Strolling Baku & The Hash House Harriers (Baku, Azerbaijan)

April 19^th, 2010 - Discount airlines, catch the fever. I purchased a ticket on Fly Dubai for $85 one way to Baku, Azerbaijan. I neglected to prepay for my checked bag online. I erroneously believed this to be of little consequence and was summarily punished for my insolence. When I arrived at the counter I was slapped with a $50 excess baggage fee (more than double the online fee). It was listed in the fine print on my e-ticket but as I have never experienced such a phenomenon I failed to notice the warning. Stupid.

My second 'kick in the junk' came after my arrival at the airport in Baku. Price of a one month visa? $131. Muchas gracias. I found it a rather amazing coincidence that this was the exact price of my visa in Bangladesh. $131? Why not $131.43 if you really want to be a-holes about it? Well, as it turns out this is actually a reciprocal 'Go F Yourself' aimed at the United States because that is the price the US charges nationals from Azerbaijan, Bangladesh, and a host of other countries. Azerbaijan claims to be attempting to woo foreign tourists in an effort to expand tourism. I'm no marketing manager but I am fairly sure charging an inflated price for a visa is not the way to go. Then again, who the hell am I, really?

Beguiled by Baku (Baku, Azerbaijan)

April 23^rd, 2010 - Azerbaijan has a history so complex you almost have to read five or six books to get a handle on the last 30 years, let alone that last few centuries. You won't find many people recommending Azerbaijan in general and Baku in particular as a tourist destination. In fact most will probably tell you to avoid it entirely, often advocating a stop in Georgia instead. I am not one of these people. Although I cannot speak for the rest of the country so far I have found Baku fascinating. Any attempt to come to grips with Azeri people, their history, and culture will lead to both exhilaration and exasperation. Enigmatic, paradoxical, contradictory. Welcome to Azerbaijan.

It is a true crossroads both geographically (Eurasia/Middle East) and culturally. Modernity has found Baku but a five minute walk past extravagant boutiques and froufrou restaurants is like transporting yourself back to the Soviet era. Some of the structures look so forlorn you are certain no one lives there right up until a small elderly woman out of a Russian novel with 'Babuska' for a nickname comes shuffling out of a dark corridor. After she almost gets creamed by some a-hole in a $120,000 Mercedes in front of a mosque you realize you are in a unique place. Oil may have created a large 'boom' but the reverberations only reach so far. There may not be enough natural gas to heat everyone's home but Yamaha Waverunner's can be purchased to circle oil and gas platforms in the Caspian (assuming you have the dough of course). 

Mud Volcanoes & Dead Guy On A Camel (Gobustan, Azerbaijan)

April 27^th, 2010 - Smiling is out. Stoic melancholy is in. You know what they say, when in Rome. I've read that this general lack of enthusiasm is cultural in nature. People do not generally smile at strangers on the street and woman rarely make eye contact with males in public. I've even read that random bouts of smiling might be interpreted as a consequence of mental retardation, although I feel that may be a bit of an exaggeration especially with regards to a foreigner. The phenomenon is even more pronounced in the business world as maintaining a serious countenance is considered a sign of professionalism.

So I guess I'll give it a shot and put on my grumpy face when roaming the streets. Not such an easy task as I've found a simple smile useful for breaking the ice in much of the world. Heeeere.....not so much. The problem is that the more I try to stifle my smile reflex the more I want to laugh. Facing down individuals who seem unnaturally serious given the circumstances does nothing to help my ability to practice self-restraint.

Yesterday, a friend and I (a German gentleman named Sascha) rented a 4WD and headed south. Our agenda: oil fields, mud volcanoes, petroglyphs, tank graveyards, and random incursions into the countryside. Just two yahoos and a Hyundai Tuscon. What more do you need?

