April 2, 2014
A day of amazingly friendly people: Can I understand you?
Azerbaijan felt so safe that I didn't feel the need to pack up too quickly in the morning and allowed myself a lie-in in my tent which, in any case, was in a field away from sight. After I had eventually gathered the energy to get up I was about to wheel my way back to the main road when a tremendous flock of sheep came marching over the hillside towards me. It must have been a hundred strong and I was glad that I was up and out of the way just in time. Bringing up the rear was a single shepherd, a young man in a woolen hat who naturally came over to say hello. We spoke for a few minutes and as usual I had no idea what he was saying, but it was nevertheless a wonderful way to start the morning. Here I was standing with a shepherd boy, stave in one hand, horse held by the reins in the other as his flock wandered the grassy hills behind. It was a timeless moment, a scene that would have looked just exactly the same had it occurred a hundred or a thousand years ago. Then his mobile phone rang and he stopped to take the call.
The openness and the friendliness of the people of Azerbaijan continued throughout this day to such an extraordinary extent that it would be quite impossible for me to even get close to telling you now about all the people that I met, let alone about the hundreds that waved or said hello as I passed. We will have to settle merely for brief summarisations of a few encounters. There was, for example, the man who stopped me and actually spoke some English, from whom I was able to learn some Azeri phrases. They were very similar to Turkish. This helped me a lot during my first tea stop, in a cafe where I sat with old men and drank tea which had a lemon slice in it, which was a delicious addition.
I reached the town of Qazax which was busy and alive with people where I sat on a bench and ate dates and watched. I noted how all the men in Azerbaijan were wearing black. It seemed like a national unifrom - young men wearing black jackets over blue jeans. older men wearing black jackets over black trousers. And there I was in my bright red hoody which made me stick out quite literally like a giant sore thumb, as if the fully loaded touring bike I was pushing around wasn't enough.
As I was sitting on this bench a small boy of about eight or nine came up and started talking to me. After the incident with the banana thief in Batumi I was on my guard as he did look rather like a 19th Century street urchin, with a dirty face and dirty hands and dark hair which splayed down over his forehead. I didn't know what he was saying but I guarded my dates carefully. He sat on the bench next to me and continued talking. Actually we had a long conversation, God only knows what about. I realised he was a sweet kid as he looked up at me through big brown eyes and nibbled his way through a packet of sunflower seeds, spitting out the shells as he went. I wondered where he lived, what his story was. The dirt on his hands and face wasn't just day-to-day. it was the kind of dirt that was always there. Did he really live on the streets? He offered me some seeds. I offered him the dates. He wouldn't take them. I felt ashamed for thinking the worst of him at first. Before he left he forced me to hold out my hand and poured seeds into them. My heart just melted.
After he left I went to the bank to change some money, I went to an Internet cafe, bought some food, drank some more tea with some more old men in black, and then finally found myself at a public water tap to fill up my water bottles before leaving. The water came out of the tap in a little trickle and it took a long time to fill up each bottle. An old, and perhaps slightly senile, man came and stood by me and spoke to me as I stood and waited several minutes to fill one bottle. Finally when it was full I lifted it up and the old man made a motion that he was thirsty and would like to drink some. I gave him the bottle, he took two sips, then before I could stop him he turned the bottle upside down and threw the rest of the water down the drain!
The old man departed and as I was going through the long process of refilling the bottle again my young street urchin companion from the bench came running up to my once more. He jumped on my bike and I tried to take a picture of him on it, but as you can see he wasn't too keen on having his picture taken.
The warmth and kindness of the people continued throughout the day and later on I was stopped at another gas station and welcomed in for tea. I particularly enjoyed it here because the workers who greeted me were all wearing bright red overalls - finally I had found somewhere that I fitted in! I was astonished by the number of cars coming into the station that were Ladas. It really was more than half the cars on the road. It seemed a little strange that the most 'un-Russian' of the former Soviet states had the most Ladas. I guess the countries oil wealth has not seeped down to the common man. Actually I even saw police cars that were Ladas, so I guess the countries oil wealth hasn't even seeped down to state services. To be honest I don't think the countries oil wealth seeps much further than the dictator president's pockets.
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One of the attendants at the gas station spoke some English, although not very much. At one point he asked me "Can I understand you?"
"I don't know, you tell me" I replied.
"Can I understand you?"
"Really, that doesn't make sense."
"Can I understand you?"
"No, I don't think you can."
Today's ride: 50 km (31 miles)
Total: 15,649 km (9,718 miles)
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