Travelling Around Britain and the World
Showing posts with label Azerbaijan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Azerbaijan. Show all posts

Thursday 14 August 2014

Sheki (or Şǝki): Part 4 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Şǝki
Azerbaijan

We had expected our room to be overwarm, but we had not realised that the wooden floors of the room above would make any footfall sound like a hammer striking an anvil, nor that we would hear every word of the not entirely sober monologue of its Russian woman occupant - her husband was either dead or asleep. If only I spoke the language I would have ample ammunition for blackmail. And then there were the youth of Sheki, some of whom thought it a good idea to drive their Ladas up and down the main drag with windows open and music blaring. 'They think they're cute,' Yassim said with contempt when we mentioned it. I found it hard to forgive their taste for the most anodyne europop.

So where is Sheki?

Khan's Palace, Sheki

Breakfast, a most disorganised affair, did not start until 9 but was redeemed by the quality of the local honey. Afterwards we set off towards the walled fortress that covers much of the north end of town.

Khan's Palace, Sheki

The original Sheki was even further north but was destroyed by floods in 1716. The local ruler, Haji Chalabi Khan (for whom last night's restaurant was named) rebuilt the fort and in the 1740s declared himself leader of an independent Khanate. After even more calamitous floods in 1772, he moved down the hill to his reserve fortress at a place then called Nukha and renamed it Sheki. The kilometre long walls of that fortress surround, among other things, the palace he built in 1740. The palace stands behind two huge plane trees so old that they were mature before building started. It is not large, being constructed for administration rather than as living quarters. The reception room is lavishly decorated, the secretary’s room less so as he should not be distracted from his work while upstairs the ladies’ room, well separated so the waiting ladies should hear nothing of the men's deliberations, is sumptuous. The Khan's private room is filled with artwork reminding him of the dangers of neglecting his duties. No photographs are allowed inside, but below are scans of two of the postcards we purchased in the gift shop (the only postcards we saw in Azerbaijan).

Inside the Khan's Palace, Sheki, (postcard bought at the palace)

The palace windows are mostly of Şǝbǝkǝ the local version of stained glass.

Inside the Khan's Palace, Sheki
(postcard bought at the palace)

Şǝbǝkǝ Stained Glass

Inside the walled fortress we visited the workshop of Sheki’s sole remaining master of this craft. Standing below a picture of his grandfather (the family resemblance was remarkable) the latest generation of the family showed us how the windows are put together, the glass fitting into a framework of grooved wood without nails or glue. The frames are often large and the designs intricate, involving tiny pieces of glass and wood – as many as a thousand per square metre. Each window is designed by the master craftsman – our demonstrator’s father - who supervises the immensely skilful business of cutting the glass and wood.

Putting together a Şǝbǝkǝ window

The handicraft centre within the fort did not detain us long, but at the entrance there was a sweet stall. Sweets are a local specialty, particularly 'halvasi', a variation on baklava. A line of shops specialising in these sweets stood below our caravansary, but we choose to buy ours here - in sealed packages we hoped the halvasi and mindal (nuts in a caramel or sugar coating) would keep until we reached home.

Albanian Temple, Sheki

Also in the grounds is a circular tower, which Yassim described as an Albanian Temple to the sun god, adding that the Russians had added the extra towers to give it a basilica shape and turned it into a church. The 'Caucasian Albanians' - of whom more later - became Christians in the fourth century and the building, though old, did not look quite that old, so I am unsure about this information.

'Albanian' Temple, Sheki

Sheki War Memorial

The old town of Sheki climbs the west side of a narrow valley from the modern town to the fortress. Half way down the valley, on the higher eastern side is the war memorial. As part of the Soviet Union, Azerbaijan became involved in the Second World War in 1941 when the Nazis attacked Soviet Russia with the oil fields of Baku among their main objectives. Several hundred thousand Azeris died during the four years of war, a huge sacrifice for a small country.

War Memorial, Sheki

The site of the memorial also gives a good view over the modern town.

Sheki from the War Memorial

Sheki Friday Mosque

We left the memorial and drove down to the Friday Mosque in the town centre beside the park where we had eaten last night. Young men played football in the courtyard as children were streaming in to attend the madrassa. The Qur'an is the word of God and God spoke in Arabic, so children must learn Arabic to read and understand the Qur'an. Our entrance disrupted a lesson going on in one corner, but dotted around the rest of the mosque boys were kneeling before books on low lecterns, rocking backwards and forwards as they read the Holy Scripture aloud. The building is functional rather than an architectural masterpiece and no photographs were allowed inside..

