Friday update

It is Friday night, we are sitting in the front room at the cabin, beloved on her laptop, I on mine. We have been back in the USA for one week now, so I will give a little update.


We stayed four nights with A, which was nice, but it is easy to tell that she has become accustomed to living by herself and that we were in her space. She was a gracious host, and we had a lot of fun talking and laughing and eating together. We love her and it is nice to be close to her again. Even had dinner with her boyfriend one night. He is a fine cook and a fine young man all-around. (Don’t know yet if he’ll ever be part of the family but if it happened it would be fine by me.)

B

Also got to spend some nice time with our son B. He moved to another abode this week, from a smallish apartment to a house. Helped move a bed and a couch and got to spend some time with he and his girlfriend and her son. They are all really neat together. (Don’t know yet if she’ll ever be part of the family but if it happened it would be fine by me.)


Of course my mom is happy that we are close in proximity again, have gotten to spend some nice time with her this week. And all sorts of friends have invited us out or to dinner or coffee just to visit. Also visited Vickie in the hospital--she is beginning the process of dialysis, not a pleasant experience. However, she is putting the best face on it and moving forward in the face of difficult prospects. I love her! Please pray for her strength and rapid recovery in this interesting time of transition, thanks!


Monday Beloved spent almost the entire day researching mobile phone programs and prices to find us just the right deal. Satisfied that we got a good deal we went about getting my iphone unlocked. That was not an easy process. We had it to two different places for a total of seven hours to get the job done.


I spent Monday talking to old contacts and seeing what is available for work and looking for some sort of transportation. I have set my sights on a Jeep Cherokee, and in the price range that I need there are not a lot of options. Several that are in decent shape but have 250-plus thousand miles, several that have 130-150,000 miles but need work--brakes or no air conditioning or need front-end work, and a couple that have 100-130,000 miles that need major work--an engine or transmission. One had a good engine and transmission but had been rolled over. Probably not a good option. Finally found one Tuesday night and made a quick call on it. Ended up getting it, finalized the deal on our way out of town Thursday morning. (More on that in a minute) So now we have a car of our own. Again.


Tuesday morning I went back to work as a contractor at Spirit AeroSystems. I suppose if I have to be here in the Hometown instead of Azerbaijan I would not rather work anywhere else. I love the company, the job, and the fine people that I get to work with there. It is a great environment and good money, so I will be at Spirit several days a week until we figure out what the next step is. (More on that in a minute, too) It is fairly easy to settle back into the group and the work, my manager Tony is as easy a person to work for as I have ever had--he makes me feel welcome and at ease and is encouraging me in the midst of an occasionally-overwhelming change of career.


Tuesday night we are staying at the home of a dear friend we have known for five years now, even as I write this it is hard to believe we have only known her for five years, she is such a kind and good friend. She opened her home to us just before we left back in December, and has done the same again, so we will be spending the next couple weeks at her house.


Wednesday I was at Spirit again, and went to look at the Jeep in the evening. Also went to meet a friend, a pro baseball player that is going on a summer-league tour with his wife, they are looking for someone to stay in their apartment while they are away so they don’t lose the apartment. It is an interesting deal, but a good deal for all of us, since we don’t have anything in Wichita we will get to move into a furnished apartment for four months. Also went to look at the Jeep and drive it, and spent some time with B--Portal2 came out Tuesday and he wanted to play it. His computer won’t handle it right now so we played on my laptop. Good times!


Thursday we got up early, we are going to Oklahoma today. We are meeting the guy with the Jeep at 7:30, pay the money and do the title. We are on the road at 8:30, we have a lunch appointment in Tulsa. More friends to see and tell all the story. The drive is nice, it is a pleasant contrast to the terrible roads and, umm, interesting drivers of Azerbaijan.


Friday we spent most of the day resting and working in the yard. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll get some photos. 

