Day 20 Tuesday

Frustration


Disclaimer--we are here because we want to be here. We knew going in that it might be hard at times but this is not meant to be a disparaging comment on the country or those that inhabit it.


The most frustrating element of living here that I have found yet is not having the internet connection be reliable. 


Yeah, I have to pump water, fine. Yes, I have to light the hot water heater every time. Okay. Yes, the electric goes off and the gas goes off, ha ha ha. But when the internet is off--which has been frequent--it causes me to not be able to keep promises to people that I love. It is the most painful thing about being here, not being able to sit down and send an email or even more-so, (we have been using skype recently to our great joy) I cannot talk to my friends and loved ones. When there is no phone/internet connection there is no ability to call home--to wish my brother, “happy birthday.” Sorry PF... The internet would not work all day yesterday. Is it turned off? Is there a wire broken? Could be, but even getting the answer to those questions takes at least a day to find out. I had to walk fifteen minutes to the office to get to a network that I could post this from.


Okay, whiney session is over. Love you guys, happy birthday Paul, sorry I didn‘t call. I couldn’t. I’ll call when I can...

Day 19 Monday

Another first--Natural Gas goes out about midninght. Fortunatly it wasn’t super-cold, and it lit again in the morning, that's a good thing... Welcome to Azerbaijan.

Day 18 Sunday

Sunday was a quieter day, we have been running a lot the past three days, so we stayed home and inside for the most part, and I spent several hours going through photos and updating the blog.  (Only got up to Day 15 posted but I’m catching up!)

Day 17 Saturday

It snowed today. That was new, however it didn’t stick on the ground but it was pretty while it was falling.


We were invited to a house warming for another American living here, a young lady of 25 here to teach English. It was a good time, about 15 english speakers, Americans and Brits. We ate and talked and laughed and played games and made some new friends.

Day 16 Friday

Friday morning wakes up cold, and I am grumpy, but Beloved quickly reminds me not to be a wet blanket, suck it up. We’re not at a 4-star Hyatt. (Well duh!)


We get some hot tea and bread and talk with England about what is to happen today. We get down to The Bank about 10:00 via taxi. --Interesting note; Sheki is a mountain town, and the hotel is “up hill” from the bank, probably an elevation change of 100 or 120 feet. However it is also about a mile and a half away. We get in the taxi, the driver turns the key one notch and shifts into nuetral and off we go. We were able to travel more than a mile of the distance without the car being turned on at all. Very clever. By the way, Lada’s are very simple vehicles, no power steering or power brakes, so safety was never decreased on this rather quiet ride!

We spend from 10:30 to 1:00 going around the town again, visiting more clients of the bank, seeing a little more of the city. At 1:00 we go with England about a five-minute walk to see another Training House here in Sheki, and meet the operators. A short greeting and interview of what they are doing in the region, they work with a humanitarian group out of Norway to help in agriculture. They have brought new concepts in farming, new breeds of cows for milk, new ways of growing fish as well as training in accounting and book keeping. They have been successful throughout the region and are very friendly generous people.

 At 2:00 we are done with our work for the Bank and England turns us loose to explore the city of Sheki. We have retained the services of Aynura, the interpreter, so we hire a cab to go visit the summer palace, a spectacular building built in 1750 as part of a complex of seven buildings, a summer residence for the ruler (King?) and the seat of his governance when he was there. The building is amazingly ornate in it’s decoration, the tile and paint work worthy of a king. However, the star of the show was the windows. They defy description, pictures barely do them justice. They are built without nails or glue, each piece interlocking like a puzzle, and each window has more than 5,000 pieces of wood and glass, and there are dozens of them. Really amazing. And they still function too--they are still able to be opened after more than 250 years now. Less than five percent of these windows have needed any renovation.

We toured the palace then walked down the hill about two hunded yards to see the “Craftsman Hall,” a museum of native arts, including a demonstration of how the puzzle windows are made and put together. We learn that a window the size and complexity of those we have seen could take as much as six months to complete each one. We also get to see a wood-carver at work, he is building a “Tar” a regional instrument like a guitar or banjo. He plays a little for us.


After this we go to a memorial site that Aynura shows as a good lookout point. The city is laid out beneath us.

Shortly enough it is time to eat, and then time to go. We will visit Sheki again some time when it is a little warmer and the trees have some leaves!

Day 15 Thursday

Today we go to Sheki. In Azerbaijan, Sheki is spelled with four letters, the sound “sh” is achieved in one letter. It is an S with a small hook or line off the bottom of it.


Sheki is approximately two hours drive from Ganja, and we depart about 11:00AM. Sheki is a city in the mountains, about 3,000 feet up.

Sheki City Gate

Side note--nothing around here seems to start early, even the doctors offices don’t open until 9:00 in the morning. The banks open at ten, and nobody I’ve talked to can even believe that someone would start working at 7:00AM, let alone any earlier. Even England, the proper British gentleman refers to appointments starting at ten-ish or two-ish. I guess his many years hear have made him accustomed to the thought of punctuality being a fluid thing.

The drive is okay--the roads here are terrible. I have only seen roads like these in high, off-road Colorado, but they use them for all traffic, cars, busses, trucks, everything drives these roads everyday. We are headed east for about 45 minutes and then north, into the Caucus mountains. We rise three times, and then arrive at Sheki. This is a very agricultural area, there are lots of plowed acres, and even some sheep and a few cattle. No fences though, twice we see cows in the middle of the road.