The Friday Mosque, Sheki

The more secular surroundings of Sheki market are a short drive away. We wandered round, saw more halvasi,....

Trays of Halvasi, Sheki market

….. admired the quality of the meat, the carcasses hanging outside the butchers' shops, and purchased some sumac, a spice it is often hard to find at home but here is widespread and cheap.

Butchers, Sheki market - not a good place for vegetarians

Kiş Albanian Church

Kiş is a village 10km into the hills from Sheki and we went there next to see the ‘Albanian’ church.

The 'Albanians' are a somewhat mysterious people who once inhabited much of northwestern Azerbaijan – they have no connection with modern Albania - and converted to Christianity in the fourth century. They have now disappeared but are generally thought to have been assimilated into the Armenian and Azeri populations.

Most of Kiş lies off the road and we struggled up through narrow cobbled lanes. It was not only us who were struggling, we followed a man working hard to get his turkey dinner home, the turkey kept looking up at him and blinking.

Following a man with a turkey through Kis

The Albanian church is at the top of the narrow lanes. Outside is a bust of Thor Heyerdahl who contributed to the restoration of the ancient building. The church is old, but the site has been of religious significance since long before the church was built. In the churchyard, in glass topped tombs, are the bronze-age skeletons of a man well over two metres tall and woman of 1.9m.

Thor Hayerdahl, Kiş

Thor Heyerdahl saw the size of these skeletons, knew that Albus is the Latin for white, observed the boats depicted in the Qobustan petroglyphs and postulated that the Albanians migrated north and become the Vikings. Nobody questions Heyerdahl’s integrity as an adventurer, but his qualifications in anthropology are more problematic. This was not the only time he came up with a theory and then went looking for evidence to ‘prove’ it, which is not the scientific way. The story that the Albanians were blond and blue-eyed may have been a yarn spun by an over-obliging local, and ‘Albanian’ is more likely to derive from the Armenian for ‘affable’ – the soubriquet of an early Albanian leader - than the Latin for ‘white’.

The Albanian Church, Kiş

Sac for Lunch

Three-quarters of the way back to Sheki, Togrul pulled into a restaurant in a garden behind a large house. Earlier Yassim had said that he and Togrul would treat us to lunch today, maybe as a response to me paying for the barbecue yesterday or, more likely, as goodwill gesture from the travel company. Yassim had been on the phone earlier and this was obviously what he had been booking.

We were shown to a table on a balcony overlooking the garden. Water melon and assorted salads were already on the table, but we did not have to wait long before the sac (pronounced ‘sadj’) arrived. Slices of beef, aubergine, potato and flatbread, with tomatoes, onions and tasty little button mushrooms jostled together in a shallow wok perched on its own charcoal brazier. The appealing individual favours mingled to make a whole that was more than the not inconsiderable sum of their parts and the juices collected in the bottom in a tomato/aubergine mush that was toe-curlingly wonderful.

Lynne and sac, near Sheki - this quantity is for four, not two!

Lunch had started late and gone on long, so it was mid-afternoon before we were back at the caravansary.

It seemed a good moment to write the postcards we had bought in the fort. Ten minutes stroll down the hill, just past the conveniently placed post office, was a restaurant and bar. There was nobody else at the tables in the small, rather unkempt garden, but there was a young man who was happy to pour us a beer.

At lunch we had drunk water and the fresh cherry drink Yassim called compote, but the lure of cold beer was irresistible on a stunningly hot afternoon so we ordered two glasses of Aysberq. The Titanic Brewery of Burslem produces an excellent beer also call Iceberg. Apart from logos featuring a large ship, the only thing Titanic Iceberg has in common with Azerbaijani Aysberq is that they are both beer. That said, the cold, fizzy Aysberq hit a dry spot within us and sorted it. Two were required to finish the post cards, but they cost pence and it was money well spent. We took the cards to the post office where an obliging man applied his glue stick to the back of eighteen individual stamps and we wished the cards bon voyage.

