I arrived back in Prague on Sunday the 23rd at around 8 am, after two flights that took me through the night from Baku, by way of Vienna. On the way there, I had a 7 hour layover in Vienna and got to wander around for a whole afternoon, but this time I just had time to walk to the gate and stretch my legs a bit before jumping on the little plane to the Czech Republic.
Baku was a really good experience, and really strange, due in part to the culture being completely new to me, as well as being basically by myself for most of my time there. I didn't mind though, I stayed busy and found that solitude is something I've gotten to be quite friendly with as of late.
But the city itself was, like most cities, many things at once, depending on the day, one's mood, one's company and level of intoxication. In the mornings it could be rather abrasive, while I waited for my ride to the airport by the curb watching the sun reluctantly make an appearance, orange and blurry through all the exhaust and smog spewed from the old cars that roared down the streets incessantly. Old Soviet Lada's, brand new BMW's and Mercedes, SUVs, mopeds, huge buses that seemed to have rumbled in off the set of Mad Max, cars with live chickens tied down on the trunk - I could fill a whole chapter of a book with just what I witnessed on the roads. But many times I wasn't bearing witness, but purposely looking at lesson plans, trying not to acknowledge the fact that our driver was pulling our old Turkish tank-car into oncoming traffic, causing people to lock their breaks up and sound forth a symphony of horns, the unofficial national anthem of Baku.
The teaching aspect of my time there was a bit of a trial, though not life-threatening I decided at lunchtime of the first day. That morning had found me completely unprepared, thanks to my boss' hospitality the night before, and staring at 12 mustachioed Azeri men and one woman (no mustache) who are not known for their disarming smiles. At least not at first. Over lunch they opened up much more, smiling and laughing often to reveal a table-wide constellation of gold teeth. Perhaps the reason they do not smile for photos, though I think it has to do with the tradition of posing sternly for photos in that part of the world. I never felt like asking them 'Why don't you smile for photos? Is it because all your gold teeth or are you trying to look tough?'
We all ate lunch together everyday, which was a big deal. So big that the students would pass around the cafeteria menu during class and interrupt a lesson to turn and ask each other what they wanted to have. I would be in mid-sentence when one of the students would whisper my name. Thinking he had a question about English I'd stop and see what he wanted. 'Do you want the Turkish chicken or some lamb rolled up in dough and boiled?' It was hard for me to discourage this behavior, even if I felt momentarily irked by being interrupted, I would immediately realize how much more I cared about the menu than phrasal verbs. And so I would whisper back 'What's the lamb like? Does it come with a sauce? No, sauce. Um, like gravy, do you know what gravy is? Look it up in your dictionary. (Pause) Oh, a yogurt sauce? Yeah, that sounds good. And the mushroom soup, please.'
The soups were amazing. Borscht, lentil, local mushroom, bean and noodle. That was after bread and salad. After soup came the main course, usually served with a rice-type grain, french fries or mashed potatoes, egg yolk-yellow from the amount of butter mixed in. But the best food in the country, in my opinion, was the yogurt. It was like a mix between ricotta and whipped cream, so rich and fresh, and sightly different everywhere I got it. The little market right down the street had a good brand that often had a thick skin on top. At first disgusted by this, I soon realized it was the best part, nearer to cheese than yogurt, and very tasty.
I saw some really interesting buildings, old and new, went to an opera at the National Opera House, learned about the conflict with Armenia, drank more vodka than I ever wanted or thought possible, was eyeballed by people wherever I went, heard interesting tales about the Soviet era, experienced incredible hospitality and left feeling like I'd barely started to scratch the surface of the culture.
I may write more about it, but for now here are a bunch of pictures.
Merry Christmas to everyone and thank you for keeping in touch. Check back soon for more updates.
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