Today we go around to meet customers of The Bank and get an idea of the clientele like we did yesterday in Ganja. We also get to see a lot of the city of Sheki at the same time. It is Beloved and I, a young lady named Aynera whom is our translator, and two employees of the bank. Our first stop is at a small shop, the owner is not present, but his work is--it is a small cabinet, with a sink, I thought it was a childrens play-thing--it’s so small, but I am assured that this will be used every day. The upper portion above the sink is a tank, the faucet works by gravity, the drain is collected underneath the sink in a jug or bucket. I assume it is very inexpensive, but apparently the craftsman can turn a couple of bucks for his efforts. It is the most basic construction, the drawer has no slides or stops, all the joints are just butted and nailed, quite primitive, but the paint shows an obvious pride for his work.


The next stop is a small confectioner. Here we get to meet the owner and talk a little bit more. He gives us samples of his work and is very cordial. He says he would show us the operation but it is all closed up--they make the candies and pastries overnight and sell them in the morning.

From there we go to a small shop more in the center of the town to visit with and see the work of an artist. His shop is small, humble, but the work is really pretty good. He does some fine art and some signs.

We then went to see a man that raises cows. In his back yard. Really. Things that would never ever pass any zoning ordinance in any city in the USA seems to be commonplace over here. This man, a very pleasant and friendly fellow, has 20 acres outside town that he grows hay on, brings it into town to his five cows, which he keeps in a shed behind the house. (Note: Every house in this country seems to have an eight-foot-tall wall around the entire property. I’ve been told they value their privacy. No kidding.) He borrows money from The Bank in the spring when cows and calves are plentiful and cheap, feeds them all year and sells them in the late fall and winter when the prices are up. Good business plan.

The Bank has several clients doing the same thing.

About 6:00PM England is finished up with his business and one of the employees drives the three of us to The Caravan Hotel. Sheki is situated on “the Silk Road,” the caravan trail that attached the Far East with Europe in the 1400’s, back in the time Columbus was looking for a way to sail west to Asia. There are a few reminders of this era, though most do not exist any more.  

The hotel we are staying the night at is situated on the remains of a caravan stop, a place where you could park you camels inside the walls and do some trading and then grab some tea and a nights sleep. So that's pretty much what we did, we grabbed some dinner and some tea and went to bed. Unfortunately the gas had been off in the city most of the day and the place was cold. Pretty cold. 

I slept in my all my clothes under all the blankets there were on my side of the room (oh yeah--two single beds) and my head under the covers and didn’t sleep very good. The ambiance gets an 8, though the function will have to remain about a 3. Shelter? Yes. Smoking room? Unfortunately yes. Heat? Not till about 4:00 in the morning, then not much. Bed? Yes. Bed you can sleep with your wife in? No. Toilet? Yes. Toilet seat secured to the toilet? No. Mirror in the bathroom? Yes, 4x15 inches. Shower? Yes. Functional shower door? No. I must confess, I was a bit of a whiner that night, and I apologize to my precious wife for taking the fun out of the adventure that night. Sorry Babe.

Day 14 Wednesday

Today the board of The Bank is meeting, they meet six times annually, and England has expressed a desire for me to meet the board, so that has been set-up for about 5:30.


Beloved and I have been invited to accompany England and a couple others tomorrow and Friday to the Bank branch in a smaller town called Sheki. Because of this we are taking our Azeri language today instead of Thursday.


England also wants me to get a better feel for what The Bank does, so he has lined up some meetings for me this morning with an iterpreter. I walk down to The Bank and meet the interpreter, an American guy that has been here a number of years already. He is a very pleasant man and is taking his place as a new board member, so he is getting the tour as well for his benefit as much as interpreting for me.


We take about 40 minutes with the branch president then walk about five minutes to a gentleman that raises birds, parakeets and such. He borrows a small amount to travel to Baku and buy small birds or eggs, then raisies them and sells them to local patrons. We go from there to a small storefront, the gentlman there has taken a loan to upgrade his computer equipment.  From there another five minute walk to an unassuming building, through the door and we are in a cabinet-making shop. The Bank has loaned this man money to purchase better materials and thereby create higher quality cabinets and get a better price for his work. The last stop of the morning is a local bread bakery, this gentlman borrows money to purchase flour when the prices are good. it is a fascinating hour, and I am becoming more and more proud to be associated with this organization.


From there I go to meet Beloved who is already at The Training House. We get through our second (ikiunca) lesson, and our teacher (maalim) would like us to be “interviewed” by some of her students that are learning english. We are introduced to a class of 17-20 year-old young people and speak to them about where we are from, what is our favorite food, do we have any kids(?) and the like. It is an enjoyable time.


Afterwards we are talking with Turab, England’s  “wide-boy.” This is an expression that means that this young man is very well connected and can somehow get anything, knows everyone, and can get anything done. “Turab, we need to get mobile phones...” “okay, no problem.” We leave The Training House and walk downtown, about twenty minutes walk. We go to a phone store, Azercell, and purchase two new Nokia telephones. Then we walk across the street to the competitors service and sign-up for BakCell service. As we are there two guys, at two different times walk in a greet Turab--I guess he does know everybody.


Beloved walks home and I walk back to The Bank to meet the board, six gentlmen and a lady, two Americans, two Norwiegans, one Brit and two Azeri’s. It is very cordial but professional, and kept short. A little history of me and welcome and introductions to all, and that’s it. 

Day 13 Tuesday

Azeri lessons started in ernest today, and it is interesting already. There are some similarities to english, but it could be a long time before getting fluent in this language! We learned the alphabet (36 characters) and all their sounds--there are several sounds that do not have any english equivalent-and some simple greetings. “Salam, manim aduhm John dur.” Hello, my name is John--except the “is” comes after John and it sounds like my name is John Deere. Welcome to Azerbaijan.

