Olympos – Olympos is a relatively concealed and close-knit community of hostels and beach-style tree-house cabanas. Very few tourists visit the location, which is filled with backpackers, hippies and Europeans trying to get in touch with their inner child. The town is located 200m from the beach and surrounded on all sides by ancient ruins dating back to the Hellenistic period, and spruced up by the Greeks and Romans in later years. Ruins sit in the jungle along the coast waiting to be discovered, and the rocky beach offers cliff-jumping opportunities along with crystal blue swimming waters.

Fethiye – This small, Mediterranean coastal city is exactly what the doctor ordered for yachters and wealthier travelers. With a charming cove harbor where you can dock your boat directly in front of sea-side restaurants and cafes, what isn’t to like? A castle overlooks the entire scene from atop a hill, and ancient Greek and Roman crypts draw history buffs from around the globe, who can climb atop and even inside the crypts to wonder at ancient methods of entombing the dead. Old town is particularly nice, and offers exotic shopping, eating and drinking opportunities.

Ephesus – While classified more as the Aegean than the Mediterranean, Ephesus hits the top five list because of its amazing history and coastal location, and because early trade routes indicate that Ephesus was in touch with more to the east and west by sea than previously assumed. We enjoyed the ruins of Ephesus, and the nearby ancient cities and religious sites. It would be easy to spend weeks here.

Malaga – Located in southern Spain, Malaga is known for its wine, its castle and its impeccable sense of style. While expensive, this city makes the list because its wide, clean boulevards were filled with live entertainment and bohemian human art. The castle, while groomed and recently rebuilt, still offers great views of the Mediterranean, the harbor and the city itself, making it a fine place to spend a few days if you can afford the luxury digs.

Tunis – The capital of Tunisia sits directly in the Gulf of Tunis, which protects the city from wind and water without hampering the amazing Mediterranean views. The water is warm and teeming with fish, which gives the residents of Tunis opportunity to board themselves in tiny boats and run pattered grids across the harbor at all hours of day. Tunis is close to Carthage, or Roman legend, and offers shopping, spices and a real Middle Eastern atmosphere of entrepreneurship.

We spent a day in Plovdiv walking around and admired the Old Town. Luckily, we met a couple from Australia who were on a honeymoon-backpacking trip, which was interesting in itself, and they had a guidebook specifically on Bulgaria. Matt and Lauren perused through the “around Plovdiv” section and discovered several things that were not even in our guide. We decided to go to a Monastery that was only about a 40-minute bus ride away. Once we announced that we were going, we ended up with a whole group of people interested in seeing the Monastery.

The next morning we got up late and left even later after gathering everyone together. We took the long way to the bus station and walked around the alleys of Plovdiv for a good 30 to 40 minutes before we arrived at the bus station. It didn’t take long and we found the bus to the Backhovo Monastery for a pleasant ride South. We played 3-person cribbage and I, of course, lost again on the way to the old Orthodox site. Once we arrived, it was only a short walk up the hill and we were already at the church. There were several Orthodox clergy walking around the grounds. We had all been told that it was possible to stay (sleep) in the monastery so we were all carrying our packs along with us. Unfortunately, no one was really willing to put us up inside or out, and they directed us to a hotel towards the bottom of the hill.

The monastery was nothing special and looked just like all the other Orthodox churches we had seen; The exception being the surrounding building, which looked like lodging for a large number of worshipers / clergy. After looking around, we all got really hungry and returned to the foot of the hill for a quick lunch. The honeymooners decided to head back to Plovdiv. They looked pretty disappointed with the excursion when they left. However, Matt, Lauren, another traveler – Tim, and I decided to start up the modest hiking trail. The monastery had been slightly disappointing so we ascended with lowered expectations.

Camping Intruder

We saw a few other buildings, which were closed down for the season, and continued to hike past obvious camping grounds that had signs NO CAMPING everywhere. Several hundred meters father, we came to a huge clearing that was amazing. The leaves were just starting to change, and we found ourselves in the middle of a vast field, flanked by mountainous treed hills. After admiring the view, we were all invigorated to go on. Next, we came across an Orthodox pilgrimage site up the hill. It was a tiny chapel surrounded by massive Tim Burton – esc trees. There was a pool, feed by a natural spring in the middle of the chapel. The whole experience was becoming a little surreal, after the ordinary morning, we had all experienced.

