19 AZERBAIJAN
929 Km – 18 Days
23 May – 9 June 2008
Map
Photos
23
May - Tbilisi, Georgia - Gazakh, Azerbaijan – 101 kilometres
Azeri
visas in our passports, Ernest and I left Tbilisi and proceeded to the Georgia-Azari
border. I wouldn’t have chosen this route if cycling solo. I imagined there was
significantly more to Georgia and a more scenic route via the mountains.
Nevertheless, a comfortable cycle of roughly 60 kilometres took us to the
border.
Things
were a tad haphazard on the Azeri side. Our passports were passed from person
to person until, eventually, stamped. The first person I met was a Chinese
cyclist who’d been travelling for the past 11 years! We chatted over a cup of
tea and forty kilometres beyond the border, tiny Gazakh sported a derelict
restaurant where Ernest and I pitched the tents in their overgrown garden. The
clock moved on an hour, allowing an additional hour of sunlight.
24
May - Gazakh - Ganja – 99 kilometres
The
route between Gazakh (Oazax) and Ganja was narrow and poor. It was better to
cycle alongside the tarmac as it wasn’t as rutted. A headwind further hampered
our efforts. Summer had arrived and the days were sweltering and dry. Towards
the end of the day, a tir park (truck stop), where one could have
a dollar shower, signalled the end of the day’s ride.
25
May - Ganja – Alpi – 120 kilometres
Not
only did Ernest insist on biking this route instead of the picturesque mountain
road, but we sped right past places of interest. It seemed the two of us barely
ever agreed on anything. The way remained poor, and a headwind marred the day.
At least the Azerbaijanis appeared a great deal more welcoming than the
Georgians. Taking a break usually meant people soon started a conversation, and
no sooner the entire village arrived to inquire about our comings and goings.
The
language was easier to master than Georgian, as Azerbaijani, the official
language, is Turkic. This allowed us to tell where we’re from and where we’re
going. Shortly beyond Yevlax, we encountered a Turkish roadwork team at a tea
stop who invited us to stay at their road camp. In true Turkish style, the
tents were hardly up and food arrived.
26
May – Alpi – Alat - 123 kilometres
Our
early departure was due to our tents being in the car park, and people started
arriving at work. Once again, food arrived before we were even done. Good thing
as the day turned out a frustrating one of cycling into a stiff breeze via a
lousy road and in blistering heat. I wasn’t happy.
It
appeared few foreigners frequented this area as villagers were genuinely
captivated by our presence, and we barely ever paid for tea. By the time we’d
finished our tea, the bill was generally already settled. One more incredible
thing was that virtually all sported a complete set of shiny golden teeth,
apparently fashionable at the time.
Still,
we struggled on until pitching the tents behind a petrol station—a beautiful
spot overlooking a dam. However, we soon discovered our mistake as mosquitoes
came out in force. No sooner were the tents pitched than I noticed the pond
alive with hundreds of slithering snakes (I’m not exaggerating). I could only
stare wide-eyed at what must’ve been the worse place I’ve ever pitched a tent! If
ever you were inclined to envy my life, this wasn’t a time to envy. Being
already late, I crawled into the tent only to surface the following morning. It
subsequently dawned upon me that they were likely eels and not snakes; still, I
endured an uncomfortable night.
27
May - Alat – road camp - 88 kilometres
Encountering
a headwind made me feel my problems were never-ending. But, at least the road
surface improved closer to the capital. The country folk remained extremely
welcoming, continually waving us in to have tea. Tea was drunk from a small
tulip-shaped glass and served from a larger pot. Time was usually spent chatting
if that’s what one could call our limited vocabulary.
Reaching
the Caspian Sea sounded far more idyllic than it turned out to be. The
coastline wasn’t only littered with garbage and oil-related industries but also
with pipelines. By evening, tenting was by the side of the road, which turned
out next to a rubbish dump! Not only was I tired, dirty and covered in mosquito
bites but I hadn’t showered in days, and had run out of deodorant! Needless to
say, I was in a foul mood, which wasn’t the country’s fault or its people’s
fault.
28
May-5 June – Road camp - Baku – 68 kilometres
The
short meander into Baku ran beside the barren Caspian Sea, the world’s largest
lake. I’m not sure why it’s called a sea, not a lake, as the Caspian has no
outflow and only a third of the salinity of normal seawater. Still, it’s a vast
body of water and is said the largest enclosed body of water on earth.
Moreover, being below sea level, it’s the second-lowest natural depression
after Lake Baikal in Russia. I, therefore, feared a big climb out of this
low-lying area at some point.
Oil-rich
Baku, the capital, was a substantial and modern city sporting high-rise
buildings, and heaps of designer stores, in stark contrast to the rest of the
country. I say “oil-rich” as Baku produced one-fifth of the oil used worldwide
during our visit! That’s a lot of oil and the poor infrastructure plaguing the
countryside is quite inconceivable.
One
got a distinct feeling Baku existed in a bubble, unaware of the poverty in the
rest of the country. The Canub Hotel became home for the next few days. Even
though the rooms were substantial, they revealed worn bedding and a somewhat
springy floor, just the thing one would expect of budget accommodation. At
least the room provided a shower and hot water, the most important thing at the
time.