Day 11 Sunday

Sunday we took advantage of an open invitation, anytime-you’re-free type thing, to go see the English Club. There is an American family here connected to The Bank that holds a gathering in their home that they call The English Club. Essentially it consists of Azerbaijani students and young people that they have met and networked with getting together in his home to speak--and hear--the English language.  We are the only native english speakers present besides the American Family. It is okay, all the locals have a very thick accent, but I can see where it is beneficial. It is not something that we will likely take in again, the conversation is too simple to be of any pleasure, and we are looking to increase our ability to speak the Azeri language anyway.

Day 10 Saturday

It’s Saturday, and we are going to The Training House again, first to work in the schoolyard in the morning and then our Azeri language lesson at 12:30.

Stolba

The cityscape is littered about with the common soviet-era concrete telephone pole, called a stolba. These are found all over the place, pretty much anywhere Soviet construction methods were/are used, including the playground area of The Training House. It is a cast concrete column with six pieces of rebar in it, about ten inches square at the bottom and about six inches square at the other end, approximately 25 feet away. Various hardware will top it depending on the usage of the stolba in particular, this one had carried wires, so it had a couple of bars protruding near the top and a couple of ceramic insulators had survived to today.


This is the second stolba to come down in the yard, and we tackle it in the same fashion as the one that came down last week--start digging. There are five of us including Beloved, and after about two hours we are approximately 36, maybe 40 inches down. One of the locals scampered to the top of the pole and secured a rope, and now we start pulling. Kind of a see-saw pulling until it finally yields, which means it breaks off below the ground level. There will be rebar to cut, but the stolba is down and can be taken away.


Azeri language goes okay and then we are at home for the afternoon. England calls and asks if we would like be introduced to a board game that his family likes, called “the Settlers of Cattan.” We say yes, and shortly after 7:00 we start this game. It is a very interesting game, and the play is probably a little bit slower than it might regularly be, for there is lots of explaining to the rookies, and two of the players are age 13 and 8. We eventually find the rhythm of the game and it proves to be a very enjoyable game.

Day 9 Friday

We have decided to explore downtown a little bit more today, I am in need of a notebook. On a previous walk with another couple, we were pointed to a shop that has good prices on stationary and writing utensils. So we are heading that way.


Part of the 30 minute walk is on a street that is generally known as walking street, and at the busy end of walking street in a restaurant called “Elegance” We’ve passed it several times, just enough to recognize the name. As we pass this morning we are greeted in english, “Good morning, may I help you? Are you ready to eat?” Slightly surprised and very impressed at the warmness and openness of this gentleman, “yes,” we reply and go in and sit down. 


In meeting one other American over here I have heard that this place has a good pizza, so I am convinced that the food is safe and the service decent.


Farshid (Far-sheed) is the head waiter at Elegance, and speaks pretty good english. He tells us a little about himself, he was (I think) born in the USA, he has a brother that lives in San Diego as a retired airline pilot. He has visited the USA a couple times, and has visited other countries quite a bit--he lived in Japan for a year to learn how to buy good fish. We like him immediately and he is the most western local that we have met. He is a completely a dignified gentleman’s servant--he took my paper napkin five or six times during the course of the meal and replaced it with a new one. It seemed his one desire was to make us feel as comfortable as possible, and his second desire almost matched the first--to make his restaurant feel warm, welcome and inviting. He fully succeeded at both goals. I’m certain we will dine at “Elegance” at least once a week, if only just to greet our new friend Farshid.


Later  in the day I needed to make some copies, so I went alone back downtown. An interesting thing happened while I was walking back, it was just after sundown. Perhaps I need to preface a little--I get looked at EVERYWHERE I go. I might as well be painted purple, it seems as though everywhere we go I am looked at as though I just stepped off a UFO. I am getting used to it a little, and generally when you smile at them and give a nod they will respond in like kind. So, I am walking through downtown, headed home, it’s about 6:45PM and dark, when a young man stops me on the corner. “You are obviously not from around here--are you lost, do you need any help?” I almost laugh, thinking, “do I really stand out that much? I guess so...” “No,” I reply, “I know right where I’m at and I know how to get where I’m going, but thank you very much for asking.” This truly is one of the friendliest places I have ever been in my travels. 

Day 8 Thursday

Thursday is January 20, a national day of mourning in Azerbaijan--a black holiday. I suppose it would be like calling September 11 a holiday. In 2001 Russian troops rolled into the capital, Baku, in an attempt to re-take control of this nation. Tanks and troops roared in, killing about several hundred and wounding many hundreds more. The takeover was thwarted, but the country has not forgotten those that were killed in the action. All businesses are closed, and friends gather in remembrance of the day.


Since The Bank is closed, we have been invited to join England and his family on a trek into the mountains. They do this a couple times each month, and since we are new in town we have been invited to experience this escapade.

We depart about 11:00 in the morning, but the weather is very foggy--it will not be a very picturesque excursion. We are seeing, about one-half mile at a time, new parts of Ganja and the surrounding countryside. The trip takes about 1.5 hours, and we arrive high enough in the mountains that there is snow, enough to build a snowman. We take a walk to picnic lunch, about two miles, to a very lovely overlook on a small valley. Two miles walk back to the truck, drive home, relax in the evening.


Since this is kind of a short post, allow me to catch up on some photos that I'd promised from earlier posts...


One of the first photos I shot in Azerbaijan...

Just outside Baku

My First banking experience, along with the taxi driver who delivered us to Ganja. Yes, I am very tall compared to the average Azeri...


While speaking of the taxi driver I want to share a couple of photos about the drive its self. These photos were taken as we are driving between 60 and 75 miles-per-hour. I just had to close my eyes and trust we would be alright. More than a dozen times we were waiting to pass, not 10 feet off the bumper of the vehicle in front of us. Sometimes a mile or two at a time. Welcome to Azerbaijan!

