Ashgabat: Where the Soviet and Desert Jazz Meet (And Sometimes, Things Go Off the Rails)

ah, ashgabat. the place where i first realized not every city has a ‘vibrant’ spirit. opposite of that, really. this city is more like… a polite ghost with a grudge. let’s start with the boring stuff. according to some nomads on reddit-numbers that won’t quit-you can rent a one-bedroom apartment for $350 a month near the main square. that’s cheaper than a donner kebab in stanford. but safety? forget it. one friend said she got mugged for her coffee while using a ride-hailing app. i’d say that’s just the ‘unwritten contract’ of ashgabat. don’t put your headphones on indoors. ever.

okay, history fanatics buzz about the denovement palace. yeah, that’s it. built in the 50s, finished in ’79. now it’s like a skeleton of grandiosity, crumbling but still trying too hard. i once stayed in a hotel with a room that smelled like old hairspray and soviet optimism. contrasting with the actual history. ashgabat wasn’t some bustling port or anything. it’s tulans-buried underground-and a bunch of rubble from a terrible earthquake in ’68. the city’s not trying to hide that. in fact, there’s a memorial right next to a mall. weird, right?

*but here’s the tea: ashgabat’s baghdadi connections make it feel like a weird saudi-influenced hybrid. not that they advertise it. the currency? nts. basically, your dollars buy about 15 loaves of bread. i tried bargaining at a market once, offered a local 10 nts for a souvenir. he said no. i walked away feeling like a tourist who forgot to pack shame.

the weather here is like… existential. right now, it’s that weird mix of blistering sun and humid-ness that makes your skin feel like hydrolyzed collagen. locals just say it’s ‘ nedenímco’-summer chill, but i’d argue it’s more ‘garden party in a furnace.’ drive 45 minutes to otrar and you’ll find lazy rivers and people who still use donkeys. drive longer, and you hit the aral sea. which is now a dustbowl. i mean, ashgabat’s 70% concrete, so at least we’re not all dust everywhere.

here’s where it gets messy. this old guy i heard on the metro-someone who claimed to be a ‘disillusioned consultant’-dropped wisdom while eating a kebab. he said ashgabat’s job market is ‘held together by desperation and a guy who sells internet in a van.’ tech? there’s some remote work, sure. teaching? if you’re a language nerd. but construction? everyone’s on it. because the city’s a half-finished comic book. they’re rebuilding turkmenbashi avenue, which is basically a neon-lit strip mall that was supposed to be a boulevard. it’s… something.

and the writers? forget it. the local coffee shop has a single laptop for sale by the door. i bought it for 50 nts. it worked once. my friend’s laptop? it’s haunted. she says it types random phrases in turkmen at 3 a.m. like a broken ouija board. which is probably just a virus. either way, it’ll never boot up again.

if you’re into weird historical tidbits, the berdjan mausoleum is like ashgabat’s sarcastica funerary. it’s a giant domed tomb for a 19th-century religious leader. built in 1899. now it’s boarded up and used as a cat den. i asked a girl near the entrance why no one maintains it. she said, ‘it’s too expensive. not that we care.’

i asked another this week: ‘how do people live here?’ she said, ‘they forget. or they have nothing better.’ seems fair. the mixes of ashgabat are… disproportionate. like, old soviet yurts next to luxury villas. some of those villas have infinity pools. infinity pools! in a city where the average salary is $400. don’t get me started on the internet. speed? 2g in the park. 4g if you bribe someone with $10.

here’s the final data point: cost of living. rent? $350. food? maybe $200 for a month. but that’s fresh produce. processed meat? you’re buying by the pound, like in a meatpacking plant. healthcare? 3 nts for a single paracetamol. i once saw a doctor charging 500 nts for a stitch. that’s $40. still, better than a hospital in kabul.

one last thing*: ashgabat to bishkek is a 3-hour flight. if you’re a nomad, burn through your savings on that. bishkek has more trees and less drama. ashgabat’s vibe is… cement, maybe. or collective trauma. there’s a park with a broken fountain. kids play in the mud. adults shop on algae. it’s not beautiful. it’s not broken. it’s just… there.

check out this link for insane hostel reviews: tripadvisor ashgabat hostels. or read ravenous rants on reddit’s ashgabat subreddit. and if you want to waste money on a meal, try this yelp beef kebab joint.

i won’t recommend ashgabat to everyone. but if you’re a nomad who likes chaos, data, and cheap iced coffee, this city’s your thing. now go smell bread. literally. you’ll need it later.

Ashgabat: Where the Soviet and Desert Jazz Meet (And Sometimes, Things Go Off the Rails)

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About the author: Nora Quinn

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