The Kura river, which these cliffhouses are perched precariously over, starts in north-eastern Turkey, flows through Turkey to Georgia, and then to Azerbaijan, where it enters the Caspian Sea. The total length of the river is 1,515 kilometres (941 mi). As Tbilisi’s economy continues to grow following its independence from the USSR, flights to Istanbul and other major regional cities are increasingly available. We flew to Azerbaijan from Georgia since flights to Baku were unavailable in Armenia.
The Metekhi Church of Assumption was originally built by the Georgian king St Demetrius II circa 1278–1284. It was later damaged and restored several times. Throughout its existence it has served as army barracks, a jail, and theater until 1988, when the Soviet government allowed the building to once again be used as a church.
And finally, continuing part whatever of our trip to the South Caucasus…which took place in July…
It was our last day in Baku, but our plane wasn’t leaving until the afternoon so we had some time to kill. The day before, we found a travel agency that offered a tour of sights outside the city, so we signed up for a morning tour of the Abşeron peninsula. What better way to spend your last day in Baku than by gallivanting around an industrial wasteland? Yeah, I couldn’t think of anything better, either.
Our first stop was the Ateşgah Fire Temple, located in the village of Surakhany.
Entrance to the temple
This temple was built in the 17th century by Indian fire-worshippers who were attracted to this particular site due to the multitude of natural gas seeps in the area. Pilgrims would travel for thousands of miles to worship at the altar of the gas fed flames, and, if the bizarre wax figures on display were any indication, engage in incredibly painful self-mutilation.
Cells where pilgrims slept and mutilated themselves
By the late 19th century, however, the gas vents were exhausted (oops!) so the flames you currently see at Ateşgah are actually fed by Baku’s local gas lines.
Great job covering up those pipes, guys
Oh natural gas, you are so good to meeeeee, you are the reason I was able to come to Baku!
Our next stop was a beautiful Shi’a mosque in Ramana. I had never visited a mosque before, so the tour was extremely interesting. At the same time, however, I was unsure of the proper etiquette. Are we really supposed to be in here? Well, our guide talked to the caretaker and he welcomed us inside…even told us we could take photos, but on that point we demurred, as I just didn’t feel comfortable photographing inside the mosque. Odd, considering I ran around St. Peter’s in Rome taking as many photos as possible of the dead Popes.
After visiting the mosque, we made a quick stop at a small castle built in the 14th-century.
The castle was closed for “renovations”, but there were some great views of the oil fields below.
It’s no wonder the Abşeron Peninsula is considered to be one of the most polluted areas in the world. Years of drilling with little regard for the surrounding environment have left the area resembling an apocalyptic wasteland. We drove through these famed old fields of Baku – the same fields upon which the Nobel family earned their fortune and Royal Dutch Shell rose to prominence. Now, these fields are dotted with homes (mere shacks, really) and the rusting equipment acts as makeshift goals for the local kids playing soccer on the thick, oily sand, surrounded by pools of crude oil and broken pipelines.
We eventually made our way to our final stop, Yanar Dağ, or “Fire Mountain.” According to local legend, the mountain is “on fire” because a young shepherd accidentally lit a natural gas seep when he carelessly tossed his cigarette (or something like that) and the steady flow of natural gas has kept the mountain burning ever since. It was a pretty cool sight…not something you see everyday, for sure, but all I could think of was, wow, look at all that natural gas just going to waste.
Perfect for smores?
Across from “Fire Mountain” was this billboard of Heydar and Ilham Aliyev. As you can see, a Soviet-esque cult of personality is alive and well in this country. Billboards and posters of the Aliyevs adorn buildings throughout Baku and line the streets of even the smallest villages. More than once our driver would point out the window and remark that the particular sight was “named after our former president.” Of course, because name one thing in this city that isn’t?!
We climbed to the top of a small hill in order to take in the surrounding area. Off in the distance you could see the glimmering Caspian. It looked clean from afar. Our guide asked us if we went swimming in the Caspian. “Er…well, no.” He seemed taken aback. “Well, next time you must. You know, the oil is good for your skin.” Right, if I remember correctly, the latest craze to hit the skincare world was the inclusion of Azeri light crude in Estée Lauder’s “Intense Hydration” moisturizer. “Now, with 25% more crude oil!” Or not.
