Hi all,

Just want to make a quick update – writing & producing this book, and getting all the recipes ready has been significantly more work than we expected it to be. We want to let you know that we’re still working hard on producing the book you deserve, especially with the delays, and we hope to send you something that we’re proud of soon.

Best,

The Cookbook Team

We recently had a quick interview with Metro (the newspaper) and today it looks like we’re reaping the results of that – if you’re in Stockholm go ahead and pick up todays issue of Metro, available at any subway or bus station, and check out the article!

In other news, we’re in high gear working on the book – another chapter was handed in for layouting and preparation just yesterday – we seem to be on track!

PS. Thanks to Metro for writing about us =)
PPS. Link: Article on Metro

Suprisingly enough, we’re alive and well and back home. We made it. There and back again.

I’m sorry there haven’t been any updates for a while! We didn’t get any more internet after a certain point and since we got back all of our focus has been on the book, so the blog suffered a bit.

Keep an eye on the blog, we’ll try to keep you updated on the book-making process, and maybe a few sneak peaks on what went on in Kazakhstan, Russia and Mongolia – although most of that will be saved for the book!

The three of us also want to thank you – thank you for your support, and thank you for keeping your fingers crossed that we’d survive. It helped. I hope to keep you posted.

We’ll be putting together a much prettier one, but until then I wanted to leave you with a rough map showing you our final route, detours due to war and breakdowns included:

PS. Those of you who bet we would never make it: Suck it.

Actual Date: 9 August 2012

Location: Samarkand-Tashkent, Uzbekistan

While driving towards Ashgabat and admittedly doing a little over the limit we’re pulled over by the police. Mr. Lejfjord, driving at the time, got out of the car with the usual papers and a little wallet prepared with “gifts” (mixed currencies, not too much of any, a few mini-bottles of spirits and Swedish candy) in his pockets. Mr. Lindmarker and Gustav relaxed in the car and waited for Mr. Lejfjord to handle things.

And waited.

…and waited.

Just when we were about to go looking for him, a police car pulled up next to us, Mr. Lejfjord in the passenger seat. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked quite ashen. The police in the drivers seat angrily motioned for us to follow and took off at a speed far above the limit.

Desperately trying to follow while at the same time keeping some semblance of legal driving (maybe he’s trying to trick us into driving too fast??), Gustav and Mr. Lindmarker hazard random guesses as to what’s going on. None are particularly optimistic.

After weaving the the highway traffic for a while, the police turns off and we assume the police station is up ahead. The car suddenly stops, and we pull to a halt next to the squad car. Just as we stop the police officer, who has been talking to someone, hands Mr. Lejfjord (in the police passenger seat) a package who in turn hands it through his car window to Gustav (driving our Getz). Gustav immediately passes it back to Mr. Lindmarker since the officer has already started driving again and asks

“What is it?”

“…a fish. A smoked fish”. Was the reply, in a tone indicating that Mr. Lindmarkers brain didn’t quite agree with reality. The confusion was complete.

After only another 200m or so the officer stopped and got out of the car, the three Swedes following suite. As we fell into step behind him we managed to ask Mr. Lejfjord

“What’s going on? What has he said? Have you told him what we’re doing?”

“I have no idea. I have no idea. No, I haven’t said a word about our project.”

We round a corner and the officer indicates we should sit down in the open air restaurant we just entered. He then proceeds to talk to the proprietor and food starts appearing on the table in large quantitates – all kinds of dishes. 

He joins us at the table, the three of us still a bit unsure as to what’s going on.

Possibly to clarify things, a bottle of vodka is brought in and two shots are poured – one for each of the passengers in our car, none for the driver of course.

We couldn’t get a closer picture of the officer, but here he is with us at the table

He then speaks his first English words: “You eat, drink. I have payed. I must go now. Enjoy”.

We thanked him and said goodbye. He pointed the way to Ashgabat and finished with “80 km per hour”.

To this day we still don’t know how or why any of the above happened. The smoked fish was an extra – we ate it on the road.

Actual date: 7 August 2012

Location: Kiva/Urgench, Uzbekistan

We spent an hour or so in the morning with our maps, planning our route to Mongolia’s border and set what we thought would be a good goal for the day’s driving based on our usual performance.

After leaving Kiva and driving around 15mins we realize we had taken a bit of a wrong turn and were headed directly towards a Turkmen border.

We turned back, and eventually found our way back to the main road; not so bad – only a 30min detour.