Walking down the hill for an Aysberq

Dinner at the Chalabi Khan

In the evening we returned to the Chalabi Khan Restaurant. Studying the menu, we wondered why some dishes were so much more expensive than others. Fortunately we spotted Yassim and Togrul at a nearby table and sought advice. Some dishes, they told us, were for individuals, some for two, others for four, but there was no indication in otherwise exemplary English language menu, and had they not been there we would have been unable to discuss this with the waiters.

The fried chicken and potatoes, they told us were for two. ‘We have eaten it recently,’ Togrul told us. ‘They use intensively farmed chickens and they are very scrawny.’ Perhaps we should have taken heed of his warning, but we ordered it anyway. Someone somewhere in Azerbaijan, we learned, has found a way of breeding meat-free chickens. After three world class meals in a row we were brought down to earth with a bump.

Later, men started arriving in twos and threes and filling up the tables. For a group of men to come out at half past nine, sit outside restaurant and order a pot of tea, a dish of jam and sweets seems odd to us, but one should not knock such sobriety.

Evening in Sheki - some have tea and jam, other just sit on the park benches and talk
(but where are all the women?)

Back in our caravansary we had a better night. The baby upstairs may have cried, but its parents were trying hard to get it to sleep and it was infinitely preferable to a drunken Russian. There may have been fewer youths in noisy cars, and it may have been cooler (or I had grown used to the temperature), but either way, I slept well.

From the Caspian to the Black Sea

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Location: Sheki, Azerbaijan

Wednesday 13 August 2014

Baku to Şǝki (Sheki): Part 3 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Azerbaijan

Leaving Baku

Next morning, Togrul drove us (and Yassim) westward from Baku towards Sheki - more correctly Şǝki - and the mountains. If the growth of Baku around its bay seems to have been controlled, its westward expansion has been untrammelled, and we drove a long way before the city eventually dwindling into ripples of houses on the rolling scrubby grassland.

From Baku to Sheki

Our day’s journey would involve a long, slow climb from below sea-level semi-desert to the green foothills of the Caucasus. Hour by hour the change was almost imperceptible, but the cumulative effect was marked indeed.

Semi-desert outside Baku

The road was good; the dual carriageway out of Baku giving way to a wide and well-made two lane highway.

The Dir Baba Mausoleum, Maraza

After 90 minutes, as we approached the small town of Maraza we turned right and followed a smaller road down a ravine to the Diri Baba mausoleum. Diri Baba means the 'living grandfather’, but little is known about the mausoleum except that it was decorated with calligraphy by an artist signing himself ‘Dervish’. His writing includes the date 1402 and a fragment of the name of an otherwise unknown architect.

The Diri Baba Mausoleum, Maraza

The shortage of facts has allowed a wealth of stories to grow up. Most commonly, Diri Baba was, a saint who, after a life of good works, died while at prayer. At first his followers thought he was still praying but after a while they realised his lack of movement had a more permanent cause. Before he could be buried his body miraculously disappeared, which explains the name and why nobody is buried in the mausoleum.

Prayer Room Diri Baba Mausoleum, Maraza

The neat brick staircase was built in 2008, but the old steps inside are high and uneven. We clambered up, peered into the prayer room and emerged on the roof which gave a good view back to Maraza.

Maraza from the roof of the Diri Baba Mausoleum

Returning to the village we stopped to buy water in the commercial district.....

Shopping street, Mazara

...before continuing to the larger town of Şamaxi. In North Korea hillsides were covered with slogans that no one would translate. There was one outside Şamaxi too, but the translation was not a state secret; the late President Heydər Əliyev wants us to know that the ‘Independence of Azerbaijan is Eternal and Irreversible’. Thanks for the tautology, Heydǝr.

The Independence of Azerbaijan is Eternal and Irreversible, near Şamaxi

Şamaxi, The Friday Mosque

Şamaxi has a population of 30,000 but was much bigger when it was the capital of the Shirvanshahs who ruled Shirvan - eastern Azerbaijan and parts of Dagestan - from 799 to 1607. Earthquakes destroyed the royal palace, so they moved to Baku where we visited their 14th century replacement residence yesterday. Subsequent earthquakes, and a little warfare, means nothing remains of the Şamaxi palace.

The mosque is sometimes said to date from the 8th century, making it the second oldest in the Caucasus, but nothing survives of the original. The 10th version survived eight major earthquakes before succumbing to the ninth in 1902. The replacement, built on the same spot, has very recently undergone serious restoration and looks brand new.

