Azerbaijan - The People

Instead of doing a chronological blog like, "On the first day, we went to Zfghqtry and saw [whatever]", we're doing things a bit differently.

The one thing that marked our adventurous 9 days in Azerbaijan the most was the people we met. For the most part, they ended up being a part of the adventure - either by leading us there, or already being there, just being themselves. Everyone seemed ready to lend us a helping hand, offer us a cup of tea, drive us somewhere, or chat away (in either Russian, Azeri or broken English) about the history of Azerbaijan. Really, this trip would not have been the same without....

Rashad, the airport customs guy

So, we arrive in the Baku airport and are immediately surprised to discover that while a Canadian passport holder only needs to pay $65 to get a visa and waltz on through, a South African needs a letter of invitation, stamped by Foreign Affairs. Patience on our part, coupled with a few phone calls on his (and perhaps the fact that it was 1 am and we were the only people in the whole airport) got Ty a 10-day visa.

Tea shop woman

On our first day wandering in Baku, we stopped for tea (of course). Throughout our trip, stoic stares turned into smiles. This lady chatted with us (in Russian) for 45 minutes with a big smile on her face. We learned, from her, that the best way to communicate "We are married" to anyone wasn't to show them our rings, but to hold our arms our and circle our wrists in imitation of the traditional wedding dance.

Our Carpet Guy

His name is illegible on his business card and unpronounceable in English, I think, but this guy quickly became one of our friends in Baku. He first waved us into his tiny shop in an old Caravansary (where Caravans would stop for lodging along the Silk Road) to "Look! No buy!" and, of course, immediately began unrolling carpets. We protested at first, then realized that he really was just showing us the different styles to be found throughout the country, and educating us about the regions and history of Azerbaijan. We went back to visit him 4 times over our trip, and yes, bought a carpet from him (one that was unrolled the first day, that I asked him to hold for me). He apologized for his poor English - really, it was fine - and told us stories of working for the Soviets, and living in northern Russia for 3 years with the military.
During our last visit, he showered us with gifts: Two traditional hats (hanging on the wall in the photo), evil eye charms, a blingy cell-phone bag.

The band

Leaving his shop on that first day, we could hear music. We'd stumbled into the rehearsal of a traditional band. We sat and watched and listened. Random people got up to sing, and the tar player attempted to speak with us. Later that night, when we returned to watch them play for real over supper, we got the nods and smiles that instantly make you feel like you're "with the band", and instantly cooler than all the other tourists (uhhh, what other tourists? We were the only tourists in the entire country, I think). Sadly, we didn't get to see them again, for Ty to learn how to actually play the tar he bought in Quba.

Ali Baba Shumacher, the "Jinguo!"

To get to Xinaliq, we had to entrust our lives to the incredible Ali Baba. He first greeted us by jumping out of his screeching Lada Niva and proclaiming "I am Ali Baba!". Thus endeth his English. All other communication was by the exclamation "Jinguo!", which we later learned meant "Devil!". We sat with his wife (who also didn't speak any English) and drank tea while he put special tires on his SUV, then were surprised when he placed two gun belts full of (homemade) bullets on the table next to our teacups!

A bit of miming revealed that they were in case of bears.

And so our drive began. A fresh snowfall on a narrow (and dare I say crumbling-into-the-abyss) road leading into the Caucasus mountains, while Ali Baba (aka Mr Shumacher, no speed limits in Azerbaijan, methinks) chatted on his cell phone and yelled out "Jinguo!" every 5 minutes made for an all-too-tense ride. I think you could probably take my fingerprint impressions directly out of the edges of the seats, since that's what I held onto -- oh, did I mention the lack of seatbelts?

Funny thing, though, we were relieved when, at the end of our 2 days in Xinaliq, Ali Baba arrived to pick us up.

I wouldn't have trusted those snowy and - at one point - covered by a rock slide/avalanche roads to anyone but him.

And, on the way home, we finally got to see the gun in action - as he stopped, jumped out, steadied his gun on the open window of his door and fired at (and missed) a vulture with a 3m wingspan.

Faiq and his family

There is, surprisingly, much to be found on the internet about Xinaliq (<-- this link will bring you to some incredible photos, remember though, we were there in winter and deep deep snow), the tiny mountain village where we did our homestay.