While exiting Urgench, the next city ca 30km from Kiva, we saw a mechanic and thought we should get our car checked out – it’s been sounding like a F1 car for a while and from what little we know we might have a couple of holes in the exhaust system.

When the mechanics raised the car, even our extremely limited mechanical knowledge was enough to know we’d messed up. The exhaust pipe had completely broken off just under the engine block and was hanging loose. A part that seemed to have the job of connecting the two ends was more or less torn to shreds.

So, Mr. Lindmarker and Mr. Lejfjord settled down outside the mechanic to cook a bit of lunch while Gustav jumped in a car with two of the mechanics and headed to a nearby auto-parts store to buy a replacement. Honestly the whole thing went quiet smoothy – we got hold of the right part and after some cutting and welding it had been added to the car. Everything looked better than ever, and the price was more than acceptable after offering the mechanics some vodka and serenading them with our guitar.

It did knock 4 hours off the days planned driving though.

As soon as we’re out of the city we immediately hit what seems to be the norm – roads made to destroy our car with bumps or, if we manage to dodge those, simply by shaking the car to pieces. After only a few minutes it succeeds.

Some readers might remember how our roof rack is attached – four holders, one of which was replaced with a rock in Turkmenistan. All of these had now fallen off.

Resigned to the fact, we started dismounting our four tires from the rack so we can reattach everything and make sure it’ll hold. A new stone is found to replace the old one – luckily the remaining three holders are still hanging onto the rack, and we managed to reattach them to the car, tightening them as much as possible. Since one of the reasons the roof rack is unstable is the weight of the tires, and we still haven’t had need of them, we decide to get rid of two of them. There is only one possible way of doing this.

Instantly, we start waving down cars and shouting about the sale of our wonderful Swedish quality tires. Almost every car stops and we spend the next half hour chatting with stopped drivers and trying to sell our tyros. It’s not as much as they’re worth back home, but we do get them sold for an even 100 USD.

Our spirits buoyed by the street selling, we jump in the car excited to be on our merry way. We turn the key. Nothing happens. Naturally.

We get out and start pushing the car, but after a few tries Mr. Lindmarker collapses from exhaustion and we instead pull out the starter cables. Luckily, a minibus is quick to stop. Unluckily, it seems quite impossible to gain access to it’s battery so we instead direct our waving to an approaching Jeep.

This time everything works as it should and we get the car started. We’re on our way again.

50 metros later we screech to a halt after noticing that a holder has fallen off. We reattach it and weave a net of duct tape around all the holders, making sure that even if they lose their grip, they won’t fall off completely.

Another minute of driving and we hear a sound straight out of our nightmares from under the car. We ease to a stop, get out, and check under the car.

Crap.

Something is leaking. We give it a smell.

Shit.

It’s oil. Our oil tank is losing oil from two serious holes.

...

We start waving down someone to help, and almost immediately a couple of cars pull up, and someone comes running from further down the road. As it turns out, we’ve stopped about 100m from a petrol station so we start by pushing ‘ol Getzy up there. As we’re pushing the people who stopped to help start calling others, and when we reach the petrol station there’s a new man waiting for us. He points to a house just a bit further in from the road, indicating it’s his place.

It turns out he owns a bit of land including the petrol station we standing on, some farmland with crops and animals, and just happens to have a garage for repairs next to his house.

We push the car another 100m or so into the garage and after us and a few others poke around the underbelly investigating the wholes, everyone repeating “sverka” (Russian for welding), a ex-military looking jeep pulls up and a gang of seeming field mechanics jump out – even pulling a makeshift welding kit with them.

We retreat a little distance, suspecting the dodgy looking welding kit might explode at any moment (the sounds seemed to indicate it was imminent). It’s getting late by now and the sun is setting, so we start cooking a meal and discussing what we should do tonight- will the car be ready soon? Keep driving? Ask if we can sleep here? It’s illegal to camp, so we’ll have to think of something.

Just as we finish cooking, our host joins us and presents us with a homemade dinner – a delicious Palov that we’re more than happy to dig into.

We’re than approached by his wife as well, and the couple welcome us to sleep on their terrace while indicating that we will probably get bitten and/or stung by several nasty things and die if we stay on the ground. We think it seems like a good idea.

On the terrace, the evening gets a magnificent ending – the family comes out with carpet to sit on, fun (although halting) conversation through much signing, and sweet melon to eat, after which we join them in giving thanks to Allah.

Once the family retreats, we gradually drift to sleep while staring at the brilliant night sky and witnessing maybe a dozen falling stars.

A mad day, a great night.

