ASHGABAT, Turkmenistan—The billboard depicts white sandy beaches blanketed in sunshine, hotels with gleaming marble facades and swarms of vacationers enjoying a frolic in the pristine waters of the Caspian Sea.
The reality is somewhat different.
If, however, swimming alone in frigid waters under a haze of refinery fumes in one of the world's most opaque and repressive regimes sounds like your idea of a good time, then you may be in luck. Welcome to Avaza, a glitzy multibillion dollar resort city that has risen in just over two years from the shores of the Caspian Sea in the remote western reaches of Turkmenistan.
President Gurbanguly Berdymukhamedov is eager to re-brand his energy-rich state—best known for the bizarre antics of late dictator Saparmurat Niyazov, which included renaming the months of the year after his family members and outlawing gold teeth—as a holiday spot for those members of Russia's burgeoning middle-class eager to avoid the throngs that regularly crowd more popular destinations like Egypt and Turkey.
The transformation of this isolated stretch of seaside real estate into a "Dubai on the Caspian" is a top priority for a Turkmenistan eager to prove it is opening up after nearly two decades of isolation from the outside world. The breakneck pace at which the first five luxury hotels were completed seems to illustrate the seriousness with which the leadership is taking the endeavor.
But while the white marble hotels that have sprung up along the chilly Caspian waters may be aiming for the laissez-faire opulence of the Emirates' premier destination, they fall rather wide of the mark—think less summer sun at the Burj al Arab and more Jack Nicholson hacking away at the Overlook Hotel's doors in Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining."
"It is pie in the sky and from the beginning we were all skeptical of its success.... They are really under the illusion that they can make a tourist zone on the Caspian despite the freezing temperature of the waters most of the year," says Annette Bohr, a Central Asia expert at U.K.-based think tank Chatham House.
"It's rather in line with the rest of their thinking—grand ideas that don't have much basis in reality. Prestige is the name of the game. They have this idea that if you undertake these grand projects that your prestige rises in the eyes of the West."
Indeed, grandiose and logic-defying construction projects are hardly uncommon in Turkmenistan, a desert nation believed to hold the world's fourth-largest reserves of natural gas. In fact, the projects are so much a part of its DNA that it would be difficult to imagine the country without them.
From the nation's independence from the Soviet Union in 1991 until his death from heart failure in 2006, Mr. Niyazov, an ex-Communist party boss known for his erratic behavior and penchant for building golden statues to himself, transformed Turkmenistan into something between a medieval fiefdom and Stalinist amusement park.
Mr. Niyazov's whims and obsession with ancien régime grandeur—he was reportedly enamored of Versailles—drove a construction boom that remade the country in his larger-than-life image. Whole neighborhoods of the capital Ashgabat were bulldozed to make way for the ubiquitous marble-clad high-rises and neo-Ottoman palaces that lend the city its peculiar atmosphere and sense of weightlessness.
The 75-meter-high Arch of Neutrality, topped with a golden statue of Mr. Niyazov that rotates so it always faces the sun, became the capital's central landmark. Monuments to the Ruhnama—a rambling and incoherent tome of poetry and philosophy penned by Mr. Niyazov that was compulsory reading during his rule—also dot the country. In Ashgabat, an entire building is shaped like the open book.
So when President Berdymukhamedov announced that he'd be allocating $5 billion for the construction of a luxury resort complex in a locale that could only generously be called less than hospitable, the project quickly moved ahead despite slim odds of it ever drawing tourists or being economically viable.
If Turkmenistan aims to offer a less congested experience than its tourism-oriented competition it may, in fact, be successful. Making one's way to a country rivaled in its isolation only by North Korea is so difficult logistically that its hotels sit empty almost year round.
"How will foreigners get to Avaza? What about Turkmenistan's onerous visa regime? The Turkmen have talked about a visa-free zone in Avaza, but what if tourists want to travel to the historic sites, will they be allowed to leave? How about customer service? Food services outside of the hotels? Activities and options for tourists once they get to Avaza? None of these issues have been seriously addressed," a Western diplomat based in Turkmenistan said under the condition of anonymity.