Farther up the hill we came upon another small wooden chapel built on the side of a cliff and beyond that, yet another church at the top. The inside of the church had beautiful frescoes and paintings, as did the other chapels. Perhaps I appreciated this more because I had been in China and Central Asia so long, but it seemed to me that the church and chapel were buried in a very dense forest. After months in the deserts, we shared great moments of happiness walking through the forest paths.

Tim, although impressed with the location, was in no position to camp – as he had intended to stay at the monastery overnight. After a quick warning about how cold it was about to get, Tim departed to catch the last bus back to Plovdiv. Lauren, Matt and I stayed and we immediately got to work. Lauren set up a campsite, then kicked up her feet while Matt and I collected firewood for the next hour and a half. After collecting enough firewood, we got ready for the fire, waited for dark, and then started up the fire. Luckily, Matt brought a water purifier, so we went to a nearby waterfall and purified some water for cooking. We all sat happily around the fire, which burned for the remainder of the night – fortunate because it was really cold compared to the nice weather we were used to while in Turkey.

Lauren in a bus

Although we had made a pact never to take another night bus, we found ourselves booked on the 12:30pm bus from Fethiye to Aydan, where we would connect with a mini bus at 4:30am to Selcuk, which is 3k from Ephesus. Things did not go at all according to plan. We attempted to catch a wink at the hostel in Fethiye before the 12:30 bus, so we set up our sleeping bags on a bench on the hostel’s patio. Apparently that particular street is a major racing artery in town, and rap-blaring convertibles laden with hip-hop impersonators were roaring past at maximum volume.

Needless to say, we hardly slept. We got on a mini bus from the hostel to the otogar (bus station) where we boarded our large, luxurious and pleasant bus to Aydan, 4 hours away. We slept well, but 4:30am came too soon and we found ourselves wiping away sleep from our eyes at the otogar. There were no buses in sight- anywhere. The connecting bus we had been told would be there was nowhere in sight.

We waited in the lobby for a while as cockroaches scurried about their business, and by 5:30 we heard the call to prayer and found a mini bus driver who would take us to Selcuk. I fell asleep on this minibus, and woke up in Soke. Apparently we had been duped. The driver took our money for the ride and left, leaving us once again feeling miserably tired and confused. It was 7:00. We got another minibus to Selcuk, this time going in the right direction, and we arrived in town by 8:30. We were harassed from all sides in Selcuk by vendors, bus operators and hostel owners. One particular gentleman stood out as more our age, so he drove us to his hostel on the hill overlooking town. No more night buses! We put our hands into a circle and reaffirmed the pact we had made after the crisis to Olympos on the first Turkish night bus.

Now situated comfortably in Selcuk we surveyed the surrounding area. We geared up for a long day and set off to see the Temple of Artemis and St. John’s Basilica. The Temple of Artemis is one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. It was, at one point, the largest such structure in the world with 127 columns that stretched high into the sky. Today there is only one column left with a giant stork’s nest resting on top. There is little around the ruin except a swamp full of ducks and a few peddlers selling statues of Artemis.

The nearby St. John’s Basilica is more impressive. St. John (the disciple) visited Ephesus twice, and wrote his gospel while sitting atop Ayasuluk Hill, which is in modern day Selcuk. His remains rest nearby. After Christianity was no longer persecuted by the Romans, Emperor Justinian had a church built atop St. John’s tomb. What remains today is rather confusing, since signs on the grounds say the body of the disciple was long ago removed. The church and surrounding area is little more than rubble with support columns standing haphazardly. The view, however, is astonishing, and I can see why John decided to write from that spot.

In the background at the base of the hill is an impressive mosque built in 1375 after the Seljuks lost control of the region. Behind the mosque and overlooking St. John’s Basilica is the even more impressive Byzantine citadel, which looks largely intact. It was closed due to restoration work on the interior complex, but the outside offered an amazing view of the city walls and buttresses.

After visiting these impressive historical sites we walked back to the hostel and took a nap, then had a nice dinner in the downtown area. We decided to sit at one of the many roadside tea houses after dinner and play a game of Rummikube. Five elderly men sat with us and taught us how to play, and were so friendly that we stayed quite a while enjoying their company before retiring for the night.