Actual Date: 6 August 2012

Location: Nukus – Kiva, Uzbekistan

Another day, another border. Approaching our exit from Turkmenistan we naturally made bets on how long the process would take ranging from Mr. Lindmarker and Gustav’s 1.5 & 2 hours respectively to Mr. Lejfjords slightly more conservative 7 hours. This fit the pattern of Mr. Lejfjords predictions since we started the project, as he as late as three months ago gave a 12% chance of us even starting the drive.

Exiting Turkminstan was a bit of an affair – there was the standard windows and running back and forth with various papers, chatting with border guards and hoping that this next bit is the last bit. Surprisingly, it was the last bit – the whole process only took about an hour and ended with the three of us waiting in a final room while someone messed around with our passports for about 15mins.

In the room with us was a lone traveller, a European gentleman – solemn and composed looking but quick to laugh as evidenced by his friendliness with both locals passing through the room who he’d open & hold the doors for, and his banter & jokes with the guards in Russian.

It turns our Laurent, an Austrian studying Serbo-Croatian history, was traveling through Uzbek & Turkmenistan and had spent quite a bit of time in central Asia among other places. Naturally we offered him a ride, and who can withstand our charisma?

(sometimes it’s even strong enough to cover the overpowering odors our car and everything in it has started to acquire).

Laurent turned out to know more than just Serbo-Croatian history and we had a great time in the car with him, learning quite a bit more about the countries we were visiting, including a bit about the town of Kiva that we previously had not heard of. Kiva is a little town just outside Urgench that in the past was an independent nation, involved quite heavily in the slave trade, and even withstood a Russian invasion.

In the 1800s a force of 4000 Russians had approached Kiva and requested its surrender. Kiva’s leader met with the Russians and said he would oblige, but that his little town could not hold all of the soldiers – instead he offered that they spread our into the surrounding villages and they would be treated hospitably. The Russians agreed, and in the night Kiva sent out its full force – now able to quickly take care of the smaller groups of Russian soldiers.

We made it to Kiva after a full day’s driving and took the evening to check out the old town. Surrounded by walls and towers made of clay and straw, the old town of Kiva is really quite something to wander through. Colourful mosaics on mosques and minarets, people going about their daily business in homes and buildings that seemed to have forgotten the passage of time completely.

Most definitely a pleasant change to hours on the road, the evening was finished perfectly with a trip to a little restaurant that serves a very traditional Uzbek dish – Palov; as well as some local dumplings and grilled meats.

PS. The bet was, ofcourse won by Gustav – the border crossing took almost exactly 2 hours.

Actual Date: 4 August

Location: The Door to Hell

Ashgabat has shown us a great time, and now it was time to head out to something we’ve all been looking forward to. The Door to Hell.

While drilling in 1971, Soviet geologists tapped into a cavern filled with natural gas. The ground beneath the drilling rig collapsed, leaving a large hole, and to avoid poisonous gas discharge it was decided that the best solution was to burn it off. Geologists had hoped the fire would use all the fuel in a matter of days, but trust us when we say it’s still going strong.

After several hours of heading north on a classically shoddy Turkmenistan road, we started nearing the region where the crater should be. We’d heard it was a distance into the desert but we were still hoping for an orange glow to light up the day somewhere to the west (according to our map).

We were waved down by a gent with a jeep, one of the guides who hang around here to guide people to the crater and since our car isn’t exactly made for dune bashing we decided to take him up on his offer after much haggling.

Finding a secluded spot behind a dune to park our car, we piled into the jeep and as our guide battled the loose desert sands in a decidedly eastern direction we knew we had made a good call. A roughly 20 minute drive later, we noticed the glow we had been hoping for – darkness was just beginning to fall, yet a part of the skyline in the direction we were headed was significantly lighter and more orangey/red then is should have been.

Rounding a dune, it came into sight. It’s massive. 70 metres across, the insides completely wreathed in flame, the crater radiates heat and distorts the air inside. Closer to the crater you can smell the gas being released, and we were strongly recommended to camp away from the crater so as to not be slowly poisoned over the night. I’m happily writing this in past tense.

Standing close to the edge (on the edge is only just bearable for a few seconds due to the heat) and staring into the flames is quite hypnotizing. Your entire view of the world is taken up by the living flames, distorted slightly by the immense heat they produce. I’m reminded of Mordor, and the volcano where the Ring was both made and unmade.

The next day we woke up in time to greet our guide who was ready to take us back to the road north. After saying our goodbyes to the fire pit, we were soon getting out of the jeep and packing our own little car (Getzy had missed us very much).

