From that trip I give you a few quick pictures. I spent most time in my native South and then 4 nights in Vegas. I’ll continue to post lightly due to preparations for a upcoming major change. More on that in time.

Covering a much wider variety of places than the name suggests, it’s a fantastic read for anyone interested in traveling to the places nobody else goes or wants to go (perfect for us here at Coming Anarchy). One of their superb journalists, Karlos Zurutuza was a great help information wise for my past trip and turned me on to the magazine based on our many mutual interests. Take a look and perhaps take out a subscription while you’re at it.

Hidden Europe

About hundred to two hundred years ago, our Hindustan used to have a very good trade with the Central Asian cities like Samarkand, Bokhara, etc. Also, many Hindu traders from Hindustan used to visit Baku for trade. North Indian Hindu traders from Sindh and Multan (now in Pakistan) used to take part in this trade and used to visit Baku. This temple was erected to satisfy their religious needs.

Our Hindu brethren also consider Fire (“Agni”Â?) as a God. The natural gases emit from earth at this place, which will ignite into a continuous fire ball by any sparks. Hence here at the mouth of fire naturally originating from earth, they established a Hindu Temple for fire worship. After a few years, the original trade routes and customs changed and the visits of the Hindu traders diminished. And from the original group of the Brahmins, some passed away and a few that were left went back to their original home land. At this place, they showed me a long room and informed me that some 40 years ago, the Russian Czar, Alexander III, visited this place with a desire to witness the Hindu Brahmin Fire ritual. So the local officials gathered a few Brahmins still living here and they performed the fire ritual in this room in front of the Czar.

Qala-e Duxtar, tower temple of fire.

The purpose of the book, which brought the author across the ancient world, was to search for clues about Zoroastrian civilization. The religion and ceremonies of the religion spread across kingdoms from Europe to India to China, but ended with the Sassanian Dynasty’s glorious empire destruction by the Islamic Arab invasions of the 7th century.

I decided to stay in Peja overnight and take a morning bus to Podgorica, Montenegro where I’ll connect going on to Kotor. Here are a few pics from Kosovo:

Prizren immediately jumps out at you being far far more pretty than Pristina which is maybe worth a day’s time traveling. It holds the most Ottoman-era architecture of any city in Kosovo and is pleasantly situated on a small river surrounded by green hills. It’s a city of just over 100,000 and thus easy to manage and a relaxing place to visit. On arrival, with no map, I asked at a local kiosk how to get to the center. As is usually the case when the person asked doesn’t speak English, I was taken by the arm to nearby cab drivers who sputtered out a few phrases.

“This street, you go gerade, then left”Â?

Spotting the German word for straight, I switched into German which immediately got the entire group talking in decent enough Deutsch. Turns out many had lived in Germany at some point and we exchanged the usual info about who lived where and why and I listened to a chorus of praise for America. They added they liked Germany and the UK too but the rest of Europe was unreliable. After about ten minutes of friendly chatting, they told me how to get there and I set off. German has been very very handy in Kosovo and after English is by far the most useful.

I found my way to the river and followed it up to the main square which was filled with throngs of young people. School must have just gotten out I thought. The day before in a cafe, a 15 year old had told me school only goes until noon when I asked him why he wasn’t in school at this time.

I sat down for lunch at a small cafe on the corner and had a 2 Euro meal of meatballs and salad. From there I headed towards the nearest hill which the remnants of an old castle sat atop. Leading up was a slew of burned out houses and a few burned out Orthodox churches. In both 1999 and 2004, Albanians took revenge on the Serbian minority there killing some and burning their houses and churches. The 2004 incident was set off by the alleged drowning of 2 Albanian children who were being chased by Serbs, though what actually happened remains unclear. The Germans could have prevented much of the violence but failed to do so which caused controversy both in Germany and abroad as the reliability of the foreign troops was called into question.

People came and went, some stopping to drink from a fountain in the center of the square. A dirty middle aged man stopped and began taking colored plastic squirt guns out of a plastic bag and laying them on top of a cardboard box he’d brought. It was hot out and the sun unforgiving. His entrepreneurial instinct was good and dozens and dozens were sold immediately as teenagers began chasing each other around with them.

I hopped up and went up the hill watching normal brick houses turning into shells, some fenced off by barbed wire. I passed what had seemed to be a pretty orthodox church perched among wonderful green trees up on the hill. As I came up to it, it too was fenced off with razor wire and I noticed two German KFOR soldiers inside guarding it. As I found out, most Serbian churches were being guarded these days. The Albanians revenge could be as vicious as what Serbs had done to them.

I reached the castle and found a Kosovar family heading up too. Their two young children ran around playing on the road up and immediately took an interest in the foreigner who greeted them in an unfamiliar language. We walked up and I inspected what was left of hte castle walls though there was little to see overall. The views were incredible. Unlike Macedonia where the Orthodox domes and minarets signaled peaceful coexistence, here it had meant only violence.

Later after resting from the heat in a neaby cafe, I paid and walked up to three German soldiers on patrol. They were all armed and I was curious whether they were really on patrol or just heading somewhere.

I walked up and introduced myself in German and explained I was a tourist interested in the developments in Kosovo and the security stiuation. Were they on patrol? Yes. I asked whether it was necessary to be armed and they said only because they were working. Day to day things were fine. In fact, standing there watching people go by, the busy cafes, the designer shops and pop music, we could have almost been in Western Europe. There were no law and order problems and not much crime to speak of. However, they explained, as 2004 showed, ethnic violence could break out very suddenly and unexpected. It was that they wanted to prevent.

“So you’re basically just here to be seen”Â? I asked?

“Yes.”Â? they told me, “we’re not here as occupiers but we want to show the people that we’re here and in that way help to prevent things before they start. If there is a problem, we can move fast to stop it and help coordinate the response.”Â?

“Do you support the mission here? I know as a soldier you go where you’re deployed but do you feel you should be here?”Â? I asked.

“Yes. A lot of progress has been made in Kosovo, he for example,”Â? pointing to tall blonde soldier in sunglasses, “volunteered to stay here. You should ask him.

He’d extended is stay in Kosovo but said “There are other places that would be more challenging. There’s not much for us to do here. There are places were human rights are really being violated, where minorities are really oppressed and where there is more violence such as Somalia or southern Afghanistan.”Â?

I was surprised to hear him mention that as the German government had been resisting pressure from the US, Canada and the Netherlands to deploy further south where much of the fighting was instead of remaining in the more secure and uneventful north of the country.

“Would you like to go on more foreign deployments?”Â? I wondered.

“As a soldier, we are like doctors. When you become one, you dont choose what you do, or who you help. You go where you are needed. A doctor can’t say he’ll treat this person but not that person and a soldier can’t decide where he’ll go either.”Â?

In short, they were ready. Despite the hesitancy of the German people and government, the post-war values of modern Germany seemed to fit well with foreign intervention in the minds of these three soldiers. I was surprised and happy to hear it. Perhaps the Germans and Americans will have a brighter future working together than politics lets on.