On to Zaqatala (Azerbaijan)

May 3^rd, 2010 - I finally left the Azerbaijani capital of Baku and headed to a city in the northwest known as Zaqatala. An eight hour bus ride was made easier by my new guide, a Peace Corps volunteer stationed in the area. I met her through my Couchsurfing host in Baku who had also been a volunteer. She invited me to 'surf' at her place in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains in the north of Azerbaijan. I graciously accepted. 

The eight hour bus ride crosses through all nine of Azerbaijan's climate zones starting in the monotonous flatlands that dominate the central region and ending in the shadow of the Caucasus Mountains. As this appears to be a rainy time of year (the weather has been abysmal) the countryside is a rich verdant green. The contrast between the outlying regions and Baku goes far beyond landscape. Walking the streets of central Baku one can detect a distinctly European pulse but once you leave city limits you are thrown right back into the Soviet area.

My stay here has become somewhat of a 'A week in the life of a Peace Corps' experience, one I have enjoyed immensely thus far. Unfortunately, I have not seen a whole lot of the surrounding area due to the rains that have continued nonstop for the past week or more. Hopefully, this will change soon. I have not had much time to sit down and pound out a lengthy update but hopefully I will catch up soon.

Ye Old Church (Near Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 5^th, 2010 - Rain. Rain. More rain. That constitutes Azerbaijan's weather pattern for the past week and a half. Lovely. Most of my time has been spent shadowing a Peace Corps volunteer. Some of her fellow volunteers started a monthly series where a guest speaker is invited to talk at a local village, the idea being to foster community interaction and involvement. Unfortunately, the Russian Judo master that was scheduled to speak canceled at the last minute. Luckily, they had a back-up plan that entailed a wayward wanderer from Upstate New York regaling the locals with his travel tales. Guess who that was?

The turnout was modest to say the least due in no small part to the relentless rain that was assaulting the region. It is probably what explains Mr. Judo Master's absence. The folks that did show up came with the belief that a martial arts expert would be sharing his story and possibly putting on a demonstration. Initially, one of the volunteers wanted me to impersonate said Judo master and even present the small group of men with my own creative martial arts exhibition. Although intrigued by the thought of such comical subterfuge I was not totally comfortable with this situation. Not sure how the village folk would react to the ruse. Getting my ass beat by a group of disgruntled Azeri men was not what I had in mind, as much fun as that would be. Otherwise I would have been on board. Why not? That's just funny.

No Country For Young Women (Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 15^th, 2010 - Where the hell am I and what the hell have I been doing? Well, I've just landed in Tbilisi, Georgia and as far as my activities go I hardly know where to start. Before I backtrack allow me to share a short tale. I came close to landing myself in a pickle while crossing one of the land borders from Azerbaijan to Georgia. My visa clearly stated that it was valid until May 14^th, 2010 but Immigration Soldier Guy tried to tell me that it actually expired on the 13^th. That's intuitive.

After relaying this tidbit he chucked my passport to the side and went on with processing other folks. I just stood there with a stupefied look on my face and began to ponder. I called my friend in Zaqatala, told her I may have a problem, and requested that she remain on alert. I waited and watched Mr. Border Guard make calls and type things on his computer for 20 minutes or so. I drafted a text message that simply read 'I'm in trouble' just in case I needed to send a quick distress call. Fortunately, I was granted permission to disembark and proceed across the bridge to the Georgian side. All that worrying for nada.

After exiting the border area I had a ring side seat to UTDFC (Ultimate Taxicab Driver Fighting Championship). I began to negotiate a rate to Tbilisi and in the process may have precipitated a brawl, although I cannot be certain I was the proximate cause. I have a feeling the two combatants had a history. While I was negotiating with three different cab drivers a fourth pulled up and addressed me as well. One in particular seemed to take offense with the interloper and words were exchanged. The situation escalated when the interloper pulled over and exited his vehicle to add a more personal touch to the confrontation. It got ugly and before I knew it punches were exchanged. I felt it best to get into my cab of choice and make my escape. I love it when men fight over me.