We performed our morning check:

- roofrack holders checked & tightened

- oil at good level

- air filters clean enough

- engine coolant at good level

- tyres looking good

- car documents in important papers folder

- international drivers licences also there

- passports … passports?

No. Oh hell no. Passports… at the hotel in Ashgabat…

We had a civil discussion regarding the intelligence and brain capacity of each team member and eventually came to the sorry conclusion that we had no choice, we just had to drive back to Ashgabat and get them.

To put it in plainly, today we progressed ca 20km along our route after a daylong back-and-forth to Ashgabat.

Actual Date: 3rd August 2012

Location: Ashgabat

Ashgabat is city worth seeing. Massive white government buildings with gold and other details, wide streets, and massive statues. According to a couple of Turkmenis we met, the government buildings and ministries are all but empty – mostly facades with maybe a handful of employees.

We visited a few sites and did spent most of the day doing some work on the cookbook now that we had some peace and quite, and got in touch with GAC, the shipping company that’s been helping us, again to see if they could point us in the right direction for some traditional Turkmenistan cooking. We called quite late, and hoped at best for a restaurant/chef recommendation or some direct info on the culinary culture. Instead we received the simple instruction: be ready at 19.15.

At 19.10 we were ready outside the hotel when our GAC contact arrived – introductions were made with the friendly gentleman and we were off, learning more about Turkmenistan and Ashgabat, both history current and future. Interestingly citizens have free access to both natural gas and water, and bread is mere pennies.

After a relatively short ride taking us out of town we arrived at what looked like a group of semi-permanent tents.  Apparently these were imitations of the traditional nomadic homes that could simply be packed up and moved as the tribe moved on, made of straw and carpets.

We gathered inside one of the huts and were soon greeted to a fantastic site – plates covered in all kinds of food from the region. There was different vegetable mixes, a paste with chicken and nut that quickly became a favorite, a soup made from ecological chicken – and an explanation to go with it. Food is very important here, and it’s important for it to be handled/treated well.

Chicken that are not brought up naturally, i.e. are bred to be deformed to produce more meat or forced into small spaces in large numbers are looked down on, and in most places in the ‘stans we can order “George Bush Legs” – drumsticks from these lesser chicken. We must try it.

Meat in Turkmenistan should be as fresh and as young as possible and the only preparation should be a little bit of salt. Other spices can be added while grilling or cooking, but the preparation should be as simple as possible and the meat ecological.

We were treated to an understanding of why they did this. After chatting with the head chef we were led to the kitchen and the restaurants grill – a massive contraption fed by special local wood that burns for an extended period of time. After investigating and checking out the different meats available we headed back to our tent accompanied by a sampling.

The best lamb chops we’ve ever had the privilege of tasting entered our lives, and their memory will live on forever.

The rest of the evening was spent sampling the various meats, discussing cooking techniques and recipes, and sharing some laughs and stories – ’twas a wonderful night.

Actual Date: 2nd August 2012

Location: Turkmenistan (Turkmenbasi-Ashgabat)

We arose bright and early as the sun was rising, cooked some eggs for a quick breakfast and started packing up our tent and other equipment.

Mr.Lindmarker, barefoot, was in the middle of rolling up the tent when he jumped back – a small scorpion had made its way underneath the tent sometime in the night and came scampering out.

Fortunately no more came of that meeting and no other surprise guests seemed to have shared our warmth, but a new “shoes always” rule was quickly put in place for the desert.

Driving down the road from Turkmenbashi toward Ashgabat we discovered roads that we’re pretty sure were built specifically to keep cars away. Veritable trenches and small hills of asphalt pockmarked the road and presented a significant danger to our cars already banged underbelly.

The going was incredibly slow, a test of both our driving and our patience, not made easier by the Turkmeni nationals zooming by at speeds designed to bounce their cars into the nearest junkyard.

The roads soon proved their danger to our car. Suddenly, we heard quite a bit of noise coming from the roof, a sort of bumping sound. Stopping the car, we immediately saw what it was – our roof rack had once again come loose only this time one of the holders was gone. We took a long walk back along the road but couldn’t find anything. It was lost.

One thing we can say for ourselves is that we tend to be good at solving problems; this particular didn’t present much of a challenge and after propping the rack up with a rock from the side of a road and protecting the car roof underneath it with a sponge – also from the side of the road. The construction was secured with lots of duct tape, and we were good to go.