"Unfortunately, Turkmenistan's top-down, centrally planned approach is ill-equipped to handle decentralized tourism."
The Turkmen government didn't respond to a request for comment.
On a visit in 2009 to one of the newly completed hotels, I was the only visible guest in its hundreds of rooms. Two giggling staff members in the cavernous banquet hall where the buffet-style dinners were served at—and only at—their allotted time confirmed that I was the first foreigner they'd ever met. Previous guests had been employees of the various government ministries that own Avaza's hotels.
And in November, I was unable even to reach the resort city. Scooped up by the secret police in the center of Ashgabat just 12 hours into my most recent visit, I was given 72 hours to leave the country or face two criminal charges and deportation. My crimes? Staying in an apartment that, despite having been found through a rental agency, apparently lacked the license to rent to foreigners; and using a mobile Internet device within three blocks of the presidential palace.
Those few intrepid travelers who do manage to leap the bureaucratic and logistical hurdles required to make it to one of the most remote regions of one of the world's most isolated regimes will find themselves face-to-face with Avaza's considerable terrestrial problems.
The resort is located just over 11 kilometers upwind from the port-city of Turkmenbashi, which plays host to the country's largest oil refinery, a hulking Soviet-era behemoth that lends its considerable fumes to Avaza's ambiance.
Standing on a marble balcony branching off one of the hotel's three-room executive suites—a bargain at $108—a string of distant offshore oil platforms flare their gas in unison, and for an instant it seems that not one, but seven suns are setting behind the inky black horizon.
Still, despite a peculiar underdog charm, Turkmenistan lacks many of the basic amenities that any holiday traveler would likely consider a deal-breaker, such as access to basic medical care and the rule of law. Indeed, Washington-based think tank Freedom House gave Turkmenistan its lowest possible rating of "not free" in its 2010 Freedom in the World report. Ashgabat shared its dismal position with such other hot tourist destinations as Eritrea, North Korea and Somalia.
You are free, however, to make up your own mind about Avaza. That is, of course, if you can get there.
The reality is somewhat different.
If, however, swimming alone in frigid waters under a haze of refinery fumes in one of the world's most opaque and repressive regimes sounds like your idea of a good time, then you may be in luck. Welcome to Avaza, a glitzy multibillion dollar resort city that has risen in just over two years from the shores of the Caspian Sea in the remote western reaches of Turkmenistan.
President Gurbanguly Berdymukhamedov is eager to re-brand his energy-rich state—best known for the bizarre antics of late dictator Saparmurat Niyazov, which included renaming the months of the year after his family members and outlawing gold teeth—as a holiday spot for those members of Russia's burgeoning middle-class eager to avoid the throngs that regularly crowd more popular destinations like Egypt and Turkey.
The transformation of this isolated stretch of seaside real estate into a "Dubai on the Caspian" is a top priority for a Turkmenistan eager to prove it is opening up after nearly two decades of isolation from the outside world. The breakneck pace at which the first five luxury hotels were completed seems to illustrate the seriousness with which the leadership is taking the endeavor.
But while the white marble hotels that have sprung up along the chilly Caspian waters may be aiming for the laissez-faire opulence of the Emirates' premier destination, they fall rather wide of the mark—think less summer sun at the Burj al Arab and more Jack Nicholson hacking away at the Overlook Hotel's doors in Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining."
"It is pie in the sky and from the beginning we were all skeptical of its success.... They are really under the illusion that they can make a tourist zone on the Caspian despite the freezing temperature of the waters most of the year," says Annette Bohr, a Central Asia expert at U.K.-based think tank Chatham House.
"It's rather in line with the rest of their thinking—grand ideas that don't have much basis in reality. Prestige is the name of the game. They have this idea that if you undertake these grand projects that your prestige rises in the eyes of the West."