They excused themselves as they had to continue working and I headed off towards a little shop I’d seen selling traditional clothing. After some bargaining for a shirt and a gift for my Dad, I was about to close the deal when two English speakers and a well dressed Kosovar walked in.

“Where you guys from?”Â? I asked, suspecting I already knew the answer.

“The U S of A”Â? they said, “And you?”Â?

“The same, from Georgia.”Â?

“Well we won’t hold that against you.”Â? they laughed.

“Oh no, you must be from the north.”Â? I shot back.

Turns out one was from Kentucky and the other from Washington state. They were contractors working for USAid helping to reform the court system. They’d been in Prizren for the day visiting the local court. I closed the deal with the old lady who gave me a KFOR coffee mug I’d said was neat. They asked me what I was doing here as the Washingtonian scoured the table for carpets.

We exchanged the basic where are you from, what are you doing conversation and they offered me a ride back to Pristina which I gratefully accepted. The one looking for carpets mentioned he was a real carpet lover and I said he should push for a trip to Afghanistan.

He purchased a few things and we walked back to the OSCE office where they’d parked a brand new SUV. The Albanian with them was head of the security for the court system and seemed to be the de facto interpreter for them although they also worked together. We rode back and chatted a little bit about their previous work abroad and about Kosovo. Both wine lovers, they constantly chatted about the various vineyards we passed and the quality of local wine.

Back in Pristina, they dropped me downtown and I headed back home.

I’ll leave tonight on a night bus to Montenegro. However, I’ll probably first head to Peja, a city about an hour away from here on the road in that direction where I can also get the bus from. Only problem is having to bring my bag with me the whole time. As its Saturday, and I head back to Germany Tuesday night, I need to get on to Dubrovnik now so I’ll spend tomorrow and Monday in Montenegro (probably Kotor and some other little town whose name I’ve forgotten) and then leave early Tuesday for Croatia which is a short drive away.

Via popurls

Woke up and started my morning with the British version of Animal Planet. About 10 I set out and slowly made my way into the old city to grab lunch there as it’s a far more pleasant area to eat in than the new town. From there I exchanged 15 dollars, wanting to have just enough more Macedonian Denars to get out as both Kosovo and Montenegro use the Euro.

From there I haggled with a few taxi drivers for fares out to Lake Matka but they were asking outrages prices so I opted for the bus which I had to wait a half hour for and then take 40min out. But the trip was well worth it when I arrived near a small river and walked up to the beautiful emerald waters of the lake which snake through a canyon of jagged rocks.

Wandered around some trails and visited a monastery before taking the bus back to town and getting dinner at a crazy socialist themed restaurant where a cardboard cutout of Tito greets you and socialist slogans, pictures and propaganda are displayed throughout. It’s of course not meant seriously and was good fun although the menu was fairly boring. I ate for just under 5 EUR.

Tomorrow I go to Kosovo at 9am.

I stepped off the train from Thessaloniki last night and into the Balkans. Although Thessaloniki had a noticable oriental feel to it, Skopje is the Balkans proper. I quickly found a cab driver who not only spoke excellent English but agreed to take euros for the fare. Exchanges offices were closed this late. I hopped in and noticed that he was listening to classical music, a first for any cab driver I’ve ever met.

We chatted about Skopje and I was quite impressed with his English. Being used to Kurdistan and the Caucasus where the language barrier was so high, this was a very unexpected surprise. He dropped me off at my hotel and wished me well. The room was tiny and as is customary in the developing world, although for example, flushing the toilet flooded the floor, there was a cable tv. Priorities don’t seem to change much.

I woke up and headed out already surprised at how warm it was and happy I left my worn out jacket back in Greece. The question now is whether to toss my 5 euro fleece. Staying in the new part of Skopje, I crossed one of the busy new bridges into the old city or Carsija. Its cobblestone streets and red tiled roofs attest to its Ottoman past. Tiny minarets pop up from narrow sidestreets and waiters manoever in and out of the pedestrians with trays of Turkish coffee and tea. Men walk with pushcarts of clothes, vegetables and anything that could possibly be sold. A women clad in black from head to toe passes me next to two young girls in tight European clothes. Macedonia is a fabulous mix of cultures and already reminds me a bit of Sarajevo.

Leafy trees line cafe filled streets and the smell of kebabs and cigarette smoke float in the air. It’s not hard to imagine a romantic multicultural past here. Another waiter walks past me with hourglass shaped tea cups. I notice bikes, the first time I’ve seen them on my trip so far. Is traffic that tame here that biking is possible?

Hungry from no breakfast, I sit down and order a plate of kebab with rice and potatoes. The waiter asked where I’m from in decent English.

“America” I answer.

“Which state you from?”

“Georgia” I respond

“How many you have, 51?”

“No” I say “there are 50. 48 are together and then you have Alaska and Hawaii. That’s 50”

“No, Kosovo is 51” he says with a smile. He’s Albanian.

I top off my meal with an espresso, the first on my trip so far and set back off into the winding streets. Interested in a dzezva (turkish coffee pot) I peek into a store where a young Turkish couple haggle over souvenier wooden plates. After paying, the shop owner greets me and I answer that I’m from America and a tourist. Coffee is served, “Macedonian coffee” of course. He begins a political rant about the many problems of Macedonia, similar to countless ones I’ve heard throughout the Caucaus and Middle East.

Excited that I can follow his less than objective recount of recent history, he shuffles through a pile of papers behind his desk and produces a map of Macedonia. I notice it includes parts of Albania, Serbia, Bulgaria and a large portion of Greece.

“Greece have many Macedonians but they cannot speak their language. They are no Greek people. Greece is no democracy, is fascismus, understand? Macedonia have many problem with neighbors.”

He asked if American did as well. “No, we only have 2 neighbors and no problems.”

“Muslims are big problem here. They always make problems. They complain about America,” he went on first cursing them in Macedonian, “but America only help them. America give them Kosovo. America free them in Iraq, but they make fight, kill.”

He pointed to his head adding “they have nothing up here.”

The shopkeeper was a balding 58 year old slavic Macedonian. He continued with pictures of his son’s wedding when a friend of his walked in. I said hello. They exchanged a few words and I managed to understand he was explaining I was an American visitor. The entering man’s face changed completely. He began what was clearly not a positive rant waving his arms around. The shop owner laughed. “He is Serbian. He hate your country. You help the muslims.”

After the Serb had left, I asked about Kosovo and what he thought the future would hold. “Serbs will never give up Kosovo. They are strong people. When they lose to Turks in the past, the Ottomans cut off soldiers heads and make a big pile to scare people but the Serbs were not scared.”

“But they can’t fight NATO, they have no c hance.”

“They will never forget.” he added not really answering the question.

I purchased the copper coffee pot for 150 Macedonian Denars or around 2.40 EUR and left. By now the warm morning I had so enjoyed seemed to have disappeared as storm clouds collected overhead and wind swept down the narrow streets. A burst of thunder ripped through the sky tearing it apart like cloth. I headed for the bazaar, at least it would be covered. People darted under awnings and sellers hustled around covering their goods with old tarps and bringing things inside. The storm clouds suddenly opened pouring rain onto the plastic improvised roof.

