Baku
Bakı
Building in Baku
August 10, 2005
We awoke in Tbilisi, Georgia to get a cab to the bus station for the 9:00am bus
to Baku, but found ourselves out of luck, since only two buses go to Baku each week.
After inquiring how to get to Baku today, a man said that he could take us to the
border, then we can cross by foot, and get a bus at the border, which leaves every
half hour to Baku.
We got to the border extremely quickly; our driver said that we were going faster
than an airplane at one point… I don’t doubt it. The border was a mess and so we
went by foot out of Georgia, which was no problem and then across the “Kracny Most”
(Red Bridge) to Azerbaijan. Here we first showed our passports, then we went through
customs and declared everything along with a short interrogation. After this we
continued on to the actual passport control, where we had to wait a little.
We asked a young guard carrying a semi-automatic where the buses to Baku were and
he turned around, asked a guy in a mini bus if he was going to Baku and said that
after our passports are cleared to meet him on the other side of the fence. It took
a few minutes longer than expected due to Elizabeth's Bolivian passport, but
we crossed the fence and a man met us there, however not the driver. We said that
we already had a ride, but turns out this man was riding in the same car. This man
looked extremely Middle Eastern and I felt like I had truly entered a new country,
and soon this was supported by the new language, religion, and culture we were submerged
in... all vastly different from Georgia.
We got in the back of the mini bus with five other men; they said the price would
be $10 a person for the six-hour ride. The first hour was strange; we sat in the
back row looking at the balding heads of five Middle Eastern men with Arabic music
playing at full volume. At one point a police officer waved us over to the side,
but one of the men in the second row of seats leaned forward and waved to the police
officer, which made him immediately wave us on. Again I felt oddly relaxed and comfortable
in this seemingly uncomfortable situation.
We soon stopped at a wayside for what I assumed to be a bathroom break. I ran to
the outhouse, which had a hose flooding the small concrete room then returned. Like
everyone else I washed my hands in the public fountain-like sink and followed the
rest of the passengers to a nice little area not far from the mini bus.
They told me that we would be having lunch; the tables were little more than picnic
tables nicely decorated under the tree-covered area. I sat at the end of the table
next to Elizabeth. The man sitting across from me introduced himself as Omar then
the rest of the passengers proceeded to introduce themselves. They seemed nice enough,
but I was not hungry and had none of the local currency: manat. I, however had little
choice; it would have been rude to turn down not just the food, but their company,
so we joined and offered to pay in US dollars.
The first course was bread, flat lavash and bread sliced into thick pieces. With
this was a taziki type sauce, very good, but also very strong. Immediately afterwards
the salad came out. This was no different from Georgian food: tomatoes, cucumbers,
onions, peppers, and parsley. I went terribly wrong however at this point when Omar
insisted that I serve myself before him. I took food from the bowl and placed it
on my plate. As I looked around everyone else simply took one piece at a time from
the communal bowl with their fork, slowly eating away at the vegetables. I felt
bad, but Omar decided to follow my lead, probably to make me feel better, and put
some food on his plate, in much the same fashion I did.
Once I learned how to eat the salad I could very easily and subtly eat only the
tomatoes, peppers, and onions, skipping the cucumbers. We ate and talked about soccer
and hockey along with the numerous Americans in Baku. Omar said that there is a
lot of anti-Americanism in Azerbaijan and Baku particularly, but that he loves everyone,
except Russia, who he particularly hates. We talked about American sports for some
time and it was a nice relief that someone in the world outside of American knows
about football and it’s a shock that anyone in the Middle East knows anything about
hockey including being able to name every NHL team. I would say a city and he’d
give me the team, unbelievable.
Omar told me that he is a "businessman;" I guess this may explain why
we didn’t get pulled over earlier. I know better than to push any further so dropped
it and asked in which city he works. Omar works in Tbilisi along with the rest of
the men, they all work together and his nephew is the driver, but Omar owns the
car. I realized at this moment, confirming my suspicions, that we were not in a
public bus, but rather a private mini bus of "businessmen." They seemed
nice enough so I didn’t mind much and soon the main course came out, shashlik.
Omar told me to use the napkin to clean my hands and mouth every so often and that
I must eat the shashlik by hand. I did as he asked and found it to be quite good.
At this moment they also gave me Azeri lemonade, which was more like pear-flavored
soda, plus a bottle of vodka. It was 10:00am and I had little interest, but again
it would be rude to turn it down and the first toast is always to the guest. So
in between the salad and meat we had a shot of vodka and continued the toasting
until the bottle’s completion (mostly thanks to Omar and his friends) around the
same time we were finishing our shashlik. The food was good and Omar extremely intelligent.
Besides naming every NHL team he asked Elizabeth where she was from and he said
not only that the capital of Bolivia is La Paz, but also said that Bolivia has vast
amounts of natural gas, a fact few people outside Bolivia itself know.
Once we were finishing lunch, Omar explained that he was the boss so we could drink
in the bus. At this point he told us that lunch was his treat and then proceeded
to buy beers for the ride. We got in the bus after everyone had washed their hands
and we went on our way with beer in hand; two in Omar's hands.
The conversation went on and off for the rest of the ride as Omar first explained
to us that he is not a terrorist, I think to ease any fear we may have had then
proceeded to tell us about his position under Soviet rule. He is fluent in Russian,
Azeri, and German so he was an intelligence officer in the Soviet army for much
of his life. Nearer the beginning of the ride an Arabic song came on and he yelled
“Hoo-raa!” then sang along, after which our conversation continued as if nothing
happened.
I couldn’t help but notice Omar’s nephew continuously looking back at us in the
rear-view-mirror and laughing. His nephew is the son of his brother; however he
also has two sisters, all of whom live in Baku. We only stopped one more time, at
a bathroom that was little more than a trough at the side of the road.