For two days, we lived with Faiq and his family (including his sister, his wife, his baby son, his brother, his brother's wife, his brother's baby daughter, and his parents).

 

A shepherd by trade, Faiq was always ready with a big smile and a "Yes" to every question. The guy who organized the homestay, Kheyraddin, chooses the neediest families for his scheme so, we found ourselves in a dung-heated house with no running water. Faiq walked us around the village, organized a snowy horseback ride, attempted communication via an Azeri-English dictionary, loaned me boots, showed us his wedding video and shared all aspects of his life with us: We even slept in his bed.

 
For the most part, the language barrier meant that we could only sit and watch as their normal life (cooking, washing, cleaning, bringing in dung, starting fires, taking care of the babies, and yes, watching weird Turkish TV) went on around us.

Our greatest ally, it turned out, was Faiq's father who is mute: His lifetime of speaking through signs and charades made it easy for us to communicate with each other. He explained the plot of the Turkish TV show, made sure our tea was served promptly, and gave heck to anyone who blocked our view of the wedding video.

Mohubbat

 

Faiq's cousin/nephew/somehow related, living in Xinaliq for the school while his parents work in Quba. The first evening, he stared at us shyly over the table. A simple gift of a Pez dispenser (now on display on a shelf in Faiq's home....) broke the ice.

The next day was spent, literally, breaking the ice as Mohubbat showed Ty how to play in the snow - he actually left a group of his friends behind to follow us around the village. Later that evening, we taught him to play a few pen-and-paper games like tic-tac-toe, which kept Ty and him busy for the next 3 hours.

The morning we left, he snuck back to the house to say goodbye.

Kheyraddin

Having organized the Xinaliq trip through Kheyraddin's website, we were really looking forward to meeting him. Born in Xinaliq, Kheyraddin is a local boy who's done good. He has lived, studied and worked around the world, from Cairo to Chicago. Usually, Kheyraddin doesn't get the chance to meet his "tourist clients" but, somehow, we got to spend a full day in Quba with him. He patiently answered all our questions about Xinaliq over lunch, and took us to the music store where Ty bought his tar. He even came out the next morning to see us off -- shame we don't have a photo with him!

Kheyraddin's Xinaliq homestay scheme is a sideline job for him, but one that has had a very positive impact on the people of Xinaliq, where the average earnings are less than $50/month. Yes, you can get there by yourself, but why would you want to? He arranged everything in advance for us - transportation (including Ali Baba!), homestay, horses, hotel in Quba - we were coddled from start to finish!

Sonalieyev, our hotel guy

One of the deciding factors for actually buying the tickets to Azerbaijan was finding a hotel that was not a) a booked-out hostel or b) super wicked expensive. Through Lonely Planet, we were able to find several links to hotels, but of the five that I e-mailed, only one actually responded. That was the Aldstadt Hotel in the Old City of Baku. It is located within the city walls, and is literally 2 minutes from the Maiden Tower and the historical bits. There were, however, other advantages, such as coffee or tea that seemed to be available at any moment and Sonalieyev, who drove us around for two days, bringing us to see the petroglyphs at Qobustan and the peninsula around Baku (think fire temples, a mosque where you can make a wish, and a surprise 11th century fortress in the middle of a slum).

Wherever he drove us, in his Lada, Sonalieyev regaled us with stories of life under Soviet rule, people who discovered oil while digging pits for their toilets, and the current reign of Heyder Aliyev, Azerbaijan's democratically-elected-president-who-has-huge-pictures-of-himself-everywhere-and-who-everyone-thinks-is-a-hero-and-who-gives-interviews-from-his-private-jet-in-a-country-where-corruption-is-rather-widespread. Ahem. To paraphrase one of his statements, Sonalieyev was laughed at for studying English when the Soviets were around (he speaks Azeri, Russian, Armenian, English and a smattering of other languages), but now he's the one who is having the last laugh, as he cashes in on the tourist trade. He somehow seemed to know everything about every spot we stopped at, and everyone who worked there.

We brought him halvesi from Sheki and he, making good on a promise, gave us a jar of his wife's homemade jam (to be enjoyed with tea, of course).