I headed for a small cafe and was greeted with “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” I ordered tea and talked with the owner who’d lived in Frankfurt for 8 years and then returned home to Skopje.

Thinking back about my day, about the churches, the minarets, the obscene communist apartment blocks, the McDonalds and Turkish quarter and many peoples in Macedonia, the idea of a nation-state here seemed absurd. With centuries of Ottoman domination, incorporation into Yugoslavia and then a violent breakup, it seemed unnatural that the Balkans had fragmented into attempted monoethnic states. It was the current status-quo that appeared wrong, and I felt a historical circle would soon be completed. Now apart yet having spent most of history together, they would soon be back together but in the European Union.

Took the 10am bus back to Yerevan. As with entering Karabagh, there was no passport control exiting and although I had a letter of accreditation listing where I was allowed to go, it also was never checked despite the fact I visited places not allowed.I’m now staying with the same lady as the first time. She’s a philosophy prof at the university here with a fabulous apartment that includes clean sheets, a clean bathroom and hot water. It’s a little under 11 EUR a night, expensive but worth it.

Here are the long awaited pictures of Karabagh:

Today began with a visit to the Karabagh museum which I’d thus far not managed to find. Yesterday we walked past it and decided to do it the next morning. We walked in expecting a room or two with faded wooden frames and ratty carpets. We were surprised. The door opened into a small room with decent carpets and an Armenian girl who greeted us in English. The walls were almost totally covered in pictures. She explained they were for an upcoming exhibition on the Armenian Genocide for the anniversary of it on April 24th. She asked where we were from and explained a bit about “Western Armenia.” I made the faux pas of calling it Turkey.

We continued through about four rooms with various cheesy exhibits including stuffed animals, a few mineral rocks, and old Soviet medals, letters and pictures. A few things were translated into mangled English. We continued upstairs to the more recent parts where pictures of mass demonstrations, labeled only in Russian showed the gathering momentum of the joining of Karabagh to Armenia. In 1923, Stalin severed the predominantly Armenian territory of Karabagh from Armenian proper and attached it to Soviet Azerbaijan as an autonomous region inside Azerbaijan. The seed was planted for ethnic conflict. The story of neighboring Georgia’s war in Abkhazia begins exactly the same.

The Karabagh Soviet (governing council) passed a resolution in 1988 formally asking to be part of Soviet Armenia. It set off a whole chain of events culminating in full scale war and ending in today’s semi-ceasefire. The museum continued displaying a few homemade weapons and maps of some of the fighting. I asked the museum worker, whose English was surprisingly good, what she thought peace would look like. Uncomfortable, she explained Armenia was willing to compromise but Azerbaijan wasn’t. It was a familiar tale. In reality, both sides espouse absolutist claims to the land leaving almost no room for negotiation. Speaking about what diplomats refer to as “facts on the ground,” the most likely will be the return to Azerbaijan of the occupied areas surrounding Karabagh except the Lachin coridor linking Karabagh to Armenia.

Azerbaijan still insists on setting unrealistic preconditions to peace talks, not so dissimilar to those of the Palestinians, namely that Armenia withdraw from the occupied areas around Karabagh and allow all displaced persons to return. This has been rejected by Armenia and the Karabagh authorities.

After writing in the guestbook, I asked about Halo Trust, a British NGO clearning mines and unexploded ordnances from Karabagh. She apparently lived on the same street and showed me on the map (the first map I’ve seen of Stepanakert), where to go. We set out to the market which disappointingly had only the usual consumer goods and food, nothing hand made or unique to the area. From there, it was on to Halo Trust. After a bit of walking and some uncertaintly, a large blue door appeared bearing the name. We walked in and the security guard motioned for us to wait so he could find someone who spoke English.

A message board to the right showed lists of demining teams and a few pictures of them in action as well as anti-personel mines. A shaggy mud-covered dog approached wanting attention. After talking amongst ourselves and shrugging at the Russian language posters, a young Armenian man appeared and asked how he could help us.

“I’m interested in Halo’s operations here and would like to talk to someone.” I started off.

“Ok.” he nodded.

“I’m interested in the progress, how Halo works, and to learn more about the region.”

He reached into his pants for his cell phone and put his hand up signalling us to wait. A voice came from the other end and after a few minutes, he asked if we could come back at 5. Actually planning to leave soon, we looked at each other, and agreed.

“Great, we’ll come back at 5pm” I said.

From there we headed to the university to get lunch and discuss what to do with the next four hours. We’d found a delicious and cheap food stand staffed by old women and intended to go back for a budget lunch. I suggested going to Askeron, on the road to Agdam, which boasted 1.5km of medieval walls. It was 20km away and was basically hte only option other than hanging out in Stepanakert, something we wanted to avoid at all costs. It was agreed.

The taxi stand was at the end of the block and we figured out what the ride should cost. It was 5,000 to Agdam and back including waiting time so a trip 2/3 of the way, and one way, should be 2,000 to 2,500 at the most. The driver wanted 2. What was up with these fair prices? How unusual! Yesterday had been the same.

We were dropped off in the “centrum” which seemed to be a random road with two small kiosks and a parking lot with buses. There were two sections of the walls, the main one in town and the other begining across a small river and heading uphill to a small tower. We opted for the out of town one. Twenty minutes later after negotiating some small gardens, fields and muddy “roads” a group of kids appeared whom we asked. Pointing at the tower, we asked how to get in and after a few confusing moments, they got the idea and began walking with us. What they were doing in the middle of nowhere was hard to imagine.

As they began off the road into a field, we all naturally looked at each other, not sure whether to proceed. Karabagh is still heavily mined and the view from the tower definitely wasn’t worth a literal arm and a leg. Cautiously, we followed in their steps as they went care free. After making it to the top for a great view of the surrounding area, all rural, the boys, no older than 13 headed to the base of the wall to secretly smoke. Quite funny, I thought, as I’d seen boys of the same age smoking in public and in restaurants in town.

Gauging the time, we went back to town and caught a bus back to Stepanakert for 170 dram, or 37 cents, a bit cheaper than the taxi though pricey for a bus! It was back to Halo. We entered again and were told that the man who’d brief us would be here in the next hour. “So it could be in 10 minutes or an hour?” I asked trying to be clear. “Yes” he answered. “Do you have somewhere where we can wait?” I asked, figuring that it’d be better to sit down and rest than wander aimlessly through boring Stepanakert.

He showed us to an office, making clear we couldn’t take any pictures. Maps covered two of the walls from top to bottom, a good 8×10 feet. One was of minefields and the other of UXOs, or unexploded ordnances which include not just mines but cluster bombs, missles, grenades etc. A smaller map showed “Accidents” from 1995 on, meaning Armenians who’d stepped on mines while farming or walking around. A picture of a mangled truck was taped in the top right and a covered body on blood soaked grass in the top left. Against the other wall was wooden shelves filled with anti-tank mines, anti-personel mines, missles, cluster bombs, grenades and more. The room was intense.

A long wooden table sat in the center with swivel chairs, the type conferences and meetings are held at. We set our things down and began inspecting the maps. About 15 minutes later, a man came in and introduced himself as Sergei. He spoke good English and had just gotten off work. He picked up a candy-cane striped pointer and began a briefing which lasted almost an hour and a half.

