Burning water, petroglyphs and our first friend in Azerbaijan

We always stay in every country longer than expected but it took us more than two weeks to leave Iran. We were just hitchhiking around and saying goodbye to our new friends, and we always stayed with them longer than planned.

Missing Iran

We went to the mountains with Azad, were observing tadpoles and were making nerdy jokes about eating them. We also saw his workshop and met Samir. We visited again Tahmineh and her family. (When we arrived, we only found her parents at home, so we were trying to help them in the garden - they didn't let us much - and succeeded to have almost something like a conversation in Farsi with them.) I got a real haircut from her sister, so I got rid of the horrible mullet that was growing on my head. Tahmineh was even planning to hitchhike with us to another city, but then she changed her mind because she was afraid her parents wouldn't like it. We went to see Amir and were driving with him around the city at night. And we visited Atesh and stayed with him almost a week instead of a day. We were talking about philosophical stuff, playing cards and he was poking fun at us all the time (he seemed to had lost his polite inhibitions, and he was trolling both of us the same way he was trolling other friends). He also convinced us to go with him and his friends to a trip to the countryside. We climbed up a castle and on the way down we were sitting on a cliff, staring into the valley, singing songs and talking about traveling, and I knew I would miss these talks so bad and I would miss his poking fun at me.

The Zahak castle

Eventually we hitchhike north, camp on an Iranian field for the last time, are offered our last Iranian tea and cross to Azerbaijan.

I get rid of my hijab just after the Iranian booth. I'm happy it is not annoying me and sticking to my neck anymore. Behind the border, there is Latin alphabet, Soviet-style statues and Soviet-style buildings and cars. It feels familiar. People have gold teeth - that's familiar from my childhood as well.

We withdraw some money and start walking along the road. Vojta wants to buy a lighter.

He gets one for free.

In another shop, we get ice-creams for free. "Welcome to Azerbaijan," the shop keeper says. The khareji power seems to be working here too. (I realize how mean I am, and I start rather being grateful that people keep being nice to us.)

We get to a spot where there is a big red star on our map, marking an interesting place. There is a water spring you can put on fire.

Yanar bulaq

We ignite the gas coming through the water a couple of times, fill our water bottles and hitch a ride to Lankaran, the first bigger town after the border. We realize how lucky we have been - there is civilization and houses everywhere, not a single field along the road. It would be hard to find a hitchhiking spot here.

When we get to the city, it's raining. We hide under some trees and stay there until the shower stops, like in any normal country. Nobody comes to invite us for tea in the meantime. We are not in Iran anymore.

We find a camping spot, put up the tent and eat a sausage with bread. It feels like our journey is restarting again after a long break. In Iran, it didn't feel like a hitchhiking trip. It felt more like a one long party in Wonderland. I realize it's been a long time since we've last camped two nights in a row. In Iran, we camped maybe just ten nights out of almost two months - the other nights we just got invited. I miss Iran. I miss Tahmineh. I miss Atesh. I realize how weird it is - I got used to missing my boyfriend and my friends and family back in Czechia, but missing Iran is new.

Tea with guards in the middle of nowhere

In the morning, we buy internet (we are not supposed to have it without an Azeri ID card but the shopkeeper uses his ID instead). Then we keep hitchhiking north with a dim plan to find the Chinese embassy in Baku to get the Chinese visa and some kind of Azeri registration we need.

We are surprised people not always understand the concept of hitchhiking or the Russian word for it, "avtostop". But it's quite easy to explain them in pseudo-Russian, and the word "pa putky" sometimes works.

In cities, there is a lot of big squares with only few people compared to Iran. There are soviet-style statues of the president and his family members everywhere. There also is a striking difference among the cars we pass - we can either see 40 years old Ladas that barely have all four wheels, or brand new luxury offroads I would never be able to buy. There seem to be no normal cars. Also people seem to be either awfully rich, or just poor. Nothing in between.

