Rural Azerbaijan

Armed with the freshly learned word for bus station in Russian we hoped we would be able to get out of Baku and continue our trip. We managed to board a minibus whose driver confirmed that he would take us to the bus station. But we seemed to be going in the wrong direction, at least according to the city map we had in our hands. After a while, the driver pointed to another minibus that was headed in the opposite direction across the street and motioned for us to go there and he even signaled the other driver to wait for us. Not sure where we were or where we were going, we followed instructions. The driver of the second minibus who also confirmed that he would take us to the bus station eventually deposited us at a huge parking space. We realized that it was not the bus station, but before we had a chance to decide what to do next, someone approached us asking if we need a ride. Another look around confirmed that we were at a shared taxi parking space where taxis wait for people who need to go places and they negotiate rates and destinations for groups of people who then share the price of a taxi. We told them we were going to Samaxi and almost immediately another passenger for Samaxi materialized and before we knew it we negotiated the price and were sitting in the taxi and on our way. Not exactly the way we had planned – by bus, but at least we were breaking free of the chaos of Baku and hopefully we would have more luck finding bus stations in smaller towns that we still planned to visit.


During the ride towards Samaxi we saw the Azerbaijani countryside for the first time. While it was mostly desert around Baku, it was now getting greener, with bushes and trees. It seems that grapes were already ripe during mid-August because they were sold along the road. Our driver stopped to buy a huge bag of grapes and offered us some. The grapes were a white variety and well ripened, so they were sweet and tasty. Another thing I noticed along the way were the butcher shops. On my travels I have seen many butcher shops where they just hang large pieces of meat outside and allow flies to feast on them. In Azerbaijan they wrap the pieces of meat in white cloth that could be old bedsheets or old white shirts, so the meat is protected from the flies.


Our destination for the night was the Babayurd homestay that we picked from our Lonely Planet guide. It was a farm on a huge estate with apple and pear orchards, a delightful change from the desert heat of Baku. The place was actually a restaurant with tables scattered underneath trees alongside the house and they also offered sleeping accommodations. Our host who later explained that he did not own the place but just worked there was very friendly and genuinely pleased that he had overnight guests. We were shown to a table under a tree where it was nice and shady and slightly windy so we made ourselves comfortable and allowed them to serve us a leisurely late lunch. The host did the grilling on an outdoor grill, a woman whom I took to be his wife did the cooking in the kitchen and a younger guy who might have been their son served us at the table. During the course of the afternoon we saw several parties of guests come and go to eat at the restaurant. We noticed a group of men sitting at a remote table for most of the afternoon and we assumed that a huge black car that was parked in front of the house was theirs so it looked something like a business lunch.


After lunch we had tea and just relaxed reading in the shade. We couldn’t help noticing how the businessmen relaxed after lunch. The younger guy who was serving brought them a carpet and rolled it out on the grass beside their table. The men all laid down on the carpet one beside the other and had a nap. Marko wondered aloud what if we introduced such custom back home, for example what if he asked his business partners to take a nap with him after lunch?

Seeing that it was siesta time we were shown to our room. Well, a room. It was quite obvious that the room was lived-in, probably by the son who would presumably sleep elsewhere that night. The woman handed me a stack of bedsheets, they were old and worn but they smelled clean and were freshly ironed. I changed the bed myself and that took care of the sleeping arrangements. There was electricity in the house and Marko risked charging his telephone. Very carefully, because the electrical outlet was installed on a wire that was hanging from the ceiling.


The only thing we still needed were toilet facilities. Since the place was primarily a restaurant they showed us to the toilet that was used by everyone: the dwellers of the house, the restaurant guests and us as overnight guests. It did not seem to be cleaned every day, it was quite dirty and smelly. Now for the shower. This needs more explanation. Azerbaijan is one of those areas of the world where they do not use toilet paper but rather wash themselves after using the toilet. I knew that and I always carry my own toilet paper when traveling anyway and so it makes no difference to me. While I have often seen toilets fitted with faucets and plastic jugs in many parts of the world, Azerbaijan is more modern and instead of the plastic jug the faucet has a hose attachment with a nozzle, similar to something I would use to water my garden. So I guess they wash themselves with the hose rather than using the jug. And how does this relate to the shower? Our host pointed to a water heater on the corner wall and indicated that the hose has warm water and that we may shower there. In a dirty stinking public toilet. Where one should undress and stand barefoot to shower? Hmmm, Marko and I unanimously decided we would first think about it and went to bed without a shower.