Sinop Harbor

Trabzon and the magnificent hanging monastery of Sumela disappeared in the distance behind us as we boarded yet another bus heading West. Our goal was to go from Trabzon’s main bus station to the Samson station, half way to Sinop along the Black Sea Coast. For better or worse we arrived in Samson behind schedule at midnight and discovered that there was no minibus into town. The bus station was in the outskirts of Samson, and we were not in the mood to spend money and time getting to a hotel just to wake up early to catch another bus. We hastily pitched our tent near the bus station in a field next to a row of wind-break trees. It was dark, creepy and ominous not knowing what else was in the field, but since the frogs and birds were chirping it became a soothing kind of nature as we quickly jumped in the tent and fell asleep.

We awoke to the sound of barking dogs, the only concern in my mind. People you can reason with and explain that we were just camping on their property for the night—you can’t reason with a drooling dog. A farmer emerged through the field and called the dogs off of us just as I was reaching in my bag for a blunt object to protect us with. The farmer simply walked back through the corn stocks and we headed towards the bus station. It was 7am, and our bus, we discovered, left at 8:30.

After a light breakfast we were on another bus heading West….a déjà vu kind of feeling. Sinop was our destination and we had heard great things about the small coastal town. I caught up on my sleep and we arrived by early afternoon and checked into a pension. The owners were two friendly old men who gave us a discount simply based on how pathetic we looked. We cleaned up, showered and changed out of our camping clothes and reemerged to startle the proprietors, who hardly recognized us in our new and clean state.

Sinop was bustling with activity, and we quickly followed the noise towards the harbor, where people of all colors were drinking tea, playing chess and backgammon and smoking. We grabbed a table at a harbor-side café and had a few beers while we watched the fishermen haul in their catch. With Ramadan over, people around us were snacking and we jumped on the bandwagon and headed off to find food of our own.

Mike succeeded in finding beers, which he bought to drink on the harbor. I found some juice and we sat on the dock dangling our feet over the side playing cribbage and watching the sunset.

Because it was such a restful place we were tempted to stay another day, but having made arrangements to meet a friend in Ankara, we had to push on. We checked out of our friendly Pension and waved goodbye to the two proprietors who had been so kind. We took a local bus to the long-distance bus station and boarded yet another bus, this one heading to Kastamonu, mid way between Sinop and Ankara. But we had other plans in mind, at Kastamonu we got on another bus to Safranbolu, and ancient Ottoman town that has survived intact to this day!

Water Pumping

Having arrived in Yusufeli without a map, we had to rely on shabby LP written directions to get us a place to sleep. We have not had good luck with these in the past, but luckily since we were so exhausted after the 4 minibuses that day, we found the place within a half hour. We walked through the very quiet town of Yusufeli to Green Piece Pension. Reading our guide, we were tipped that there were places to camp here, which really appealed to us because we were somewhat shocked at the inflated prices in Turkey, or at least in comparison to everywhere we had been. We walked across a creaky suspension bridge that made Lauren’s stomach churn and down a gravel road for less than 1 k. Nestled next to a rolling stream, several vegetable fields, and rocky hill tops in every direction, this was a great place to stay.

The friendly family immediately showed us the camping area and within a few minutes, our camp was all set up. The nice thing about Green Piece, was that we could use their facilities, which included a restaurant, wifi, warm showers, and bathrooms. Over the next several days, as we really took a liking to the place, it rained 5-6 times a day. I was joking with Lauren that it was a lot like Seattle. Coincidently, we also heard a comedian’s joke about Seattle on my iPod, “You know what they say in Seattle, if you don’t like the weather, just wait 5 minutes and then shoot yourself in the face.” – Probably a little dark for the blog, but the rain was actually really refreshing and the rain lulled us to sleep in the tent at night. We also got a lot of work done on the site. It was funny making a few Skype calls from our tent – as the fact that we had wifi in a tent was ridiculous, but I made a point to tell everyone where we were. Traveling is not what it used to be, huh?