Aliyev the Great

I try to speak Russian and I mix it with Croatian, Polish and also Farsi hopelessly.

A driver gives us home-made pirogi. A Turk who lives in Azerbaijan tells us this country is a harsher dictatorship than Iran. We have tea with a guy who was among the soldiers sent to occupy Czechoslovakia by the USSR government during his military service in his youth - he probably still believes that he was helping our country, as the official Russian propaganda then was saying. We meet two Austrian cyclists on their way south. We have our first beer in a couple of months with them and we get drunk with one pint. I realize I have got my arms and my head sunburnt ("Do you need more signs to start believing in God and wearing a hijab?", an Iranian friend is laughing at me through Whatsapp).

We don't know what we want to do in Azerbaijan, so we randomly hitchhike to a town called Qobustan - our map shows some rock carvings in there. Our driver brings us directly to the gate in the fence that surrounds the area. It's in the middle of nowhere and there is a booth with two guards. They say that it is closed today and that we can camp near their booth.

We are not in a hurry, so we put up our tent on the steppe. There is a water tap and a toilet nearby - all we need.

The cops also let us cook a meal and charge phones in their booth (the electric installation would make a Czech safety technician faint) and they insist on sharing their dinner with us. They don't let me take picture of them because it is forbidden to take pictures of people in uniforms and round hats but they are very friendly. They keep giving us tea the entire evening and we have a conversation in a mishmash of Russian, Turkish and English.

We are slowly getting used to being in a new country even though I still put Farsi words in my Russian and Vojta just keeps speaking Farsi to everyone.

Toilet in the steppe

Mud volcanoes, Rafael and troubles with the Chinese visa

In the morning we hear somebody calling at us from his car. It's one of the museum staff. He mistook us for his French acquaintances, but he doesn't mind and offers us a ride directly to the museum. So we go with him.

He tells us his name is Rafael ("like one of the Ninja Turtles"). He shows us all the petroglyphs - they are bettre visible and more diverse than I expected, and he seems to love them and know a lot about them. He also presents us his colleagues. For some time, we are sitting on the top of the hill with him and Leyla, his relative who also works at the museum (she has an elegant hat and a thick Oxford dictionary in her hands). We are looking at the sea and the Qobustan prison (what a nice scenery) and talking about life. Leyla's plan is pretty clear. She wants to earn money and buy a house - and she says it's not that usual in Azerbaijan; people just look for a rich husband. She also mentions the conflict between Azerbaijan Armenia. She doesn't like Armenia much - the blame is mostly theirs.

Petroglyphs of Qobustan

Raphael and his colleagues then agree to call the Chinese embassy in Baku for us to ask about visa requirements in a better Russian than ours. The Chinese tell us to go stuff ourselves - no visa for foreigners in Baku. The Fortress China seems to be fortified really well - Baku was the only glimpse of hope in the whole Caucasus and Central Asia. We will have to try going through a Czech agency then, using our spare passports that we left at home.

It also means that we don't need to hurry to Baku anymore, and Rafael offers us to meet up again after work.



A music stone

In the meantime, we visit the actual museum (it is very modern and except for a large poster glorifying the president and his family it has no Soviet feeling). We then hitchhike 10 kilometers back south to see mud volcanoes Rafael suggested us. We are already quite confident about hitchhiking - it's quick and easy, almost like in Turkey. The difference is that we need to tell we travel without money, and one in two cars that stop agrees to take us for free.

We hike a curvy path from the main road to the hills and we find the volcanoes. There really is mud in them and it bubbles. I'm wondering whether it is possible to drown in it.

Rafael comes for us with his car. (It's a Lada that holds together by magic. Our friend starts it by joining two cables, usually opens the trunk with a screw driver and doesn't lock it.)

He brings us home, shows us his kids and a little pet goose, his family offers us a delicious soup and then we look at photos.

We now know somebody in Azerbaijan. We are not complete strangers anymore.

 

 

Rafael's goose (R.I.P.)