Words that rhyme with Baku
Winter is coming to an end in Baku. The dawn air is crisp, and it prickles my face. My hands are buried inside jacket pockets, and my breath is visible. The morning sky, pale blue, is brushed with streaks of white cloud. Leafless and emaciated trees line the city streets, contrasting with the ever-present manicured hedges. My footsteps slap on the frigid concrete and another bus passes, pouring out grotty exhaust fumes.
I wondered if I would ever make it to Baku.
Phew: Some countries welcome, or even rely on travellers, with visa processes to match. Azerbaijan, a country awash with oil money, has no such need, and its indifference to foreign visitors is reflected in a convoluted entry system.
One month ago, the process begins, wading through a website full of Ü’s and Ç’s and Ə’s and scanning numerous documents in the specifically requested .jpeg format. After entering my credit card details, an ‘error message’ appears, with a set of unusual instructions: ‘If you are using an overseas credit card, please send a photograph of yourself, holding your official means of identification and the credit card you wish to pay with, to the email below.’ I abandon the application at that point. Something does not feel right, and I hope desperately that it was not a scam. A few days later, an email arrives from Suzi, of the Azerbaijani Tourism Board, querying my incomplete application and offering help to complete it. Our correspondence continues up to and including yesterday when I leave Australia for Dubai. With only hours remaining before my connecting flight to Baku, a final email from Suzi arrives, ‘Dear Stuart, Your e-visa is ready already. I can’t send you hotel voucher nov because I am at AITF travel fear but don’t worry hotel already booked and paid. Suzanna Turizm.’ At the end of the message my visa is attached. Phew!
Chic ‘n’ Stu: Azerbaijan is the first stop in something of a personal pilgrimage. Six months earlier, the American band System of a Down announces a series of concerts, to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of the Armenian genocide. All members of SOAD have Armenian heritage and familial connections to the genocide, and it has been a theme of their music throughout their career. The European leg of the ‘Wake Up the Souls’ tour will culminate with a performance in Yerevan’s main square, one hundred years after the genocide began. As a lifelong fan, and an avid traveller, it is an opportunity not to be missed. From Azerbaijan, I will travel to Georgia and then Armenia, finishing my month long Caucasus journey in Republic Square, rocking out with 10,000 of my closest friends.
New / Blue: Baku, Azerbaijan’s capital, is a city changing rapidly. In its 30 odd years of independence, Baku has shaken off the drab monotones and utilitarian architecture of the Soviet era and exploded with fantastic imagination and mighty ambition. It is now a city of colours and contours, of boulevards and modern art. Shopping malls have multiplied, hosting prominent European brands, and glass skyscrapers sprout on city blocks. Internationally renowned architects are invited to design convention centres, museums, and public buildings, while statues of communist leaders have been replaced by public art. The crowning glory of modern Azerbaijan was its victory in the 2011 Eurovision Song Contest. As hosts the following year, the government splurged €160 million, including the construction of a purpose built stadium. Fuelled by a seemingly infinite supply of oil wealth, Baku is making up for lost time, and is launching itself headfirst into the 21st century.
The Heydar Aliyev Centre, designed by Zaha Hadid
Before diving into the new Baku, the old town of Icherisheher beckons, tucked away in a quieter corner of the city. On the cobbled streets cars rumble past, and carpet sellers display their wares on walls and wooden tables. Alongside the woven mats are shawls, woollen hats, metal trinkets, and bags made of animal hide. The merchants are welcoming and offer cups of tea as incentives to look inside. In Azerbaijan, tea is served with jam, and as I will discover, this is not the only unusual cuisine on offer. Meandering through the narrow laneways, the ornate design of balconies, railings, and eaves demand a slowed pace, and time for admiration. The craftsmanship displays of a love of intricacy and a pride in creating something of beauty. Overhead, storm clouds are gathering, darkening the sky. The heavy backdrop brings to life the colours of Baku, particularly the glass blue Flame Towers. The quintessential symbol of modern Baku, the Flame Towers are never far from view, even within the stone walls of the old town. Modernity is lapping at the stone walls of Icherisheher, and it is difficult to escape the progress of the new Baku.