One thing that did not take us too long to pick up was that there was a shortage of food!!! Yusufeli was a very religious Muslim town. We realized this the first night when the 5:00 am call to prayer blared on for several minutes and woke us up in the middle of the night. We also quickly learned that it was the festival or “torture” of Ramadan. Ramadan, a Muslim “holiday,” is a long period of fasting. This made people irritable, hungry, short-tempered, and ill-humored. It was also difficult for us to find food as all the food establishments were closed. It also made me feel guilty to eat in front of the family when they couldn’t eat from sun up to sun down. The lesson learned was, and we had heard it before: Don’t go to Muslim countries during Ramadan. Unfortunately, I don’t really keep track of things like as they usually don’t apply to me. They did in Turkey. We were able to cook a few meals in the kitchen as well. They told us we could use the kitchen, but I am not sure how happy they were about it. We also saw several whitewater rafting groups come there while we were there, a man from Holland who had been riding around on a motorcycle for a year and a half, as well as another Dutch couple with a camper who lived in St. Martin. Besides the great company we had while we were there, the slow atmosphere of the mountain city as well as the trekking around the village, made it a worthwhile place to plan and time the rest of our trip up to Ankara.

The Minibus

Having crossed several borders, with shady officials and legitimate ones, we have now crossed the easiest border on the planet between the Republic of Georgia and Turkey.

Georgia has no visa requirements, but welcomes everyone to their country. Turkey sells visas for $20 a pop at the border crossing, a simple sticker and a quick scanned copy of our passports was all that was needed. They did not check our bags, or fingerprint us, or ask if we had the swine flu, or rob us, or tell us their political views. It was as if we were going from one friendly place to another, which is exactly what we were doing.

We left the beach in Georgia in the morning and caught a simple, 1 GEL bus to the Sarpi border. From there we simply walked across the Georgian side with a wave and an exit stamp, and we were in Turkey! A friendly border guard pointed us to the visa purchasing office, and we bought the required stickers and got the required stamps without hassle.
Once outside the barbed-wire fence we sat around waiting for a bus. Without any Turkish language ability we were SOL for a while before someone came up and offered to take us to Hopa for 4 TL a person, which seemed reasonable. Once in Hopa we watched everyone else pay 2 TL a person and had to grin a bit. Less than twenty minutes in the country and we were swindled. Typical, but we’re not in Georgia anymore, are we! And there was something special about Georgia, perhaps the shared religion, that made the people honest and kind and unable to cheat.

From Hopa we found a nice family who helped us onto another bus to Artvin. Here is where the world proved itself to be a great leveling device. Because the other bus driver had charged us double (and we had agreed in advance) we did not have enough money for the bus to Artvin. The driver took the money we did have, which was 4 less than the correct amount, and drove us all the way to Artvin without complaint. Hence, we ended up getting there for 2 TL less than a local would have. Ironic.

Once in Artvin we had to wait an hour for my stomach to stop hurling from the motion sickness. Hopa to Artvin was a winding, mountainous road that followed a raging river. We hurtled through the mountains without a care to the deathly drop-offs next to the bus, and without worrying about oncoming traffic or rocks in the road, or cows. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit just from looking over the edge of the cliff as we whizzed past. While we waited, our driver got in his minivan and put it in reverse and then floored it! His minivan was aiming right at Mike and I as we sat on a bench catching our breath. Everyone yelled and I propped by feet up on the bench hoping the metal frame would stop the van before it crushed me. Luckily the screaming worked and the driver got out of his minivan and looked at Mike and I (and a local sharing the bench). We still had our feet up, but thanks to the nausea we were more focused on not vomiting than not being hit by crazed, lunatic drivers.

Finally, we boarded the bus to Yusufeli, which was to be our destination for the night. We got in the mini bus (meant to hold 12, but now holding 18) and settled in for a long drive. Midway the road was closed due to an avalanche, so we all got out to throw stones at the river below us. A passenger got in the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse while trying to impress two female passengers. He rammed the minibus directly into a parked truck, rocking both vehicles precariously close to the drop off. Our driver came running, full of curses and wild hand gestures, to the passenger and berated him in front of the ladies—the opposite of his aim. We watched the whole event from the river bank, wondering how we’d fish out our belongings from the river if the car had slid in. Finally, as night approached, we made it to Yusufeli, having left Georgia that morning and taken 4 buses in the course of the day and witnessing two car accidents.

Camping in the Park

Bjormi National Park is a colossal nature preserve covered in a criss-cross pattern of winding eco-trails and camping grounds. For 5 GEL a night, we could camp anywhere in the park as long as we registered in advance. When we arrived in Bjormi, the registration center was closed for the weekend (thanks, Lonely Planet) but a friendly guard called the English-speaking receptionist who explained to me that we could spend one night in the reserve and meet her in the morning to register. We hiked, with all of our stuff, along a 3k trail that made a loop into the wooded reserve from the registration center on the fringes of town. About 1k into the trail our 50lb bags were weighing on us, and sweat poured from our brows in streams. We set up camp atop the wooded hill, and Mike set off to find fire wood while I read and stayed with the bags.