While the Karabagh war lasted from around 1990 to 1994, Halo Trust had only begun operations in 2000. Previously, the extend of the UXOs wasn’t known and it was until so many accidents occured that they realized the need to begin work in Karabagh. Since then, they’ve cleared 47,000 UXOs, under ten percent of which are actually mines. However, contrary to what the numbers indicate, mines are actually the most dangerous as they are far harder to see, find and clear than regular munitions. All the workers except one are local, having trained 21 days straight for the job with one week of theory and 14 days of practice. Most were locals in need of a steady job. Only a few were for humanitarian or patriotic reasons. Sergei had gotten into it because his older brother started with Halo.

With a yearly budget of only 1.3 million USD, Halo has been remarkably successful. All major and secondary roads and roadsides have been cleared and almost all villages and towns. Few high-priority areas remain and many of the remaining danger zones are on mountains, in forests or near the front line and thus of little humanitarian value and difficult to work in. The other areas are south of Lachin, the scene of heavy fighting between Armenia and Azerbaijan. The UXOs in Karabagh are from both parties.

Sergei went into all the details of Halos operations and occasionally removed mines or bombs from the shelves to show us how they worked, where they deminer could poke them without the danger of them exploding and which were easiest and hardest to clear. While anti-tank mines (AT mines) need pressure of about 180 to 200 kilograms (350lbs or more) to detonate, anti-personel (AP mines) mines need only 15 kilos of pressure to explode. The AP mines contain around 100 grams of explosive, usually only enough to maim. However, though seemingly better than one would imagine, maiming is actually the goal. A dead soldier needs no care, does little to disrupt fighting and ultimately takes only one individual out of combat. A wounded soldier, however, requires care from others and transport out making maiming far more efficient than killing.

He continued on with details on demining techniques, the number of civilians killed in the post-war years and Halo’s progress. After 7 years of work, they estimated that the process would be completed in an additional 4 to 5 more years. Eritrea is the only country to have been completely demined. Would Karabagh be the second I asked? “No, Abkhazia will be next. We are almost finished there except for some remote mountain areas.” he answered. Karabagh would be third. We left the subject of mines and went on to chat about the future of Karabagh.

“Does Karabagh really want independence” I asked “or does it want to join Armenia?”

“Armenia and Karabagh are the same. We are the same people and want to be part of Armenia. Independence is only a political tactic so Armenia is not seen as the aggressor internationally” he answered. Quite impressed, I nodded. Indeed, there are no real plans for Karabagh to become independent. Historically, the Armenian province of Artsakh, it’s an open secret that they plan to rejoin Armenia. Sergei really new his stuff. I explained that my interest came from my future degree in international politics and that I was particularly interested in the Caucasian conflicts like Abkhazia, South Ossetia and Karabagh. We ended with a little small talk about how beautiful Armenian girls are and a few jokes.

After profusely thanking Sergei for his detailed briefing, which we realized had lasted over an hour, we went outside to quickly check out the equipment. While most of the AP mines are cleared by hand, certain situations require machines and they have a massive armoured bulldozer for that.

It was a fantastic day and well worth the extra night in Karabagh. It’s a place I won’t soon forget. Tomorrow I’ll take a morning bus back to Yerevan.

NOTE: This post is often in the plural as I spent the day with the Welshman and Norwegian. On another note, I’ll be writing summaries of each region I visited once I return, i.e. on Kurdistan, the Caucasus and Balkans.

We went to the same restaurant around the corner this morning for coffee made by the friendly Russian-speaking cleaning lady. After properly waking up, it was off to the bus station for a minibus to nearby Shusha (or Shushi in Armenian) an Azerbaijani city in ruins down to its last 5,000 people. It was decimated during the war with very little having been rebuilt. Only 9km away, it sits atop a hill overlooking Stepanakert, a position well suited to artillary. Needless to say, Stepanakert was bombarded from there during the war until the Armenians finally succeeded in taking it. Shamil Baseyev, of Chechen fame and most likely behind the Beslan massacre in Russia, fought here against the Armenians. While it’s no secret that many radical Islamic fighers flock to Iraq and Afghanistan, Karabagh attracted them as well back from 1990-1994. Former Afghan mujahadeen were even brought in to fight. I thought over all of this in Shusha’s deathly silence. Unlike Stepanakert, Shusha hasn’t changed much since the war.

We were dropped off next to a few stone arches whose building lay in rubble. A mosque with a broken minaret was on the next block. We poked around the rubble and headed through a back alley by two massive burned out apartment buildings. Turning the corner, the shell of an armoured vehicle sat in front of the remains of another mosque. It was a great picture, one that will have to be uploaded in Armenia. We searched for the stairs and quickly found them through some bushes and broken concrete. They led up to the minaret. The stairs were broken and pretty difficult to climb, luckily I’d brought a lighter which had a little light on the bottom side. They both have come in handy many times walking at night, exploring abandoned buildings, walking to the bathroom and more.

I carefuly climbed the stairs walking towards the light. Finally blue. A look around revealed devastation in every direction. Rubble, pieces of houses, burned apartment blocks and emptiness. Shusha is striking, a stark reminder of what happened. Next came the former communist party headquarters, of which only the facade stood. The doorway opened into broken pieces of concrete and a view of the hills. A few people walked the streets, most of whom gave us confused stares. We found the central church rebuilt and restored, perhaps the only new structure in the city. Chickens wandered through trash and rubble while sheep grazed next to the rusted shells of buses and cars. Fences were strung together with everything from car doors to pieces of washing machines. It was a nightmare. It’s easy to see Roman and Greek ruins and imagine what one day may become of our civilization, but for most of the world, Shusha’s future is a far more likely one.

After a few hours, we’d seen all the city, or the remains of what was Shusha and caught the bus back to Stepanakert. Looking for food, we headed to the university in hopes of finding out about English classes we could visit and possibly meeting students who could double as a guide. We quickly found two internet cafes, a restaurant and a stand with two older ladies making tasty hot dogs covered in fried dough, sugary pastries and other treats. We ordered as many as we could carry and headed up the university stairs while a crowd gathered to stare. Eventually, we walked in the university and two ladies approached speaking to us in Russian. I started with the usual response “ja ne panemayu rooskie” which means I don’t understand Russian. “Ingleski, nemetski” I said, indicating English or German would work. A third lady approached and figured out what we wanted. She motioned us to follow her and brought us to a young girl who worked in an office that spoke English. English classes were in the next building we were told. She walked outside with us and pointed it out.

Heading up the stairs past throngs of staring girls, I felt like a rock star. Stepanakert does that too you. When we were about to open the door, a group of people walked out, three of which were blatantly foreign. I guessed Americans. It was a father and two sons who asked where I was from and quickly handed us religious leaftlets. You just can’t escape these damn preachers, even in war torn Karabagh. They turned out to be Canadians, preaching on their 2 week holiday.