And the infamous "squatting toilet" which we have now seen more times than we'd care to remember. It is true, more than half the planet does not sit to, well, you know.
Lovely tile work too. At least it was clean...

I'll finish it up with some everyday staples of Azerbaijan. The modern infrastructure...

I believe these are natural gas lines

The ever-present "use your Mercedes as a truck,"...

And last but not least, a sample of the standard unit of measure, nothing. This doorway is in my house, it is crooked, un-equal, un-even, and un-square, but it does close nicely.

Day 7 Wednesday

Mrs. P. had told us how she has begun running again after a short break, and this is of interest to us, Beloved and I used to run fairly regular when we were in Estonia, and not quite so regularly back in the USA. So, we told Mrs. P. that we were interested in running with her one morning, and this would be the morning.

We depart the house about 8:00AM, next time we’ll try to get away by 7:30, there will be a little less traffic to deal with.  It is about 15 minutes walk to “The Stadium,” which is a bit of an overstatement. It is soccer field with a very crude running track around it. The paving of the running track is no better than the paving of any of the rest of the sidewalks in this city, including potholes and the occasional grapefruit-sized stone kicking around. The walls are crude and what little paint is there is peeling of fading away. There are two banks of seating, plastic seats that are in an equal state of degradation. What little grass is present is severely overworked.


When we arrive we see Mrs. P. approaching on the track, she calls out, “I’ve only two more laps to go...” So Beloved takes off after her and catches up shortly enough. I will do a few more stretches before jumping in, but shortly enough we’ve all had a nice run, sufficient to raise the heart rate and warm up the muscles pretty good. When warmer weather arrives I can see this becoming a regular event.


The rest of the day is rather mundane, except to say that the evening meal was pizza and cinnamon rolls. There is a small bread bakery about four blocks from our house, England say that it is the best he’s found in the city. We have purchased bread there a couple of times, but you can also purchase bread dough at the same place, a pretty good lump for 75 cents. Two-thirds of the lump goes into pizza crust, (Beloved made up a great sauce!) Green peppers, onions, some black olives and ham. The other third goes to make four small cinnamon rolls. It was awesome!

Day 6 Tuesday

Sleeping better all the time, we awake at 7:30, wanting to get out of the house by 8:30 to get down to “Medi Club.” No kidding, that is the name of the clinic. However interesting the name, the place is clean and professional, the technicians proficient. We wait a few minutes, then are called into the lab where we both get blood taken, the nurse/tech is very good--no pain, no fumbling about at all. (Beloved was unaware this was what we are in this room for, the instructions in broken english, “roll up, err [pointing to sleeve]” she thought she was going to get a blood pressure check.) Next we are taken to an exam room, one at a time, for an EKG--Electricardiogram. It’s an interesting experience if you’ve never had one. First you empty you pockets and rid yourself of anything metallic, watch, jewelry, belt, they laugh that I am carrying two phones... Then they squirt a little spot of gel where the electrodes are held in place by suction to both ankles, both wrists and four places on the chest. Okay, “take breath” which means hold your breath while they take the readings and its done. That was it for the morning, we are to return at 5:00 for the Doctors examination and the finish of the report. One thing that was interesting, when we were done with the EKG we returned to the waiting area and waited, not sure for what. Finally we asked, “Are we done?”  “Yes, return at five o’clock” We both laughed, how long would we have waited until they told us we could go?


After that we return to the house and work on various things, the weather is nice so se have been doing some grooming in the courtyard. Don’t know what shape it will take, and since this is not our house I am not too keen on spending a lot of time working on lawn and garden, but Beloved is fairly excited about it.


We return to Medi Club at 5:00 and wait to see the Senior Doctor, a pleasant gentleman of about 60. He does not speak very good english, but we finally get through it all. At least there were no leeches. All in all not a bad experience, 57 manat, about 71 dollars for two medical exams and a legal document stating that we are healthy people.

Day 5 Monday

We met the housekeeper, she arrived unexpectedly, but we were up and around. What’s that sound? I think someone is at the gate... Thankfully England had left us a phone. After meeting her at the gate, she did say “Coffeeman,” and I had an idea that this might be the person, so I call Mrs. P. and had her set up a meeting tomorrow when we can meet with her and an interpreter. 


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The cleaning lady has gold teeth. I am not kidding--I did not see one white tooth, they are all gold.


We met with England again this morning regarding acquisition of the work permit--it will be one thing for sure, interesting. Just found out that I will have to have a morning of tests for the medical certificate--blood work, urine sample, EGG, physical. Then there will be piles of documents with the proper stamps and stamps that validate the other stamps, etc.  


Had lunch with England and Mrs. P., sandwiches and cake and some sort of cherry beverage. We set in order our Azerbaijani language studies and hope to start that the end of this week. That in itself should provide lots of content for future blog entry.


Went to the police station in the afternoon--what a zoo. It is completely out of control--typical post-soviet power struggle. Tiny little hall with one light bulb, tiny little office with 14 people waiting to get in, Gasham walks straight to the door and pushes his way in.  We wait in the hall then are motioned in, three women share this little office which is crowded when four people are in it.The one guy that is suppose to be our interpreter is there, but can’t figure out what they are asking. He is saluting and asking, “How high? How high?” I finally figure out they are asking, “How tall?” then I must do some conversion in my head, “1,90” meters of course. And naturally, if someone doesn’t understand you ask them again in a higher volume. We finally got it all worked out and the right box signed and the right picture and the right stamp, but the officials ould not give the accountant a copy. There was some loud conversation and later on I learned that the director wanted money, aparently lots of money, for copies of these documents. Standard? No. Reason? Ask the Director, he will be here tomorrow. It is my first real-world introduction to corruption.


