Caucasia

Hey hey! Back again, and I hope yall'll stick with this one if it gets long. I'm also proud that the Welsh aren't the only folks who can put four L's in a row.


When I last left off, I was just getting into Tbilisi. After deciding for something a step up from the Bus Station Hotel(TM), I found a cool little homestay run by Grandma Nasi. I don't actually call her that, but it probably brings to mind a pretty good image of the place. Upon arrival, I ran into a guy named Erik who's been staying at Nasi's for a few weeks. Also from NY State. Also did NROTC. Didn't know whether to do it at Duke or Rice. Once we both got over the oddities of meeting in the middle of Georgia, we hopped around the city for a bit. He went Surface in the Navy, so I got to hear lots SWO-horror stories along the way. He also seemed of the opinion that the Navy thing in general isn't the greatest, but I'm still gung-ho. Then again, I haven't taken Physics yet.

Also met Almitra, a woman walking around the world. It's year nine. Rather amazing, and I heard some great stories and picked up a few tips. Just a fun lady. Also heard about some of the other BPers in the area, including some German guy Sebastian who hitch-hikes everywhere. Cool lady.

I set out to get an Azerbaijan visa, and I was presented with the options of a 5 day visa or waiting 5 days for a 30-day. Figured I'd make it a short trip. Dropped off my passport, and started on a proper walking-tour.

Tbilisi really is a beautiful city, laid between some lovely hills and adorned with thousands of churches (second nation in the world to adopt Christianity). Since the more pious locals cross themselves thrice when a church comes into view, the constant arm-flailing can be pretty humorous. I was just coming down one of the hills when someone starts screaming for "John".

Now, I've learned to ignore this. First it was giggles in Turkey when people asked about and learned my name. Then it got more confusing, with random people walking up to me and throwing out "Hello John!" It finally clicked that "John or Johnny" is regional slang for an American or Western guy.

Anyhow, after the shouts continued for a bit, I finally turned around to see Erik's head hanging out of a Taxi, though accompanied some heads of long, black hair. Erik had been matched with a Georgian gal, who had friends, and they were all headed back up the hills. So I hopped in.

Later I also got word about a Georgian film that's just finishing up in theaters: "Trip to Karabakh." Nagorno-Karabakh is a region that was part of Azerbaijan for most of the 20th century, though with a large Armenian population. Then, as the USSR cracked, so did the Caucasus. While Abkazhia picked up their railways and told Georgia to stuff it, and while South Ossetia decided it was time to join North Ossetia (across the Russian border), Nagorno-Karabakh also blew up. The government voted for independence, and then all hell broke loose. I don't know who the aggressors were, whether Aremenians came in and fought for Karabakh, or if it was Karabakhis v. Soviet and Azeri troops, or if Turks supported Azeri incursions and supression, etc. The thing is, I don't think anyone really knows. So this is quite a thorny issue in the Caucasus, and the '94 ceasefire, with Armenia controlling Karabakh, some rather poisonous sentiments abound. Anyhow, this is the cultural setting for this film. During the Hell, some Georgians decide to go down to Azerbaijan to score some hash, get lost, and end up separated on opposing sides of the front. Some rough sub-titles, lots of humor that doesn't seem to translate, but overall a very cool flick.

Following day (Wed) I pick up my passport and decide to head to Azerbaijan and to the only Pakistani embassy in the Caucasus. Got into Baku on Thursday, Pakistan told me No. Visas for Americans are only issued in America. I know from other travelers this is bull, but that won't help me anytime soon. So, went for an Indian visa.

I then got my bearings and headed to a hotel, which, while $5 dollars a room for most of the world's population, was $10 for me. Normally this wouldn't bug me TOO much, but there were non-Americans checking in right next to me for $5. I started to ask into it with the girl behind the desk, then a young westerner comes walking by and offers his assistance. "Speak Russian?" ask I. "Yeah!" So he launches into something (not Russian) and keeps repeating "Stinky Malinky!" I still don't have a clue what it was supposed to mean. The girl didn't really either, and as my savior repeated his phrases, she just got angrier. He said I can crash in his room, though, so I dropped $5 on the desk and drag the guy upstairs before the girl can call the cops. "By the way: what's your name?"

"Sebastian." The German guy from Nasi's who'd been hanging out with Almitra and Erik. Hmm. Anyhow, we planned out a little day-trip and headed for the Absheron peninsula.

The Absheron (Abseron but with a little dangly from the 'S') is the spit of land that juts into the Caspian sea. The whole thing is pretty much saturated in oil, and for ages it was known for "fire mountains" and other naturally occurring vents spitting out flame. An old temple we stopped at, the Ateshga (Home of the Flame), used to draw pilgrims from all around to worship the mystical flames. Of course, once drilling started nearby the flames petered out.

Now, however, the entire peninsula is just a wasteland. Had I only seen pictures, I wouldn't have imagined anyone could display such contempt for the planet. Yet here it is. There really isn't anything to do out there, other than visit the baby-cemeteries or marvel at the landscape. Who would have guessed this from a nation that has nothing better to put on their currency than drilling equipment?