Friday Mosque, Şamaxi

The inner section is traditional, the decoration, except around the mihrab, being unusually restrained. The outer section resembles the nave of a cathedral, making it an impressive, if slightly unusual building.

Mihrab, Friday Mosque, Şamaxi

Şamaxi, Yeddi Gumbaz (The Seven Dome Cemetery)

South of the town an unsurfaced road dips into a valley before climbing to where Yeddi Gumbaz cemetery overlooks the city.

Şamaxi from the Yeddi Gumbaz cemetery

The ancient cemetery is still in use and this modern gravestone must be one of the last with Azeri written in Cyrillic.

Modern gravestone, Yeddi Gumbaz, Şamaxi

The name means ‘seven domes,’ and the cemetery surrounds the seven 18th century domed tombs built by the family of Mustafa Khan, the last Khan of Şamaxi - though only three have survived later seismic activity.

The three remaining domes, Yeddi Gumbaz, Şamaxi

Inside the best preserved we found grave markers, a bat and something at heel level that hissed at us. Azerbaijan has its share of venomous snakes - in fact more than its share - so we conducted a dignified retreat without bothering to find out what it was.

Inside the domes, Yeddi Gumbaz, Şamaxi

We had climbed 700m since leaving Baku and west of Şamaxi most of the traffic drops down the pass southward to the arid lowlands but we turned off, keeping to the higher ground as we headed further west.

Keeping to the high ground from Şamaxi

Bado - Unpalatable Water but a Fine Lunch

Our next stop was at Bado, not so much a village as a pull off beside a spring. It was already lunchtime but Yassim was adamant that it was better to taste the water before lunch – ‘with a full stomach,’ he said encouragingly, ‘you would probably be sick.’

The spring, Bado

There was a modest sized scrum around the spring but Lynne found her way to the front and filled a water bottle. As I took the photograph below, beeping from behind made me jump out of the way as a man backed his car up to the spring. He took several 10l containers from the boot and joined the scrum. The water was refreshingly cool and did not taste that bad, if you ignore the powerful eggy odour. I am sure it did us good, but I doubt I could find a use for ten litres of it!

Lynne collects Bado water

Leaving the spring we turned back the way we had come. After a few minutes Togrul swung us into a courtyard beside a ‘restaurant’ sign. We had passed several such places but none of them looked open or even like restaurants – and neither did this. We passed under a makeshift entrance into an empty yard, and then into an inner yard where we parked. Beyond a garden sloped down to a small lake and dotted around it were half a dozen tables each one under its own shady roof. This was the restaurant and it was obviously open as one other table was already occupied.

More like a garden than a restaurant, Bado

We chose a spot near the water and a young man came over and greeted Yassim like an old friend. 'There is no written menu,' Yassim told us, 'but they do Azerbaijan barbecue.' That sounded good, so we followed Yassim's example and ordered lentil soup followed by barbecued lamb. 'I'll have a tomato omelette,' said Togrul 'because I have not had any breakfast.' I could not follow his logic, but, yet again, I had to admire his English. Drivers tend to smile a lot, insist on carrying your cases and generally try to be helpful - I have a high regard for them on the whole, but not as linguists. Togrul did all those things but also spoke English with an excellent accent, a colloquial turn of phrase and had good listening skills. He had learned, he said, from courses on the internet.

The soup arrived and also the tomato and cucumber salad, aubergine salad and cheese without which no meal is possible in Azerbaijan A plate of barbecued lamb soon followed. 'Fingers are the best way to eat this,' Yassim said somewhat unnecessarily - there was no other way. It was a fabulous meaty feast, a carnivore’s delight, the lamb being perfectly cooked, tender and juicy.

Lynne and Yassim at the restaurant, near Bado

As we ate we talked about Yassim and Togrul’s travels. They had both travelled widely in the Caucasus, though not to Armenia with whom the Karabakh war has been on hold for the last twenty years, with occasional outbreaks of shooting. Togrul had also visited Hong Kong. 'I thought I would starve, ' he said, 'I could find nothing to eat. Then I saw MacDonald’s. I would never normally go there, but it was such a relief.' We regard Hong Kong as one of the finest places to eat in the whole world, but Togrul could not be persuaded. 'Even the rice tasted different,' he complained and then, making a pincer movement with his fingers, 'can you eat with those little sticks?' 'It’s easy enough,' we said, 'with a bit of practice.' He looked surprised. 'You don't have to be born to it?'

