A CURIOSITY

We seem to have an audience wherever we go. People are curious, especially children, especially this little girl who watched as we set up mosquito traps outside her barn in a village near Lankaran. She gathered the rest of the family up to take a look.

You might have noticed the men are kind of boring in dress - the ladies however get the color on.

Curious maybe...definitely skeptical.

Roadside fruit and vegetable sellers, mom and son, happy to pose for a photo after a hefty potato purchase. 

PLASTIC BABY HAIKU

Plastic baby blues

Lounging precariously

Her view the sky

Malaysian Festival Baku Style

We heard music from across the street. Down on the Bulvar was  a festival celebrating Mayalsia. This town really has it all!

...music and flag waving, glossy brochures and a fashion show. 

It was a good excuse to be out and about, looking cool and texting. 

"DO YOU EAT INTERNAL ORGANS?"

Living in Azerbaijan, I REALLY like hearing this question. It implies a choice, or if not a choice then at least a warning. Much better than biting in and tasting something, well…something not expected. 

While there are many a delicacy here (liver, heart), I have been surprised by more unexpected delights such as lung, testicle, kidney. I am from Colorado to testicles don’t phase me in principal, but an unexpected bite into one is rather disconcerting and downright gross!

In this most recent case, on my trip to Lankaran, I was allowed the option of saying ‘No, but thank you for asking!!!! Instead got my gutab (a quesadilla like thing stuffed with stuff) filled with herbs. Quite tasty considering the alternative --- which was stomach.

A gang of thugs we ran into on the street one night - but one of those things where you say "booo" and they all run away. 

What a beauty!

A real Azerbaijani cowboy

QUBA CARPET FACTORY

Two things.  First its “carpet”, not “rug” and this was anything but a “factory”, a word that conjures images of hunched over women in dark rooms…toiling. 

Tall windows with natural streaming light are necessary I imagine, to discern the colors of yarn and to do this intricate work. This room is a place I would happily spend my days in if only I could do this work.

We went to Quba with friends who are watching their carpet being made and have visited several times over the months to see the progress. 

The owner and family greeted us warmly, made us tea and lunch. They told stories of the carpets, new and ancient designs. They talked of the patterns and their effect on visual development in children who lay and play on them.

They are a family of artisans. They dye the wool and make carpets to order in sizes, designs and colors you can choose. An old, old piece of carpet is used as a guide to make something new.

I remember a story told at the Carpet Museum in Baku – that people in these parts of the world are born on carpets and die on carpets and all the time in-between live their lives surrounded by these fabrics and patterns and colors – carpets are life. I wonder what splendid, enduring thing my life is wrapped in, surrounded by, protected and warmed by.