The Game Is Afoot

Here’s the deal:

There are three ways to get to Central Asia, aka “the Stans”: Russia, Azerbaijan, and Iran. The latter was never an option for me, nor was it presently for any others as bordering Turkmenistan - difficult to enter in the best of times - was shut tighter than a whale’s asshole. Russia had just reopened and some riders were indeed starting to make it across, but as an American with a dubious claim to ownership of this motorcycle, I didn't dare. That left Azerbaijan, from which one can hitch a ride on a cargo ship across the Caspian Sea to Kazakhstan. I had looked forward to this three day voyage more than anything, but unfortunately Azerbaijan's land borders had been closed for more than two years, and despite rampant speculation, showed no indications of reopening. 

I would have to ship Strom, but nobody wanted to touch a bike without proper papers. Giving up was simply not an option, because if I couldn't get Strom across the Caspian, that'd be it. Game over, thanks for playing. Dickhead wins.

I want to tell you what I did, but alas I cannot, because reasons. Suffice it to say, I left Strom with a man, and a week later we were reunited in Kazakhstan. The specter had been exorcized.

Surely the fine people of Kazakhstan would revive my spirits with their kindness, so while Strom crossed the Caspian, I took a quick sojourn to Armenia, where I picked up many small bottles of their famous brandy. After my touching experiences in Kurdistan, I vowed never to be caught without a gift again.

Spoiler alert: Muslims don't drink.