“Then you came to the wrong place didn’t you?” I asked.
“Why’s that?” he said looking confused.
“Well, Armenia is Christian, shouldn’t you be next door in Azerbaijan?”
“No, these people have god in their minds, but not their hearts” he said and gave me another leaflet in Russian.I handed it back saying that Russian wasn’t going to help me much. We asked about Agdam. They’d been a few years back and gotten caught. The military erased all their pictures but let them go. An Armenian chimed in in excellent English. He was the local English teacher and was guiding these religious nuts. I felt sorry for him. He said going to Agdam was possible but a bad idea as you could get arrested, go to jail etc and related stories of a Japanese and German who’d been busted. THe moral of the story was don’t go. Our confidence was shaken.

The Canadians went their own way as did the English teacher but a second Armenian continued talking to us in slow, but good English. He, on the other hand, told us Agdam was no problem and said he’d served nearby during his military service. We offered to help us find a cab there. We quickly went back to our house to hide our memory cards as we didnt’ want them confiscated should we get arrested. Afterwards, we walked the mains treet and settled on a beat up Russian Lada, the typical car that about 70% of the people here have. It had a broken sign an no writing ont he sides. Perfectly low profile we thought.

Vahe, our new friend, explained we wanted to take the road to Agdam, maybe stop along the way, and then go into teh city, look around quickly and head back. He seemed hesitant but asked for 5,000 drams, abotu 10 EUR. That was less than the English teacher had told us. Satsified but nervous, we hopped in and Vahe decided to come with us. He wanted to see Agdam too. All the better for us, I said, in case we get arrested, we have an interpreter and can say that not only other tourist, but he also, said we could go and that it was no problem.

The taxi set off and although we were very happy to get a good price but still nervous. We passed a junk filled former train station on the outskirts of town. Owain, the Welshman, and Marius the Norwegian chatted with him in the back and I rode shotgun. Agdam was only 30km away, it wouldn’t take too long.

Before we knew it, large medieval walls rose in the distance. “It must be Askeron” I thought. That meant 10km to go. We drove through the walls and passed a tank not long after, unlike the previous day, this one was in good condition and was some kind of memorial. Ruins began appearing. Agdam was close.

Occasionally, cars passed and we looked straight ahead, trying to not be obvious. More rubble, lonely walls standing on piles of conrete blocks. We were almost there. A military truck appeared a head and my pulse quickened. It swerved back and forth on the road avoiding pot holes, same as us. We passed each other. The ride was uneventful so far. In the distance, Agdam appeared in the surrounding green fields.

The road north to Martakert passes through Agdam so traffic isn’t unusual on most of the stretch, however, once you turn off into the city, you’re in a ghost town save a few soldiers. We stopped at a rusted gate not far from Agdam’s infamous mosque, the only structure still standing. Vahe told the driver we wanted to go to it. They exchanged a few sentences in Armenian and the car started again. Turning a corner, a group of soldiers sat outside a concrete building smoking.

“Fuck, it’s over” I thought. We started driving right at them in a taxi, there’s no way we’ll make it. We looked straight ahead, playing it cool. Nothing. Eyes looking forward, I asked “Are they following us?” We waited a bit and Marius slowly turned. Nope. We were clear. Phew!

We approached the mosque and parked in front of a broken wall. Cameras ready, we jumped out and dashed into the mosque not wanting to be in the open any longer than necessary. Our driver stood near the car and lit a cigarette. He probably wondered what we were doing in this hell hole. We walked around inside, stepping over broken concrete, animal feces and some trash. The stairs to one of the two minarets were around the side. We climbed carefully as many were broken or completely gone. I used my lighter and after a minute, made it to the top.

Broken roads stretched out flanked by twisted metal, shells of houses and blackened walls. It was surreal, otherwordly and completely silent. I snapped off pictures but stayed low, didn’t want to be seen up there. After going down, we looked around a little and then got back in the taxi to drive through a few other areas. So far so good. Still nervous but with renewed confidence, I set my camera to the movie function and filmed the devastation.

And then we were out. The ruins faded into the distance and eventually signs for Askeron appeared. Everything seemed ok. Before we knew it we were back in Stepanakert, thinking of dinner and congratulatory beers. It couldn’t have been a better day.

Unsure as to whether I’ll head to Goris tomorrow in Armenia. There’s a bit more to see but not much. Amazing pictures away as soon as I get to decent internet.

First of all, I’ve been a bit slack on the posts recently but I’ve been busy and just can’t keep up the long posts every day, especially with internet much worse in the Caucasus than in Turkey, which now is a distant dream. I traveled up the base of the Caucasus in Azerbaijan, crossed into Georgia for a little over a day and took the night train from Tbilisi to Yerevan. Spent three nights there including a day trip to Echmiadzin which was great and am now in Karabagh. The visa for Karabagh is easy to get and I’m exicted to be visiting a third non-existent country. The others are Turkish Cyprus and the West Bank. Iraqi Kurdistan is hard to classify. I have lots of pictures and will hopefully get more up, including older ones, once I’m back in Armenia proper. Now for today:

Woke up damn early and got an early bus from Yerevan to Stepanakert. It left around 7:45am and arrived at 2pm. The roads weren’t very good and we had to drive through a high mountain pass which was snowy to get to southern Armenia but we arrived quite excited. Once we reached Goris, the road suddenly got better, paved with lanes and some guard rail goign all the way to Stepanakert, courtesty of the American-Armenian diaspora. There was no border and no checkpoints. Passports were unfortunately not stamped.

I arrived at a small bus station and headed towards the homestay. I’d met a dutch guy in a cafe in the opera square in Yerevan. He gave me not only the address of the cheapest place to say but a detailed map (which he drew) on where everything was. It was flawless. Hotels are about 40 USD here because there are basically none and no tourists. The homestay is 1,500 dram or 3 EUR. Unbeatable. There’s no running water, a sketchy toilet with worms and no lock on the door. The room will hopefully be heated with the wood burning furnace in the center.

There’s very little information on Karabagh in the guidebook and elsewhere but it seems a few things have indeed changed. There are two ATMs and one which takes visa, mastercard and maestro. Stepanakert is depressing, boring, drab, run down etc but not as bad as I’d expected. After all, it is the capital. The rest of the place should be pretty extreme though.

Surprisingly, although everyone stares, there have been no problems with the police or military so far. In places like this, foreigners arouse interest and sometimes suspicion but so far so good. I did get a talking to from a guard at the President’s house for walkign too close but I told him I was from America and he cheered up and just told me I had to stay behind a certain area. No problem. Seems he didn’t even see me take the picture!

All visitors must register upon arrival and although it sounded fairly complicated it turned out to be staffed by two ladies, one who spoke decent enough English and didn’t take too long. Mostly I had to wait for her to fill out the accreditation form which lists where I’m allowed to visit here.

Tomorrow I’ve split a taxi for the whole day with a Norwegian and Welshman from about 10am to 6pm for around 20 EUR a piece which is decent enough. We’ll head north to Gandzasor monastary, Martakert, Sarsang reservoir, and some other church called David-something ont eh northwestern border. There are destroyed tanks, villages and lots of destruction along the way.

Until next time!