I will not dwell on the negatives of this life we’ve chosen, but it was a hard afternoon.


Back at the office I got to speak a little bit more at lenght about the scope of the job with The Bank, it sounds like it will be a good one. I am hoping that the powers that be will allow me to stay here and work it.


We left the office about five determined to find an ATM that would work for us, we stopped at six today to no avail. Walked to a new part of the city, found another ATM, no workee. Walked another 200 feet to another, guess what? Nothing. Behind us I hear, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” We turn around to see J&B, the Americans we met yesterday morning! “Yeah, I’m figuring this out...” They were out for a walk, so we walked with them, looking for a friendly ATM and ha a nice visit. They seemed enthused to speak to new Americans, so we continued walking and talking, there was no rush to get back for us tonight anyway. We ended up having dinner with them and their family, and then Mrs. B. gave us a ride home after showing Beloved two good markets where we were able to make some key food purchases.


Got home about 8:30, the landlord wanted to come by  to drop off another pair of keys, and then we got to bed about ten.

Day 4 Sunday

Sunday is pretty casual, we have been invited to hang out with England and his family at the home of another American families house. It is a very pleasant time, we are taking all things slowly and trying hard to take in all the new things we are seeing. We see a little more of the city, and that is good.


The rest of the day we explore a little more of the home--especially the courtyard area.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The water system here is a bit different, but they have accommodated with a clever solution. The city only pumps water to a specific area twice a week. At first hearing that sounds crazy, but every home here has a cistern of about 500-800 gallons, then a pump that pushes the water up to a holding tank on top of the house structure that holds about 200 gallons. This particular house does not have any type of automated system for monitoring the amount of water in the upper tank so it is a manual thing--every couple of days plug in the pump for an hour. So we did.


We raked and cleaned in the courtyard and explored its corners, the sun was behind clouds but the temperature was warm. We read and lounged around a bit in the evening, working to stay awake until about 9:30 forcing our body-clocks to reset to the middle east time zone. Good night.

Day 3 Saturday

We have been invited, if we want to, to join some volunteers at The Training House--they are removing a tree. We walk to The Training House for the first time, and after one short detour (we thought the hospital was a park) we find the place and join in the action. They have most of the work done already but I grab a place on the rope and down it comes. It is dead but still about 30 feet tall. No saws, just an axe. They knock off the bigger branches and we haul the brush over to one corner of the yard. The space they are clearing is about a quarter acre in size, and the plan is to clear it, bring in some topsoil and plant it in grass by about march.


That was the normal part of the event, the next part is the slightly crazy part--there was concrete light post that they wanted to take down as well, so we commenced digging around this pole for about an hour, then attached the same rope near the top of the pole and started pulling, much like the tree. It barely moved. We dug another half hour and pulled again, we got it leaned over about 10 degrees. We dig about ten more minutes and a session of classes lets out, so we enlist five other young men to pull on the rope with us. A total of eight men going back and forth on the rope, it finally fell--over the trunk of the downed tree--and broke in several pieces! England declared that that was enough for one day, clean up the area and good work.


After that we went and found the stadium, which is a little bit of an exaggeration, where Mrs. P. and England run several times a week. Running is something that we enjoyed while in Estonia and we want to start again here in Azerbaijan.


The rest of the day we hung around the house, still getting used to the time change and overcoming jet-lag.

Day 2 Friday

England had informed us the day before that he would pick us up at about 10:30 and we would be introduced around at The Bank then we would work on getting registered with the Police. Apparently they like to keep tabs on their visitors, mostly making sure that foreigners abiding in a rented house are there with the owners permission. We drive about five minutes in a big square, making three right-hand turns to be able to approach and park on the one-way street that The Bank is on. We enter the administrative office side and are introduced a very polite woman, I will one day know how to pronounce her name. England asks us to sit and visit while he makes out a letter of reference for the police and then we will continue with the proceedings. The bank official speaks pretty good english so we are able to learn a few things about her and The Bank.


The Bank is a Norwegian venture, started about 12 years ago as a humanitarian project in Azerbaijan. It is a micro-finance lending institution, not really a bank as they do not accept any deposits, only loans for small business use. The average loan is between 1,000 and 2,000 manat, thought they are looking to increase this figure. They have about seven-million manat out annually, with a less than one-half of one percent default ratio. It has been a very successful operation, with five branches in Azerbaijan and looking to open a sixth this year.


If everything works as planned this will be my office as well, and I am shown the desk that will be mine. However, England’s plan for me is about 12 hours of actual work and 28 hours of language and culture learning each week for the first year. Then I will be of better value. Part of the job will include visiting each of the sites, so there will be some opportunity to see most of the nation of Azerbaijan.


England is done with his letter and we walk over to the operations side of the bank, and are introduce to more people whose names I will be able to pronounce and spell later, including the president of the branch, a man of great depth and warmth, I look forward to getting to know this fine gentleman and talking with him more.


We are also introduced to “The Lawyer.” A former policeman, Gasham is a formidable presence. 6’0”, 260 lbs, this is someone I am glad to have on our side, his function is collections and conflict resolution. He will be handling the footwork for our registration with the police. He is polite and gregarious, good natured and a little bit loud. He would be completely frightening if you owed him money, I like him immediately. He is called “The Lawyer” because if he cannot resolve the collection through negotiation he will turn you over to be sued in the courts. Gotta love it.


We also meet a delightful woman, the Human Resources manager and general operations manager. She speaks very good english, and she will be helping us as well. Some discussion has been made between the Lawyer, the HR woman and England, and it is concluded that Gasham is going to work on this until such time as our presence is needed, if we can take care of ourselves, we shall reconvene at 2:00 at The Bank.


