We landed in 115°F heat with no AC, no Wi-Fi, and 12 suitcases — and within an hour we were whispering ‘No turning back… right?’ to each other. Here’s what it looked like as we started carving out a life in Ashgabat.
Arrival, Unfiltered
We’d made it, we were officially on the other side of the world.
We had only been in Turkmenistan a matter of hours after completing our journey from Tennessee.
Read about the trip here: The Journey Part II
No AC, No Illusions
When we woke up, we took in our hotel room, larger than some apartments I’ve lived in. When we arrived the room was probably pushing 120+. Any hope of quick AC relief was immediately dashed. Only one worked, and it could not keep up. We ended up sleeping/living in the one room that had a working AC unit. We scrounged up two fans, one from the new school, one from the reception desk below and tried to make the best of it.
The best of it looked like all four of us-plus the dog down to our unmentionables hugging fans and slow roasting on the beds. It was too hot to breathe, let alone move.
Turns out this wasn’t quite the typical Turkmenistan welcome.
Our hotel wasn’t actually open. It was under renovations. We were there only because we had a dog, and “J” (the saint of a woman in charge of expat housing) called in a personal favor to get us a space. Living with pets is rare here, traveling with them—unheard of.
Balcony Nights and Survival Mode
The hotel’s biggest redeeming factor was the balcony. At night, when it dipped down to a cool, refreshing 95 degrees the kids would go out to draw and watch the night lights.
The kids were horrified by their first experience of their new home. No TV, barely any internet- it was pure torture to their 6 and 12 year old selves. Thankfully we’d downloaded about 100 hours of shows before we left… which we somehow managed to blow through in around 48 hours.
But the Websters are nothing if not scrappy. We went full camping mode. There was no going back at this point anyway.
Nightly drawing sessions on the balcony became our thing. And honestly—with views like this, who needs Wi-Fi? It wasn’t how I imagined life in Ashgabat would begin, but it was what we had—and it was enough. While the kids and Duston made the best of it, I was out most days sweating through government offices, trying to lay the groundwork for our new lives. I have no idea where I traveled in those first few days. The buildings here have a way of all blending into each other. The whole city is marble. White marble. In the full summer sun, it’s blinding. Every time I stepped outside, I was equal parts amazed and instantly lost.
Learning to Live Without a Map
I got my first look at my classroom (a far cry from public school funding). I went to my first grocery store (complete sensory overload). Every interaction was a mashup of people I couldn’t understand and people who couldn’t understand me.
Pro tip: listen to the people who actually live here, not the advertisers. We researched everything—especially phone plans. Google Fi swore we’d have service in Turkmenistan. The second we landed, our phones basically laughed at us. Cue days of hopping from weak Wi-Fi to weak Wi-Fi before we finally got connected.
Little by little we started venturing out. We met other expat families. Awkward conversations that were 90% hand gestures slowly started making sense. And then—finally—we saw our apartment for the first time.
It was jaw-dropping.
12th floor. Ceilings so tall I still tilt my head just to believe them. Rugs that probably cost more than my car back home. Solid wood and glass doors in every room (my personal “I’ve made it” marker ever since binge-watching Charmed as a teenager). The first time I walked in, I cried happy tears. I never thought I’d live in a place like this. And the cherry on top? Every building here comes with its own playground.
Finding Our Feet
Now all we had to do was get used to it and survive the culture shock: the people, the language (and trying not to accidentally call someone a “dog” when I meant to say “thank you”), and the new rhythm of life.
All that was left was to breathe it in and enjoy the fruits of all that chaos and hard work. And still—it feels like this is only the beginning.
We survived our first week without comfort — now the real adventure of building a life in a remote desert with finicky Wi-Fi begins.
Still, no regrets.
This is one piece of our life in Ashgabat—captured as it unfolded. Other moments in this journey explore what came before, what came later, and how this place continues to shape us.
Since then, our days here have settled into rhythms—occasionally broken by moments that pull us far outside them, like a recent hike into the Chuli hills.
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