Been a rather uneventful day as Seki is small and probably only worth an afternoon of one’s time. I planned to see a nearby village but was a bit tired after wandering the bazaar this morning and skipped it. Hope to do more in Zaqatala.

Here are a few quick thoughts on Azerbaijan:

Since the fall of the USSR, so much of the world has tried to copy the west since we’re the most successful yet as could be expected, it always turns out to be a poor twisted imitation whether it be in design, fashion, behavior, business etc. It’s like a parallel universe where the cheap and tasteless are elevated to the mainstream. Imagine if the working class ran the country with plastic covered furniture, gaudy jewelry, horrid decoration and more. That’s what Azerbaijan is like. It’s truly bizarre.

Similar to Turkey, almost every male walks around in a cheap suit, even children. They top it with patent leather shoes whose toes are so long they look like clown shoes. It’s the national uniform. Women walk around in tacky high heels with a painful fashion sense. The third world is mind boggling.

One more full day of Azerbaijan tomorrow.

China was an amazing experience and one which was even more interesting with the ability to draw some comparisons between Japan and China. I have to say the Japanese do it so much better than the Chinese. Food, bars, drinks, food… did i say FOOD. It wasn’t necessarily the flavors but the quality, especially the meat which was abysmal. Don’t even let me think about the health standards back-stage which I am sure there are absolutely zero.

It was incredibly interesting to see the historical aspects of Beijing which was an improvement over Japan which really can’t compare to Beijing in terms of cool historical buildings. Of course I know the Japanese had the disadvantage of the destruction of the city twice in recent history [Curzon: 1923 and 1945]. Tiananmen Square was insane. It was a lot larger than I had ever expected or imagined. We were lucky to also be in town while the People’s Congress was in session. There were many soldiers and police moving around the square guarding the building and lots of activity. I also didn’t expect the sheer scale of the buildings around the square either. You know you read about the goal being to make the individual feel insignificant, well they have accomplished that quite well.

The Forbidden City was also wonderful. We had the good luck of meeting an english speaking tour guide who approached when he realized we spoken english and were not part of a group. For 100 yuan for the both of us he showed us around for a good portion of the day. What made it interesting was not his tour but how freely he spoke with us once we moved away from crowds. “Thomas” (as I am guessing that is not his birth name) told us a lot of things I felt many times if someone heard this would have landed him in trouble. We talked about how there were so many problems in China with many things very un-socialist with regard to Health care social security things of that nature. It was quite interesting. It was a stark contrast with our second english tour guide for the great wall who was state controlled. He conveyed only happy news of the greatness of China.

In retrospect, I wish we would have stayed one more day in Beijing because we had too much time in Shanghai. The train ride btw, was fun and comfortable. We managed to buy the ticket which was an experience in itself as 10 chinese people literally stood 2 inches from our backs in order to be next in line for a ticket or maybe just to try and rob us. Shanghai was spectacular in terms of its architecture. The only problem for me was that after you get over the pretty buildings it didn’t seem as there were as many interesting things to see in Shanghai when compared to Beijing or Tokyo. I also didn’t like chinese night life or at the very least, we did not find the right places. We went to places from word of mouth and the tour book but they were overrun with older white men and whores. The difference between the girls coming up to you in Japan and China is that in Japan they just like western men, in China they ask you if you want a massage.

All in all, China was great but I enjoyed Japan far better. I think it matches some of my personality a little better than China. China did have great historical and modern locations which were interesting and worth the visit.

After Sumgait, I headed to a tiny village called Lahic with a Norwegian. It’s up in the mountains at the end of a winding, muddy road with rather precipitous drops down to a dry river bed. The population was about one thousand and horse and donkey were the main means of transport. Aside from its gorgeous location and the scenery, it was not only interesting but refreshing to visit a place so isolated that even money wasn’t that useful. The villagers were almost totally self sufficient with mountain streams for water, wood for heat and ample fields and sheep for food. The few shops there were sold only modern items like candy bars, plastic items, glasses etc.

We found a home stay, actually the only place to stay in town. It had a gigantic backyard filled with bare fruit trees and a 320 year old underground hamam which we got to use for free and did both nights. Also got to wash all my clothes in it. It was the most hot water I’ll see the entire trip I’m sure. We hiked around both days following muddy sheep paths through the hills and river beds. The second day we bought hot dogs and roasted them over a campfire in the middle of nowhere.

Today’ I’m in Sheki (or Seki) which is a mountain town of 63,000 in northwestern Azerbaijan. It’s picturesque but has seeminly little to do. Tomorrow we’ll walk around a bit and then head for a nearby village named Kish where the hiking is supposed to be good. Afterwards it’s off to Zaqatala and then to Georgia where I’ll spend a night in Tbilisi and head on to Yerevan, Armenia.

More soon! Internet rocks here!

Surprised that no hookers banged on my door last night after only one proposition, I ended up having a good and uninterrupted sleep after all. I packed my bag and got ready to leave the key on the desk and rush out. I was asked two times by different people yesterday whether I paid, which I did as soon as I checked in. The same thing has happened in Turkey too and it really pisses me off. Nobody seems to know what is going on in most hotels. I wish I could tell them they are idiots in Azerbaijani. No wonder the only things that work here are foreign owned.

Marius meets me a little before 11 near my hotel but I remind him I need to change which he hasn’t forgotten. We hop the metro, which uses cool magnetic cards held against the turnstile. In Tbilisi it was cheap plastic tokens. My new hotel, Velotrek, is a bit outside the city but apparently brand new. After a bit of looking around the metro stop, we find it and indeed, it is new. The price? An unbelievable 15 manats or 12,80 EUR. In Baku that’s dirt cheap. Elsewhere it’d be a bit much. I ask to see the room which is new complete with tv and bathroom. Walls aren’t cracked and the wallpaper is still on the wall, not the floor as usual. Wow. I’m taken aback. And for that price!

I drop my stuff and we head back out after mere minutes. Next stop is food. Marius tells me his ferry is supposed to go today (like every other day) but it really should today. I’m waiting for an sms from him to see what happened. We head back to the restaurant from yesterday which was near and order Iskender Kebabs, made slightly differently than in Turkey without tomato sauce and with the bread fried. Our Belarussian waitress smiles, happy to see us. Today I use the Russian words I’m slowly remembering from past trips.

He needs to be at the port around 2ish as at some point in the afternoon tickets could go on sale. I head towards Martyrs lane strolling down the boardwalk and notice people with cameras boarding a small boat. The price is 60 kopeks which is around 45 cents. They all seem to be Azerbaijan. I approach a group and ask. It’s a 30 minute tour of the harbour. Why not? I jump aboard and the boat leaves. The tour was really just going out and coming back, fairly boring except for the panorama views of Baku worthwhile mostly to see the vast construction going on. Dozens and dozens of skyscrapers are going up. It’s, well, insane.

After the half hour I continue up towards Maryrs Lane, a long monument slash graveyard for people killed by the Soviets as Azerbaijan became independent. After the war in Karabagh, it’s become almost solely Karabagh-related from what I see. Despite the many graves, it was difficult to take too seriously as they were all adorned with plastic roses, carnations and strings of other plastic flowers. Tasteless to the extreme. I did manage to find a relatively recent memorial to the British soldiers who died in Azerbaijan in WWI. It has apparently been defaced several times and a policeman was posted about 10 feet from it. I walked up and read it, then took a picture. He approached and came up next to me saying something in Azerbaijani. I assumed he wanted to know what I was doing based on the way he looked at me. “Tourist”Â? I said, “From America”Â?