After the meal Yassim ordered tea and jam. The tea came in small tulip shaped glasses and Yassim popped a lump of sugar in his mouth and sucked the tea through it, a trick we had previously seen in Iran. Jam, as in Armenia (but don't tell the Azeri) is more lumps of fruit in heavy syrup than jam. It is not boiled to a setting point and is eaten with a spoon rather than spread on bread.

We had drunk only water and what Yassim called 'compote' - sweetened, freshly made cherry juice - but we both felt we could nod off for a while. Perhaps it was a good thing Togrul had eaten a lighter meal, even if I could not share his attitude to food in general.

The Bucket Market at Nic

Bucket market, Nic

We continued through the small town of Ismalliyah and stopped in the village of Nic. At the 'bucket market’ - fruit and veg is sold by the bucket; if you want a smaller quantity go somewhere else - an elderly couple insisted we photograph them and  that Lynne should be in the picture, too. They acted as though we were doing them a favour, though to us it felt the other way round. We asked them for walnut jam, something we had enjoyed in Armenia, but they had none. We bought a jar from the next door stall and then our ‘friends’ found some walnut and apple, so we bought that too, it seemed only fair.

Lynne and new friends, bucket market, Nic

Sheki

We reached Sheki in late afternoon. The town, with some 60,000 inhabitants, is shaped like a thermometer, with a big bulb at the low southern end and a long, thin stem straggling northwards up the valley of a dry stream. Most buildings are constructed from flat red bricks, unlike the limestone of Baku.

The Caravanserai, Sheki

The domed entrance to the caravanserai

We stayed in the magnificent caravanserai near the top of the town. Passing through a domed entrance we found ourselves in a quadrangle surrounded by a two storey stone building. The rooms were basic but clean, though we wondered if the lack of air-conditioning - or even a fan - might prove a problem. The 'Lonely Planet' describes the bathrooms as 'humorously dated', though the shower may have looked antique it was the best we encountered in the Caucasus.

Inside the caravanserai, Sheki

Later we made the twenty minute walk to the town centre where the small park plays host to the tables of two establishments. One is apparently called the Qaqarin (Azeri spelling of the first man in space) though there is no sign. It was packed, the tables occupied by groups of men drinking tea and eating jam - there was not a woman in sight. In the opposite corner the Chalabi Khan restaurant was serving meals to a more mixed clientele. Our choice was simple.

The road down to the town centre, Sheki

Piti (Two-part Stew) and Other Goodies, Sheki

Sharing a Greek salad - local feta, olives, tomatoes and cucumber - and the inevitable heap of bread, Lynne ordered a chicken kebab while I opted for piti - or two part stew - the local specialty. It arrived in the clay mug in which it was cooked. Peering into the mug I saw a dense greasy liquid with a lump of sheep fat floating on it. Fortunately I had read the guide book so I knew what to do. Tearing a pile of bread into my dish, I sprinkled it with sumac (available, like salt and pepper, on every table) and poured the liquid from the clay mug on top. This soup was the first part and very good it was too. Once finished I tipped out the solids, which consisted of lamb (allegedly lamb tail) chick peas and that lump of fat, and mixed it all up with more sumac. The result was as richly sheepy as it is possible to get. After our lamb lunch this was my biggest sheepfest since Xinjiang, but here there had been alternatives, I had chosen it, and I had thoroughly enjoyed it. A couple of big glasses of draught beer dealt with the rehydration problem and I was feeling mellow when the bill came. Four glasses of beer, salad, piti and kebab came to 11 Manat, less than £9. I felt very mellow indeed.

Lynne eats her kebab, and I have reached part 2 of my piti, Chalabi Khan restaurant, Sheki

The twenty minute walk back up the hill was a sweaty business, even in the relative cool of the evening. Our room bore an unpleasant similarity to an oven, but there was worse to come.

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Tuesday 12 August 2014

Baku (2), The Qobustan Petroglyphs and the Old City: Part 2 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Baku

Baku to Qobustan

Azerbaijan

After a restful night and a good breakfast we set off with Yassim and a new driver who introduced himself as Togrul on an hour's journey south from Baku along the Caspian coast towards the small town of Qobustan.

The Azerbaijan Parliament, Baku

Northern Baku is the city’s industrial area (‘the Black City’). In the south is the almost circular Old Town and above that, on a low hill, is the nation’s modern administrative centre. Having rounded the hill we soon left the city, but that did not mean we were in for a scenic drive.