Our tour of Abşeron complete, we headed back to the airport. After experiencing the clusterfucks that were Tbilisi International Airport and Yerevan’s Zvartnots airport, I was amazed at the efficiency and cleanliness of Baku’s Heydar Aliyev Airport (told ya they named everything after him!). After the ticket agent handed us our boarding passes, he placed two pens on the counter. Laura and I stood there like idiots. “Uh, are we supposed to sign something?” No, he replied, they were a gift. Sweet, I got a Heydar Aliyev International Airport pen. Glad to see those petrodollars being put to good use.
As to be expected, our plane was an hour and a half late taking off, so we had a lot of time to sit around and do nothing. A lady sitting across from us asked if we were in the Peace Corps. Much like the Peace Corps volunteers we ran into earlier in our trip, she did not believe that someone would visit Baku for fun. If you were a foreigner in Baku, you were either working for the Peace Corps or an oil company. It turned out that she was a contractor working on the BTC Pipeline, so we talked for awhile. Having written by master’s dissertation on that very pipeline, you could say I was a bit familiar with her employer.
Our plane finally got off the ground, and we were on our way to Tbilisi. Goodbye Baku! I’ll be back when I’m running BP Azerbaijan! I highly recommend visiting Baku if you find yourself in the South Caucasus. My particular reason for visiting was to finally see the damn place after spending god knows how many hours in the LSE library attempting to write a coherent dissertation about the BTC Pipeline and Russian energy policy. For the average visitor who may not have a slight obsession with Caspian oil production, you will still find that there is much to do in Baku and the surrounding region. And if you run out of things to do, well, there’s always caviar and vodka, right?
After a short flight, we soon found ourselves fighting our way through the tremendously long lines at passport control in Tbilisi. In between pushing and shoving some testy Eastern Europeans trying to cut in line, I was silently praying that our ride to Armenia was waiting outside…because if he wasn’t, we would be totally screwed. Before leaving Baku, I contacted a Tbilisi-based travel agency and arranged, via e-mail, to have a taxi take us back to Yerevan. Taking a taxi from Tbilisi, Georgia to Yerevan, Armenia? Lindsay, you outta your mind? Well, the trains don’t run too regularly between the two cities, and several people advised me that a taxi was the way to go. Besides, Crystal and I had taken a taxi from Bosnia to Montenegro to Croatia and weren’t killed or seriously injured (and Christ, that trip involved landmines, so what’s a five hour drive between two friendly nations, right?).
Laura spotted a guy holding a sign with my name on it, so we said hello to him, threw our luggage into his tiny SUV, and started on our way to Yerevan. I once again spotted the billboard of Bush waving and grinning like a goddamn idiot, announcing that we were travelling into the city via “George W. Bush Street” (Sorry, I still can’t get over the absurdity of it all). Our driver was a quiet fellow, so I decided the best way to strike up a conversation was by asking him, in Russian, “So, this is George Bush street, eh?” It was one of the few times I saw our driver smile. “Yes, our President Saakashvili looooooooves George Bush.” The way he said it in Russian, though, was quite amusing. The “love”, in this case, was not the kind of “love” that English speakers interject so carelessly into their sentences. It wasn’t like “Oh man, I loooove Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups” but rather more like “I looove George Clooney and wouldn’t kick him outta my bed, ya know what I’m sayin’?” According to our driver, it was that kind of love between our respective leaders. Uh, thanks but I’d rather not have that mental picture.
Our driver drove like a bat out of hell, cigarette dangling from his mouth, swerving to avoid the corpses of dead livestock, speeding through villages laden with idle men in 1980s Adidas tracksuits, and past the vast fields of sunflowers. It was 8pm by the time we arrived at the border crossing, and hence not very busy. We were stuck in Georgia for a few minutes while our driver argued with a malnourished teenage soldier manning the gates. The soldier finally relented and opened the gate after a Mafioso type sitting in a plastic chair (most likely stolen from an outdoor café) ordered him to let us through. We drove between the no-man’s land separating Georgia and Armenia and sat in the car for 45 minutes while our driver spoke with the Armenian guards and attempted to find the driver who would take us the rest of the way to Yerevan (the company told me that we would have to switch drivers once we arrived in Armenia). This was definitely a lot easier when Liz and her diplomatic passport were accompanying us.