Around twilight I set up the tent and built a fire pit out of rocks that were strewn about the campsite. I broke down the fire wood into manageable sticks, and set up the interior of the tent. Darkness was approaching, so I got the Ramen dinner ready for the fire, then spent about thirty minutes pleading with Prometheus for fire. Mike had hiked into town for some snacks and wine, and when he returned he got the fire roaring via a clever trick he’d learned in Mongolia about using bark rubbed together in paper as kindling. We cooked our Ramen and gagged it down, having eaten the same Ramen meal multiple times already that week. We sat around the fire singing, chatting and listening to the forest around us. We were a bit paranoid about the black bears that live in the reserve finding us and thinking we looked just tasty enough to eat, but the wine solved that paranoia easily and we headed to bed when the fire turned to embers.

In the morning two hikers came upon our tent along the trail and loudly complained that we were a messy bunch who had wreaked the forest. Readers, upon our arrival the campsite was a mess, and obviously we didn’t leave any of our trash about. We even picked up other people’s trash in our bags to carry out. What we didn’t pick up were used, dirty dippers that were up on the hill side rotting, or other disgusting, partially biodegraded objects. The hikers yelled for us to clean up our mess and then stomped off without picking anything up. We got out of our tents and packed up our stuff and climbed down to meet the receptionist at 9:30, as we had previously organized. She never showed up, and the two climbers came down the trail behind us showering us in glares. Obviously we had no baby with us, did they think the dippers were really ours? Idiots! Need I point out that one of them was French?

At any rate, with the idiots behind us, and the receptionist nowhere in sight we tried to register to go back into the park but the guards would have none of it and sent us packing. When it was obvious we would have to wait until Monday to get into the park again we decided to leave Bjormi and head west. We walked into town and waited at the bus stop in a bummed-out mood. An elderly man in a fishing cap approached us and when we told him we wanted to go to Kutasi he told us to come back at 11:30. We found breakfast in town and returned at the appointed time, the old man had flagged down a passing van for us and had even rearranged the van passengers so we were sitting in the front seat with the driver. The driver was friendly enough, and kept telling me how much he adored Arnold Swarzeneggar. I used my limited Russia and he used his limited English and Russian, and we had a bit of a conversation as he peeled along curves that would kill us all if his attention shifted even a hair. It was a four hour drive to the next town, and I was petrified most of the way by our driver’s complete lack of concern for the drop-offs to his right or left, and with the screaming and wailing of the 25 passengers crammed into the 16 passenger van. Obviously, since I’m writing this, we made it to the next town without incident.

Hiking

Kazbegi is a mountain town nestled smack dab between South Ossetia and Chechynia, in northern Georgia. All around this peaceful and beautiful valley wars rage off and on while the serenity and peacefulness of this particular town and the surrounding mountains has been maintained for generations on end. Indeed, in times of turmoil in Tbilisi, artifacts would be rushed to this region for safe keeping from any invading force or political what-have-you.

I was hesitant to go north due to State Department warnings and because I read the news regularly and know that the border areas are about as stable as a three legged dog. But, after meeting several Georgians, travelers and even government workers who vacationed in the area, we felt assured, and packed a small bag to take with on our journey north.

The bus careened up a road in such disrepair that it does not deserve to be called a pathway at all. Our bus’ tires screeched along pebbles mere inches from drop-offs that would have decimated any vehicle unlucky enough to fall over the edge. They would have a hell of a time searching (and identifying) body parts should the bus tumble out of control. Rather than harp on the uncontrollable, I shut my eyes and woke up occasionally to the sounds of honking, squealing tires, and eventually, of the parking break.

Kazbegi was the classic cowboy town, with one main street through town (littered with cows on their way to greener pastures) and lined with tiny shops, cafes, and a few hostels. We bypassed all of these and found a café on the outskirts of town where we ordered a few beers and the only item in English on the menu: Plate of Meat.