We departed the bank walking back towards home, stopping at the market, needing toilet paper and sugar. The TP was easy enough to find, but the sugar was not presenting itself in any immediately recognizable fashion, so we resorted to asking. I don’t know if I have stated it before, but we tried this a few times in Estonia to much frustration. The Estonians seemed put out that they should help you discover what you want, almost as if to say, “You don’t speak our language, you must be stupid. Quit bothering me...” The Azeri’s are almost the opposite. We did not know the Azeri word for sugar, nor the Russian word, but, after we got directed to soup, by the time we had four smiling clerks jabbering amongst themselves we got sugar! Everyone was laughing and smiling, and it was an enjoyable exchange.


At two o'clock we met back at the bank and it was determined that we needed to go get photographs for the Police department to have on hand for the registration. So we get in the car with the HR woman (man I wish I could remember her name!) and drive into town to the photo studio. In less than ten minutes we have the requisite photos, with the proper red background, and we get back to the bank. We get to look at some email while we are waiting on the next task, and Beloved has a nice conversation with one of the staff workers. She excuses that her english is “not very good” but it is adequate enough. At 4:30 we are told that some documents have to be acquired from the landlord and we will finish up on Monday. 


On the way home we pass another smaller market which has eggs in a box at the front of the store. Another pleasant exchange with a friendly shopkeeper. We go home and have eggs for dinner with a little fresh bread and tea, and decide it is time to learn how to make hot water.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The hot water heater is a tank of unknown origin about 15 inches in diameter and five foot tall. The directions we have gotten from The Coffeeman is to light it and wait, but don’t let it run for more than an hour without running hot water in the house or you’ll boil the water in the pipes. There is no thermostat or throttle, just a valve for the gas. It gets lit, we wait, we enjoy a bath and being warm all the way through for the first time in Azerbaijan, and get to bed about 9:30.

Day 1 Thursday

**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The flight from Moscow into Azerbaijan was uneventful, Aeroflot again, and the same meal we had coming over. Sat next to a gentleman from Morocco, he was very nice. He is traveling to Baku to be a referee in a Taekwondo match in Baku. There are about ten young men of oriental descent on the plane too, we assume they are going to the same event.


  We passed through a cloud layer  at about 4,000 feet and got our first look at the city of Baku, at about 12:30AM. Lights of a city, and a river running through it. Before too long the outline of the Caspian Sea came into view, and then we were turning out over the water. A good landing, toward the north, and then taxi-back on the runway to the south end, turning off to the left and parking. We are now arrived, it is about 12:50--ten minutes late. We are wanting to not keep our man waiting, so we are working to get out of the airplane as quickly as possible, and I was a bit concerned about the general nature of these people as we deplane, this particular group is very pushy and crowding to get off the plane as well, no politeness displayed here. But Beloved’s “please!!” stopped the tired travelers and a space opened up, and closed just as quickly in a press behind us.


Approaching the door of the aircraft (an Airbus A320) we see not a jetway but a stairway, and we are going down to the pavement and getting on a bus. A short ride over to the terminal, the Baku airport is tiny. Through the door into a low-ceilinged room about 40x60 feet, this is passport control. Three open lanes for nationals, one lane for visitors. (And one desk for diplomats, which is manned though I do not see anyone go to this desk) Our first greeting walking onto this room is cigarette smoke, and three or four men standing around smoking and talking. Welcome to Azerbaijan.


Beloved is first up to the passport control desk, the young lady calls for another officer to look at her passport. Shortly enough we figure out that her picture on the passport is just different enough that they want to really scrutinize it. So what if it was taken six years ago when her hair was really short? And who looks like their passport photograph after 30 hours of traveling? We get through okay and over to the baggage conveyor. I pulled out my phone considering taking some photographs, but quickly thought better of it. We are fresh in the country in the middle of the night and they already think Beloved’s passport is fake--better not do anything that would garner any more attention!


We collected  the luggage just fine, everything made it okay and no evidence of tampering. Following the locals through the short hall out to the real would I am requested to send the three bags I am carrying through the detectors. Okay. The man running the machine is completely engaged in a conversation with another cigarette-smoking man and seems irritated that the officer would interrupt him to look at the monitor. Down the belt they guy does not slow his animated conversation at all, the bags spit out the other end and I pick them up, and we are officially walking into the Republic of Azerbaijan.


Ten steps in we quickly recognize The Canadian, a gentleman we had met at the Business Meeting in Colorado back in November. He greets us, and his driver, and gets us to the car. It is now after 1:20 in the morning after a long, long series of flights and airport waits, so the drive to his apartment is a bit of a blur. The taxi driver is driving like a taxi driver, and though there is practically no one on the roads in this middle of the night he is still racing down the lanes and “short-cutting” through a maze of parking areas and alleyways like a crazy man. The Canadian apologizes for this, “force of habit I suppose,” he says.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The Canadian lives in an apartment building of Soviet origin, the stairway is filthy and smells bad and thank God he is only on the third floor. We get in his apartment which is actually quite nice, where his wife and daughter are sleeping, and offers us a shower or bath before bed, yes, that would be nice. A very primitive space, we are reminded of the Soviet style of infrastructure--if you want hot water, as long as you get hot water who cares what you have to go through to get it, right? There is a box on the wall, about the size of a desktop computer. The Canadian opens a panel and asks me if I would assist him, please turn on the hot water handle at the lavatory when I say, okay? Okay... Apparently it is an on-demand type water heater, but if the water flow is interrupted the fire goes out. He gets it running on the third attempt and proclaims it ready, just don’t turn off the hot-water faucet until you are done. Great. Four minutes later when Beloved is ready to get in the shower--no hot water. So much for a nice shower before bed...


