Mongol Rally 2007 - Windmill Giants official blog

When the port office opened we learned that the office and docks for the ferry to Turkmenistan we’re down the road and they drew us a map.  We followed their directions down a broken up back alley and across railroad tracks until we came to a police checkpoint.  We were told to come back at 10am, so we sent a text to our friend Rich, an American whom we knew from Bulgaria that was now working with an NGO in Baku.  We met Rich at his place and he gave us a key so we could shower while he went to work. 

The shower was refreshing for all of one minute until we stepped out into the street on another 100+ degree day.  We returned to the ferry port and were shocked to learn that not only was the Turkmenistan ferry expected to leave that day at 1pm, the ferry to Aktau, Kazakhstan was to leave that night at 10pm.  Or so we were told.  Like it or not, we were still on the Mongol Rally with two options to keep moving east.   When the Turkmenistan ferry was delayed until later that evening, we decided that we would be cutting it a bit too close to try and cross the country before our transit visas expired, and everything that we had heard about Turkmenistan told us that would be a bad idea.  We reluctantly came to terms with the fact that we would not risk jail time for lip-synching in this remarkably peculiar country, and changed course for Kazakhstan.

This dodgy little ferry port was a bottleneck for many Mongol Rally teams, so we found our caravan thrust upon us by chance.  Already in port were two young Scotsmen and their Subaru in team Green Pea, The Mongolian Adventure in the coveted Suzuki SJ, Go North in their blue Citroen, and a bunch of brothers who weren’t on the Rally but happened to be in the neighborhood and going our way with a far more appropriate 4WD Mitsubishi.  At the urging of the other teams, and without really taking time to think about it, we checked in our car documents with the customs office which assured that we would not be charged some exorbitant fine but also effectively left us without wheels in Baku.

We killed some time in port while we waited for news on when the ferry would be leaving for Kazakhstan.  I popped the hood to the Skoda, which pulled in local truck drivers like a magnet.  More through pantomime than broken Russian, I learned that my engine was idling high and the air filter needed changing – both were quickly remedied by our new mechanically adept friends (who were all likely plotting to rob and kill us on the ferry by the looks of them).

The ferry port attendants took turns napping, going to lunch, and stalling us with outright lies that we could buy or tickets in a few hours.  One team, in a moment of fleeting brilliance, had included a Foosball table in their packing list while another feared that they might truly regret driving to Ulaanbataar without a cow costume (complete with udders).  The ensuing playoff ended with emphatic waving of the Scottish flag and Chris from the SJ posing in the cow costume with confused and amused locals.  All agreed that the local beer Xirdalan was quite good  (and readily available from the shack by the Lenin head mosaic). 

Eventually we got word that our ferry was in port, but that it was in need of repairs and was expected to leave at 10am the next morning.  We shared our number with Ross from Green Pea and trusted he would text us if we left the port and things got moving sooner. We decided to take advantage having a friend living locally, and met up with Rich for dinner before returning to his place exhausted from the heat, the road and the Azeri way of life.