Travelling Around Britain and the World

Saturday, 16 August 2014

Telavi to Tbilisi, via Sighnaghi, Part 6 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

A King's Castle, a Gentleman's Palace, the Nunnery of Georgia's most Important Saint and a Fine Winery

Telavi

A Little History

Georgia
Telavi

In morning sunshine, central Telavi looked rather more cheerful than yesterday's first impression had suggested.

After the destruction wrought by the Persian Shah Abbas in the 17th century, his successor Nadir Shah (for whom the Topkapı Dagger was made, though he died before the gift was delivered) appointed local princes as kings of Kartli (central Georgia) and Kakheti (eastern Georgia).

Central Telavi, on a quiet summer Saturday morning

The appointment of Erekle II (also known as Heraclius) did not turn as Shah Abbas had hoped. Erekle united the kingdoms and from 1762 ruled them as a semi-independent state. He built the sizeable castle that occupies much of central Telavi. Unfortunately it was not open, so we had a look round the outside.

Telavi Castle


Telavi Castle

Erekle was generally a wise and forward looking ruler but overreached himself when he tried to free Imereti, a western Georgian kingdom, from the Turks. He sought Russian help in 1770, then Russian protection in 1783. Although apparently a good idea at the time, once the Russians had their foot in the door it was only a matter of time before they annexed Georgia in its entirety. A brief period of independence followed the First World War, but by 1922 the Red Army had incorporated Georgia into the new USSR and that was the end of independence until the USSR disintegrated in 1991.

Telavi Castle

In front of the castle is an equestrian statue of Erekle II. Dinara was dismissive, the Soviets threw up hundreds of such statues, she told us, paying lip service to Georgian history.

Erekle II outside his castle, Telavi

900 Year-Old Plane Tree

Opposite the statute is a plane tree, said to be 900 years old. The claim is unverifiable, but it is certainly the biggest plane tree I have ever seen. It is more than likely that it was already mature when Erekle started work on the castle and it has outlived him, not to mention the Soviet Union.

Lynne and a huge plane tree, Telavi

Although our destination was Tbilisi, we set off eastwards, back towards Azerbaijan,....

Telavi to Tbilisi via Sighnaghi

Tsinandali Palace

....stopping first at the Tsinandali Palace, in the wine village of that name. The Italianate palace was built by Prince Alexander Chavchavadze (1786-1846), son of Georgia's first ambassador to Russia and godson of Catherine the Great - though he became an anti-tsarist activist and poet.

Tsinindali Palace on the Chavchavadze Estate

Photographs were not permitted inside the house, but in the literary salon where he entertained Dumas and Pushkin you can step out onto the balcony and obey the letter, if not the spirit of the law.

Lynne and Dinara in the 'Literary Salon' Tsinindali Palace

The house passed to Alexander’s son David Chavchavadze, but the good fortune of the family came to a shuddering halt in 1854 when tribesmen from Dagestan ransacked the house, kidnapping 23 women and children, including David’s wife. To pay the substantial ransom demand, David borrowed money from the Tsar. When he could not manage the repayments the house passed to Tsar Alexander III, and the Russian royal family frequently spent their summers here. Despite this misfortune, the Chavchavadze family*[update at end] have continued to play a prominent role in Georgian life and politics.

The house is set in a garden in the ‘English Style'. At the end of the Garden is a winery built by Alexander's father. Beneath the house is a tasting room where we were offered a glass of Tsinandali wine (see Tasting Georgian Wines).

The 'English Garden' and the winery, Tsinandali Palace

Sighnaghi

Saint Nino and the Bodbe Nunnery

Sighnaghi

A little further east, near the small town of Sighnaghi is the Bodbe nunnery, the burial place of Saint Nino. St Georgia may be the Patron Saint of Georgia, but St Nino, is perhaps, even more important to Georgoan national identity. She is believed to have been a Greek speaking Roman from Cappadocia, and possibly a relative of St George, who arrived in Georgia ca 320 intent on converting the country to Christianity. Requiring a cross for her work she entered a nearby vineyard - there is usually one handy in Georgia - picked up a couple of vine twigs, tied them together with a lock of her hair and so invented the distinctive Georgian Grapevine Cross.