There was conversation on the ride home about getting into Ganja the following day, so after about 5 hours of sleep we rise and prepare to get to Ganja. The Canadian’s wife and daughter are up and around in the morning, and I am able to send a couple emails and skype to my mom while Beloved is talking to the wife and preparing some breakfast. The taxi driver is back at about 8:35AM and we are off for the bus station.  Oops, a look came over the drivers face, as he realized he missed the exit, so he smiles and backs down over a quarter mile exit to reach the road with the bus station. 


The Canadian asks what we have planned for the journey, “I guess we were going to get on a bus, that is what The Coffeeman had recommended and offered no alternatives other than to say the train was a prohibitively long trip. What would you do?” “I would hire a taxi to go the whole way.”  And the decision was probably a good one based on our lack of familiarity with anything Azerbaijan, mostly the language. Some negotiations were made and we were introduced to our next taxi driver, a greying-haired man of about 60. He is cordial and polite, a couple of gold-capped teeth in his smile.


We bid The Canadian and driver thank-you and goodbye, and set off toward Ganja, our new city of abode for the foreseeable future.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


Driving in the rest of the world cannot barely be comprehended if you’ve never been there. There are very few signs regarding speed limits, one-way streets, street names, etc., and one traffic signal I saw looked like it was lit with 25 watt bulbs. I guess it’s okay because the drivers never seem to notice them anyway. If there is a space that you think you can wedge your car through, give it a try. Intersections? Cars turn two and three wide at a time. U-turns, passing, parking, these are all based on whatever the driver thinks he can get away with. It is a good thing I am tired, it is easy to close my eyes! Baku is a dirty, smoky, bustling city of crumbling buildings and new construction that looks like it will be crumbling soon. Tight winding streets choked with people and trash and all manner of vehicles ranging from scooters to ancient autos, dirty busses and huge transport trucks all honking and crowding for their space. Throw in a few dogs and a couple cows per mile and you begin to get the picture.


Soon enough the traffic is thinning and we are out of the city. We pass some landmarks and the taxi driver is valiant in his effort to explain what we are seeing, even trying in Russian. Beloved knows just enough Russian to be dangerous, and soon the driver thinks we can understand what he is talking about, so I fake sleep until the real thing takes over. The drive is about 5-6 hours depending on how fast you want to travel, and our driver is determined to make it in five.


We soon fall into this pace and the road is not terrible, and I think the taxi driver begins to understand that we do not really get all that much that he is talking about, so his quantity of conversation recedes a bit, however he remains completely polite.  I am not sure of the conversion rate, but there were many times that the we were running 160 kilometers-per-hour and I think the posted limit was 90. We slowed several times and he would point out that there was a remote detection station (a camera and a radar gun on a pole), other times we would see the officers standing beside their car. If they pointed the baton at you, that’s it, you’ve been gotten. Which did happen to us one time. This did not seem to phase the taxi driver, he was just as polite as ever afterward, and it did not seem to affect his driving afterwards either!


At some point about two-thirds way along he stopped and motioned us into a nicer-looking road side restaurant. We followed, and the only ones inside were the owners and two cleaning ladies. All were extremely polite and welcoming, even to the point of taking Beloved back into the kitchen to point out what she might like to have to eat. Very patient and accommodating.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


I will take just a moment to speak about the toilets--such as it were... We were pointed toward a door, and Beloved and I both entered, with the taxi driver and one of the cleaning ladies, four closets, quite private actually, and quite clean, but once entered into these little rooms one thing became immediately apparent-there was no commode. Nice shiny tile, with foot spaces, and a hole. And the picture will fill in the other thousand words. Welcome to Azerbaijan.


The owners and workers were entirely helpful and pleasant, and everybody smiled and laughed as we tried to understand each other. We got some photographs of them, and they thought that was good, though they did not understand what we were asking when we offered to send them by email. Perhaps one day we will stop again and share them face to face. The meal was simple but good, the taxi driver eating far more than we. We had bread and good butter that we thought was cheese and the tea was delicious. Not sure of how or what to pay, the taxi driver motioned to us that he had the bill.


At the outset of our journey we had given the taxi driver $60 US, and he gave us back ten manat, the local currency. The manat exchanges about 1 manat equals $1.25. We had stopped once about midway and made our first Azerbaijani transaction, a purchase of two cans of pop--orange Fanta. (From a small roadside stand that looked like it had sat beside the road for months, the can was filthy and the toothless salesman did not offer to clean the top off where you drink from. I didn’t even drink of it) So I only had eight manat. The taxi driver stopped a little before arriving in Ganja at a bank and I was able to withdraw 100 manat from an ATM, and the taxi driver and I figured out that if I gave him one of the 20’s he would give me back 8 and lunch would be square.


As we arrived into Ganja, the taxi driver began chattering more and more, and pulled off the roadway into a small parking area to show us the tomb of Nizami and a wall of statues depicting scenes from Ganja’s ancient past. It was a somber and quiet but beautiful place. I am glad to have been able to see these monuments.


As we pull into the city proper the taxi driver is on the phone, we assume to England, and we drive toward the center, pulling into a cacophony of taxis, stopping of course in the middle of the street. Horns blaring and men standing about in huddles of three or four, many smoking, they are all dressed nearly alike. Black or charcoal grey pants, black leather shoes of European style, and black coats. Most of the taxis are Lada’s, the ubiquitous Russian car.  There is the occasional Mercedes and BMW, but they are few and far between, and stand out like a pearl in the pig-pen. One thing to note about the majority of the Lada’s--they are kept in a very good shape. Most are very straight, no rust, and a very sharp paint job, exhibiting an obvious pride in ownership. These people are not lazy concerning their cars, they seem to be fairly self-respecting.


