When it comes to man-made disasters it’s still hard to top the Aral Sea disaster (for now); created by the Soviets in their attempt to turn some of their annexed territories (the Stans of Central Asia) into productive cotton growing regions. It worked. They diverted rivers from the Tajik Pamirs to feed the thirsty crops and soak the arid lands of Uzbekistan & northern Turkmenistan. BUT … in doing so they sapped the replenishing of river water vital to the Ural Sea: once the 4th largest inland body of water in the world.

RESULT = disaster. Since the 1960s the lake has shrunk dramatically. The fishing port town of Moynaq is now about 170 km from the shores of the sea. Fish stocks are extremely low (due to increased salinity in water) and no fishing, canning or ship-building industries have existed since the 80s, leaving 1000s unemployed, the town is getting deserted as men leave to Russia and other regions looking for employment. And the once mild climate has changed: shorter, hotter summers; longer colder winters. Along with a regular and unhealthy dose of salt, sand, dust storms causing widespread respirary problems.

The day I visited it was freezing Siberian winds, deserted, dusty blowing streets, teasing sleet amid heavy overcast skies, with only ocassional glimpses of the sun (around sunset). The perfect brutish weather for this made-man hellspot, I reckoned. Big blue, sunny skies didn’t seem right.

MRP adds to the disaster …

I drank a bottle of red wine (and later 1.5 litre of 7% beer) to get into the vibe and fight off the chill amid the isolation of stranded, rusty, wrecked ships sitting amid sand and scrub. During the afternoon, I was joined by a couple of young lads who saw the ships as a great playground and then much later a local wedding party turned up to pose at dead-sea vista point, where the coast once was; some group photos for a few freezing minutes. I was invited to get in several vodka toasts … which I did. And from that point my memory deserted me: evaporating away into space – like the emptying sea that I’d come to contemplate.

Crammed in a mini-van with the women of Moynaq; the driver spoke English and talked about when he was a boy, swimming and fishing in the Aral Sea – that sea now over 150 km from Moynaq

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