After eating, we climbed the mountain behind the town to the church, which is where religious artifacts are kept in times of trouble. With heavy packs, the walk was grueling, but we made it fun with chatter and joking until we suddenly emerged from the woods to see the clouds breaking and light pouring over the tiny church as if God was peeling back the clouds for a look.

Strangely enough, when I entered the church a man approached me with a wrap-around skirt that he insisted I put over my jeans. Apparently the Orthodox church likes women to have their head covered and a skirt around their legs. After traveling through several Muslim countries, I was shocked that this was the most conservative religious experience yet: I was in long pants, hiking boots, a sweater, a head-scarf and now a wrap-around skirt. I looked ridiculous. I’ll never understand traditions like this, unless you grow up with it, it just comes across as odd.

We set up camp near the base of the church, and Mike made a small fire so we could cook some ramen noodles and tea (our camping staples) before watching the sunset and climbing into our sleeping bags and falling quickly asleep.

Gates of Hell

Dante readers beware, the “Gates of Hell” are very real. They are located in the middle of a vast, uninhabitable desert (not unlike the Biblical desert where Satan tempted Jesus) outside Darvaza, Turkmenistan.

Locals say that someone was drilling for natural gas in the desert when the drill hit an air pocket and the friction of the metal piping exploding at massive speed out of a rock hole caused a spark to ignite the reserve of natural gas, setting it eternally alite.

Today the crater is 60 meters across and easily 50 meters deep at its furthest point. The flames burst out of the crater fueled by the natural gas, but to the casual eye it looks as if the rock and sand are simply emitting an enormous amount of heat and flame. At one point there was a thick cable circling the crater to keep curious travelers at a safe distance, but the heat of the eternal flame managed to snap the cable, melting sections of it into piles of ruble, while other sections have become fused into the landscape.

For roughly a kilometer in every direction the earth is grey and lifeless, inhabited only by beetles, spiders and perhaps a wandering lizard. A strange coral reef looking rock sticks up from the grey sand in stalactite-like formations. All attempts to identify the rock online proved futile, though I’m no geologist. The remnants of a now unidentifiable machine rest all around the perimeter, and as I circled the area I found lizards and other creatures warming themselves on the hot metallic surfaces of various engine parts presumably belonging to the unfortunate drilling device that started the whole saga.

The wildlife around the dead ring of sand becomes more intense and is reminiscent of the creatures in Storm Troopers. Walking out to the crater at night with nothing but a flashlight and, naturally, a giant flaming crater to indicate the way, I managed to hit an angle with the flashlight just right so that in the distance I saw two tiny green gem-like lights glistening in the distance in the sand. I walked over to investigate and leaned in really close. The two gems turned out to be the curious blinking eyes of a spider the size of a golf ball, with his eight hairy legs extending out from there like so many reasons to run and hide. I slowly backed away and shined the light at the same angle across the landscape. All around me pairs of little green lights blinked like lightening bugs and panic rose in my whole body as my arms, thinking on their own, attempted to fly me out of there. I ended up with two flashlights, one scanning the distance for green gems to avoid, the other aimed at my toes so that if one came near my I could scream my farewells as my heart stopped.

We decided to camp out at the crater, obviously this decision was made before I knew an army of giant spiders inhabited the warm sands around the crater. We set up our tent, started a fire of our own, and cooked a simple meal while drinking beer from the cooler. (We are Americans, after all, why not tail-gate the gates of hell?) In the distance, the crater raged seemingly out of control, the flames licking the sky as if to snap the stars right out and gobble them up. We danced around our own little fire to the tuns from the portable iPod, and listened to Mike play the guitar with the fire from the crater cracking the percussion in the distance.

Morning came slowly as the sounds of the desert kept me wondering and imaging what was happening outside the tent. We boiled water in the morning for coffee and were on the road again by 9am. Twelve kilometers from the natural gas crater lies a crater of greater depth but lesser width that is filled with water. The water emits bubbles, indicating heat, but there is little information on the spring, or why the crater is so deep (at least 70 meters). All attempts to find a boiling miniature mud crater in the vicinity were in vain.

Despite the giant man-eating spiders (that get bigger each time I tell this story, naturally) and the bubbling water that could cook you alive, or the crater of fire that form the gates of hell, I still find Darvaza one of the nicest and most interesting natural wonder I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

For more information on Darvaza and Turkmenistan please see read about our Second Trip to the Gates of Hell and our Turkmenistan Destination Guide.