We still think about Azerbaijan all the time. Our hearts are still there, we remember all the people that we got to know and can’t wait to get back there.  Even right now I look across the room--Beloved was given an desk-top-sized Azerbaijan flag on a stand for her birthday--it is right there in the bookshelf. It is our desire to keep our relationships up over there, to help whatever way we can over there, and to help people here get an idea of what life is like over there. The time we spent in Ganja made us realize that there are a number of good organizations working in Ganja, primarily The Training House, that we can help by raising awareness and funds for their programs. Still trying to figure out exactly what that looks like, but if you would like to have a part in making a real difference in the lives of children in Azerbaijan let me know--I can help you get some funds to some people that will do some real good with it.


Thanks for reading, I will continue to post as regular as I can. Hello to my dear friends in Azerbaijan, Yaver and Amalya, Turab and Namiq and Gunlar, Gulbaniz and Gulmira, all the rest of the staff at the Training House, England and Mrs. P., Indy, Manchester, Berry and her family, Farshid, (somebody tell him hello for me!) all the group at the Bank, N&L who will be returning to London this summer--Godspeed, and all the rest. We love you and miss you.

Day 74 Sunday

The Daylight Savings Time change happened last night, we are finally back to just ten hours ahead of the Midwest instead of eleven hours, which we have been for the last three weeks. This is an important point because we are expecting the arrival of several guests from the USA arriving this morning. A group of ten, friends of Berry’s family (and Indy too, actually) flew into Baku arriving just after midnight then traveling by bus directly here. Berry’s dad had told us that he would call ten minutes or so before knocking at the gate, but he wasn’t sure exactly what time that might be. “Expect somewhere between 5 and 6AM.” So, at 5:30AM--with the time change it felt like 4:30AM, you know the drill--the phone rings. We’re here! So much for the ten-minute warning. No problem, we greet them and show them where they are to bunk and then get back to bed. Beloved did not sleep very well prior to that, she was fidgety, not wanting to miss the phone call.


Beloved and I got up and around about 8:30 and met with some friends for breakfast. It was progressing to be a normal day, so in the early afternoon we left the house to go to the Training House to continue with the tile work.


On our way we are passing by the Stadium that we occasionally run at. On the field are about a dozen or so people with, what’s that? American-style softball gear. I had to take a closer look at that, so as I am walking up to the entrance, a police car stops at the curb and motions us over. “Can we see your documents?” “Ummm, we left them at the house...” We stood there on the curb for about three minutes when one of the young Azerbaijani guys from the field walked down and asked if he could help us. He was very kind and it is a very generous thing that he is doing, but it is to no avail. The young man says, “you must go with them so they can prove that they are doing something. Please do not hold it against Ganja, we are really nice people.”


I though that was particularly kind of him to do.


We did go with the police. They had asked our address, which we were able to pick up, and we were able to tell them our address. Okay, so they will drive us back to our house, we will get the passports and the visa and all will be well. They drive about 80 percent of the way to our house, then go in a different direction. Beloved and I look at each other--they are taking us to the police station.


We quickly and wisely decide to phone for some help. “England, we have been picked up and taken to the police station.” That’s a first.


I thought about snapping some photos but then decided against it. In hindsight it probably would have been okay but I didn’t want to inflame an awkward situation. The station itself was small and dumpy--the same odd angles in the construction, the same power-struggle-style of leadership. The officer that brought us in started writing, a report I would imagine, but not a form--just a white sheet of paper. The senior man, judging by the gold flourishes on his jacket was busily playing Suduku. Don’t want to interrupt him. There was a soccer game on the television in the corner. There were about five guys at this post, all of them filing through as if to look at the latest catch. I guess we were somewhat of an oddity.


Nobody at the police station speaks english beyond, “hello, what’s your name? How are you?” After some fumbling around England walks in. There is some discussion between he and the senior man at the desk, then England says, “We must go and get your documents but one of you must stay here.” Great.


I stay and Beloved goes with England back to the house for the papers. All others leave too, I guess the show is all but over. In a very halting dialog I find out that this man, the senor man, is England’s neighbor. He goes back to his Suduku and I wait quietly for England and Beloved to return.


Shortly enough they do, and after some inspection of the documents all is pronounced in-order. Great! Can we go now? No. We must wait for a district man to come by and inspect the documents, then take them and get them photocopied.