The
plan was to take the ferry across the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan and bike via
Uzbekistan and Tajikistan to China. A dream which turned out far more difficult
to arrange than anticipated. Obtaining visas to central Asia wasn’t easy as one
needed letters of invitation to virtually all countries. Although this could be
arranged online, the process was time-consuming and needed a full itinerary and
money.
We
operated in low gear and could explore Baku and its historical sites at leisure.
As with practically all of the region’s countries, Azerbaijan’s history dates
to the stone age. Near Umid Gaya, a prehistoric observatory was unearthed. It
consists of a rock featuring images of the sun and various constellations and a
primitive astronomic table.
The
Old City, including Maiden Tower, dates back to the 12th century, at
least. Researchers estimate the construction dates to the 7th century.
Baku’s Maiden Tower was a landmark, and its origins remained a mystery. No one
knew when it was constructed, its use, or how the tower derived its name. No
written sources survived recording its construction or original function.
Legend has it that a king fell in love with his beautiful daughter and wished
to marry her. Horrified, the princess tried to delay the process by asking her
father to build the biggest tower she’d ever seen. Once completed, she went up
to admire the view from where she threw herself into the Caspian Sea. Today,
the old city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site offering plenty to investigate.
During
the week in Baku, I only achieved a “Letter of Invitation” to Uzbekistan.
Receiving the visa was a procedure that took an additional 10–12 days. Only
once one has the Uzbek visa could you apply for the Turkmenistan one.
As
was our restless nature, we could no longer linger. So, as an alternative to
taking the ferry across the Caspian Sea, a decision was made to cycle via Iran,
to pass the time. We, hence, arranged for the Uzbekistan visa to be sent, NOT
to the consulate in Baku, but Iran.
The
Iranian visa only took a day to organise, but we were nearly flattened in the
process. The staff operated from behind a window, and the lack of an orderly
queue made shoving and pushing your way to the front. Once in front, one needed
to stand your ground firmly, not to be driven away from the window. Being a
well-mannered and polite South African gentleman, Ernest gave way, allowing the
elderly ladies to go ahead. However, he soon changed his behaviour after being
elbowed out of the way by a tiny and immensely wrinkly old lady. Unfortunately,
good manners weren’t the way to go when seeking an Iranian visa.
6
June - Baku
Finally,
Ernest and I departed Baku, but we were hardly underway when Ernest discovered his
rim broken and we returned to the bike shop close to the Velotrack. Again, I
used the opportunity to have my bicycle serviced.
7
June - Baku – Shirvan National Park – 113 kilometres
The
following day we, at last, got underway and, aided by a good tailwind, headed
south in the direction of Iran. After 110 kilometres and spotting a sign to a
nature reserve, I stopped to inquire and was promptly offered the guest
cottage, only paying the small park entry fee. The park was lovely, peaceful,
and revealed loads of gazelle, birds and even flamingos!
8
June - Shirvan – Calilabad – 110 kilometres
By
morning, we thanked the manager and resumed our quest. Once away from the
capital, the road deteriorated and turned into a narrow, busy path with an
inferior surface. Add a headwind to the equation, and conditions made for frustrating
riding. Still, we were called in to have tea on various gladly accepted
occasions. Surprisingly, the countryside turned significantly greener and was dotted
with fruit stalls. One of the stall owners gave us a whole bag of fruit, free
of charge.
During
the day, the Azeri TV filmed us, and it must be mentioned that all this took
place without us speaking a word of Azeri and them no English.
Towards
the end of the day, our tents were pitched next to a teahouse under trees.
Pitching tents in such a public place meant spectators soon arrived. I guessed
to see what two people by bicycle did following a day of biking.
9
June - Calilabad – Astara - 107 kilometres
The
poor road conditions persisted the following day as we ground into a gusty
breeze. Still, I was surprised at how lush and green the area was, and the
closer to Iran, the more trees emerged and the higher the mountains in the
background.
We
called it a day 10 kilometres before the Azerbaijan-Iran border and set up camp
behind a petrol station. As the previous evening, it felt like the entire
village came to observe us. Let me assure you there is nothing idyllic about sleeping
between old oil cans and rubbish with petrol fumes up your nose whilst being
stared at. At least the petrol station offered water and a toilet that only the
brave would use.
10
June – Astara, Azerbaijan – Jokandan, Iran – 82 kilometres
The
border crossing into Iran was no less hectic than others, and the no-mans-land
a tad of an obstacle course. A misunderstanding regarding whether the bicycles
needed documentation added to the confusion and delayed us for hours.
Once
in Iran, I discovered, with shock, that foreign bank cards were useless due to
American boycotts. If only I knew this, I would’ve drawn money in Azerbaijan. Adding
to my dilemma, I spent my last cash buying a headscarf and long sleeve shirt as
the law in Iran stated all women were required to cover their hair, arms, and
legs. Even though I knew the rules and chose to visit, it didn’t make being in
a male-chauvinist society any easier. I couldn’t believe I decided to cycle
through yet another conservative Islamic country. In Iran, these restrictions
felt worse than in other Islamic countries, as religion was enforced by law.
Furthermore,
when speaking to people, they would entirely discount me and talk solely to
Ernest. This behaviour infuriated me endlessly.
Welcome
to Iran, where Islamic laws deny women equal rights in divorce and inheritance,
prohibit women from travelling abroad without a male relative’s permission, or attending
major men’s sports events!
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