Chicken Head Kissing Corner (Qakh, Azerbaijan)

May 16^th, 2010 – Southeast of Zaqatala in Northwest Azerbaijan is the city of Qax/Qakh (pronounced Gakh). Every year in the spring a ceremony is held at a small dilapidated Georgian Orthodox church/Albanian temple perched on a nearby hilltop overlooking the area. Although I never got specifics the idea is to remove a cross from a cistern of water symbolically ushering in dryer weather and bid farewell to the rainy season (It is returned in the fall to beckon the rains). 

At least I think that is the purpose. To be frank I am not entirely certain. What else is new? Folks (as in ethnic Georgians) come from across the border in Georgia and surrounding villages in Azerbaijan to pay their respects. I was invited by my friend Amy to join her and some of her fellow Peace Corps volunteers for a visit to the church. I have always been a fan of exotic aquatic ceremonies so I happily agreed to tag along.

Unfortunately, we arrived too late to see the cross removal but it was still well worth the visit. This was another one of those times where I had no idea what the hell was going on but was happy to trudge ahead in a heightened state of blissful ignorance, a state that has become all too familiar on my voyage.

Hilly Dead Folk (Above Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 17^th, 2010 - When someone tells you there is an ancient graveyard perched atop a hill overlooking the valley around Zaqatala you give yourself a pat on the ass and get cracking. I was given directions but, like always, I missed the mark and bypassed the trail head. That's just what I do. Luckily, I could see the hill leading to my destination so I only needed to cut across a river, through someone's backyard, and up the steepest part of the hill I could find. Yeah, baby.

That's just what I do. It might have been disagreeable if the forest were not so enchantingly alluring. The forests of northwest Azerbaijan feel a little like the stomping ground of Robin Hood though I did not see any merry roaming about (just a guy I presume to be a hunter carrying a shotgun with a peculiar look on his face. Not unsettling at all). It is the kind of place where elfin villages would not be out of place and where you should watch your step so as not to pulverize a smurf. Yeah, you could say the forests are a peaceful place.

Personality Cult and Donkey Bloggers (Balakan, Azerbaijan)

May 18^th, 2010 - My gracious Peace Corping Zaqatalan host and I hopped on a marshrutka and made our way to the town of Balakan not far from the Georgian border. This city's most dominant feature is the rather grandiose park dedicated to Azerbaijan's late president, Heydar Aliyev. This dude continues to be a phenomenon in a creepy Heaven's Gate cult sort of way. You cannot escape him. There are large billboards of his likeness and monuments similar to the one in Balakan plastered all across Azerbaijan. 

They recently commemorated his birthday with a festival involving flowers. No one really even seems to know the name of the festival, a point I find rather amusing. Commemorating a dead president's date of birth is one thing (Washington, Lincoln, etc.) but continuing to mark his age (his bones just turned 87 by the way) starts to bridge the gap between a healthy tribute and North Korean Kim Il Sung nuttiness.

Foothills of the Caucasus - Part I (Near Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 19^th, 2010 - My friend Amy (Peace Corps Muskateer) had an idea to head to a mountain village not far from Zaqatala and do a little camping. The only public transport is an Amphibious Assault Vehicle (minus the assault, I like the way it sounds) over a riverbed that departs every other day….or not. Once there her plan became a bit nebulous as she was not entirely sure where we would camp, what route we would take, or how we would even get back. My kind of plan.

What she did know was that an A.A.V (minus the assault) did leave from the bazaar at 3 pm on Sunday. Getting in was taken care of. Getting out? Weeellll… The trip in was unique and involved a bone jolting ride over a rocky riverbed with a river crossing here and there for good measure. I really had to hold onto the bread for dear life.

The bread? The guy sitting next to me had bags of homemade bread he was transporting to his village. At one point he switched seats and left me in charge of bread stabilization (it was situated on top of a metal barrel and therefore under constant threat of cascading to the floor). Bread is not just a dietary staple in Azerbaijan, it skirts the realm of the sacred. Letting the sacred bakery product touch the floor would be a little like using it to clean my rim. An exaggeration? Perhaps, but only a slight one.