Grabbed a bus back to Baku (after Sebastian flags down a car for a leg, despite my protests over hitching) and headed in. A mini-bus, by the way, is twenty cents. Metro coin? Five cents. Litre of '92 Octane? Thirty cents. Litre of water? Forty cents. Hmm.

Back at the hotel, I ran into a guy I'd seen around the place a few times. Actually, I ran into Sebastian, who had already been nabbed by the guy for some "hospitality." This usually just involves the consumption of an inordinate amount of alcohol, but this guy was a hoot. He was telling us all about his job of driving stolen Benzes and Bimmers to Baku or Tbilisi, where he got a $300 cut from the Mafia. And since he had such good Business friends, he really wanted to call for some lady friends! A Mafia call-girl, by the way, is $10. We just pretended to not understand the guy; I acting like I thought he was speaking of his wife, Sebastian... well, I don't think the comprehension was an issue there. Finally tried to get away since I had "to get up early to go to Sheki."

"Ahh! Good! Sheki's on way to next stop! I drive you and get you cheap rooms and cheap girls and..."

So never underestimate the hospitality of the Caucasian Mob.

That doesn't really go for the merchants, though. On this front, it seems Azerbaijan's cultural and geographic fusion has merged the morals of a Turkish cabby with Brezhnev-era service standards. At a rest stop on the 10 hour ride to Sheki (I did take a bus) I went into a diner and asked for borscht and tea. I got the tea, and after a while a waiter brought out a big tray of plates: broth, green onions, pickles, beet, a cup of sour cream, etc. I laughed and ate my some-assembly-required borscht. At the end of the meal, however, I pulled out 6000 manat to pay for my 5k meal (4.5k to the US Dollar). Of course, the staff, now crowding around the table, want 20,000 manat. After all, I got broth (3k) and cream (3k) and beets (3k)...

I laughed again, dropped 10,000, and headed out. Of course, I'm getting grabbed and pulled and shouted at... these clowns really wanted 20,000! I finally squeezed out the door they were blocking and got onto the bus. But just as the bus is pulling out, a group led by Big-Boss-Man jumps on, and starts shouting for 'Johnny Amerikan'. I wave, Bossman launches into some rant. After silence falls to wait for someone to translate, I just reply in bad Russian, "I asked for Borscht. 3000. I asked for tea. 2000. I gave 10,000. To your health."

Now, the "Nazdarovya" ('Cheers'/'To your health') was all I could think of. I thought it would add some finality without sounding too rude. I guess it came off differently, though, since first there was silence, then snickers, then some giggles, and finally some laughter from the rest of the bus. Bossman looked embarrased and tried to stare me down. He left the bus as someone in the back started clapping.

I don't always have pisser stories. There's lots of friendly folks around cities always eager to gab, and sometimes the kids are just too cute. I just find the pissers are more fun.

As for Sheki, Sheki was Sheki. Just a little town up near the border with Dagestan (Russia). Beautiful foliage. Made me miss home. Other than that it's pretty sleepy, with a modest little palace, a museum with re-decomposing Taxidermy and some cardboard models, and for entertainment, a dude with a BB gun and targets. I ended up spending most of the time throwing back tea at some shack with a bunch of pensioners. I think they pre-date the Russification. Cool fedoras, though. But yeah, I guess I really don't know how I ended up in Sheki.

Went back to Baku after a day, and found I had to re-negotiate a room. Now the hotel dude wanted $15. His 'reason' was that no singles were left, and I had to take a suite. The hotel, however, with it's LBC crackhouse charm, doesn't have suites, and there couldn't have been more than ten guests in the entire place. For some reason (well, it was handy) I decided to ask the guy to swear on the Qu'ran that he had no singles left. Of course, this confirmed my suspicions only at the expense of pissing him off. The hotelier starts checking in another family for $8.

Then a few of the local hangabouts start asking me if I'm a Muslim ("No but I think that it's an interesting, good book"), and after some conversation, and comments or nods of approval, they start dumping guilt on the clerk. They soon leave, I jump on the chance to sweet-talk the hotelier while he won't loose face. After a little appeal I'm rather proud of (guys at the top get all the oil money in 'Baijan while average-Jawal gets nada, similarities to widening income gap in the states, huge student tuitions while old money get tax cuts, etc.), I finally got a room-key. Just before I decided this guy wasn't so bad after all, he taps a checkout-time sign and asks if I've read it. Yeah. "No no, this part..." [The hotel is not responsible for items lost or stolen from rooms...]

So, doors triple-locked and windows barricaded, valuables horded and under pillow next to IndyJones whip, I finally got a few half-hour bits of paranoid sleep.

In the morning I picked up my passport and headed back for Tbilisi, having only overstayed my visa by a day. An Azeri bribe, by the way, $20. Now, I'm back at Nasi's, I've been chatting with Almitra and Erik, and I've been tooling around all-day in my rag-shorts. My real pants are in the wash after a massive mud splash, but now at least the beggars, after noticing they're better-clad than I, leave me alone. Should be off to Armenia in the AM.

Thanks a bunch for staying with me. I'll see if I can't chop these up a bit more.














One month left. Onward and Upward.