Indeed, grandiose and logic-defying construction projects are hardly uncommon in Turkmenistan, a desert nation believed to hold the world's fourth-largest reserves of natural gas. In fact, the projects are so much a part of its DNA that it would be difficult to imagine the country without them.From the nation's independence from the Soviet Union in 1991 until his death from heart failure in 2006, Mr. Niyazov, an ex-Communist party boss known for his erratic behavior and penchant for building golden statues to himself, transformed Turkmenistan into something between a medieval fiefdom and Stalinist amusement park.
Mr. Niyazov's whims and obsession with ancien régime grandeur—he was reportedly enamored of Versailles—drove a construction boom that remade the country in his larger-than-life image. Whole neighborhoods of the capital Ashgabat were bulldozed to make way for the ubiquitous marble-clad high-rises and neo-Ottoman palaces that lend the city its peculiar atmosphere and sense of weightlessness.
The 75-meter-high Arch of Neutrality, topped with a golden statue of Mr. Niyazov that rotates so it always faces the sun, became the capital's central landmark. Monuments to the Ruhnama—a rambling and incoherent tome of poetry and philosophy penned by Mr. Niyazov that was compulsory reading during his rule—also dot the country. In Ashgabat, an entire building is shaped like the open book.
So when President Berdymukhamedov announced that he'd be allocating $5 billion for the construction of a luxury resort complex in a locale that could only generously be called less than hospitable, the project quickly moved ahead despite slim odds of it ever drawing tourists or being economically viable.
If Turkmenistan aims to offer a less congested experience than its tourism-oriented competition it may, in fact, be successful. Making one's way to a country rivaled in its isolation only by North Korea is so difficult logistically that its hotels sit empty almost year round.
"How will foreigners get to Avaza? What about Turkmenistan's onerous visa regime? The Turkmen have talked about a visa-free zone in Avaza, but what if tourists want to travel to the historic sites, will they be allowed to leave? How about customer service? Food services outside of the hotels? Activities and options for tourists once they get to Avaza? None of these issues have been seriously addressed," a Western diplomat based in Turkmenistan said under the condition of anonymity.
"Unfortunately, Turkmenistan's top-down, centrally planned approach is ill-equipped to handle decentralized tourism."
The Turkmen government didn't respond to a request for comment.
On a visit in 2009 to one of the newly completed hotels, I was the only visible guest in its hundreds of rooms. Two giggling staff members in the cavernous banquet hall where the buffet-style dinners were served at—and only at—their allotted time confirmed that I was the first foreigner they'd ever met. Previous guests had been employees of the various government ministries that own Avaza's hotels.
And in November, I was unable even to reach the resort city. Scooped up by the secret police in the center of Ashgabat just 12 hours into my most recent visit, I was given 72 hours to leave the country or face two criminal charges and deportation. My crimes? Staying in an apartment that, despite having been found through a rental agency, apparently lacked the license to rent to foreigners; and using a mobile Internet device within three blocks of the presidential palace.
Those few intrepid travelers who do manage to leap the bureaucratic and logistical hurdles required to make it to one of the most remote regions of one of the world's most isolated regimes will find themselves face-to-face with Avaza's considerable terrestrial problems.
The resort is located just over 11 kilometers upwind from the port-city of Turkmenbashi, which plays host to the country's largest oil refinery, a hulking Soviet-era behemoth that lends its considerable fumes to Avaza's ambiance.
Standing on a marble balcony branching off one of the hotel's three-room executive suites—a bargain at $108—a string of distant offshore oil platforms flare their gas in unison, and for an instant it seems that not one, but seven suns are setting behind the inky black horizon.
Still, despite a peculiar underdog charm, Turkmenistan lacks many of the basic amenities that any holiday traveler would likely consider a deal-breaker, such as access to basic medical care and the rule of law. Indeed, Washington-based think tank Freedom House gave Turkmenistan its lowest possible rating of "not free" in its 2010 Freedom in the World report. Ashgabat shared its dismal position with such other hot tourist destinations as Eritrea, North Korea and Somalia.
You are free, however, to make up your own mind about Avaza. That is, of course, if you can get there.