“Passport!”Â? he demanded.

“What, why?”Â? I responded, having done nothing other than look at a memorial and obviously being a foreigner, not a nationalist who wanted to deface it.

“Document! Passport!”Â? he said again getting angry.

I reached for my passport and showed him the first page, still holding on to it. He began looking for my visa which I pointed at, including the entry stamp. Satisfied but unhappy, he said something and began walking away but motioning I couldn’t stay. Seems looking at memorials isn’t allowed. I stopped to put my passport back in my pocket and he waited waving his hand for me to come. I hold up a finger saying “one minute”Â?

“Problem?”Â? I ask.

“Da, da”Â? he responds in Russian. I walk away.

After enjoying the great views of the city and thankful I wasn’t asked for a bribe, I headed back down the hill whose funicular wasn’t running unfortunately. It seemed to be being renovated along with the surrounding area. Walked through a few new areas and took a cafe break happy to get Turkish coffee and think about the rest of my trip. Tomorrow I’ll go to Sumgait, most likely alone and depart the next day for a mountain village named Lahic.

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”¦.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”¦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.

I’ll begin with yesterday. I enjoyed my home stay which costs 20 Georgian Lari a night. One EUR is 2.25 Lari which makes it pretty cheap. Budget accommodation is scarce here which is a shame. I’m staying with an old lady who rents out 10 beds to travelers and apparently has been doing so for some years. She speaks reasonably fluent German and was a German teacher back in the day. One of the benefits of East Germany, actually probably the only good thing to come out of it, is that German was spread through the Eastern Bloc. That’s great for me.

Tbilisi is far more pleasant in daylight but it was unfortunately still cold and wet yesterday. I hoped it wouldn’t rain as there’s no satellite tv here like in Turkey and Iraq, at least not where I’m staying. In fact, for the first time, I’m sharing a room with others. There aren’t the many cheap hotels like in Turkey where you get a room and bathroom for 7 to 15 EUR. Hotel prices here are prohibitively expensive in Tbilisi.

I listened regretfully to the rambles of a 61 year old American who’d been traveling for 10 years, which his social skills reflect. Free of him, I headed to the bathroom planning to leave when I ran into a younger Californian who remarked it was interesting to be in Georgia at a time when Kosovo’s final status was about to be decided. I was shocked! Another political tourist! We got to talking for at least an hour about foreign policy, Russian interference in the region and travel in general. It was fabulous. Almost lunch time, I went out to see Tbilisi in daylight and immediately notice it’s far more European feel than anything I’ve previously been to.

As I crossed the river, I spot a dozen or so churches dotting the skyline making the ones I’ve seen in Turkey not seem as special anymore. Eventually I found Rustaveli, the main street and was thrilled. Gorgeous buildings mix with modern European shops while babushkas peddle softcore porn, cigarettes and vegetables on the street while men sell religious icons.

Dark clothes seem to be the norm and miniskirts and tight jeans remind me to silently thank Christianity for its comparatively equal treatment of women. People’s features have also changed dramatically and faces on the street remind me of Bulgarians with strong dark features but white skin. I still fit in well and am thankful, only noticing how much when talking to other tourists and suddenly bothered by children or touts who otherwise don’t give me a second look. It’s any traveler’s dream.

Incredible architecture awaited me throughout the rest of the city, although often in dire need of paint and restoration. Despite the crumbling facades, Tbilisi is very charming. I’m amazed almost every block and although I see a noticeable amount of new construction, the much needed restoration of the old hasn’t materialized. Priorities.

After stopping at a cafe, with brothel-like red lights and nescafe which traumatized my tastebuds, I headed uphill to a church. Inside, among the walls filled with religious portraits, icons and candles, with people kissing the frames, the doors and bowing to touch the ground before making the sign of the cross, I’m reminded of the extremely ritualized orthodox faith and how the intense devotion there reminds me more of Islam than it does the Christianity I’ve seen in Europe or the US. A young man sits on the bench next to me and whispers something in Georgian. After switching to English, we step outside for further conversation.

Slowly, as people walk up the steps heading for what must be an upcoming service, friends of his join us but only one other, a female Masters student, can speak English. Interestingly, they are both from Sukhumi, which is in Abkhazia the site of a deadly war of secession after the fall of the USSR. Georgians were ethnically cleansed by the Abkhaz who despite being de facto independent, are still unrecognized internationally. After being invited to the service, which I’m told will last two hours, I accept saying that I wont stay the entire time though. No problem.

Later, I continued around the city, visited the fortress and a few other churches before getting two hours of internet in, in a horrid internet cafe. Only three internet cafes in Tbilisi, not a good sign when every podunk town in Turkey has a dozen. Also, casinos are everywhere, and as another traveler said, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one. To me it says two things: organized crime and hopelessness. I hope I’m wrong.

Day 25, Tbilisi (March 25th 2007)

Tomorrow I’m off to UPS and then to a nearby lake. Otherwise, I’ll see a few other things and get ready to head to Baku. Latin alphabet, here I come!

(this is from yesterday, too tired now to write about today and this internet cafe is awful!)

Waiting in the bus office in Kars with a muddy wooden floor and a wood burning stove in the center of the room, I thought about the great irony of Turkey. Sometimes, I’d seen internet cafes with brand new flat screen monitors, broadband connections and the works yet int he middle of the room there’d still be an old fashioned wood burning furnace as it out of the USSR. Walking there, I’d gone through blocks of mud and piles of ash which upon entering, I realized came frmo the many furnaces used. I’m headed to Posof, about 30km from the border with Georgia. The driver tells me its 2 hours to the border and 4 to Tbilisi. I hope he’s right. Another man is waiting, older wearing a sport suit and Kangol cap and the usual Turkish mustache. One more man comes before we leave asking for a ride to just outside town. He sits in the aisle, although the bus is almost empty, and keeps muttering “servis”Â? talking to no one.

The mumbler finally gets out and I realize who my driver reminds me of, the Georgian president Mikhail Saakashvili. The bus seats all have leopard pattern covers, another reminder of everything we think is tasteless and kitschy, is what people in the third world think is classy. The nouveau riche are perfect examples but even the amount of fake flowers and other junk proves it.

The asphalt of the road is the only thing that breaks the monotony of white outside the bus. There’s snow everywhere and shades of white are the only way to tell the mountains from the sky. We pass plenty of typical poverty-stricken Turkish villages, the ones whose houses are either stone or concrete walls topped off with a mud and straw roof. Occasionally a tarp is thrown over and held down by dozens of rocks. Primitive living at its best. A single tin chimney rises from the center, signaling the ubiquitous wood burning furnace. Yet somehow, each tiny one or two room place manages to have satellite tv, which I’m told costs about 200 USD one time with all viewing afterwards being free. No business are in sight and livestock wander the streets.