England wishes us well and bids us good-bye, and soon enough the district man arrives. He looks over the passports and the visas and the receipts and the stamps, then all three of us depart the station. In a friendly gesture I ask his name as we drive to the photo-copy house. We understand very little of each other’s language, but in the small spaces that our proficiency overlap we are able to speak and laugh a little bit. His name is Jehann or something like that, so we laugh that we have similar names.


In the end, we spent two-and-a-half hours with this transaction, but it was not a horrible experience. The lawmen were courteous, there was no brutality or perceived request for a bribe. It is not something that I would like to do again but all-in-all not the worst thing I’ve ever been through.


We finally did make it to the Training House and worked for about two hours.


That was a full Sunday.

Day 59 Saturday

My how quickly two months passes. We have had so much fun here getting to learn all sorts of new things and meet so many interesting people.

Today broke bright and clear, and about 43 degrees F at 8:30AM. We had an idea that it would be a warmish day, the heaters did not have to work so hard overnight. We actually turned them down when we got up at 11:00PM. Thanks Manchester! After a long Friday we went to bed early, about 8:30--I was really tired for some reason. Manchester called at 10:50, "Sorry to call so late, I know it's short notice but can we borrow your house tomorrow?" She had a conflict in venues needed a room for her student group. "Ummm, sure. Goodnight."  However, being awakened, we both had a hard time going back to sleep, so Beloved and I watched a movie in the middle of the night! Got back to bed about 1:30 and finished out our eight.

It ends up they did not come over today, something else worked out but the house was all ready just in case.

So, like I started out saying, the day was bright and warmer than it has been recently, so it was a good day to work outside. We walked down to The Training House and jumped right in. England was there with Vagev, and by the time noon came around we, about eight of us, had removed six small trees and a couple stumps from the playground, which is just about ready for a few loads of topsoil and then grass seed. Hopefully we can get some growth before it gets too warm.

After the workout in the yard was our language lesson. Still learning more every session, I hope we are ready for the test on Tuesday. It will be half written and half speaking. Always remember, in the possessive, add -nun to the owner and -i to that which is possessed. Johnun bacunun gozun adI Tinadir.

After the lesson we went with Mrs. P to get some prices for a tile and paint project that we have volunteered for. Beloved and I love to do building projects, so this is right up our alley. Mrs. P has done a little, but she still learns some terminology about thinset and grout and sealer and self-leveling concrete, and does a great job of wading her way through the language and interpreting for us to understand what is going on. Turns out that the restroom can be tiled and painted for about $200. We will start next weekend.

By the way, most of you will be starting Daylight Savings Time tonight--don't forget to change your clocks. It will be an interesting week--we start DST next Saturday night. Just gotta be different I guess!

Day 54 Monday

Beloved and I decided that perhaps it is time to have a little more separation in our day-to-day lives. Don't get me wrong--I love spending time with her, and she with me. It's just that, since we have arrived here we are almost with each other 24/7, which is great, because we really enjoy each other. However, this is not a normal state, and once I get to work a normal schedule this will come to an end anyway, so I am off to the Bank this morning, building some sort of routine.

The Bank

The Bank is an easy, downhill walk of about ten minutes. I arrive at 9:00, which is the normal start time for the workers there. It is a big but simple room that I share with three, sometimes four other workers. One day I will remember all their names, but that is not today, sorry! They are friendly but very focused people so it is a quiet place except when the phone rings--for some reason every phone I have heard ring in this country is way, way, way louder than it needs to be. Someone explain this to me? One is the chief accountant, one is the head of something and the third is her assistant. The desk I am sitting at is also occasionally occupied by the head IT guy of the Bank.


The time is spent in some design concepts for a new logo/branding of the bank, and a couple brochure ideas. I also spend the time in language studies--it seems there is always time for that. There are occasionally people and co-workers coming around, it is nice to surrounded by the language. Just hearing it is helpful. Not a lot of words are familiar to me, but some are, so it is good practice.


