To Conclude

I had hoped that over the course of my journey through the Caucasus, I would be able to write more. But, unsurprisingly, Max and I rarely had time on the internet to do more than say hey to our parents and check necessary travel information.

Since the last time I wrote, many things have happened. I'll share one of my favorite days of the trip, since I won't be able to recount everything.

One day we needed to get from Azerbaijan to Yerevan through Georgia, since Azerbaijan and Armenia don't dig each other. It started with an outrageous taxi ride from western Azerbaijan to Tbilisi with a mysterious Moldovan who winters in Tyumen, in Western Siberia, and summers in Azerbaijan. Among the many services he offered as a driver, one was a three day car ride to Moscow, costing about $2500, begging the question of who exaclty would pay that much to be DRIVEN to Moscow, and why?

So after overhearing us talk about how we were going to eat lots of Xinkali once we got to Tbilisi, he decided he wanted some too and proposed we stop at our first opportunity, just over the Georgia-Azerbaijan border. He ordered 30 big dumplings. He ate 15, Max ate 8, and I ate about 6.5. Max and I were working on digesting for the rest of the day. The man was a Xinkali eating machine. He was silent as he went about his business, and we were bursting with questions about who he was and what he did, but he didn't really want to talk--only adding to the mystery. We shared our marshrutka ride from Tbilisi to Yerevan with two short Armenian ladies carrying with them approximately 27 bags of varying sizes. What was in those bags was anyone's guess. When we asked, they said something about sewing needles. Adding to their cargo, they bought three watermelons at our first stop. The watermelons rolled around the van for the rest of the ride, getting pierced by chair legs until the marshrutka floor was slick with watermelon juice.

We stayed in Yerevan for several days, resting and lounging in cafes, and from there we stopped in Dilijan, in the Armenian mountains, then went back to pass our last couple nights in Tbilisi, city of dreams.

I was thinking this was going to be a concluding entry, but then I got distracted writing about xinkali and the taxi driver and the watermelon ladies. I thought maybe I could write something that would Sum Up this year I've had. But basically life just keeps rumbling along, one day you're in Siberia, the next day it's Baku, and then all of the sudden it's Grinnell again. I hope I will be seeing the former Soviet Union again soon. In the meantime, it no longer seems appropriate for me to be blogging at Krasnoyarskhelen.blogspot.com. Maybe I'll start making use of my tumblr.

Anyway, thanks for reading, we'll be in touch.

Azerbaijan

Max and I are in the city of Quba, north of Baku and not too far away from the border with Russia. Quba is kind of a sad little city, but it's famous for providing the opportunity to go eat shashlyk at cafes in the middle of the forest. We're staying in a very strange old Soviet hotel with a disgusting shared bathroom and a shower that costs extra, but it's all very interesting nonetheless.

We came here for a few reasons. One was to find and talk to the community of Mountain Jews living in a town right accross the river from Quba. The other was to go up to the village of Xinaliq, touted by the Lonley Planet as one of the most beautiful places in Azerbaijan. We have accomplished both of these goals. The Mountain Jews were very interesting and friendly, and Xinaliq was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Tomorrow we're heading back to Baku.

Our time in Quba has been marked by nearly constant conversation and tea drinking with whomever we run into. People are exceptionally hospitable. Most of the time it's really lovely, and we've learned a lot.

We spent most of this morning going through the most horrendous negotiations I have ever experienced in order to secure a ride to Xinaliq in a timely and affordable manner. Amid the overwhelming chaos of the bazar from which taxis leave to Xinaliq, there was one moment that really brought me joy. I was standing around, eating a peach, waiting for our driver to find some more passengers, and a man walked by carrying two live chickens by the feet. He saw me looking at his chickens and said "do you need a chicken?" I said no and he kept going along his way. I thought this little scene was so funny I started laughing, but then a couple minutes later the chicken man was back. Again I was staring at the chickens, this time laughing, and he said "you really don't want one?" It seemed like a great way to sell chickens, just wandering around with them, holding them by their feet.

Anyway, I wish I had time to explain better or in a more decipherable manner what I'm up to. This trip is endlessly fascinating, no matter how sweaty we are by the end of the day.

Travels

I've covered a lot of ground since the last time I wrote. Just as I said I would, I took a train to St. Petersburg. It lasted three days and I made a lot of friends, including a couple little boys with whom I played cards for hours and hours and hours. One of the boys had a hard time saying my name and called me Helli. It was cute. Then I spent some time in St. Petersburg, which was ok, and then I spent some time in Moscow, which was nice. Then I flew to Georgia, where Max and I reunited in a Tbilisi apartment.

I've been in Georgia for about a week and it's proved to be just as wonderful as I always dreamed it would be. After spending several days walking all over Tbilisi, soaking in Pushkin's favorite sulphur baths, eating decadent meals and a little too much khachapuri, Max and I headed on to Sighnaghi, where my former Russian teacher Amanda is now living. Amanda drove us all over the Kakheti region, Georgia's wine country, to some ancient churches and fortresses and past many villages and wandering cows. We had to slow down for lots of ducks to cross the road. After passing watermelon filled truck after watermelon filled truck, we stopped and ate a big juicy watermelon right next to the watermelon field at a little picnic table at the side of the road.

The next day saw more feasting and a little lesson in the Georgian art of toasting, more beautiful scenery, as well as the ancient cave city of Uplistsikhe. We went to Gori, the birth place of Stalin, and visited the very bizarre Stalin Museum. It's located in a big mansion with stained-glass windows, and tells the story of a hero-revolutionary with an exceptional talent for escaping from Tsarist prisons. The displays wind around a thick red carpet to end in a dark round room with a tiny bronze cast of Stalin's dead face in the center and a painting of Stalin in his coffin on the wall. It was a strange place and a strange experience.

After the Stalin Museum, Amanda and her friend, the expert vintner Gala, drove us back to Tbilisi and dropped us off at Dodo's guest house, where we planned to stay the night.

This country is easy to fall in love with.

Tonight we are on to Baku, if all goes according to plan.