ComingAnarchy.com

Day 27 in Baku, Azerbaijan

What can I say about Baku. Pictures of former president (and current president’s father) Heydar Aliyev are everywhere with all the trappings of a classic personality cult. Brand new tv’s hang in squares while sidewalks are filled with dangerous holes and trashcans are nowhere to be found. Trees lining the city’s wide boulevards are adorned with lights almost completely covering them in yellow, red and green. Brand new cars zoom carelessly through the streets and women walk around wearing kitschy versions of European fashion. Construction is everywhere as dozens of skyscrapers go up around the city and in my hotel cleaning ladies double as prostitutes.

My train ride was fairly enjoyable, about as much as a night train can be. I found my bunk and had only one roommate, a young Azerbaijani who spoke good English, albeit sounded exactly like Borat. It was eery. He worked for a big western accounting firm and was taking his one month vacation. We spent much of the time talking which was good because it took us about 45min to get to the border, 2 hours to get out of Georgia and about 45min to get into Azerbaijan. On the Azeri side, huge pictures of Heydar and Ilham Aliyev adorned the customs building with a quote in Azerbaijan saying “Customs is an important part of being independent.”Â? It reminded me of the many random and not particularly memorable Ataturk quotes found throughout Turkey where Ataturk is the focus of an obsessive and wildly hagiographic personality cult.

I finally made it to sleep occasionally waking up to move around. The train was a decrepit old Soviet model which bounced up and down on the tracks, creaking and swaying. It was almost rhythmic, first up, then back and forth on the way down. I could have been on a ferry except for the occasional hard jerks and metal crashes.

My cabin mate got out not far after Gance, and at some point while I was asleep, two others joined me. I woke up tired and cold in Baku and headed out into the train station, complete with the necessary presidential pictures. Wandering out, the ATM didn’t accept my card and I continued in the general direction of the hotel I wanted hoping to find another along the way. Two more ATMs, no luck.

While stopping to check my guidebook’s city map, a young man approached, obviously not Azerbaijani. He spoke English. Turns out he was Norwegian and a fellow traveler just coming from asking about the ferry to Aktau, Kazakhstan. He told me he’d been in Baku 11 days and counting. The ferry comes when it comes and leaves when it leaves. I’d heard the same story from people who’ve gone in both directions to Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan. As we headed to the hotel, which he knew from staying there, I caught my first glimpse of the Caspian.

I got an overpriced room for a night planning to change again tomorrow. But sometimes one night in a decent one is just a necessary change. It was 9 and we decided to meet at 11 to get lunch. Despite wanting to nap, a loud commotion of sirens, megaphones and honking kept me up for a good twenty minutes. I found out later it was the president on his way to work. I thought it was a demonstration. But then again, those aren’t really allowed here anyway.

We met up and had tasty yet somewhat expensive food at a nearby place. One lahmacun was about 86 cents. Damn. Baku is pricey. Our waitress was wearing a miniskirt with bare legs and immediately brought us a menu. Wow, American service I thought. I haven’t seen a menu since being in Germany. She spoke minimal English and explained she was from Belarus and studying diplomacy at the university here. Quite a story.

We later went to the train station to see about trains towards the Atasgah fire temple but just missed one at 3pm and decided to do it another time. Tomorrow we’ll either daytrip there or to Sumgait, an industrial hell hole utterly devastated by Soviet chemicals and industry. Strolling around both new and old Baku was almost a cultural shock. I couldn’t find a single covered woman, saw dozens and dozens of western stores selling luxury items and construction in every direction.

Yet, I couldn’t help think of Beirut which had a similarly successful yet deceptive facade. Where was the money for all the building coming from? In how many hands was all this “progress”Â? concentrated? Is the money really spreading throughout the country or not? I’ll have to wait and see but when I see massive flat screen tvs in run down public parks, the government’s development priorities are twisted. This is hardly surprising.

Paying an outrageous 35 Manats or 28 EUR for a room, Marius, the Norwegian, brings me outside town near the ferry to a shack behind old railroad tracks. He’s staying here with Azeris, three to a tiny room for 2 manats a night. There are no locks on the doors and the room is bare concrete. With a completely unknown ferry schedule, there seem to be at least 8 waiting to go. They are headed to Turkmenistan. While he gets warmer clothes, others invite me into their room for vodka. Hesitant, I accept half a shot as shots in the former Soviet Union seem to be twice the size of what I see in the West. I chase it with bread and mashed chili peppers. Marius gets back and we both split a full shot but refuse further. The Azeris are amused. We fumble with communication, not sharing more than a few random words. Showing them the language section in the guidebook, they are fascinated. One remarks he’s from Sumgait, a city 45min north of Baku. We show him the page. He takes the book with a big smile understanding nothing except the city name. We slowly leave wanting to get food.

After a bit of walking and an outrageous 4 manats for a cab (whose price started at 10), we find a restaurant which is said to have good Azeri food. Two massive wings of the building flank a parking lot and it begins to look extremely expensive. When we peek in, waiters offer us a big room to ourselves complete with tv and heater. This is a restaurant right? We think it must be aimed at families or parties. The book says it should be cheap and the pushy waiters reassure us in poor English it is. “Menu. We want to see a menu”Â? I repeat pointing at my eyes and then making a book with my hands. “No menu”Â?

After a few more repetitions, a waiter runs off and quickly returns with”Â¦.a menu, the nonexistent one. Kebabs are cheap, 2 manats or around 1.60 EUR. This just cant’ be. The menu is indeed cheap but the restaurant is palatial. A private room? There must be a catch, “Please sit”Â? the waiter says taking my arm. I’m starting to get pissed. He’s been repeating this in his bad accent aggressively since we arrived.

Extremely hungry, we sit down and he asks if we want meat. Yes, meat. Trying to whisk the menu away without us even ordering, we realize this is the type of meal whose price triples when you try to leave. We ask for kebab, salad and bread. 12 manats he says. “Each? or total?”Â? He thinks”Â¦the English is registering. “Yes, total.”Â? “Twelve”Â? we repeat, flashing our fingers. “Yes, yes”Â?

We both still have a bad feeling but as plates being to arrive, it’s really too late. The book says its cheap and the menu says its cheap. Must just be an odd waiter. If he were on the street, he’d be pushy to the point of being suspicious, not just annoying. Our micro-food arrives, reminding us of some fancy modern restaurant with baby-food portions. The kebabs are tiny but extremely tasty. Every minute or two our waiter comes in to pour more pepsi in our cups. Goddamnit, this is really annoying. We made it out of the restaurant without incident, which we didn’t expect although the waiter basically ruined the meal. No tip was given.

We headed back downtown and decided to meet at the same time tomorrow to day trip.

First view of Baku at the train station.