Around halfway to Ashgabat our hunger had occupied most of our minds and a roadside “Kafe” – the first we’d seen of civilization for a while – popped up with perfect timing.

Inside, we had carpets to lie and eat on and there was a small kitchen in the back with lots of interesting smells wafting our way.

Intrigued, we started communicating with the gents running the place and the only other guests – a couple of truck drivers in the middle of polishing off a bottle of vodka.

The food was great – a chicken broth, some fresh vegetables, pickles, homemade bread and more. Apparently it’s a crime to eat without downing some vodka, and our truck driver companions were quick to remedy our conundrum – although luckily our driver wasn’t pushed too hard.

We continued to eat and chat with our new companions and the Kafes “head chef”/owner/cashier/person who showed us the kitchen and gave us food, thoroughly enjoying the laughs they provided.

Upon leaving the Kafe guy followed us out and had a look through our car  when he found something he seemed to like – a bottle of Swedish vodka. This was something he had to have. Nothing is for free though, and after some negotiation we happily swapped our bottle for one of his own local Turkmen vodka.

Another 150km or so of the roads from hell and they eventually gave way to something close enough to “flat” for us to push along a little fast, an in no time at all (lots and lots of time, after sunset) we arrived in Ashgabat.

We set about finding a hostel to stay the night, something that turned out to be significantly easier said than done. We found a couple of the places marked on our map but were turn away without even getting a look from the receptionist – “full”. A couple of other places didn’t seem to exist anymore. We continued searching and spent a couple of hours driving around the city looking for room but being turned away at every stop. Not a single one was willing to talk to us or point us in the direction of another hotel/hostel, in fact most didn’t even say a word – just waved us away.

At almost midnight we finally found a place that would allow us in, and quickly took our chance. Tomorrow – a day in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan!

Actual Date: 30 July – 1st August 2012

Location: Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan

The ship had been a good time – meeting with a bunch of other rallyers, sharing stories like the ones you might have read here, trading tips for the road and generally having a good time.

Meals were cooked with camping equipment on the roof of the ship, guitars were played, songs were song, dances with Azerbajdjanis where had, the sun was enjoyed (and despised), and everyone seemed to grow a pair of sturdy sea legs.

In the late afternoon we reached Turkmenistan, and anchored the ship outside the harbor to await our turn to dock.

A few hours and much impatience later it had gotten dark but we finally started moving again – it was time to meet Turkmenistan!

We should have learned by now to never speak too soon.

We slowly moved into the harbor, the massive ship being guided by smaller tugboats. As we neared the obvious point in the harbor where we would disembark, even us landlubber rallyers started noticing that something might just be off.

As it turns out, the winds were just a little too rough so we had to turn back and try again in the morning. Worth noting is that, at this point, most all of the rallyers (us including) had more or less run out of food and water for the ferry. It was an interesting night with much rationing and little spending of energy.

Interestingly enough, it was a a sign of things to come. Maybe we should be getting used to that?

The next day our ship was able to dock without problems around 9am as the wind had all but died down, so we quickly made our way to the terminal and entrance to Turkmenistan.

Things seemed to be relatively quick and organized at first – “First, those who already have visas will be processed, then those with letters of invitation and embassy letters will be processed”. Simple enough, sounds effective.

For all of us, it was our first date with Soviet bureaucracy. After few hours of waiting outside, trying our best to construct temporary shade in the blistering desert sun and finishing the little remaining water, it was our turn to start the process, so we headed to the little window in the big building and handed in our passports.

In this building and the one next door there were many little booths and offices, seven of which we would be finding and visiting.

Since we left Baku none of us had been able to get any reception on our phones – they simply didn’t work in Turkmenistan. This was particularly unfortunate since we had been given the contact info to some gentlemen at GAC, the global shipping and logistics company, who we were hoping might be able to give some tips or do a bit of translating. Finally, late in the afternoon we managed to borrow one of the guards cell phones and call out to our contact.

Around 20 minutes later GAC had sent a representative fluent in Turkmen and English who quickly answered any questions we had and facilitated communication with the border workers. Finally, we had some vague idea of what was going on and how much time was left and we were even given help in getting hold of a local sim card so we could get a phone working.

Finally, after 13 hours of border fixing, at around 22.30 we rolled out of the terminal and turned the car towards Ashgabat.

Tired and hungry, we drove just out of town and managed to find a secluded spot in the desert where we quickly made camp and dove in for a sleep.

(PS no photos at border crossings so you’ll have to make do with these, us after ca 3 weeks “in the field”)