Wandering around Ashgabat, I had Land of Sunshine, the song by Faith No More, looping in my head. The capital city of Turkmenistan, is blisteringly dry and hot, dumped in the middle of the desert. It also holds the record for the highest density of buildings made from white marble, which bounce the sun right back in your face, blinding you.

I’d come to Turkmenistan to shoot a documentary series for Netflix called Dark Tourist about offbeat travel destinations. This also led me to Fukushima, Japan, for a spot of nuclear tourism; smalltown America, where I was tortured in an extreme haunted house attraction; and Medellín, Colombia, where I saw the sights with Popeye, a former hitman for Pablo Escobar.

The Asian Indoor and Martial Arts Games – impressive even without a dose of ketamine, as administered to Farrier without warning by a medical team. Photograph: David Farrier

While researching the show I’d been told that Turkmenistan was “the new North Korea”, a bucket list destination for the daring traveller. I’d heard that the hermit kingdom bordered by Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Iran and Afghanistan had an egomaniac leader who hated animals and had an atrocious record with human rights.

There was a reason we weren’t allowed to leave the city limits: that would spoil the illusion

Turkmenistan doesn’t exactly embrace a free and open press, so when I entered the country last September, I did so under the guise of a sports reporter. Somehow Turkmenistan had negotiated to host the Asian Indoor and Martial Arts Games, an official Olympic event for which it constructed a $5bn (£3.8bn) village. Huge stadiums, a monorail system, indoor and outdoors sports arenas and giant sprawling highways were surrounded by brand-new hotels, apartments and malls.

Turkmenistan has the world’s fourth-largest natural gas reserves, more than the United States, but it isn’t exactly spreading the wealth. Much of the population outside the capital is impoverished. There was a reason we weren’t allowed to leave the city limits: that would spoil the illusion.

Citizens carry a picture of Turkmen president Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov through Ashbagat, a city where political dissent is not allowed. Photograph: STR/AFP/Getty Images

Walking around Ashgabat, blinded by an ocean of marble, I felt terribly alone. Athletes limped around, as security watched on, but this was no Rio, attended en masse by the public. It was very, very quiet. I could see why locals were said to call it the “city of the dead” under their breath.

President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov’s smiling image was on the front page of the paper you’re given on the plane flying in, projected on screens over Olympic arenas, and ever-present in the city. Shopping malls sold framed posters of him you could pop on your bedroom wall. If you had a camera in tow, locals refused to talk about their leader. Even if you didn’t, they only nervously said good things. This is a city where political dissent is not allowed.



Independent human rights monitors are not allowed into Turkmenistan, but Human Rights Watch notes that torture is still a “grave problem” in its prisons. It’s unknown how many people have been jailed for political reasons, and those locked up have no idea when they will get out – they are simply “disappeared”.

‘Just navigating the Olympic Village was fraught with frustration and nonsensical bureaucracy.’ Photograph: Jacob Bryant

Oppression permeates all parts of life: in preparation for the games, officials forcibly removed air conditioning units from apartment buildings, saying they were an eyesore – leaving residents to deal with temperatures of over 40C.

And don’t even think about being gay in Turkmenistan.

With that in mind, I was curious to see Berdimuhamedov at the games’ opening ceremony. The last time he was at a major sporting event, he face-planted off his horse (state media turned a blind eye). But just before we were due to leave for the arena, after a particularly hot and testing day, I was leaning on my hotel room mirror – and my hand went directly through it.

I ended up in an ambulance. It was like a prop from a film set – there were shelves and medical kits, but they all appeared empty

Bleeding everywhere, my hand sliced open, I made my way down to the lobby. The shocked staff didn’t know what to do. One of them seemed intent on making sure I paid for any cleaning due to the bloody trail I’d left from my room to lift – not to mention a new mirror.

I could see the cracks in the facade of normality. This was a new city that didn’t know how to cope with anything that wasn’t preplanned. Our crew had experienced it all week – just navigating the Olympic Village was fraught with frustration and nonsensical bureaucracy. Guides steered us where they wanted to go. It was illegal to leave the city limits. Public transport made no sense. There was only one way to do anything.

Eventually I ended up in an ambulance. It was like a prop from a film set – there were shelves and medical kits, but they all appeared empty. At the hospital, I filled out forms I couldn’t understand, and hospital staff carried out blood tests. They were friendly and caring, but you could feel the uncertainty in the room. Everything was new. After hours of waiting with a blood-soaked towel wrapped around my hand, I was taken to a brand-new operating theatre and, without warning, given a hearty dose of ketamine.

A giant star atop the city’s ‘wedding palace’. Photograph: David Farrier

I left my body and entered a multicoloured box that reflected all the colours of the rainbow back at me. My consciousness drifted around in this box; I thought, “I should get back to my body sometime, or I will be dead.” I reflected on what I’d seen in Ashgabat, all the giant structures that seemed built purely to be awarded world records. The world’s largest indoor ferris wheel. The world’s largest star.

Maybe that’s why Faith No More had been banging around in my head the whole time I’d been in Ashgabat – the band’s logo, two squares superimposed to form a star, also served as this city’s main motif. It was everywhere. The airport, part of that $5bn dollar spend for the games, is shaped like a giant bird – another world record. I’d go there for that airport alone, to be honest.

Ashgabat airport, built in the shape of a giant bird. Photograph: World Record Academy

Eventually I blacked out, and then I woke up.

Later, released on to the street, the assistant director and I giddily made our way to the opening ceremony of the Asian Indoor and Martial Arts Games. Still slightly high on ketamine, the lyrics to that 90s song bounced around in my head: “Prepare for a series of comfortable miracles / From fasting to feasting / And life to you is a dashing, bold adventure / So sing, and rejoice.”

Those words seemed so appropriate for this city trying so painfully hard to show off how impressive it was, with its sparkly new buildings and an opening ceremony that put Rio’s to shame. Still somewhat euphoric from the ketamine, I spotted Berdimuhamedov a few stalls over. He was a tiny figure: unimpressive, flanked by various officials. He was grinning his head off. This was his time to shine – if only anyone was watching.

David Farrier’s Dark Tourist is on Netflix

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