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.

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.

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.