One of the co-workers to come in this morning is a gentleman named Azad. One of the things the Bank offers besides loans is training sessions for business owners, he is the director of this entity and an associate of the organization though not an employee of the bank. He has an appointment with England in the office next door, and after that meeting he and England come back into the room. "Azad would like to know if you would be willing to teach a course on marketing," England says. It would not be to clients, but to the instructors of the training organization so that they could offer the information to the clients. It is a gracious offer, one that I am happy to accept. I will spend the next few days putting together some questions so that I can better target specifically what they would like to know. The training session will come up in April, should be fun.


In the afternoon I join back up with Beloved, she has been asked to sit in on some english language speaking tests at the Training House. It is about 15 minutes beyond the bank, so we walk together. The language tests are poorly attended, 6 out of 10 show up, but it is worth the while to be there.


As we are leaving we are talking about what to have for dinner. We decide home-fried  potatoes with onions and melted cheese on top. Yummy! "Wouldn't it be good if we could get some bacon too?" This is a point of laughter--of course it would be good, but there is only about 20% chance that the market will have any today. There is only one market in town that we have seen it at, and it is only about 15 minutes walk out of the way, so we wager the walk. We've only gotten it once before, it comes in a block, not sliced, but it is pretty good. No dice at the market but we get a good walk, so it's a good day for the diet and exercise plan!

Day 52 Saturday

Today is Saturday, and it's a full one!

9:30 Off to the Training House, the sun is out again and we are working in the yard again. Another tree to take out and begin to start making some ideas about the grade. We spend almost three hours working the dirt.


12:30 Back to the house, clean up and get ready to go to Yaver's house, her daughter's birthday was the 3rd.

N and Beloved looking at fruit

1:30 Meet N & L at the intersection and walk down to Yaver's. Unfortunately my camera battery died just as we were rounding the corner. Maybe I shouldn't have taken so many photos along the way...


We have a lovely time at the party, much food and laughter. There is also a piano there, so Beloved is able to stretch her fingers for the first time in a couple months, she is grateful to be able to play even a little, and everyone in the room is grateful to hear her play.


3:45 comes around and we must get back to the house, we have guests arriving at 5:00 for Beloved's birthday party.

 Berry and Beloved

5:00 Our new friends start arriving, it is a pot-luck dinner, Americans, Canadians, Brits, a German, and a couple of Azerbaijani's too! Yaver and Naza and England and Mrs. P, N & L,  Indy and Manchester and Berry.  All told there are about 20 of us. There is good food and cake and a paper crown that everybody signed for "the Birthday Queen." One of the gifts is grass, signifying the new year. It was a lot of fun and a real special time for Beloved. Here are some photos!!

Berry, Beloved and Manchester

Naza, Yaver and Beloved

Manchester, Indy and Berry

Day 47 Monday

Day 47, wow. Sometimes it seems as though the time here is standing still and other times it seems to fly by. I guess today it seems as though we have been here for a while.


Something to do with that might be the fact that we have not seen the sun in eight days. No sun at all. Overcast, grey, occasional light rain and snow flurries. Reminds me of a crazy movie called Groundhog Day--the story of a weatherman stuck in one day, February 2, over and over again. How's the weather? Cold and grey... How's the weather? Cold and grey... How's the weather? Cold and grey...


I crossed an interesting milestone today--in 46 days now we have eclipsed 1000 page-hits on this blog. I am humbled and honored, thank you. I didn't know I was so interesting.


Spent almost two hours this morning troubleshooting a newly-acquired printer. I was at the Bank last Friday and had asked England if he know where I might get a printer. Nothing fancy needed, just want to be able to print out some of the things that I have been designing. Sometimes it's easier to judge the quality of a design when you can hold it in your hands. Anyway, England said he had one for me, it's an HP color laser. Well, that ought'a do! The printer belongs to the bank, so as long as I am doing work for the bank I have access to this printer. And since I am doing most of my work at the house right now, the printer came to the house. Trouble is, it wasn't working properly. I tried it on the network, nothing. I tried it on a USB cable and it would communicate, but only enough to prompt an error message. I bet I cycled the on-off switch 45 times before giving in. I called England and he offered, "I have a different cable for you to try," and that was the issue. We are now printing in color, hooray.