We did see a fine new mosque built over an earlier shrine destroyed in Soviet times, but after that we passed a shipyard assembling derricks for the off-shore oil industry, a concrete factory spreading its chalky unpleasantness across the countryside and a large facility owned by Halliburton. The flat, arid scrubland itself is ugly, and everything done to it or on it leaves a scar visible for miles.

With no desire to linger, we moved quickly through this landscape on a well-made and well maintained six lane highway.

The arid plane stretches away to the Caspian Sea

Looking inland as we approached Qobustan we could see two flat topped hills and a third conical one with apparently deeply eroded sides. Yassim called them mountains, though none were much more than 50 metres high - the Caspian Sea is 27 metres below sea level so the 'summits' were barely above sea level.

The conical mound is a mud volcano formed when methane under pressure forces its way to the surface through a layer containing water. The eruption throws up mud rather than lava and what I had taken for erosion were actually streams of mud. Azerbaijan has some 400 mud volcanoes, roughly half the world’s total.

The other two mountains are steep-sided, flat-topped benches about a kilometre long. They, and a third hidden behind them, make up the Qobustan archaeological site.

The Qobustan Museum and the Petroglyphs

Turning off before we reached the town we headed for the new museum at the base of the southernmost 'mountain'. Stepping out of our air-conditioned car into the growing heat of the morning, we were hit by a wind as hot as a hair dryer howling across the scrubby plain.

The Qobustan Museum

The 'mountains' are covered by 6000 petroglyphs and the little museum did an excellent job explaining when they were put there (between 5 and 40 thousand years ago), what they represent, what the area was like at the time, and how to see them - scratches in the rock tens of thousands of years old can be easily overlooked.

Group of men, Qobustan Petroglyphs

A touch screen allowed us to whiz the tortoise of time through the last fifty thousand years and watch the landscape changing. Today’s arid plain has sometimes been green savannah while at other times the waters of the Caspian have lapped the base of the mountains; at the end of the ice-age the hills briefly became islands.

Deer - or mountain goat - Qobustan petroglyphs

The petroglyphs are of men and women, boats and animals - foxes, deer, aurochs and later bulls, which were of great significance to them. The most recent carvings, dating from the Bronze Age, show domesticated horses and cattle - at least that is the interpretation of what appear to be ropes round their necks.

Pork scratchings, Qobustan Petroglyphs

The museum was well organised, the exhibits thoughtfully laid out and the route through clearly marked. Technology was cleverly used either to give a greater depth of understanding or to catch a child’s imagination. It was a model of what such museums should be, though it was not overwhelmed with custom – Azerbaijan sees far fewer tourists than it deserves.

Equipped with the means to interpret what we saw, we took the road up the 'mountain'. The summit is a chaotic landscape of windswept, shattered rocks and collapsed caves.

Chaotic landscape of shattered rocks, Qobustan

The path is well marked and Yassim knew where to direct our eyes. We saw groups of men, goats and a boat that Thor Hayerdahl (whose name will crop up again) thought looked so much like Viking boats that he conjectured that the proto-Norsemen had found their way to Scandinavia from the Caspian. There were carvings of women, too, reduced to their basics, breasts, pregnant bellies and wide hips, apparently heads, arms and legs are not important. Lynne pointed out that as interpreting these petroglyphs involved a measure of guesswork - none of those who made the carvings had been consulted - perhaps they were not representations of women at all. Fair point, I thought. [In a Georgian restaurant some days later we noticed a small wineskin - no head, truncated limbs, belly swollen. It made us wonder]

One of the boats that so excited Thor Hayerdahl, Qobustan

We saw many dozens of petroglyphs of different ages, some clearly visible, others harder to make out. We also saw holes in the rock thought to have been made for cooking. The holes were filled with water, hot rocks lobbed in and food boiled.

Neolithic cooking pots, Qobustan

The trip back might have been tedious but neither of us had fully recovered from the flight so we both nodded off.