My Saakashvili look-alike is now wearing black sun glasses although there’s no sun. We’re almost to Posof after dropping off the only other passenger. Suddenly, we come around a bend and there’s a shiny new industrial complex. Two massive cylindrical tanks rise from the snow with long one story buildings in rows. I notice a helipad. It takes a second, but it quickly dawns on me, the BTC. For those readers not following geopolitics there, that’s the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan pipeline which brings Azeri oil to the Mediterranean via Georgia. Sure enough, I see a sign for it. Must be a monitoring station.

As I’m the only passenger, the driver asks if I’m going to Gurcistan (pronounced Goorjistan). “Evet”Â? I tell him in Turkish. He offers to take me the rest of the way to the border for a small fee. I agree. By now, the geography has already radically changed the snowy plateaus and mountains have changed into a series of lower forested mountains and valleys which we’re driving through. A small series of buildings approaches devoid of military, checkpoints, outposts on hilltops and the usual trappings of a border. Being used to the heavily militarized borders with Iran and Iraq, I’m surprised to see an empty border post with two or three people. I arrive and head to get my Turkish exit stamp which the guard does seemingly annoyed at having work to do. They point me off to one of the many poorly marked buildings in the distance. Luckily, an official motions to me and says “customs.”Â? The Turks actually wanted to check my bags leaving. I was surprised.

I head to the Georgian side where two guards yell asking where I’m from. “America, America!”Â? They are visibly pleased. After all, Georgia and the United States are new best friends, with teh highlight being Bush’s visit to Tbilisi, the first time the American president has ever been to Georgia.

They let me take a picture of the welcome to Georgia sign and then ask for my camera so they can take a picture of me standing by the border gate with the two flags in the background. I thank them and after a few minutes of talking, they stamp my passport and send me on to customs which consists of a few men hanging out in a beat up old Russian car. They aren’t too interested and I wait around for the big Turkish tour bus clearing passport control. I’ve bought a ticket in the meantime to continue on to what I hope is Tbilisi. I’ll later find out I’m wrong.

I eventually get on the bus, with customs not even having talked to me. What changes when you enter Georgia? Latin letters turn into bizarre macaroni like shapes. Tea turns to coffee. Mosques become churches, cars get older and roads get worse. Getting to the first small town takes what seems like an eternity as our massive mercedes bus goes a few km/h over the dusty rocky roads. An anticlimactic border crossing. But the land became greener and crosses began appearing on nearby hilltops.

We finally made it to Abhaltssikhe, the first real town across the border. I’m told the bus stops there, much to my dismay and a Georgian girl who speaks passable English tells me which mashrutka, or minibus to take. But I need Georgian Lari. I only have Turkish lira. We find an earby exchange who only takes dollars, no euros or lira, despite the fact that the Turkish border is a few short kilometers away. Having my only dollars hidden and not wanting to reveal the hiding spot in public, I say I have none. But the bus is leaving so another women, also on the original Turkish bus puts me in the bus as she’s headed to teh capital as well and pays my fare. 10 Lari. I have no idea how much that is.

The bus is old, very old and the seats are a nasty brown and feel like threats of cloth over old springs. Great. It smells like coming home after a long vacation when the windows haven’t been opened for a month. We set off and before long, I’m realizing that a bathroom stop would be a good thing. I keep hoping. While the scenery is wonderful, my bladder keeps distracting me. As each town passes, I check my map hoping we’re either close or stopping. Neither. As night falls, I realize that between that and the increasing rain, it’s not going to be a fun first night in Tbilisi.

After an excruciatingly long and uncomfortable trip, we arrive yet I still have no money. All exchanges are closed. The woman asks where I’m staying and I point to the address of a homestay in my guidebook. She calls the given phone number but nobody answers. We wait and she calls again. Finally, she decides we should take the metro and buys me a coin. We go what thankfully was only two stops in what seems like an exact replica of the Moscow subway (Aaron will remember that) and arrive on a very uneven muddy street. Everything is new, but I’m reminded of my time in Russia. We set off down the street as my place should only be a block or two away. Finally after searching and asking at local shops, she deposits me on the porch explaining to the nice old lady in Georgian what had happened. I thank her and she says not to worry, or expresses that idea as she actually doesn’t even speak English. I give her a big hug and say thanks and she runs back out into the rain, more thankful than I’ve been in a long time. I’m tired, cold and wet. On top of that, I have no idea where the hell I am or how things work in this new country.

A sweet old lady who speaks what used to be good German shows me in and to the room where an older Italian man and American man are. I get an improvised bed. Thank god. After some conversation, I head back out to an ATM, grab some food and funky Georgian mineral water and come back for much much much needed sleep.

Kars immediately amazes the visitor with its wide tree-lined boulevards, grid system, even sidewalks and European architecture. Women of all ages walk around in European fashion and new shops line the streets. Am I still in Turkey? The current incarnation of Kars is Russian and everything screams it while walking the streets. Yet, despite the occasional pastel colored house which has long since faded into more depressing shades, perhaps modeled after St. Petersburg, Kars is a city of black, brown and gray. What should be picturesque river beneath the fortress is lined with trash, dead trees, brown grass and empty shops with broken windows. The Turks have yet to realize the potential the Russians saw in it.

I woke up early and met Mehmet at 8 hoping to send a few items back to Germany via UPS. His friend never showed and I headed back to the travel office to catch a direct bus to Kars. Despite the scenery, I spent most of the time thinking about my bladder and how many more kilometers it would last. We luckily stopped at a gas station 70km before the city much to my relief. One of the many benefits of the sedentary life is not having to worry about the timing of bodily functions. Oh the hardships of travel! The bus was actually headed to Kars airport since Dogubeyazit doesn’t have one. I asked the driver to drop me on the main road so I could take a minibus into town but he wouldn’t stop for some reason and I was forced to take a 10 EUR taxi back into the center blowing my budget for the day.

I chose a stupendous hotel with what is probably the best room I’ve had yet, although there’s no light overhead making it bad for reading. I tested for hot water but as there’s often none anywhere in the afternoon, I’ll have to try again tonight. I napped for half an hour and then set out to see this small city of 145,000. Enjoying the even sidewalks free of open holes, I strolled along almost thinking I’d already crossed into the former Soviet Union.

I headed north first looking for the Kars castle which, along with the city, was quite modern. Along the way I noticed another fabulous Armenian church in disrepair. I have to hand it to the Armenians, I’ve only seen a few of their churches, most in Turkey and one in Jerusalem, and I love them. Amazing design. Unfortunately, I could only peek through broken windows as the church remains closed.

From there I walked up to the castle taking in the urban planning but fairly uninteresting views. For the tourist, Kars seems to have very little to offer as castles and old mosques come a dime a dozen in Turkey. It’s perhaps most interesting merely in contrast to the rest of the country. Still tired from the early morning and long bus ride, I went back to my hotel and took a much needed afternoon nap. I woke up feeling a little under the weather but am planning to take a minibus to Posof tomorrow which is on the border with Georgia, or Gurgistan as the Turks call it. From there I’ll go to Tbilisi, the capital. The Caucasus await.