals, and we went to one of the stable blocks at the far side of the racetrack to see some prizewinning horses, including a grandson of Absent and a most beautiful pale gold three year old stallion that Bridget decided must feature in a painting. Horse owners in Turkmenistan love to lead their prize animals out of the stables for you, and the horses all seem very eager to pose! We returned a couple of days later so Bridget could sketch the golden stallion. I felt I was in a dream as I held this amazing creature in his loosebox, but the session was soon interrupted by the horse being required for an international fashion shoot on the racecourse! Old silver harness was put on the horse, who was helping to show off beautiful silk dresses based on traditional designs.
We took a short trip outside Ashgabat to see the same owner’s mares and youngstock. We were greeted by the surreal sight of ostriches in a field next to the horses’ enclosure! Stallions and foals inhabited a block of looseboxes, turkeys wandered round the yard, and as well as the ostriches we were amazed by the sight of two Iranian fighting sheep, sporting fearsome looking horns, thankfully tethered, by a camel, goats and calves.
Saturday 27 October was the actual Independence Day, so this was reserved for the military parade. The day dawned cold and wet, but this did not deter the large crowds we joined walking down the wide avenues in the new parks towards the centre of Ashgabat. We stationed ourselves behind a TV camera, watching interviews with bearded veterans wearing telpeks, and men with many medals on their jackets. For an hour we stood , freezing, as the well drilled troops marched past, followed by the immaculately painted and polished hardware, with planes and helicopters overhead.
After the military came the people, veterans, sportspeople, workers, singers and dancers. The President was evident on the huge video screen by the parliament building, where he was watching in conditions somewhat warmer than ours!
On the Sunday we had a second chance to see the equestrian parade at the Hippodrome. The weather had not let up, and despite the same singing, dancing and chanting the atmosphere was not quite the same as it had been under the sun! We took the opportunity to watch from the trackside, so we could see the details of these horses and riders. Their trappings ranged from the traditional to modern, from saddles and bridles held together with string to brand new Russian cavalry saddles (there is no saddler in Turkmenistan) and exquisite silver harness. The riders included boys barely more than toddlers as well as bearded veterans.
Near the end of the trip Bridget took the opportunity to pass on some of her skills to the young pupils of Ashgabat’s International School. Bright and eager youngsters of many different nationalities spent a happy afternoon painting their impressions of the equestrian parade under her expert guidance. The school is close by the magnificent new National Museum building; after Bridget had presented her painting, the museum director, an artist himself, kindly invited us to see the magnificent collections of Turkmen artefacts. Alas, we did not have time to do the place justice, but promised to return to study the Ancient History Hall with its unique rhitons, (ivory libation vessels) and the Ethnography Hall containing a magnificent collection of Turkmen weapons, wedding outfits, jewellery and carpets. There is even part of a meteorite that fell in the north of the country in 1998.
Our stay was rounded off on the morning before we flew home by a very special photo session — we were given permission to photograph the great Yanardag and Piyada. We spent a little time talking to them in their stalls, a couple of friendly horses who enjoyed the attention and nibbling our hair and coats. Relaxing at home they looked nothing. But as soon as they were led outside (and the sun had returned for this!) they were different horses, ears pricked, necks arched, they would be issued with Equity cards in England! They provided a superb ending for our extraordinary trip!
At the end of the week the temperature changed overnight — one evening we were walking back home in our shirtsleeves, the next morning we had to wrap up in winter clothes! This was the day of the auction at the Hippodrome. As we did not have thousands of dollars to spare, the cold soon overcame our excitement at viewing some splendid animals, and we went to one of the stable blocks at the far side of the racetrack to see some prizewinning horses, including a grandson of Absent and a most beautiful pale gold three year old stallion that Bridget decided must feature in a painting. Horse owners in Turkmenistan love to lead their prize animals out of the stables for you, and the horses all seem very eager to pose! We returned a couple of days later so Bridget could sketch the golden stallion. I felt I was in a dream as I held this amazing creature in his loosebox, but the session was soon interrupted by the horse being required for an international fashion shoot on the racecourse! Old silver harness was put on the horse, who was helping to show off beautiful silk dresses based on traditional designs.
We took a short trip outside Ashgabat to see the same owner’s mares and youngstock. We were greeted by the surreal sight of ostriches in a field next to the horses’ enclosure! Stallions and foals inhabited a block of looseboxes, turkeys wandered round the yard, and as well as the ostriches we were amazed by the sight of two Iranian fighting sheep, sporting fearsome looking horns, thankfully tethered, by a camel, goats and calves.
Saturday 27 October was the actual Independence Day, so this was reserved for the military parade. The day dawned cold and wet, but this did not deter the large crowds we joined walking down the wide avenues in the new parks towards the centre of Ashgabat. We stationed ourselves behind a TV camera, watching interviews with bearded veterans wearing telpeks, and men with many medals on their jackets. For an hour we stood , freezing, as the well drilled troops marched past, followed by the immaculately painted and polished hardware, with planes and helicopters overhead.
After the military came the people, veterans, sportspeople, workers, singers and dancers. The President was evident on the huge video screen by the parliament building, where he was watching in conditions somewhat warmer than ours!
On the Sunday we had a second chance to see the equestrian parade at the Hippodrome. The weather had not let up, and despite the same singing, dancing and chanting the atmosphere was not quite the same as it had been under the sun! We took the opportunity to watch from the trackside, so we could see the details of these horses and riders. Their trappings ranged from the traditional to modern, from saddles and bridles held together with string to brand new Russian cavalry saddles (there is no saddler in Turkmenistan) and exquisite silver harness. The riders included boys barely more than toddlers as well as bearded veterans.
Near the end of the trip Bridget took the opportunity to pass on some of her skills to the young pupils of Ashgabat’s International School. Bright and eager youngsters of many different nationalities spent a happy afternoon painting their impressions of the equestrian parade under her expert guidance. The school is close by the magnificent new National Museum building; after Bridget had presented her painting, the museum director, an artist himself, kindly invited us to see the magnificent collections of Turkmen artefacts. Alas, we did not have time to do the place justice, but promised to return to study the Ancient History Hall with its unique rhitons, (ivory libation vessels) and the Ethnography Hall containing a magnificent collection of Turkmen weapons, wedding outfits, jewellery and carpets. There is even part of a meteorite that fell in the north of the country in 1998.
Our stay was rounded off on the morning before we flew home by a very special photo session — we were given permission to photograph the great Yanardag and Piyada. We spent a little time talking to them in their stalls, a couple of friendly horses who enjoyed the attention and nibbling our hair and coats. Relaxing at home they looked nothing. But as soon as they were led outside (and the sun had returned for this!) they were different horses, ears pricked, necks arched, they would be issued with Equity cards in England! They provided a superb ending for our extraordinary trip!