TEA INTHE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

Work once again brought me to the Qax region, near the border with Georgia under the backdrop of the Greater Caucasus Mountains. 

Felt like being home. Fresh clean air, stunning mountain views, cows everywhere. What more could I ask for…

Maybe a cup of tea?

In this knockout gorgeous, desolate place, border guards who first questioned our activities, then warmed to our presence, surprised us with tea. I have no idea how far one of the officers drove to get it, but I think they must be missing the company of other humans. Nothing really tastes better than an unexpected cup of tea in the middle of nowhere.

I had a similar awesome tea experience in the North Yorkshire Dales during the FMD outbreak in 2001. After driving for an hour in the dark to show up at a farm at 4am where I was not welcome, yelled at with raised arms for who knows what besides the anger and frustration that churned in most of the farmers during that time, listening, listening…and then being offered a cup of tea…and a shot of whiskey. I passed on the whiskey, but the tea was like no other, solid as the earth, warm like an arm around the shoulders, simple and sustaining. I understood at that moment how (because they drank that tea) and why (to get more tea) the British conquered the world back in the day. 

Carpet Museum

I admit to being totally intimidated by carpets. I have no idea what I am suppose to like, what is good, what they mean, etc......Fiends are traveling to the village of Guba to buy and have carpets made for them. Every region on Azerbaijan has a different style of carpet - even more complicated! I want the woven saddle bags above, alas I don't have a horse and they wont go very well on my floor. 

We visited the carpet museum in Baku to learn a thing or two. 

Its a new museum on the Bulvar, shaped like a rolled up carpet. Odd from the outside, but works on the inside.

Love the purses and camel designs. 

This magic weaving woman - making music with the rhythm of her work was hypnotic. 

LAHIC, NORWEGIANS AND RANDOM JAM

We took a trip outside of Baku to the village of Lahic (“LaHeesh”).  A 3 hour drive from Baku, it sits at the almost end of a long road that hugs a mountainside. It was only 35 years ago that the foot/cow path that led to the village was made into an actual road. The thin horizontal line that runs along the lower part of the mountain is a photo looking back at the road we just traveled with eyes almost shut...

It’s the end of the summer season so the town was quiet which suited us just fine. Most days were bright, sunny and cool. Suffering with colds, Ruby and I hung out at the guesthouse while Paul took hikes to waterfalls and apple orchards. Reading, lounging and walking through town was not a bad way to spend our time in Lahic. 

At breakfast the first morning I tasted something new, intense, and transformative - Gizil Gul Murabba -  rose petal jam. Jagged bits of flower parts, sticky, sweet, overpowering... almost. Concocted with roses gathered in the spring, parts are layered with sugar and distilled in the dark. I am intrigued with the craggy bits of flower parts and how they turn my head and taste bud.  Pistils and stamens, filaments and pollen anthers, rose buds and hips, bud eyes and unions, ovules and ovaries. Ovaries? How could I live this long without knowing that roses have ovaries? Fixated on mammals for quite some time, I have totally disregarded the depth and breadth and height the flower can reach. I am looking forward to exploring this ancient innovation. I have always tried to stop and smell the flowers. But now, because of some random jam, I will do it with new eyes. 

We shared the main road with cows and kids. We bought syrup and sox. We ran into some rabid cats and raccoons, and bought pomegranates from the trunk of a car.

Every time I see these shaggy sheep hair hats I have a strange desire to possess one! I see them in Baku in the Old City shops and my eyes follow them long after my feet have passed them by. I think I might finally know the reason why. While in Lahic I learned of the Azerbaijan - Norwegian connection. Some believe, including Thor Hyderdahl of Kon Kiki fame, that we came from common stock. That Azerbaijan and not Europe was the spreading center of the Caucasian people. So could it be, that on some primal level I am home again…yearning for my hat?

Every time we turned around Haciyev seemed to come out of the woodwork with his tattered copy of Lonely Planet. His guesthouse was featured in the book and he wanted to make sure we knew we had options in Lahic, and that his wife makes good cabbage soup and to please come take a look. Next time we will look him up – in addition to soup, his wife also makes some pretty cool sox!

Known for its copper smiths and working shops, some 900 Azeris call Lahic home. Craftsmen line the narrow main street and you can hear them hammering away during the daylight hours. 

One of them was Nazir, who seemed to be working all the time, hammer hitting metal every time we walked by his shop. Nazir stopped me from getting too attached to an old copper bowl. Azerbaijan has a law that you cannot take antiquities out of the country. Seems a good plan to keep treasures in a country and I didn’t know about the law. I could tell he really wanted to sell me the bowl, but steered me to the new copper pitcher he was working on. 

I admire Nazir for his honesty - the day before this smiley shopkeeper made no such confessions when I purchased this cup from him...

This region is known for earthquakes, so the houses are built with wooden beams between the rocks to lessen the shock. Looks pretty cool too!

On Monday the clouds rolled in and umbrellas came out. 

We heard about the local museum and climbed the stairs off the main road to take a look. 

The one room museum sits in a former mosque and is run by just one man, a veteran of the Nagoro-Karabakh War who showed us the scar on his skull. This was his job now and he knows what he was talking about – every object within and every portrait was explained with pride.

The Center of the Universe

A few weeks ago we went to the center of the universe. A co-worker invited a group of us there – to his family home in Kurdimier. 

To most (well everyone actually), Kurdimier is far from Eden. It is hot, flat, dry, treeless, and buzzing with mosquito in the summer. But to our friend, who shamelessly brags about his home town, it is most certainly the best place in all of Azerbaijan.

We found ourselves in a garden…fresh tandir bread, homemade butter and cheese and tea, always lots of samovar tea. I ate pomegranates that grew from the trees in the yard, and grapes from the trellis above and watched people cook who knew what they were doing. 

It’s always interesting to have veterinarians together preparing and cooking meat on the grill. Being a thrifty sort, Azerbaijanis  don’t like to waste anything. I passed on the unidentifiable objects on the grill, but the eggplant stuffed with a little sheep fat was quite nice. 

My new favorite food is “soldiers in uniform” - whole potatoes surrounded by charcoal, cooked in the ground.  They were a banquet on their own, needing no accompaniment. With a couple of these in my pocket I think I could do anything! These people know how to cook and serve up the food! 

Paul enjoyed the view from the head of the table... 

...and Ruby loved playing volleyball! 

The next day I overheard our friend from Kurdimier say that he would no longer need to speak about the splendors of his village – because now everyone else will!! Having experienced the warmth and hospitality of his home and family, we wholeheartedly agree!