No man’s land between Georgia and Armenia. Photography strictly forbidden, what?
Waiting for Armenia to let us in
Our driver finally came back for us so that we could start the process of acquiring an Armenian visa.
Compared to the Georgians, the Armenians make it such a complete pain in the ass to get into their country. I hadn’t a clue why it was taking so damn long to get our visa, considering we were the only people there waiting in the visa line. While the gruff border officer attended to his oh-so-important business out there in the middle of nowhere, I entertained the two Armenian soldiers with my horrible Russian. One of them kept asking me if I had a kartochka (small photo for the visa), but I thought he said kartoshka so I was wondering why the hell he was asking me for a potato. These dudes that hungry out here? The officer finally gave us our applications, and while Laura was filling hers out one of the soldiers continually remarked that Laura had a “pretty” pen. I was like, Dude, what pen are you using that this guy thinks is so pretty? “Well, you know…the only pen I have.” Ah yes, she completed her application for an Armenian visa with her official Heydar Aliyev International Airport pen. Classic. These guys are never gonna let us in the country now.
Well, the Armenians did eventually place a shiny new Armenian visa in our passport, so we were finally allowed to enter the country. We bid farewell to the soldiers, who were by then wholly neglecting their guard duties in favour of talking to us, much to the chagrin of their senior officer and the family in the Trabant waiting to be let through. We said a brief hello to our driver, but that was about it. My Russian had regressed to the point where I sounded like a three year old peasant girl with a limited vocabulary, (only, the peasant girl would have had a far better accent) and I just didn’t feel like attempting any discussion with my brain in a state of incoherent mush. I much preferred to sit back in the creaking 1980s era BMW and watch the sun set behind the mountains. The road we started out on was windy and treacherous, but our driver was great (something you don’t come across very often in this part of the world). Obviously, this was not the same road that we had taken to Tbilisi, as I didn’t recognize anything. And then I saw the sign for Noyemberyan. Ah yes, I suddenly remembered….this is the road the State Department told us we weren’t supposed to take due to random sniper fire:
Travelers should avoid the old highway between the towns of Ijevan and Noyemberyan in the Tavush region, as well as the main highway between the towns of Kirants and Baghanis/Voskevan. The U.S. Embassy has designated this portion of the road off-limits to all U.S. government personnel because of its proximity to the cease fire line between Armenian and Azerbaijani forces, a line which has seen numerous cease fire violations over the years.
Yes, twelve years after the cease-fire was announced, the Azeris and Armenians are still taking the occasional shot at each other. We drove past a few military bases and the ruins of several homes…relics from the war, I guess…courtesy of Azeri artillery shells. Remember, it’s not a true Lindsay vacation if it doesn’t involve landmines or massive displays of firepower.
I dozed off for a bit and woke up just as we were coming out of the mountain tunnel that leads to Lake Sevan. Our driver turned to me, with a toothy grin and said, in his thick accent “Good morning!” I just started laughing, it was so surreal. He offered a cigarette (No thanks, I’m from California. Christ, why do these people smoke so goddamn much?), and we started talking in a mixture of Russian and English. His name was Stefan. Cool guy. He has two sisters in….where else? Los Angeles – North Hollywood to be exact. Like I said before, you’d be hard pressed to find an Armenian who doesn’t have a family member or two in LA. We finally got into Yerevan around 1:30am.
THREE COUNTRIES IN ONE DAY…AGAIN! And the hardest part of the trip? Trying to unlock the door to Liz’s apartment. Sorry we woke ya up, dude. Those Eastern Euro locks confuse the hell outta me.
(Wow, that was a long post and it took me entirely too long to write it. I blame it on my laziness. I would write three sentences, say “Whatever, I’ll finish it later” and then find something more entertaining to do. My next posts won’t be as long…I think I still have three days to cover, but they’ll be short…except for perhaps the post on London. It may turn into some long-winded diatribe about how great of a city London is and how much DC sucks. Also, some people have asked me how I can remember everything even though I took this trip in July. It’s simple…whenever I travel, I carry a small notebook along and write a short sketch at the end of each day so that when I get home I can write a somewhat semi-coherent account of the trip. Secondly, some friends have asked what’s up with the Californian wearing the Texas shirts. I like that burnt orange color, alright? And, I dunno, maybe a bit of irony?)