Nino's original Grapevine (allegedly), Tbilisi Sioni Cathedral, (thanks, Wikipedia)

She first converted King Merian III of Iberia (Iberia here meaning central Georgia, not Spain and Portugal) followed by the rest of the country, making Georgia the second country (after Armenia) to adopt Christianity as the state religion. Her work done, she retired to Bodbe and died there in 332, 338 or 340 depending on which source you read. The main church is 9th century though it has endured many makeovers, most notably in the 17th century. The detached bell tower is 18th century.

The old church, Bodbe Nunnery, Sighnaghi

A striking feature of Georgian (and Armenian) Christianity is that one church is never enough, and a second one is currently being built next to it. Wealthy people who want to show their piety and gratitude for their success build a church to the glory of God. Fair enough, but when there is already one perfectly adequate church why build another next-door? Could their piety be better shown by using the same money for good works? Do Georgians want a lesson in morality from me? No. At the bottom of the hill below the new church is a spring which miraculously appeared when Nino prayed at that spot and its waters are alleged to cure a variety of ailments.

The new church, Bodbe Nunnery, Sighnaghi

The Pheasant's Tears Winery

Sighnaghi itself is dramatically placed on a bluff above the wide Alazani Valley, but before taking a look around we had lunch at the Pheasant's Tears Winery. This Georgian-Swedish-American concern aims to produce wines so rare and beautiful you would think you were drinking pheasant's tears.

Sighnaghi

After a brief glance at the cellar and a look at more qvervis we sat down to eat. When the Russian market dried up after the 2008 war the owners of Pheasant's Tears decided that for export purposes their USP was that Georgian wine was different, so they have concentrated on making organic Georgian style wines as well as they possibly can be made. Like many wineries Pheasant’s Tears is run by enthusiasts, and their enthusiasm is infectious. I wish them well with their endeavour.

Lynne, me, qvervis (at our feet) and some bottles

To say that we had a different wine with every course would be true if Georgian food came in courses. We ate bread and cheese, aubergine purée, a chard/spinach dish, green salad, a melange of wild mushrooms, beef patties (do I mean burgers?) and chips. We drank four different wines - see my Georgian wine notes (Tasting Georgian wine) - ranging from good to excellent and finished with a glass of chacha, the Georgian version of grappa. We immediately felt the need to part with 30 Laris (£10.50) for a half litre bottle.

Well fed, we staggered out onto Sighnaghi's main drag where Lynne attempted to get run over by a man apparently unaware of the difference between a hill start and vertical take-off.

Sighnaghi City Wall and The Alazani Valley

Driving through the town and out to the end of the bluff we reached one of the 23 watch towers on Erekle II’s 4 km long encircling wall.

Watchtowers on Sighnaghi city wall

Perched high above the Alazani Valley, I find it hard to imagine any attacker even getting as far as the wall.

Sighnaghi city wall above the Alazani Valley

Central Sighnaghi

Back in town we dropped in on St George’s church, one of two Georgian Orthodox churches within the city walls. It is not particularly old, Sighnaghi was an 18th century new town, but it looks older.

St George's Church, Sighnaghi

We walked through the pleasant streets of the small town pausing at the war memorial, which has far too many names for such a small place.

Just part of Sighnaghi War Memorial - so many names for such a small town

We had by now travelled 50km in the wrong direction, so the journey back to Tbilisi took a couple of hours. The roads were good, though perhaps not quite as good as in Azerbaijan and the driving was a little wilder. We left the Alazani valley and crossed rich agricultural country - with the inevitable sprinkling of vineyards.

Leaving Sighnaghi

Tbilisi: Arrival and First Impressions

Tbilisi

We seemed to drop into Tbilisi. One minute the city was not there, then we dipped down, rounded a hairpin went back under the road and there it was. Eastern Tbilisi and the 'old town' are situated along a valley, in places almost a gorge.

Across the bridge to the old town, Tbilisi

Our hotel was near the old town and after settling in we took a walk past the bars and cafés that make up this area and continued past the Sioni Cathedral (of which more in the next post), which is built in a depression. Saturday evening mass was well attended with queues outside the door.....

Queue for Saturday Mass, Sioni Cathedral, Tbilisi

...and confession being heard in the precinct.

