019 CYCLE TOURING AZERBAIJAN

 

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-Azerbaijan 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 60-kilometre cycle took us to the border.

Things were a tad haphazard on the Azeri side. Our passports were passed from person to person until they were eventually stamped. The first person we 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 seemed much 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 were starting to arrive 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 that few foreigners frequented this area, as villagers were genuinely captivated by our presence, and we rarely 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 worst 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 on me that they were likely eels, not snakes; still, I endured an uncomfortable night.

 

27 May - Alat – road camp - 88 kilometres

Encountering a headwind made me feel as if my problems would never end. 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 to be the largest enclosed body of water on earth. Moreover, being below sea level, it’s the second-lowest natural depression in the world 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, modern city with high-rise buildings and numerous 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 that 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 that turned out to be 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, allowing us to explore Baku and its historical sites at our 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, along with a primitive astronomic table.

The Old City, including the Maiden Tower, dates back at least to the 12th century. Researchers estimate the construction dates to the 7^th century. Baku’s Maiden Tower was a landmark, and its origins remained a mystery. No one knew when it was constructed, what it was used for, 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. Obtaining the visa took an additional 10–12 days. Only once you have the Uzbek visa can 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 to Iran.

The Iranian visa only took a day to organise, but we were nearly flattened in the process. The staff worked behind a window, and the lack of an orderly queue led to shoving and pushing to get to the front. Once in front, one needed to stand one's 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 was 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, spotting a sign to a nature reserve, I stopped to inquire and was promptly offered the guest cottage, paying only 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 into a narrow, busy, poorly surfaced path. Add a headwind to the equation, and conditions made for frustrating riding. Still, we were called in to have tea on various occasions, and gladly accepted. Surprisingly, the countryside turned significantly greener, dotted with fruit stalls. One of the stall owners gave us a whole bag of fruit for free.

During the day, the Azeri TV filmed us, and it must be noted that all this took place without either of us speaking a word of Azeri or them speaking any English.

Towards the end of the day, our tents were pitched next to a teahouse under trees. Pitching tents in such a public place soon drew spectators. I guessed that they wanted to see what two people, travelling 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-man 's-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!