What I can say is that the surrounding land belongs to the Murghab oasis, where a river born in the Afghan mountains fans out into irrigated fields, then dies in the sand. This is one of the oldest farming and trading landscapes in Central Asia, and everything around here is shaped by water and by the lack of it.
The rides that pass through connect some of the great medieval sites of the region: the mosque and mausoleum of Talkhatan Baba, the shrine of Yusuf Hamadani, and the Akja Gala caravanserai, a reminder that merchants once crossed this country in long camel trains between Persia and the cities of the Silk Road. Nearby Merv, a vast ruined city that was once among the biggest in the world, is on the UNESCO list, and its mud-brick walls rise from the plain like the bones of something enormous.
The riding is long, straight and very quiet. Roads across the flat desert plain can run for dozens of kilometres without a bend, and heat shimmers on the tarmac from May to September, when temperatures soar above forty. Spring and autumn are far kinder. Wind blows sand across the surface, and the occasional camel crosses without any sense of urgency. Fuel in Turkmenistan has long been cheap, but stations are spaced widely, so top up whenever you can and carry water, because there is no shade for miles.
Turkmenistan is also one of the most tightly managed countries to visit, with visas, permits and routes that need to be arranged in advance, so plan rather than improvise. The reward is a landscape that few foreigners ever see, and a hospitality you might not expect from its official image. Villages are low houses, bright carpets and children who wave from the doorways. A glass of green tea and a piece of flatbread are never far away when you stop.