We eventually reach the Iranian highway or the old Silk Road. The landscape here
resembled the stereotypical Middle East: completely arid, little to no plant life,
and in the distance what appeared to be nothing more than sand mounds at the end
of the lesser Caucus range. To the right lies the Caspian Sea. People were walking
the street, not hitching, just walking as if this were a different age, an age when
time mattered not and to hurry was to waste a greater gift: now.
As we approached Baku three things struck me, first the oil derricks to the right,
second a large plant with an eternal flame at the top and finally our Azeri friends
playing cards and smoking. I became Omar’s money drawer as he showed me the money
and explained how much each bill was worth in US dollars. Each man fell out one
by one until only two men had money left. Omar seemed upset at first that he was
one of the first to go, but he soon relaxed and looked out the window and occasionally
talked to us or insist we join him at his sister’s house over the course of our
stay.
After a long lull in conversation, Omar turned to me as asked if I thought Texas
could succeed from the United States. I was confused by the question, hesitated
then said no. I explained that they are truly American, although their past and
history may say otherwise and that in a different age it may have been possible,
but the sun has set on that day.
We were soon in Baku, stopping once at a mosque where every Muslim is supposed to
stop at to pray when crossing this sacred place. Ten minutes later we were at Marty’s
building (Elizabeth's friend) and had no trouble finding her. We grabbed a cab
and went to her house; a beautiful building fit for a king, oil baron, or ex-pat.
After settling down and grabbing water from the shop we went to eat at an Indian
restaurant.
Marty explained that she doesn’t like Azeri food, but life isn't bad since there
are many western and ethnic restaurants in the city.
August 11, 2005
We slept in today, getting up late, watching some TV in English, grabbing some food
and carpet shopping for a bit. The food was a schwarma, a type of kebab that is
only meat and pickles... I had no problem footing the 40 cent bill. Elizabeth was
itching to shop and I was itching to spend some time people watching so we split
up.
Most carpet shops I visited didn’t appeal to me, except one in particular. There
was dozens of silk sumacs, but the prices were steep. I soon found another place
with the same sumac essentially, but for about half the price. At one place I walked
in during the call to prayers. The owner was participating in the prayers and I
was careful not to disturb him as he spoke aloud and turned his head from side to
side in a very ritualistic method.
Once finished with his prayers, he showed me beautiful silk carpets for a thousand
dollars each, I observed, enjoyed, but soon left and headed back to meet Elizabeth
for dinner at a Georgian place and off to watch more TV. Typically I would
never want to watch TV on vacation, especially American TV, but I had been living
aboard on and off for two years all the while without a TV, so I was thrilled.
The Azerbaijan Soviet Socialist Republic
August 12, 2005
I bought my carpet that I had my eye on and the salesman, Samir was great. I was
happy with my purchase and was soon off to the apartment to wait for Marty. Dinner
was at a Georgian restaurant with some of Marty’s friends. The food was good, Georgian,
but the atmosphere made me realize that the ex-pat life is not a life for me. The
highlight of the night was when a kid of about 12 who spoke perfect English along
with about 5 other languages named nearly every world capital as we quizzed him.
This kid was from Baku and I really liked him.
I travel to submerge myself in the culture and many, although not all ex-pats never
submerge themselves into the local culture. One man in this group did just
that and was married to an Azeri. He had to meet her with her parents for quite
a few dates before being allowed to go alone. Additionally, he was not allowed to
touch her until marriage.
Azeri's live and die on connections so don’t necessarily work hard, because
it doesn’t matter. The women work hard however, because it’s the only way that they
can succeed I was told.
At one point these ex-pats were talking about how there are stickers you can buy
from the police so they don’t pull you over. I asked if that is bribery, but they
said it’s simply a service to the foreigners and that the sticker only says that
the driver doesn’t speak Azeri or Russian so the police shouldn’t pull them over;
it saves the foreigner a hassle you know. Of course then I asked where you buy it
and they said that a local must buy it because you need to speak Azeri or Russian
to talk to the people to buy it.
If I was Azeri, or for that matter any foreign person where there are American ex-pats
working I would probably not like America since most of these ex-pats don't
even try to learn about the culture or language.
People must see the faults in their own society first and then maybe you can try
to change another society, but not by force, by education. However, how can I change
someone else before I first change myself? How can people be so blind?
Baku opera house
August 13, 2005
It's Saturday and I got up early to see the city walls, the palace of the Shirvan-Shahs,
the Maiden’s Tower, on to a carpet shop, and finally to eat caviar before heading
out of town.
I only decided to have caviar since this is the source of the world's best caviar,
however I don't think I'll have it again.
For dinner we got another cab and headed out to an Azeri restaurant, which our driver
recommended. The setting was nice, with a waterfall and stage as the tables were
set throughout the yard. I had a lulə kebab, basically ground up lamb meat and small
bits of fat to bring out the flavor.
Half way through the dinner the music began and kids started dancing, this is where
one could definitely tell we were in a different culture, the kids danced with odd
leg kicks and foot twists as they slowly moved in a circle with long hip movements
resembling the music's tempo and beat.
We left before it got too late, and after dinner we met up with some of Marty's
friends. One of them told me that by wearing shorts in Azerbaijan it means that
I'm gay, but it's has been too hot to care, nor does it really matter what
most people think about me.
August 14, 2005
I left Baku today and everywhere there were billboards of Həydar Aliyev, the former
president. His son is now president and there seems to be a cult of personality
of sorts... although not a good old-fashioned cult like Stalin, Mao, or Kim had.
We got to the airport and headed out to Ankara via Istanbul.