The ladies at the church in Kish (oh, and the skeletons too)

There's really only one reason to go to Kish, a village located 5 km away from the town of Sheki: It's the site of one of the oldest churches in Europe. Originally a pagan site where a church was built in the first century AD (just think about that for a moment....), the "Old Albanian Church" is worth the time and effort to see.

For less than $1, two ladies in black cardigans will bring you in, and happily show you the 2m tall skeletons that lay partially uncovered around the site. They'll point to the English signage and the unguarded 2000-year-old pottery jugs and newly excavated jewellery on display around the place, show you where to make your wish (against a part of the original wall - if your coin sticks, your wish comes true) and take your picture, then invite you back for tea and homemade homegrown mulberry jam. Once there, you might be lucky enough to be joined by the brash, gold-toothed director of the church site, whose family has been caretakers of the place for generations.

Because of the Norwegian government's interest in the site, the whole place has been transformed - they've rebuilt the church roof according to pre-1600 techniques. Students do homestays there in the summer and many of the locals, the director included, have enjoyed free English lessons as well.

But why the Norwegians? Those huge skeletons, and the carvings at Qobustan (that we also saw) are, according to a famous (and fascinating) Norwegian archeologist Thor Heyerdahl, proof that Scandinavians originated in the Caucasus mountains.

The Old Guy with One Tooth at the 11th Century Fortress in the middle of a slum

On our last day in Azerbaijan, Sonalieyev brought us around to see the sights around Baku. On our way back to Baku, he asked us casually if we would like to see "a tall old tower". We kind of shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?". After driving through a bit of a dodgy neighbourhood, we looked up to see an immaculate medieval looking tower. The gate was locked, so Sonalieyev went off to find the groundskeeper while we looked around the site.

The man who arrived, an old guy with one tooth, unlocked the padlock and led us inside. The banter began, in Russian, but by now we were used to answering people's first questions with "South Africa" and "Canada", since it was inevitably "Where are you from?". As he pointed out the relics that lay haphazardly around the site (no guard rails, no labels - this is not a typical tourist place), he would pause from time to time to say something about South Africa or Canada and continue talking about something he'd seen on TV. At one point, he looked at me, raised his arms and said, "Wayne Gretzky, the Great One!" and "Ottawa", but he was more interested in yelling "De Klerk" and "Pretoria" and "Mandela" at Ty as we toured the ramparts of the fortress.

Once again, we were baffled and impressed by the knowledge that the people of Azerbaijan have about the rest of the world, while the rest of the world (ourselves included, before this trip anyway) can barely even locate them on the map and have no idea of the richness of their history and culture.

Honourable Mentions:

Gifts from people we met in Azerbaijan

• The guy who drove us from the airport to our hotel in his old, creaky Lada with grinding gears (hmmm, this isn't a real licensed taxi, is it?), calling the hotel to make sure we still had a reservation and stopping at a money changers (at 2am), then helping us to count our money before we left by showing us on a huge calculator how much we should get.
• The waiter in Quba who mimed "fried eggs" for us in the morning and introduced us to the concept of rose syrup in our tea.
• The Jewish waitress in Baku (Azerbaijan is a predominantly Muslim country) who treated us to two pints of local beer and a pack of cigarettes, in a rather posh restaurant built into the Old City walls.
• The souvenir kiosk guys in the Old City of Baku who held onto things for us (we'll be back in a week!), with a special shout-out to the guy who gave us a rapid-fire history lesson and nicknamed Ty "The Boer".
• The teenage waiters at the restaurant between Baku and Sheki who probably thought Ty was a rock star, because of the hair.
• Surly (he was surly) and Eyebrow (he was nice), at the Caravansary in Sheki.

But really, the best part of all the people of Azerbaijan was their sincerity. It wasn't like any normal touristy place we've ever been, where a friendly smile is little more than a ploy to make you enter their shop and spend your money. Each person we crossed paths with was honestly happy to see us, and eager to share the story of their little history-rich treasure of a country.

 

OMG – I can’t believe we forgot the vodka store guy in Sheki!!! (and yes, we regret not buying, or even tasting, any the whole time, even though it was about $3/bottle)