Hearing confession in the precinct, Sioni Cathedral, Tbilisi

Konka Station

We stopped to rehydrate at a bar called the Konka Station. The Konka was Tbilisi's old tram system and a retired tram car was parked outside. As the intense heat of the day began to wane and we became more and more comfortable where we were, the thought of walking back to the hotel and then coming out later to find dinner became increasingly unattractive. We called for the menu and another beer and ordered a khachapuri (cheese pie) and a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Although the Georgians are great wine drinkers, they brew a decent lager and eat an immense amount of their distinctively flavoured cheese. Norma and Wilson, whom we met in North Korea, have travelled extensively in the former Soviet republics. It is their opinion that khachapuri is actually addictive. They may be right.

*The family remains prominent and not just in Georgia. In October 2014 I spotted a newspaper obituary of David Chavchavadze. Born in London 1922, he moved to America in 1943. He was a writer and musician and for two decades a CIA officer in the Soviet Union division.



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Location: Sighnaghi, Georgia

Friday, 15 August 2014

Into Georgia, The Vineyards of Kakheti: Part 5 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Sheki to the Georgian Border

In the morning we left our caravanserai….

Leaving the Caravanserai, Sheki

… under the stern but benign (?) gaze of Azerbaijan's late President Heydǝr Əliyev ….

Heydǝr Əliyev says 'Goodbye'

… and set off westwards towards Georgia. We travelled through flat agricultural land with the Caucasus to our right and behind them Dagestan and the rest of Russia. Away to our left behind lower hills lay Georgia. We would follow this plain jutting out between two ranges until Azerbaijan came to its end at the Lagodekhi border post.

The road was well made and smooth, as were all we encountered in the country. Zagatala and Balakǝn, the last two towns in Azerbaijan looked as neat and tidy as everywhere else, though here, for the first and only time in the Caucasus, we saw horses and carts on the roads, mainly moving loads of freshly dried hay. We passed the end of the road to the locally well-known mineral water producing town of Qax. I love the name, but ‘q’ is pronounced as a hard ‘g’ and ‘x’ as the ‘ch’ in ‘loch’ so it sounds more like a Klingon’s favourite food than the vocalisation of a duck.

The next stage of the journey, Sheki to Telavi

Into Georgia

At the border Yassim and Togrul were well enough known to be able to drive through the preliminary gate. We had our cases x-rayed and our passports stamped, then they drove us into no man's land. We made our farewells and trundled our cases across the invisible line into Georgia where we were welcomed by Dinara, our Georgian guide. It was like being handed over at the Glienicke Bridge in cold-war Berlin, if rather less tense.

Georgia

The Georgian formalities were minimal. We met Alex our driver who deposited our cases in the back of a large black BMW four by four and we set off into a new country, not forgetting to set our watches back an hour because although both countries are in the same time zone Azerbaijan moves its clocks forward for summer and Georgia does not.

From the border post we drove through a series of contiguous villages which looked less prosperous than their Azeri neighbours. We were in now in the valley of the Alazani River in the eastern Georgian region of Kakheti. The valley can be described, without serious exaggeration, as a hundred kilometre long vineyard. Unsurprisingly our first stop was for a wine-tasting.

Khareba Cellars, Kvareli

Khareba is one of Georgia’s largest wine producers. They have vineyards in Kakheti and in the western region of Imereti and own two wineries as well as the storage facility at Kvareli that we visited.

We had a false start, coming through the wrong gate, and having a lengthy walk to find the entrance to the cellars which occupy 8km of tunnels dug into the hillside.

Entrance to the tunnels, Khareba Winery,  Kvareli

The tunnels keep the wine at a steady 10º throughout the year and we walked past thousands of slumbering bottles on our way to the museum and tasting area.

Maturing wine, Khareba Winery,  Kvareli

The Georgians are convinced (and they may actually be right) that wine making was invented by Georgians; there is certainly solid evidence that they were at it 7,000 years ago. Their technique involves treading grapes in stone or wooden vats and then putting everything – juice, skins, stalks and pips - into a clay pot known as a qvervi. The qvervi is buried in the ground for temperature control and is covered but not sealed. The juice ferments on the skins and then stays on them for far longer than in the western European tradition. The resulting wines have a flavour from the clay pot and are heavily oxidized, the whites are brown - the colour of tea is deemed appropriate - and the taste is unfamiliar to the western European wine drinker, though much appreciated by Georgians. The reds are more mainstream but the best red grape, Saperavi, has so much colour - having red flesh and juice as well red skin - that it is as much a dye as a drink.