Martyr's Alley, Baku

Back in Baku we drove up the hill and stopped by Martyr’s Alley. The events of the 19th/20th of January 1990 are not well known in the UK but in the dying days of its empire the Soviet Union declared a state of emergency in Azerbaijan. The Popular Front responded by imposing roadblocks around Baku which Soviet troops broke through, killing some 130 unarmed protestors. The Russians claim the first shots came from the Azerbaijan side, but this is hotly disputed. What Yassim did not tell us was that the state of emergency was declared to stop a pogrom against Baku’s Armenian residents which had already killed 90. What the Armenians forgot to mention when we were there in 2003, was that the pogrom was provoked by Armenia granting citizenship to ethnic Armenian residents in the Azeri district of Nagorno Karabakh. What the Azeris forget to mention..... and so on in a time honoured chicken and egg argument. The resulting Azerbaijan-Armenia war ended in 1994 with Karabakh a de facto independent state (recognised only by fellow unrecognised breakaways South Ossetia, Abkhazia and Transnistria), and left Azerbaijan with the feeling that it had been hard done by. Negotiations – and occasional shootings - continue.

Some in Azerbaijan believe that Armenia only exists because Russia wanted a buffer between the Azeris and their Turkish cousins. Some in Armenia believe that most of western Turkey should be theirs. Having enjoyed the hospitality of both countries, I have no wish to take sides.

Martyr's Alley, Baku

The 130 who died in Black January are commemorated with names and photographs in black marble. Martyr’s Alley ends at an eternal flame commemorating the Azeris who died in two world wars as well as in the Armenian war.

Eternal Flame, Martyr's Alley, Baku

The Flame Towers and the Eurovision Song Contest, Baku

Less controversially, the memorial has excellent views up to the ‘flame towers’ (in the Land of Fire what else should buildings portray?) at the highest point of the city,.....

Flame Towers, Baku

... and down to the almost circular old city and right across the modern city curling round its bay.

The Old City (the surrounded circle of low-rise buildings, left of photo)
and the green Boulevard Park beside the water

At the southern end, on an artificial peninsula, is the Crystal Hall, built to stage the 2012 Eurovision Song Contest. The event maybe more a festival of tosh than a cultural highlight but to Azerbaijan, not long independent and a relative newcomer to the community of nations, winning in 2011 and being the host in 2012 gave a welcome feeling of belonging.

The Crystal Hall, Baku, Venue of the 2012 Eurovision song contest

As at Qobustan, the view was accompanied by a strong wind. Not for nothing is Baku known as the Windy City. If I ever visit Chicago (and currently it is not a priority) I will be able to comment on their relative windiness.

Lynne and Yassim in the pedestrian area near Fountain Square

Lunch on Fountain Square, Baku

Walking down the hill to Fountain Square which is considered the centre of modern Baku, we lunched in a basement restaurant amid traditional Azeri decor. Wanting something light I went for 'sweet dolmas’ with chestnuts and walnuts chopped into the minced beef, while Lynne opted for a ‘dolma selection with aubergine and peppers’. We think of dolmas as being something wrapped in vine leaves, so suspected this might be a vegetarian option, the Azeri view is that dolmas are minced beef with a wrapping, usually vine leaves, but in this case peppers and aubergines. Vegetarian option? In Azerbaijan? What were we dreaming of? With them we drank draft Xirdalan beer, which had the virtues of being cheap and brewed locally, if not much else.

Eating dolmas, Baku

Baku is a city of fountains and those now in Fountain Square are minor compared with several other squares and parks – it was different in Soviet times.

Fountain Square, Baku

Baku Old City

It is a short trip from Fountain Square to the old city gate. Baku retains a kilometre or so of its medieval city wall, half encircling the town.

The City Walls. Baku Old City

Baku’s founding is lost in the mists of time, but it first came to prominence in 1191 as the capital of Shirvan, a small kingdom comprising most of north eastern Azerbaijan and some of southern Dagestan. Sacked by the Mongols, the city rose again in the 15th century only to be sacked by the Persians in 1501. After Shirvan finally fell Baku underwent an unhappy period, being regularly swapped between Russia and Persia and when Peter the Great took the city in 1723 the population had dwindled to around 7,000. Baku became finally established as Russian in the early 19th century and began to spread beyond its walls. Surface oil had been found and used locally since antiquity, but the sudden growth of world demand in the early twentieth century turned Baku into a boom town. The newly wealthy oil barons built lavish mansions (and the Boulevard Park we walked through yesterday), and changed the face of Baku permanently.

Baku Old City

Old Baku was an important trading post on the Silk Road and two caravansaris survive, though an oil baron’s mansion was built over half of one of them. Both are now restaurants.