We have been having great fun cooking semi-elaborate dishes and having friends over to help us eat them, so we made American-style Chinese Sweet-and-Sour Chicken over fried rice (of course!) for dinner tonight. Actually Beloved started on the preparations at noon and the sauce at about 2:00, so by the time our guests arrived at 7:30 we had been cooking more than six hours. Not really cooking for six hours but it sure seemed like Beloved had been in the kitchen all day.


Just before our guests arrived at 7:30 we had an hour-long conversation (via skype, don't you love skype?) with Coffeeman and his wife. And the two year old, but that doesn't really factor into this conversation. More than anything else they wish to be back in Ganja. We really wish they were here too, but there will be some things that have to happen with the development of Shah Asari before they get back here. We talked about several options and plans for implementing the website as a vehicle to sell artwork, so hopefully 2011 will be a year of great growth for Coffeeman and Shah Asari and we can see them back in Ganja before too long. 


So our guests arrived, Indy and Manchester, and we all laughed and ate and talked and ate some more. For Indy it was the first Chinese food of any kind she'd had in six months. Beloved is a great cook and it was a lot of fun! We rounded out the long evening watching an old favorite, You've Got Mail with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.


Good Times.

Day 44 Friday

Today we are off to Yavlar (which is spelled with an "x" at the end, but it sounds like Yavlar, or Yav-loch, but you'll probably never be here or learn the language so you don't need to know that,) with England and Indy. We are submitting our application and accompanying documents for the work permit and residence permit. Indy is going with us to pick up her work permit, she has finally been approved. 


England calls at 10:30 or so, "I'll be there in five or ten minutes." Which turns out to be five. Beloved is just starting a quick egg (a fried egg--yuck) when he knocks on the door. England is in a hurry, there will be a couple stops before getting under way. We drive about six blocks to the first stop, "I'll only be a minute," he says as he darts into a small doorway. It is lightly raining/snowing this morning, and cold. After nearly 40 minutes he re-appears with the completed documents from the house owner. England is a patient man, but even he comments about the frustration of taking nearly an hour-and-a-half to fill in five lines on a document.

A rainy day in Ganja

Next stop, The Training House, where we collect Indy as England confers with Mrs. P, "knower of all things for submittal of visa documents."


Finally we are under way, on-track to arrive 20 minutes before 1:00, the lunch break. England assures us that this will not be a good thing, that the attendants would be very grumpy if we want to submit a whole pile of documents just before lunch. So, we are hurrying, hoping to arrive in time to not interfere with lunch.


The drive is not much to write about, the combination of just enough precipitation to make the roads wet thereby filling the air with a residue of windshield-coating mud and the mostly ineffective windshield wipers on England's truck kept the sight-seeing element to a minimum. Not that there is much to see on this stretch of road anyway, it is the perpetually-under-construction main road to Baku.


After 45 minutes or so, we arrive at a wide spot in the road, don't blink--this is Yevlax/Yavlar/Yavloch. Turn off to the right, about 500 yards or meters, turn in on the left to a newish-looking building. Having now been in more than a few Post-Soviet-era bureaucratic offices, police stations, hospitals, etc., between Estonskia and Azerbaijan, I had in my mind a picture of what we would find--I was preparing my spirit soul and body for a thousand-year old building that had worn-out everything, a hundred people waiting inside in no type of a line or que, huddled around one haggard, mean, power-hungry, demoralized government official sitting at a circa 1971 desk under one light bulb hanging by its wire. He would have a dozen stacks of paper on the desk, a ruler to cleanly tear paper in half (I'll tell you more about that one day) and a stamp. God forbid there be no stamp. Shall I go on? Let's see, paint peeling off the ceiling, holes in the wall where the plaster had fallen off, freezing cold because there is no heat on today (maybe next Tuesday), there would be three chairs in the waiting area but they would all be broken, (these would be from the '70's also) and throw in some faded photographs of former directors, presidents, cabinet members, ruling party members, dictators, you get the idea.