For breakfast I had a chocolate croissant and a Coke float. Not quite the healthiest meal, but when you’re on vacation you can pretty much do whatever the hell you want, right? We were at a quaint little coffee shop/bookstore that specialized in English language books. Liz and Taline stocked up, and I purchased a mini Russian language dictionary because the phrase book I bought in Heathrow just wasn’t cutting it. As it would later turn out, this was a brilliant move on my part.
We bid farewell to Taline and Liz later that day, as they had to head back to Yerevan (work and all). Laura and I wandered around the old city, stopping in front of a synagogue to take some photos. An old man sitting nearby bid us to come inside, so we went, following him around as he pointed out the various features. The only language we had in common was Russian, so I did my best to translate.
We continued down the old city and stopped again to take photos of a beautiful mosque, the only one in Tbilisi, in fact, as Beria ordered the others destroyed in the 1930s.
While walking away, I was accosted by a woman across the street shouting “Devushka! Devushka!” Ah, devushka (young woman), a word familiar to anyone who has spent some time in Russia. I thought that perhaps she wasn’t happy with me taking photos of the mosque, so I shouted back “What?!” She started walking across the street towards us. “Are you a journalist?” she asked, pointing at my camera. “Uh…no.” (Keep in mind, this entire conversation is being shouted across the street in Russian.) She was an older woman, with bright purple hair and makeup so thick that it looked like it would just fall off her face in large slabs. “Oh, I am a journalist.” She proceeded to tell us her life story, describing how she used to work in Moscow when she was a “Soviet citizen.” She then startled rattling off the names of various American newspapers, asking if I read them. The New York Times? Yes, every day. The Los Angeles Times? Sometimes, but usually only when I’m back in California. Well then, did I know her friend so-and-so, who works for the NYTimes, or her other friend who works for the LATimes? When I sheepishly replied that no, I did not know who these people were, she seemed almost disgusted. The discussion then turned to politics, and I asked her what she thought of President Saakashvili, expecting to hear some praise for the “Rose Revolution.” Wrong again, Lindsay. She railed against Saakashvili and bemoaned the fact that he was “without talent.” Well, Misha, I guess you can’t win them all over, now can you?
Advertising the Rose Revolution
Parliament. Georgia isn’t in the EU, but they fly the flag anyways
That night we had more greasy, cheese laden Georgian food for dinner and watched Italy win the World Cup amongst the diplomats and NGO workers at our hotel. I was rooting for France until Zidane headbutted Materazzi. I don’t care what Materazzi said, Zidane – that was just a ridiculously stupid thing to do to your team mates.
We were leaving for Baku the next day, so we only had a few hours left in Tbilisi until we had to head to the airport. Laura wanted to see Narikala Fortress since she was asleep when Crystal and I went a few days earlier, so we went there. We were the only people there, besides the babushka that kept following us around begging for money for eye medicine. Because I’m a complete sucker, I gave her a few lari.
We collected our bags from the hotel and hopped in a taxi to the airport. It was one of the fastest taxi rides in my entire life. When riding in a taxi in the former USSR, I often feel like I’m in a go-kart race on steroids, with the constant swerving in and out of lanes, and the drivers sticking their heads out of their windows to smirk at the slower cars. The main road to the airport was a smooth ride, not a pothole in site! Imagine our surprise then, when we passed by a large sign declaring that we were on “George W. Bush Street”! Jesus Christ, the Georgians named a street after that asshole? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The Tbilisi airport was a typical, dull structure that contained a few gift stands, a duty-free store, and the requisite bar where “biznesmen” passed the time watching old Soviet movies and drinking cheap Georgian beer. As we sat waiting to board our flight, other passengers would come up to us and ask questions “What time is it?”, “What flight is this gate for?” Why, in a room full of Georgians, do these people insist on asking the two Americans what the hell is going on? By that time, my brain was slowly turning into mush. I could hear the people addressing me in Russian, but my brain was refusing to translate it. I soon became incapable of saying anything other than “Uhhh….I….don’t…know.” God, Lindsay, this is not good. I hope they speak English in Baku.