Foothills of the Caucasus - Part II (Near Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 20^th 2010 - After the picnic a la montagne our new friends escorted us to the top of the hill and pointed us in the right direction, a route that was to take us on a loop to another riverbed that would then lead back to the one from which we entered. From there we would be able to follow the river back to Zaqatala hopefully hitching a ride on the same vehicle we came in with……theoretically. The next couple of hours were spent meandering downhill where we eventually connected to a small valley with a stream leading towards a village on the edge of the juncture where we would hang a right.

Not long after a short lunch and just before the stream we were following reconnected with a larger river (which would then connect us with the riverbed we came in on which would lead us back to Zaqatala…..theoretically) we encountered a gentleman by the side of the stream hailing from the nearby village. Clearly, our arrival perplexed the hell out of him. We might as well have been Martians. That is not to say he was unhappy to see us. In fact, he was elated. And for good reason. He lives in an semi-abandoned village (peopled with farmers and animal herders) where only five families remain. He himself sent away his wife and children so the latter could attend school. They do return in the summer but I have to believe the solitude to be overwhelming at times. As you might expected any distraction from the monotony is a welcome one. Arif was quick to offer an invitation to his home. We were quick to accept.

Foothills of the Caucasus - Part III (Near Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

May 21^st 2010 - So we spent a night on the riverbed crossing our fingers that on the morrow the amphibious vehicle that brought us in would take us out. You know what they say: Wish in one hand, shit in the other. At around 11:30 pm I awoke to a light shining from the distance. I cracked the tent flap to see headlights approaching from the direction of the mountain village from whence we started our trek. I roused Amy and we both sat there mesmerized by what was unfolding. What the hell were we looking at and what the hell was a vehicle doing trolling the riverbed around midnight? Besides being dazed and confused we were also…..well…scared a little poopless.

It was like an evil beast that had been stirred from its dark lair and was coming to engulf all that was in its path. Had we been more on our game we would have got dressed and attempted to wave down said leviathan which we assumed was headed towards Zaqatala. Instead we just stared like startled deer frozen by the lights of oncoming traffic. That was probably for the best. From what I could tell it was an antiquated hauling truck used to gather rocks and gravel from the riverbed and was probably driven and staffed with one or more intoxicated mountain men. I cannot imagine what they were thinking when they happened upon our neon orange tent. I am a bit surprised (and relieved) they did not stop to inquire. No doubt they had probably heard of our incursion into the area.

David Gareja Monastery (Southeast Georgia)

June 21, 2010 - I jumped into a Tbilisi cab to discover that the middle-aged driver was an avid fan of Tupac Shakur. He cranked it up because he knew I was down with that shit. Although his English vocabulary consisted of about four words he managed to convey his disillusionment with the cost of obtaining a visa from the United States. I almost got the feeling he was blaming me and hoping I had the authority to make things happen. About all I can do is rhyme about it…..to keep it real…..yo.

Yesterday I ventured to an isolated group of ancient monasteries (Orthodox Georgian) skirting the border of Georgia and Azerbaijan in a southeastern section of Georgia. The area contains twelve monasteries (there is a 13^th on Azerbaijani soil) and is known as David Gareja, after a guy named David that founded the original. I visited the two most accessible and, if the guide book is correct, the two best preserved. The first is known as Lavra and is a functioning religious community with resident monks and all. Lavra is the site of the original caves used for sleeping quarters and religious contemplation. David (one of the thirteen so called Syrian fathers) brought a style of religious asceticism previously established in the Middle East.

On the hillside above and behind Lavra sit the remains of the Udabno Monastery. Along with a stupendous view of the savannah-like plains of this part of Georgia and western Azerbaijan you will find a series of caves that comprised the monastery, to include the refectory and main church. The monastery (i.e. caves) are in shambles but religious frescoes are still visible on the walls and ceilings of some of the caves. The entire monastery complex has seen its share of cycles of destruction and rebuilding as a result of countless invasions (Turks, Persians, Mongols, etc.).