Flaming gold teeth
Baku's old city charm"Before, I used to just put $10 in my passport and I would get my visa right away. Now, it's too corrupt, I have to pay at the bank." These were the words of the Turkish car smuggler as we sat enjoying a celebratory cup of tea in Tbilisi after obtaining our Azeri visas. He continued: "Be careful in Azerbaijan; the Azeris, they will try and cheat you... they like money too much." These statements combined with the recent strange re-evaluation of the local currency raised my apprehension toward our upcoming visit to Azerbaijan substantially.
Our train pulled into Baku early, through the desert and suburbs littered with oil drilling equipment. Baku, as the world's first major oil city, had solidified the fortunes of Rothschilds and Nobels. It was the start of Shell oil, and where the rabble-rousing Bolsheviks gained notoriety by organizing the exploited oil workers. Today its medieval old city is a World Heritage site, and is equally filled with beautiful oil-funded mansions and palaces from the good old days, and oil-funded concrete monstrosities from the current batch of multinationals. Outside the old city walls is a mixture of Soviet and 20th century tenements and government buildings.
A little research revealed that accommodation in Baku is expensive. Bora on couchsurfing agreed to put us up for a few nights. He had to work late and couldn’t meet us until 10 that night, leaving a long day ahead of us. It was hot and humid, and that first morning we had to fight with merchants over the price of breakfast, water, airline tickets and metro fare. The prices in each case were clearly written somewhere visible; it was just assumed that I wouldn't mind paying more. Azeraijan was living up to the Turk's warning.
To avoid any more purchases we decided to head to the carpet museum. On the way, we ran into Marco (who we'd met in Tbilisi), Citt (an Australian filmmaker on her own epic journey) and Caroline (a Swiss also on a journey); together we took in the carpets. They were beautiful; the standout was a glorious red and gold wool carpet with the crests of all the Soviet states encircling the Kremlin. We wrapped up the evening in a waterfront tea garden, and then headed back to the main train station to wait for Bora.
Bora was punctual and took us to his flat. He was camping out in a top-floor apartment provided by his job. He was working a slave's contract in Baku as an civil engineer: in exchange for money he was giving up all his time. Because of this we didn't really get to meet him even though we spent three nights with him. I'm not worried; when he breaks free we will meet again.
Suraxani fire templeWe arranged with Marco and Citt to rent a taxi and take a tour of the Absheron Peninsula around Baku. Our taxi driver wanted way too much for the trip but folded when we threatened to walk away. So with the price settled and a flash of his gold teeth we were off.
The fire temple at Suraxani was built by cult of Shivan traders in the 18th century. Drawings from that time depict the temple with great columns of fire billowing out of its four chimneys and main alter. The eternal flames were fueled by a natural gas deposit that the temple was built over. In the early 20th century the temple's Sadu sold the gas rights to the National Gas Company, and later the temple was abandoned. Now one of Azerbaijan's major tourist attractions, it has been converted into a museum with ethnographic displays of Shivan holy men praying, eating, self-flagellating, etc. Today the gas has to be turned on for the tourists (for a fee) and the fire is tame. This makes the site a little ordinary. We had more fun trying to poach photos without paying the photo fee.
oilfield desolationOur taxi driver got lost several times on our way to the town of Ramana. Ramana's claim to fame is a small fortress; situated on a small hill, it is supposed to be one of the best remaining 14th century buildings on the Caspian Sea. Very nice, but not why we came: we came for the fascinatingly bleak views of oil fields and environmental destruction. After over 100 years of constant production only oil derricks, nodding donkeys and people grow in the oily landscape. Too much natural beauty makes one weak.
ghostsThe new mosque at Nardaran was not so interesting. Being Shi'a it was devoid of decoration, and since it was not near a sizeable town it lacked the life of mosques in the Middle East. To aid fertility, women make pilgrimages here to pray, make offerings in the crypt the mosque is built over, and rub holy stones on their stomachs. The graveyard that surrounds the mosque was amazing. The black marble tombstones of the wealthier inhabitants are eerily laser-etched with life-sized photographic portraits of the deceased. Moslems bury their dead facing Mecca, thus the portrait side of the ranks of tombstones face the same direction. When you stand in among the graves you face the graveyard’s population.
tea by the flaming hillsideOur last stop was Yanar Dag: The flaming hill side. Some time in the 1950s the Soviets, or some shepherd, lit a match on a hill that was a natural gas vent, and the place has been burning ever since. Now there's a tea shop, so we stopped, sipped tea and watched the ground burn as the sun set.