We flew Azerbaijan Airlines to Baku. Except for the overriding fear that we would plummet to our deaths and some poor U.S. embassy worker would have to identify my remains, I was actually quite impressed with AZAL. The leg room was the most spacious I’d ever experienced, and they had those cool little maps on the TV screens in front of you so that you could track the progress of the flight. The flight was a little under an hour, and before we knew it the plane was banking over the Caspian Sea and preparing to land. There it was, the Caspian Sea! Offshore oil rigs all over the place! It was just as I had imagined.
The airport was modern and the customs procedure very orderly, much more so than in Yerevan. (For those of you who may stumble upon this via googling for Azeri visa requirements, all you have to do is fill out an application when you arrive at the airport and hand over $40 and two passport photos. If you don’t have passport photos, you can take them there for $6).
We hired a taxi (another NASCAR driver-in-training) to take us to our hotel, and we were soon on our way to the city center. Freshly planted trees lines the highway into Baku, most likely placed there to hide the ramshackle housing and rusting oil rigs. Don’t worry, President Aliyev, in a few more years they’ll grow a bit taller and your foreign investors won’t be able to see anything!
Once we arrived in Baku, I immediately noticed how different this city is from Yerevan and Tbilisi. High rise apartment buildings were being constructed on almost every street, and luxury cars seemed to outnumber Soviet Volgas and Ladas. It’s amazing what a few billion barrels of oil can do.
The hotel we stayed at was the Park Inn, which had only opened a few months earlier. The staff was incredibly friendly, and our room was awesome. Was I really in Baku?
Our hotel – the white building with lots of glass
A flat screen TV, mini-bar, and comfortable beds…whoa.
It was getting late, and we needed some dinner, so we set off in search of food. Our hotel was right on the Caspian Sea, so we walked along the seaside boulevard. We settled on a café, where a doting waiter was highly amused at our attempt to order off the menu. I had the usual meat, lavash, veggies, and beer. Simple fare, but I love it.
After dinner, we walked along the boulevard for a few minutes. Apparently this was the place to be in Baku, as there were many people strolling along the boulevard and enjoying the beautiful summer night. I liked being near the water, even though it stank of petroleum. The only light came from the full moon reflecting off the water’s oily surface and the distant lights of the offshore rigs. I had only been in Baku for a few hours and had already fallen in love with the city.
(Next up: More Baku-ey goodness, including a visit to a Caspian Beach)
We were supposed to pick up Crystal and Taline at 8:30 that morning. I say supposed to, because we didn’t. When 8:30am rolled around, Liz was running around the house banging on my bedroom door and shouting “AHHHH WE’RE LATE! WE ARE SOOOOO LATE!” We hurriedly packed, piled into Liz’s Rav4, and sped to Taline’s apartment. After we picked up Crystal and Taline, we made a quick stop at “Yum-Yum Donuts” for sustenance. I can’t exactly vouch for the authenticity of this particular Yum-Yum donuts franchise, as I’ve noticed that a few stores in the South Caucasus tend to blatantly rip-off the names of Western retailers (Victoria’s Secret, GAP, etc) that don’t have a presence in the country. Perhaps the most amusing example of this was when Taline pointed out the “In-N-Out” burger place in Yerevan. I’m guessing that some enterprising young Armenian went to visit some family members in SoCal and was so enamored with our favorite fast food chain that he decided to open up one in Yerevan. Although I didn’t try the Armenian In-N-Out, I’m quite sure that it can’t even come close to one in California.
Loaded down with a box of donuts and muffins, we were finally on our way out of the city. YEAH TBILISI HERE WE COME! The soundtrack for this road trip was a mix of 70s and 80s music, heavy on Abba and Madonna. The drive through the Armenian countryside went smoothly, if you discount the fact that Liz has apparently gone native and is an absolutely fucking crazy driver. Lucky for us, her red diplomatic license plates allowed her to breeze right past those bastard policeman extortionists.
Near Lake Sevan, we encountered this large herd of cattle that was crossing the highway. This doesn’t happen very often in California, or on the Beltway, so I had to take a few photos.
A view of Lake Sevan from the road. A brilliant blue color, the lake was surrounded by mountains smothered in clouds. On the side of the road, young boys waved at the cars passing by and stretched out their arms to indicate the size of the fish they had for sale. Apparently there are some very large fish in Sevan.
