It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be to sleep on sheets with someone else’s blood stains on them. But then I saw the bedpan for a bathroom and thanked the Russian gods I didn’t have to make poo. That could’ve really made for an interesting post.
Seven a.m. on the pickle, and we rolled to a stop on the outskirts of Sheki, an ancient mountain town just below the Russian boarder and not too far from Georgia. It was dark. Freezing and snowing. Like an early morning mountain town in the beginnings of winter.
We were quickly escorted to the only waiting taxi, which I thought was odd. Why was there only one taxi? And why did a strange man just walk across the parking lot and get into the front seat of our taxi? And why the hell did I fill my tank with helium instead of oxygen?
All salient questions to ponder as we dozed off in the back seat of our Izh-412 IE. Or “Moskvich” to you locals. I’m sure we could’ve been there in under 30 minutes had we not been blessed with 18th Century roads and a car that belts out a top speed of 40 mph. But it was ambience we were looking for. And after checking into our room at the Saray Hotel and using the detachable sink faucet to shower with, it was down two blocks to Chelebi Khan for a Sheki breakfast.
If you like your coffee strong and your eggs served in a bowl of grease, have I the place for you. Sure, the bread, cheese and honey are nice. And of course the tea. But did I mention the 10W 30 eggs? Just what my furnace needed as our guide took us through Old Sheki. Home to one of the few remaining Armenian churches, a few palaces, and some shack of a bakery that is infamous for its 1 kg brick of Pakhlava. I know I’m spelling it wrong, but it’s not babka. Just imagine 0.98 kg of sugar and 0.02 kg of honey with some kind of something else. Here, here’s a photo.
As this would later earn me an interrogation at the airport for its innocuous dimensions and mass as picked up by x-ray, I’m still glad we purchased two, which increased the weight in the trunk of our taxi as we hunkered down for a 5 hour night drive back to Baku through the snowy mountain passes that could only be described as the scariest fog-filled off-roading journey I’ve ever taken.
What can I say? In the end, there ain’t much in Azerbaijan. And they have an Allah’s prayer of getting the 2016 Summer Olympics. But next to the high quality of food and welcoming locals, it’s still not worth the visit. The sea is one giant oil slick, the road system is one great big off-road track with just that kind of driving. The power supply is intermittent, the taxi drivers financially rape you, and if you drive anything newer than 30 years old, you’re bound to get flagged over by police with the expectation of handing over money or be thrown in the backseat. Interesting to watch as drivers rushed out of their cars to approach and shake the hands of the oncoming officer, exchange pleasantries, and rush off.
But when you’re trying to cross the 8 lane road and your über hott young Russian guide takes your hand and says, “Close your eyes and trust me,” and you do and live to bl*g about it, how can you not go back?
Seven a.m. on the pickle, and we rolled to a stop on the outskirts of Sheki, an ancient mountain town just below the Russian boarder and not too far from Georgia. It was dark. Freezing and snowing. Like an early morning mountain town in the beginnings of winter.
We were quickly escorted to the only waiting taxi, which I thought was odd. Why was there only one taxi? And why did a strange man just walk across the parking lot and get into the front seat of our taxi? And why the hell did I fill my tank with helium instead of oxygen?
All salient questions to ponder as we dozed off in the back seat of our Izh-412 IE. Or “Moskvich” to you locals. I’m sure we could’ve been there in under 30 minutes had we not been blessed with 18th Century roads and a car that belts out a top speed of 40 mph. But it was ambience we were looking for. And after checking into our room at the Saray Hotel and using the detachable sink faucet to shower with, it was down two blocks to Chelebi Khan for a Sheki breakfast.
If you like your coffee strong and your eggs served in a bowl of grease, have I the place for you. Sure, the bread, cheese and honey are nice. And of course the tea. But did I mention the 10W 30 eggs? Just what my furnace needed as our guide took us through Old Sheki. Home to one of the few remaining Armenian churches, a few palaces, and some shack of a bakery that is infamous for its 1 kg brick of Pakhlava. I know I’m spelling it wrong, but it’s not babka. Just imagine 0.98 kg of sugar and 0.02 kg of honey with some kind of something else. Here, here’s a photo.
As this would later earn me an interrogation at the airport for its innocuous dimensions and mass as picked up by x-ray, I’m still glad we purchased two, which increased the weight in the trunk of our taxi as we hunkered down for a 5 hour night drive back to Baku through the snowy mountain passes that could only be described as the scariest fog-filled off-roading journey I’ve ever taken.
What can I say? In the end, there ain’t much in Azerbaijan. And they have an Allah’s prayer of getting the 2016 Summer Olympics. But next to the high quality of food and welcoming locals, it’s still not worth the visit. The sea is one giant oil slick, the road system is one great big off-road track with just that kind of driving. The power supply is intermittent, the taxi drivers financially rape you, and if you drive anything newer than 30 years old, you’re bound to get flagged over by police with the expectation of handing over money or be thrown in the backseat. Interesting to watch as drivers rushed out of their cars to approach and shake the hands of the oncoming officer, exchange pleasantries, and rush off.
But when you’re trying to cross the 8 lane road and your über hott young Russian guide takes your hand and says, “Close your eyes and trust me,” and you do and live to bl*g about it, how can you not go back?
