#balkanbat

I’m reminded of Balkanbat as I step aboard the Virgin Atlantic flight back to London Heathrow. That glowing grid which appeared out of the darkness as we edged towards Delhi more than 13 months ago. It seemed so contained, so manageable, so appealing. I was fearful of India, of its chaos and heat and poverty. For a moment I had wanted to abort the journey, to land in Balkanbat amidst the warmth of its ordered street lights. I looked it up at some point. Western Turkmenistan. Formerly Neftedag. A source of petroleum and natural gas. Maybe I’ll visit one day but for the moment that is enough. I have plenty to digest.

India… always something new, always something different. But it’s only now as I prepare for landing, for the return to a more familiar life, that I know what I want to hold onto, to keep in mind.  Nights spent in the jungle, the desert, mountain caves. The surge of the Ganga, from glacial meltwater to flame-licked resting place. The sudden silence of a stadium, dreams of a final ball victory cruelly shattered. Jam sessions in buffalo sheds and mud huts, on city rooftops and station platforms. Days that passed from glistening lakes to skies of angry black. The fluorescent fizz of the Sundarbans, the sharp outline of Macchapucchre.

The ability to sit in silence, to accept discomfort until it melts away. To shower with a bucketful of cold water and not utter a word, yet more to enjoy it. To bring a baby goat from the brink of death, yet more to see it die. I learnt to build steps giving equal attention to every stone, from the largest slab to the smallest piece of grit. I learnt to inhale the city, to let it spread through my being. To stand in queue while others push past, yet more to push ahead myself, elbows jutting.

I learnt to cook mutter paneer, to play Kabaddi, to pluck the sitar. To sing in Nepali, count in Hindi, nod with a waggle of the head. I learnt to harvest coffee and tea, in ways that sustain the natural environment. To ride a camel, to catch a scorpion, to milk a goat. I learnt to keep my wallet and my mobile somewhere other than my pockets, especially on the metro. That I shouldn’t teach English, nor get overly stressed by 10-year-old children. Nor assume that I can resolve conflicts that I don’t understand. I learnt to know what I have, where I come from, and why that matters. But also that it needn’t define me.

Soon after crossing the Caspian Sea, leaving the last of the rich red sunset behind us, we passed over a small town identifiable only by the gridded glow of street lights. A softer, less discriminate scattering of light surrounded the main hub, giving the effect of dying embers as the town became hinterland and morphed into an endless black of land-sky. From the contained comfort of the cabin, I wondered what happened there, who lived there, what history had given to its rise. On a journey into the unknown, blanketed in darkness, this place provided a momentary connection to what lay outside, what lay beyond.

It was six years since I had last ventured outside Europe, a rocky return flight from Havana coming on the back of trips to Subsaharan Africa, the Antipodes, and South East Asia. In earlier years my parents had seemingly filled my childhood with ambitious trips to far flung lands whilst at home we had a steady stream of foreign visitors passing through the door. Now I feared I had grown too accustomed to the routines and modern comforts of Western Europe, too passive to the many pulls of 9-5 office work and too hesitant about taking on new challenges.

I looked to Soph, plugged into the in-flight entertainment next to me. We had been together more or less since my return from Cuba and it felt right that we should deepen our understanding of each other amidst less familiar surroundings. I checked the flight path. We were still three hours or so from Delhi and I could hear the flight attendants preparing our final meal. Bringing up settlement names on the screen in front of me, I settled on Balkanbat in Turkmenistan as the glowing town beneath us. I promised to find out more about it later.