England pulls up a couple minutes later, just as the stares were really becoming pronounced, it felt as if a UFO had landed and we had jumped out of the ship. I had never yet met England, and I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line-up even though we had spoken numerous times. All of a sudden we are face to face, and, since the cars are parked in the middle of the street, the greetings are fairly quick and we bid our generous taxi driver goodbye.


England drives a Mitsubishi pickup truck, but does not seem like a pickup truck guy. In fact, “guy” is not really a good description at all, he is a proper British  gentleman. Short, compact stature and soft-spoken, extremely polite but not out-going, simple and practical. This, he explained is why the truck was a practical choice, the poor roads and the occasional need to carry things to-and-fro. He appears to be a very sharp individual, and I think I am going to like him.


He doesn’t speak a lot, but shows us a couple points of interest on the way to The Training House, as well as practical landmarks for navigating the small city. He has explained that our arrival is a little sooner than he had expected, he has a meeting in a few minutes, would we mind stopping by The Training House for about 45 minutes prior to getting on to our house? Okay, no problem.


The Training House is another of England’s projects, over 200 students are enrolled in various stages of learning the English language. We park (again, Azerbaijan style which is half on the curb and half on the sidewalk) and transfer the luggage from the bed of the truck into the cab of the truck so that we might be assured of it’s presence when we return, and walk through the gate. The Training House is a two-story building in various stages of repair, but serviceable. We go up to the second floor and into a big room, there are several people there, all very friendly, and smiling with an innocent curiosity. We are introduced and given into the care of a national whose name I cannot remember at this moment. England disappears to his meeting, and we are politely asked if we would be willing to be interviewed by a class of students? Of course.


We enter a smaller adjacent room and the instructor introduces us and excuses herself. We are facing ten or twelve 18 and 19 year old english students, young men and women. They are nervously giggling as we go through fairly simple questions like, “What is your name? Where are you from? Do you have and children?” It is very interesting, and these young people are very friendly as we share some culture and speak to them in english.


After about ten minutes we are collected and taken to another room to do the same thing, to a more advanced class of students, mostly 19 to 22 years old. These are all college students of various fields, an electrical engineering student, a couple of students training to teach and even a heart doctor. Their questions begin similarly then advance to more cultural questions like, “What do you do with leisure time? How much money does a teacher make in the USA? Why are you here? Do you like us?” It was a fascinating half-hour.


England comes back, and introduces us to his wife, Mrs. P. and the rest of the staff of five, I think. Quick greetings and then we are off to our house. We drive up a one-way street and past The Bank (which I will tell about more soon) and to our house. The four locations that will make up our world for the next little bit are all located on this one-way street, all within about 20 minutes walking distance from the furthest point. Our House, The Bank, England’s House, and The Training House, in that order. 


We arrive at the house, turning into an alley and parking. The entrance is through a small metal door in a wall, and into a big courtyard with grapevines and a couple of pomegranate trees. Plenty of room for a garden too. The house appears from the outside to be pretty big, and as we walk in, it proves to be so.


**Disclaimer** Any descriptive terms that follow are not meant to be derogatory, only a depiction of what we are encountering. Please understand that we are adventurers and WE LOVE THIS LIFE and chose it knowing full well what we might encounter. Our tolerance for the out-of-the-ordinary is very high, and we are having a great time! Some people would find this a hardship, we find it a thrill.


The house is cold, so the first thing upon entering is to light one of the several heaters. The first one we encounter, in the big room, is a smallish, cast iron box with a gas pipe running into it. There is no pilot, nor thermostat, the operational basics are, “turn the valve on and light it.” The valve is not real sensitive and England gets a nice “phoomph” as the gas ball ignites. Gotta love it. This is the only one England lights, “Right. You can figure out the rest?” “Of course we can, no problem.” This turns out to be the typical situation with all the heaters in the house, turn the valve and light it, including the water heater. No thermostats, no safety valve if the fire goes out, just on or off. Welcome to Azerbaijan.


It is now 4:30PM and has been a long day. England, politely asking if we can fend for ourselves for a couple hours, invites us to dinner at his house and states he’ll be back in a couple hours. We light another stove and explore our new abode, which is actually The Coffeeman’s house. He has lived several years in this house and has gotten to know it’s idiosyncrasies. It is a big old house, the ceilings are about eleven feet, it is built like an arts-and-crafts house with a central hall and four big rooms at each corner, and a big room on the back with the bath and kitchen at each end. It is sturdy but drafty--big single pane windows in three of the four rooms. The east wall is shared with another building and has no windows. The back room, the room we first entered off the courtyard and the one we spend most of our time in , is almost floor-to-ceiling windows and the door does not close well. All of the rooms inter-connect, so each room has three doorways, one to the hall, and one to each adjacent room. All the doors are double doors, and the doors onto the hallway and kitchen have windows in them. All the ceilings are high, and all the floors are wood, though not what you would think a wood floor to look like, rather a thin plywood that has been painted a deep shade of reddish-brown.


We pick a room and make it our own, not changing anything except the position of the bed knowing that this is not our long-term house, just a landing spot. We laugh and smile at each other, we are living what we have dreamed of for more than a year now, and every experience--however crazy--is a delight. The house is drafty, the infrastructure primitive, the methods are crude and unrefined, and we are having the time of our lives.


England arrives back about 6:30 and we go to his house for dinner, fish and potatoes and peas, and apple pie for dessert. England’s wife is not England, but is from Sri Lanka, I think. They are very pleasant people and we are going to like them. They have two polite children, and our time visiting is enjoyable. We write a couple emails and skype to The Coffeeman for a little more information on how the water heater works, and then back to the house.


It is still chilly but it is beginning to warm up, we climb into bed under three or four blankets and quickly fall to sleep. It has been a long and full day 1.