The Flame Towers, which bare a resemblance to Patagonia’s Torres del Paine, dominate Baku’s skyline. Opened in 2013, the three towers are an audacious modern tribute to Azerbaijani mythology. On the city’s outskirts, at Yanar Dag, eternal flames burn on the side of a hill, the result of gas escaping through the earth’s crust. Meanwhile, in the mountains of Qobustan, mud volcanoes bubble and boil. These natural phenomena dazzled and inspired the earliest inhabitants of the land, and fire has held a special place in the psyche of Azerbaijanis ever since. The Flame Towers lay dormant during in the daytime hours, and each night light up in displays of vibrant, pulsating light. Tonight, they burn azure blue, and walking along the seaside boulevard, it feels as if Baku has arrived, and belongs, in the 21st century.
Exploring the mud volcanoes of Qobustan
A-choo: In the north of Azerbaijan, near the Georgian border, is the town of Quba. Whereas Baku has been propelled into modern times, Quba remains forgotten, a stagnant relic of Soviet era Azerbaijan. Decaying brick and concrete dwellings, brown and grey, unfinished worksites, and neglected lawns all contribute to a film of dust that coats the streets. It is disturbed often, whipped up by a gust of wind, or a passing car, usually a Lada, the everyman’s car of the Soviet Union. I sneeze loudly, and it echoes through the empty streets. Sagging powerlines and leafless trees add to the depressing spectacle.
At Juma Mosque, a neglected children’s playground in the surrounding gardens holds more fascination than the central place of worship. A cartoonish merry-go-round and choo-choo train, their colours faded through years of exposure, would not appear out of place on a Tim Burton movie set. Meanwhile, a fleet of dodge ‘em cars, sit idle on a dusty and uneven setup. Their rusted poles connect to a mesh metal grille, and electrocution appears the most likely outcome to anyone who dares ride them. The nearby Nizami Park, named for the Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi, appears untouched since its construction in 1946. Fading paint, crumbling concrete, and another abandoned playground offer hints of glorious past. An elderly man, in a black jacket and grey pants, sits underneath the outstretched arm of a golden statue with disproportionate limbs. Alone, he watches the crowds in the park, and I can imagine him playing here as a child, before the swings fell from their frames, and the screws popped from the see-saws, never to be replaced.
Dodge ‘em cars near Juma Mosque
Stew: After farewelling the underwhelming Quba, I arrive in Seki, Azerbaijan’s prettiest town. Nestled in the Greater Caucasus, Seki is a delightful mountain town, rich in history, architecture, and Azerbaijani cuisine. The Karavansary hotel has hosted travellers since its construction in the 19th century and is based on the Caravanserai that operated along Silk Road trading routes. Enclosed within a walled compound, the Karavansary is composed of upper and lower levels each with dozens of adjoining rooms. The central courtyard, covered in shadow from the setting sun, hosts a small pond, a pair of date palms, and a garden. The stone walled rooms close with squeaky, latched wooden doors, and decorative rugs adorn the floors. Whereas Quba offered a glimpse to the Soviet past, Seki’s evocation dates back centuries.
Seki, and the nearby village of Kis, with an impressively intact 12th century Orthodox church can easily be explored in a day. However, the relaxed pace, friendly locals, and stunning scenery, including snow-capped mountains, are seductive, and there is no rush to move on. In any case, before leaving Azerbaijan, I must acquaint myself with Piti, the national dish, and a local Seki speciality. Piti is euphemistically referred to as a soup and served with a side of mashed chickpeas and bread. In a thick ceramic cup, steaming lumps of lamb fat glisten in the midday sun. I dip a piece of bread in, and it yellows instantly, absorbing the liquid artery blocker. Unsure of how to approach this unique delicacy, I scoop out a spoonful and mix it with some chickpeas. The Piti slides down my throat, coating my insides with a film of greasy residue. I wash it down with some bread and water and wonder how anyone is supposed to finish an entire cup of it. I poke around inside the cup, desperately searching for a piece of meat, and find a single, gristly chunk. It is chewy and offers little solace. The cup is halfway empty by the time the chickpeas and bread are finished, and my innards can take no more.
The Land of Fire, as Azerbaijan is marketed, is an appropriate moniker for Baku, though unrepresentative of anywhere beyond the greater region. However, this Baku-centric approach is consistent, as anywhere beyond the capital seems an afterthought at best and abandoned at worst. Nevertheless, the friendly people of Azerbaijan and its unique attractions make it an unforgettable experience.
