Baku – Azerbaijan

I had to fly right over Baku to go to Istanbul to go back to Baku as there was no alternative polar bear friendly option available coming from Ashgabat. Annoyingly, in a few days’ time I will have to fly back to Istanbul, to fly back over Baku to get to Mongolia. Baku is the capital of Azerbaijan and sits adjacent to Turkmenistan separated by the Caspian Sea. In a normal world a short direct flight would have saved a lot of hassle but of course Turkmenistan is not part of a normal world. There is apparently a boat that can get people from Turkmenistan to Baku, but one that goes when it feels like, and as much as I’d like to travel more like this, right now it’s not ideal. Of course, I could have simply stayed in Istanbul and cut out the return flight to Baku but selfishly I’ve already been to Istanbul a few times, and more importantly when I was organising my trip, I knew elections were due and I didn’t want to get caught in protests caused by an incumbent president desperate to maintain his grip on power. So, three nights in Baku it was. I had no plans other than to recharge mentally and physically, to write, and to enjoy a bit of my own company before joining a two-week tour of Mongolia. I never expected to have such a jolly time, but that I did.

Azerbaijan has slowly crept into western consciousness over the past decade and for me at least, I finally took notice after watching F1’s Drive to Survive. However, it is still just a city and not being a city person I had low expectations, ones that would soon be blown away. On arrival to my little boutique hotel just outside of the old town I checked in and immediately headed out in search of lunch, a quest that took only minutes thanks to the multitude of restaurants and cafes available. It was a good start and I retired back to the hotel full on pizza to do some chores before heading back out in search of more food. The evening proved to be a whole new experience. The food and beer were still great and affordable, but a wave of people flooded the streets driving the activity level to the max. Baku is very much an Arabic city despite its Soviet history, and therefore there is an infinitely greater magnitude of energy after sunset unlike European cities where we chose to be out in the heat of the day when on holiday and then complain about it. Baku has a very European feel but has the benefit of not being overrun with European people, and unlike both Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan it feels much freer and more open, and that’s because it is, which is probably why it attracts so many from the Gulf states. I love Dubai, but within hours of being in Baku my allegiance had shifted and remains firmly with the latter. Baku has the perfect mix of old and new. The old is genuinely old, not created old as in Dubai. As already mentioned, there is much more freedom which induces a more genuine and fun atmosphere, and it’s not pretentious or full of influencers and thus it’s affordable. Everywhere is within easy walking distance with little bars and pubs tucked away in nooks and crannies which is simply not possible in Dubai. Dubai is the supermodel we all want to marry when we’re 16, Baku is the intelligent cutie we should have put all our energy in from the very beginning.

My first morning was spent with the goal of walking the F1 circuit and getting a good view of the Flame Towers, but in my ignorance it turned out that meant going in two opposing directions. I therefore focused on the Towers, keeping them in my line of sight and negotiating the roads that I assumed would deliver me to an adjacent park offering wicked views. The roads, and thus the pavements appeared to be switching back on one another, at other times I’d have to retrace my steps to find a suitable place to cross thanks to drivers showing no mercy; even at pedestrian crossings it appeared that stopping was optional for them. I ended up walking right past the Flame Towers and found myself in some kind of political memorial garden, happy for a bit of shade amongst the trees I went for a walkabout glancing at the many large marble graves of men I’ve never heard of. The place was immaculate and got me thinking about all the money I’ve seen over the past few weeks invested in dead men, especially dictators. I’m no die-hard royalist but arguing about the cost of the British Royal Family is a little like arguing about basic physiological biology; largely pointless and unproductive in the grand scale of things. Backtracking to the Flame Towers in an attempt to avoid completely walking out of the city, I stumbled upon what I was looking for, views. But first I had to navigate another memorial and this one was for mere mortals, normal people who had died standing up to the politics of the day. The date 20.01.1990 was stamped on every marble plaque along a beautiful avenue that stretched from the Flame Towers and starting with the national flag and a flame torch, and ending with a monument containing another flame of remembrance. The date commemorated the day civilians protesting against Russian occupation were shot down by Soviet troops in an attempt to re-establish order; less than two years later Azerbaijan gained its independence.

I hit the F1 circuit the following morning. I’m not a huge fan, but I figured it was a guaranteed six-kilometre walk and would take me on a nice tour of the city. I wasn’t disappointed and the track was easily navigable thanks to the solid white lines that ran alongside the kerb and the very obvious immaculate road surface with complete lack of manhole covers. The paddock was still up as the race had only taken place a few weeks before, but otherwise the city was back to its apparently usual gridlocked self. Location aside, street racing seems utterly pointless with central Baku closed off for two weeks and I assume an insane amount of money spent on constructing and deconstructing the whole event. But then, I probably wouldn’t have visited if I hadn’t seen the place on the tele beforehand. For a busy city, the sound of cuckoos and other birds can still be heard over the hum of the traffic. A huge waterfront provides plenty of space between the seashore and the chaos of the city with views of many beautiful buildings new and old. As one can imagine, it was spotless, and plenty of trees and benches were available to have a sit down. Free WiFi is advertised but when I tried to log on, the homepage only allowed local numbers which appeared to me as more than unhelpful until I realised I didn’t actually need my phone for anything in particular. Afterall, how many times do we sit on a park bench with no phones or earphones and just think and watch the world go by? That’s what I did, and it was delightful, dare I say liberating. I found myself thinking of very little, other than how completely at peace I am with myself unlike last summer when such moments appeared to allude me more often than not. I think a degree of acceptance has crept in, that no matter what I think or do, it will have zero impact on the world at large, and so beyond doing what I feel is right, why should I care about the actions of others? Travelling can work both ways. It can open your eyes to a world of poverty and environmental destruction and provide an incredible foundation of awareness. But it also makes you realise that there is much more thought in the world than just that of the West and me being miserable isn’t likely to help anyone. Therefore, I will enjoy this feeling of happiness and trust that my actions in life are enough to keep a relatively clean conscious while letting everyone else carry on with whatever they see fit.

Baku delivered everything I intended. Time to confirm future travel plans, thoroughly rested, glued my shoes back together, wrote blogs, sent postcards, sorted photos, and attempted to make a start on reading my book. What’s more, the city was a wonderful surprise and fully justified the flying back and forth for my own personal pleasure. There was only one downside during my visit as demonstrated when I put my jeans back on to go to the airport, they felt sticky. I doubt they were, but that’s what they felt. For the past few weeks I’ve largely worn shorts and only wear my jeans to fly or if a chilly evening has appeared. I love airports and planes, but I love a shower and a clean change of clothes even more after spending time in them; no matter how clean an airport or aeroplane toilet may appear I can’t help but feel I have the grime of too may strangers engrained in my clothing. Still, I felt getting charged £20 for my essential washing at the hotel in Baku was more than enough without having to add my jeans as well. Hopefully I can make them last until I land in New Zealand in a few weeks’ time although that’s a lot of flying and I fear sticky could easily turn to crusty. Next up, Mongolia.