Vat for treading grapes, Khareba Winery, Kvareli

Georgia has over five hundred native grape varieties, but subtle differences are lost in the qvervi. In the past they would have also been transported in a goatskin and drunk from a cow’s horn - I doubt much of the character of the grape would have survived that! There are now wines made by 'the European method' too, though at some wineries that still involves the use of a qvervi. For an appreciation of the wines we tasted here and elsewhere see the Tasting Georgian Wine post. At Khareba we tasted the produce of several different grape varieties vinified using both European and Georgian methods. The overall standard was high, and one or two were excellent.

About to start tasting, Khareba Winery, Kvareli

After our tasting we took the lift up to the roof - or ground level as we had been down a hole – to the restaurant and chose a table on the terrace overlooking the Alazani valley. Knowing we were eating in our guesthouse that evening and aware that Georgian tradition demands that the meal would be vast, we settled for a light lunch, ordering one green and one chicken salad. We expected the chicken salad to be slices of meat with some foliage, but it was just chicken, somewhat reminiscent of rillettes, or maybe a Lao meat salad. We washed this down with water, we had already drunk wine and there was another tasting to go, so restraint seemed wise.

Gremi, the Church of the Archangel (front) and the Tower Palace

Gremi

Gremi, a little further up the valley, was the capital of Kakheti from 1466 to 1672. Georgian history is, to say the least, complicated. Separate eastern and western kingdoms in antiquity were united in the eleventh century leading to a Georgian golden age which lasted, despite intervention of the Mongols, until the start of the fifteenth century. Weakened by the Black Death and buffeted by repeated visits from Tamerlane and his hordes, Georgia fracturing into four petty kingdoms of which Kakheti was the easternmost. The tower palace, on a bluff above the road, is a small, modest palace as befits a small, modest kingdom.

Inside the Tower Palace, Gremi

The Church of the Archangels beside it was built by King Levan in 1565 and the frescoes painted shortly afterward.

Inside the Church of the Archangels, Gremi

There was also a winery within the main complex (well this is Georgia) ….

Old qvervi in the winery Gremi

...while at the foot of the bluff are the remains of a caravansary, baths and market. What we saw was largely restoration; the originals were reduced to rubble by the Persian Shah Abbas in 1616. The eastern Georgian kingdoms were under constant pressure from the Persian Empire while the western kingdoms were harried by the Ottomans.

Lynne outside the restored caravansarai, Gremi

Twins Winery, Napareuli

At Napareuli we dropped in on the much smaller Twins Winery where they were kind enough to show us around. They have Georgia's, and hence the world's largest qvervi, but they use it for showing an introductory film rather than for wine making.

The world's biggest qvervi, Twins Winery, Napareuli

We saw the vineyards and inspected their brand new qvervis set in a concrete floor ready for this year's vintage.

Brand new qvervis ready for this year's harvest, Twins Winery, Napareuli

Less willing to compromise with western techniques, they even make their ‘European style’ wines in qvervis - which makes them semi-European at best. Whatever my western trained palate may say about qvervi wines, the Georgians love them, so much so that they have had ‘winemaking in qvervi’ inscribed on the UNESCO list of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity (see Tasting Georgian Wine)

The wines, Twins Winery, Napareuli, Saperavi, Georgian style white, European style white

Guesthouse in Telavi

From Gremi the capital of Kakhetti moved to Telavi which, with 20,000 inhabitants is still the region’s chief town. We arrived in the early evening and thought the town had a sad post-Soviet look, although we were to partly revise that opinion in the morning.

Telavi sits on the hills that are the southern boundary of the vineyard-filled Alazani Valley. Our guest house was at the top of the town so our room and the balcony on which we had dinner had superb views over the valley to the distant foothills of the Caucasus beyond.

Looking over Telavi and the Alazani Valley

Dinner was as vast as we had expected. Bread, tomato and cucumber salad, aubergine purée, pork stew, pancakes stuffed with a walnut paste, slabs of fried pork, flaky pastry stuffed with meat and finally our first khachapuri – the cheese pie that is ubiquitous through Georgia, though each region takes pride in its own variation on the basic theme of melted cheese.

The four of us, Lynne and I, Dinara the guide and Alex the driver, made a spirited effort but could eat less than half the food on the table. This, we discovered, is the Georgian way; they would hate a guest to go hungry - or thirsty, a litre jug of murky brown white wine was also plonked on the table. By the time we reached the bottom I was developing a taste for it.

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Location: Telavi, Georgia

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
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