This was none of that. Well, almost--it was cold inside the place. And there were photos of the former president, who is dead now, more on that another time too. Other than that, this place was clean, well-lit, the photos of former party leaders were not faded, there were plants and the nicest couch I have sat on yet in Azerbaijan. (Pity it will probably still be there in 25 years) The ceilings and walls were all in good repair and painted, and the three officials were situated more like tellers at a bank. You could sit in a chair that was provided, but they were behind glass. There were only two other applicants before us, so we were able to approach the glass immediately to begin out transaction. One of the officials even smiled.


We have made good time and now have 45 minutes before invading the lunch break. England will do the business, we will do the waiting. After about 15 minutes, any perceived momentum came to a halt--there was a document missing. All of our documents seem to be in good order, this is a different document--a new process that we knew nothing about. True and honest, this is what they were hung up on--England, a senior official of The Bank (where I am employed) could not present the application, he would have to have another member of The Bank present the documents, with a properly stamped document stating that he was acting as power-of-attorney for England. This was the only way they will accept these documents and the application for the work permit. Welcome to Azerbaijan.


Indy got her document (congratulations) and we left. England shrugged, "What else are you going to do? They make the rules."


The ride home was essentially the same scenery-wise, but we ended up using the whole time to work on language, which was actually fun. Well, actually grueling too, but fun. England is an infinitely patient teacher, which I needed today. We spent 45 minutes working on, "I write, you write, he writes, we write, you all write, and they write." Not so tough, huh, well I finally got to the point that I could get 5 out of 6 correct inside of 30 seconds. My afternoons Azeri lesson sounded like this; (I will use the english-sounding equivalents--the Azeri language uses some strange mutations on english letters like ü and ∂ and ç which I will forebear at this time) "Man yazeram, San yazersan, O yazer, (the word for he, she and it are all the same, O) Biz yazeruck, Siz yazersiniz, and Onlar yazerlar."


It's slow but it's coming!

Day 26 Monday

England has informed me that there is a meeting of all the branch managers this morning, and a few other key individuals of The Bank, and he thinks it would be good for me to attend this meeting. So, I walk down to the bank at about 9:00 and prepare for this meeting--I find out that I am on the agenda. England has asked me to prepare some ideas for advertising the bank, especially to market the launch of our newest branch in Zakatala in April.

The meeting is about many things concerning the operation of the bank, but it is helpful to learn more about the details of the workings of the bank. My portion goes well, although England showed my graphics before I could set them up, so there was some awkward explanation of what we were looking at since it was revealed before I could tell them what they would be seeing, most glaringly, all the text was in English and I made up the names of the clients and their business names. All-in-all not too bad, there was some good discussion about visual concepts and elements of the logo of the bank, which I am encouraging them to review and refresh. 

I apologize about the redaction of certain elements--primarily the name of the firm. I am not sure if this is even necessary, and I’m sure that anyone really trying hard could figure out who I am and the company I will be working for, but for now, I am going to try very hard to keep it more secure. There are a lot of strange things that go on over here that are not very savory to speak about, so I will try to keep things as secure as possible until such time that I am confident I can reveal more. Thanks for understanding...


The meeting is done at 1:00 and I go home for lunch. Beloved and I are back on the sidewalk at 2:00, we have been asked to do some volunteer “listening” at the Training House, listening and evaluating the language skills of some students there--Azerbaijanis that are learning english.


At 2:30 the students start coming in. We have been instructed to explain the directions, then listen to the students interact with each other, two students at a time. “One of you think of an animal. The other student will ask descriptive questions to try to determine what animal the first student is thinking of.” It was exhausting. The students didn’t seem to understand the questions, then didn’t seem to know enough language to accomplish the directions. Oh well, everyone has a bad day from time to time. I’m sure our language skills have a long way to go as well.


It’s funny, when you are surrounded by a language you don’t understand, you can get to the point where it is hard to think or communicate in English! Today was that day! We go to bed early, tired-out in our brains.

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 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 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.