We took the same road up to the Georgian border that we had taken several days earlier when we visited the monasteries at Haghpat and Sanahin. Crystal, Laura, and myself were experts of sort with this route, and could advise on the bridge that was coming up and oh, by the way, it was only one lane because the other half had fallen into the canyon below…don’t look down!
We soon found ourselves at the Bagratashen-Sadakhlo border crossing. The process went quickly on the Armenian side, mostly due to the fact that Liz has a black diplomatic passport. We hopped back into the car and drove through the no-man’s land towards the Georgian border. There’s no real direction as to which building we are supposed to go to in order to have our passports stamped, but we see a group of people standing around a decrepit pre-fab trailer and figure we should give it a try. Inside the hot, dimly lit room, an overworked, sweating Georgian border guard sits in front of a computer, methodically typing in numbers. A large stack of passports sits on his desk, and outside the shack the crowd of Russians yells through the window for him to hurry up. We placed our passports on his desk, and he begins to process our documents. Several of the Russians rush in, angrily demanding to know why he is now tending to our passports rather than theirs. The officer merely shrugs, points to Liz’s passport, and says “I have a diplomat here.” (Oh, and, like, four of her friends who are most definitely not diplomats but shoved their passports under hers nevertheless). I don’t feel so bad that we cut in front of the Russians, considering how many times I’ve had to put up with their line techniques in Moscow and Petersburg.
After we get our passports stamped we are officially in Georgia and off to Tbilisi. The Georgian landscape is completely different from Armenia’s, with its small, rolling hills and vast fields of sunflowers. We passed an equipment depot and camp for the BTC Pipeline, which was exciting (for me, at least) because I wrote my master’s dissertation on that pipeline.
The BTC Pipeline is somewhere out there
The Georgian roads were rough and filled with potholes (yes, even worse than DC!) They weren’t marked very well, so sometimes we weren’t sure if we were heading in the right direction. All we could do is pull alongside a group of locals and shout “Tbilisi?!?” praying they would point us in the right direction.
Small Georgian town
It pains me to say this, and some of you will probably disown me, but our first destination once we arrived in Tbilisi was McDonald’s. Yes, McDonald’s, the fine purveyor of Americana in a paper wrapper and cheap plastic toy. We didn’t know where the McDonald’s was, so we pulled over and asked a babushka for directions. She didn’t know, and shouted something to an elderly man missing most of his teeth. He hobbled over, and we asked again “Excuse me, do you know where McDonald’s is located?” He grinned and nodded “Ah, McDonald’s! Yes, yes!” and gave us proper directions. Now imagine this, a group of five American girls driving around Tbilisi in an SUV asking the locals where McDonald’s is. How…cliche.
The all too familiar golden arches
The reason we had to go to McDonald’s is because there isn’t one in Yerevan, and Liz and Taline were craving a taste of home. I don’t blame them, as in my trips abroad, especially in Russia, I occasionally partook in a burger and fries. It’s always interesting to visit a McDonald’s in a foreign country, and is almost like a weird social experiment. Everything is so familiar (the smells, the taste, the decorations, the uniforms) yet so foreign (the incomprehensible menu, the locals, the cleanliness, yes! cleanliness).
After the expats had their fill of McDonald’s, we checked into our hotel, a charming lodge named Betsy’s Place. As soon as we pulled up to the hotel we noticed that ALL of the cars were SUVs with red diplomatic plates. Apparently this was the place to be if you were a diplomat. God only knows how I ended up there.
The view from our room. I could sit on our balcony for hours and just stare at the city below.
Once we checked in, Liz, Laura, and Taline promptly fell asleep, while Crystal and I headed out to explore the city. We wandered around for awhile, with no exact destination in mind, and passed the flea market where elderly Georgians stood around gossiping and begging passers-by to purchase their broken rotary telephones and yellowing photos of Stalin. We hailed a taxi and had the driver take us to Narikala Fortress. His car couldn’t make it up the steep hill, so we had quite a workout walking up there, which was great considering I was still feeling the effects of the previous night’s drinking. It was worth it, though, as the view from the fortress was incredible.
Narikala fortress – its earliest walls date from the 4th century
Looking down on Tbilisi
Houses on the cliffs overlooking the Mtkvari River. They looked as if any moment they could fall into the water below.