Caravansari, Baku Old City

From here we passed a recently excavated ancient graveyard.

Baku's ancient graveyard

Beside it are the remains of the church of St Bartholomew. Local tradition says that the apostle came to evangelise Azerbaijan in the first century but fell foul of the Zoroastrians and was skinned alive and crucified for his pains. The church was his long delayed consolation prize but, adding insult to injury, it was demolished during Soviet times.

The remains of the Church of St Batholomew, Baku

The Maiden's Tower, Baku

Nearby, the Qız Qalası (Maiden’s Tower) is the symbol of old Baku. 29 metres high with immensely thick stone walls, its original date of construction is unknown - though most of the present structure is twelfth century. Its purpose is also a mystery; it may have been a Zoroastrian fire temple, a tower of silence, an observatory or merely defensive. A modern spiral staircase takes you up to the second floor which originally could only be reached by ladder. Above this the staircase winds upwards inside the thick walls. There are exhibitions on the various floors, but the main attraction is the view from the top.

The Maiden Tower, Baku

Here again Baku reminded us why it is known as the Windy City. The name Maiden’s Tower has given rise to any number of fanciful legends, each source favouring a different tale, but the dull truth is that it probably derives from the tower never having been taken by aggressors.

The Flame Towers from the top of the Maiden Tower, Baku

As we left we encountered a couple apparently looking for locations for their wedding photos and they kindly posed for us. Afterwards they popped up everywhere we went and I began to think they were probably models hired by the tourist board.

Must be models, surely. Baku Old City

We wandered through the streets which become narrower as they approach the centre.

The narrow streets of Baku Old City

The Broken Tower Mosque, Baku

The Muhammad Mosque, built in 1079, is the oldest in Baku. It has been known as the ‘Broken Tower' since the minaret was struck during a Russian naval bombardment in 1723. It has recently been repaired.

The formerly broken tower of the Muhammad Mosques, Baku

At the one room Museum of Miniature Books, the enthusiastic owner - who had a box for donations but charged no entry fee - showed us round her collection. She has 6,500 books published in 64 different countries and could name the publisher and date of publication of every one of them. In a case of religious books, tiny Qur’ans, Bibles and Torahs jostled amicably. There were Azeri classics and many more in foreign languages including Russian (Pushkin featuring strongly) French (Dumas, Balzac) and English (including the complete works of Shakespeare in a set of single volumes). There were popular works, too covering subjects like The Beatles and ‘William and Kate’. Most were three or four centimetres tall by one or two wide, but she had some smaller books; the complete works of Jane Austin in a centimetre square edition and her pride and joy, a twenty page book 0.75mm square. Fortunately it was in a glass box inside a glass case, I would hate to have sneezed.

The Palace of the Shirvanshahs, Baku

Nearby is the modest palace of the Shirvanshahs.

The entrance to the Palace of the Shirvanshahs (and that couple again)
Baku Old City

The Shirvanshahs ruled Shirvan, from the 9th to the 16th century. A single dynasty, the Yazidids, clung to power for seven hundred years sometimes ruling an independent state, sometimes as vassals of the Mongols or Timurids. The capital moved to Baku from Samaxi, 50km to the west, in the 12th century after the royal palace was destroyed by an earthquake. In 1538 Shirvan became a province of the Persian Empire and ceased to be a political entity in 1607.

Throne room, Palace of the Shirvanshahs, Baku Old City

Through the almost hidden entrance we wandered round the throne room and the Divan Dana, the small court of a small, if persistent kingdom and, like the rest of the palace, a bit over-restored.

Divan Dana, Palace of the Shirvanshahs
Baku Old City

That finished a full and very hot day's sightseeing.

Dinner in Fountain Square

In the evening we made the lengthy walk back to Fountain Square because we failed to find any better options on the way. This time we wanted to stay above ground, preferably on the square itself and this left us with the choice of Pizza House (so much better than a mere Hut, but still it failed to tempt me) or an Italian Restaurant/Sushi Bar - not a combination I am familiar with. My chicken breast covered in tomato and cheese was fine, as was Lynne's fettuccini with ham and mushrooms, but it was only as she was finishing that we realised she has been eating pork in a majority Muslim (if constitutionally secular) country. 'That's odd,' we agreed and had another sip of beer - Efes, brewed in majority Muslim (though constitutionally secular) Turkey.

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Location: Baku, Azerbaijan
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