Back of the fortress
We walked down the hill and hailed a taxi to take us back to the hotel in order to meet the rest of our group for dinner. We ended up with a friendly guy who didn’t know where our hotel was, and to be honest, neither did we. We just knew the address, not any details of where it was located in the city. We knew it was near McDonald’s, so had the driver take us there. When he dropped us off, though, I was a bit perplexed, as this McDonald’s looked a bit unfamiliar. Yes, that’s right…it was a different McDonald’s. You mean to tell me there are two McDonald’s in Tbilisi and Yerevan doesn’t even have one? Amazing.
After spending the entire day eating American junk food (donuts AND McDonald’s?! I mean, really!) we opted to have dinner at a traditional Georgian restaurant. Shashlik, kebabs, meat, meat, meat, red wine, and two different types of artery-clogging, heart stopping khachapuri. Khachapuri, a type of bread filled with cheese (and sometimes slabs of butter and eggs) is incredibly delicious, incredibly addicting and INCREDIBLY bad for you. It’s practically the national dish of Georgia, and can be found at virtually any kiosk or restaurant in Tbilisi.
We ended the night with drinks in the hotel bar and headed off to bed. Our electricity kept flickering on and off while we were trying to read ourselves to sleep. Welcome to the former Soviet Union.
(So I lied, took me longer than a week to get the next post up…I’m too lazy about posting, I realize…this is bad. Next up: we spend some more time in Georgia and then fly to Baku, Azerbaijan)
As always, here is a small sample:
The album is located here.
I actually have a few more I need to upload, and I will get those up soon (You’re probably thinking, “MORE?!”…yes, more)
Now comes the fun part, though…writing the travelogue of our trip around the South Caucasus. I promise that I will try to make it as entertaining as possible.
Also, Crystal and I are convinced that the NYTimes is stalking us. EVERY TIME we go somewhere, an article will appear in the NY Times travel section soon thereafer. Take, for instance, this article on Georgia that recently came out: “Dodging Traffic and Pitfalls in Gourmet Georgia”
Trendsetters? Yes we are.
After 24 hours of non-stop traveling (damn you Heathrow!), I’m finally back from my incredible journey to the Caucasus. I took over 400 photos, so it will take me awhile to get them all sorted, labeled, and uploaded, but I expect that by the end of this week they will be available for your viewing pleasure. In addition, I’ll be posting a day by day account of our travels throughout the South Caucasus so you can read all about our road trip to Tbilisi, broken down car in northern Armenia, interactions with crazy local cab drivers, and more!
I’ve had two people tell me this in the past week…and these are friends of mine who studied the region at LSE. Comrades, be reasonable! I’m not looking to grab an AK-47 and hop into one of the various post-Soviet conflicts plaguing the region, I just want some homemade Georgian khachapuri and Armenian cognac. Besides, they are all under cease-fire agreements…right?
“Intermittent armed clashes” aside, I’m really looking forward to this trip, for a variety of reasons. My friend Liz (from GW) is a foreign service officer at the U.S. embassy in Yerevan, and Taline (from LSE) heads the NDI program over there. My roommate, Laura, also a friend of Liz’s, is coming along, and Crystal (LSE) is flying out from San Francisco.
So, here is our itinerary, which, of course is subject to change given the nature of traveling in the Former Soviet Union:
July 4: Leave DC
July 5: Arrive in London, the greatest city in the world. Seven hour layover, then depart for Armenia.
Arrive in Yerevan at night.
Overnight in Tbilsi
July 9: Tbilisi (perhaps stop by Misha’s office to sing the GW fight song together)
Overnight in Tbilisi
Overnight in Baku
July 11: Spend a day at one of the lovely beaches of Baku
Overnight in Baku
July 12: Fly to Tbilisi, drive back to Yerevan (yes, it would be lovely to fly directly to Yerevan from Baku, but the two countries HATE HATE HATE each other and there are no flights between the respective capitals)
July 11-14: Armenia
July 15: Depart Armenia, seven hour layover in London (anyone up for a pint?), unfortunately back to Dullsville, aka the District of Columbia
Ethnic conflicts, low-grade civil wars, massive environmental pollution, landmines, intermittent electricity, and political repression. Sounds like a place you’d love to vacation in, no?