Lickety Split

From: Split, Croatia

I just crossed the finish line! I got into Croatia this morning and arrived in Split shortly after. I've walked around the old town a little bit and taken a couple of snaps. Here, the incredible Palace of Emperor Diocletian:

Over two months ago, I started my trip in Almaty and made my way to Croatia. It's a cool feeling: I've traveled the Silk Road using only overland transportation. I recently found that Marco Polo's house is close to here, on Korcula Island, which I thought was fitting.

I'm glad that I was blessed with the time to make this trip happen -- overall, it really was an amazing experience. It think it was about the right length of time as well: any shorter would have been painfully rushed, any longer and my energy and cash might have worn out somewhere along the way.

While I hoped the trip would be fun, I had expected a healthy dose of bad moments -- days of loneliness, stomach sickness, police encounters. Luckily, there were only a few:
- Waiting for the Caspian ferry while very sick in Turkmenistan
- Getting stuck in the Anzob tunnel (a.k.a. Tunnel of Death), Tajikistan. Side note: I have it from a reliable source that a taxi driver actually died from suffocation the night I got stuck -- eerie, huh?
- Not getting to go to the Pamirs because of a horrendous misprint in my guidebook

And of course, there were plenty of highlights. It was a tough call, but here are my top ten:

10. Drinking beers on mosques / making videos in the empty old town, Khiva (Uzbekistan)
9. Making an organic dinner with a WW2 vet (Nagorno-Karabakh Republic)
8. Finding the beached ships of the old Aral Sea, Moynaq (Uzbekistan)
7. Seeing Turkmenbashi's Ashgabat (Turkmenistan)
6. Climbing Mount Olympus (Greece)
5. Checking out the Darvaza Gas Craters (Turkmenistan)
4. Learning (some) Russian
3. Making it through all five 'Stans on one go. In hindsight, this wasn't that easy to do.
2. Making good new friends: James, Michael and Thierry especially (Uzbekistan to Georgia)
1. Staying in a yurt with nomads (Kyrgyzstan)

An incredible summer so far, but I've saved the best for last. Tomorrow, I will be joined in Split by the beautiful Stephanie. We're going to spend two weeks traveling down the Dalmatian coast to Dubrovnik, visiting Cologne and checking out Iceland. Should be fun!

So, this will be my last post on this blog... at least for now. Hope you've enjoyed it!

Balkanhopping

From: Dubrovnik, Croatia

I'm getting close to the finish line now. This post is about my path from Greece to Croatia, with stops in the F.Y.R.O.M. (Macedonia), Albania and the brand-new nation of Montenegro.

I like the Balkans a lot. A while back, I spent two weeks in the former Yugoslavia -- Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Montenegro -- and was impressed by the cultural diversity and range of cool sights packed into such a small space. In many parts of the region, you can feel the aftermath of the violence from the Yugoslav civil war. I also had fun this time around. I wish I'd spent more time here, but I'm glad I got a least a peek at the 'other half' of the Balkans.

I've covered a lot of ground in a few days, so I'm going to stick to the highlights. In order of appearance:

1. Macedonia-Macedonia Border Crossing

If you've been following this blog very much, you know that I don't like border crossings. In Central Asia, they're horrible -- hour-long waits in the heat, arbitrary visa regulations, unfriendly officials on the take. So I'm a bit biased. The checkpoint at Gengeli between Greek Macedonia and the Republic of Macedonia, however, was the best border crossing ever!

Our train pulled into the checkpoint around dinner time and they told us we could actually leave the train (unheard of). Instead of surly officials, the guards were friendly and told us to get something to eat. There was loud, excellent salsa-esque Latin music playing, a grillmaster making these gigantic hot dogs filled with 'Greek meat' and French fries, and lots of people drinking beer at a bar. I even saw a group of kids my age who didn't look like they were on the train. Maybe they just came to the station for the atmosphere. It was so much fun that I was a bit sad to leave. Come to think of it, it was actually more fun than Skopje, my destination.

2. The Mullet King

I've seen some bad haircuts on this trip. The worst do's usually fall into one of two types: very short hair, except for a well-oiled tuft above the forehead (the 'hip' Russian), or; very short hair will a generous mullet in the back (the 'sophisticated' Russian). But I got a single snapshot of a Skopje mulleteer who definitely wins the prize for foulest hair. Enjoy:

3. Struga
I ran into some logistical problems trying to get from Skopje to Tirana and found myself stranded in Struga (Macedonia) for the better part of a day. Struga is a secondary resort town on the shores of Lake Ohrid near the Macedonian-Albanian border. It was unexpectedly fun. I sat around by the beach most of the afternoon, drinking beers and trying to avert my gaze from the many older men in smallish speedos. The beach:



There is a lot of Albanian influence in Struga. In the last decade, there was a full-blown civil war between the Albanian minority in the West of the country and the Macedonian majority. It was the usual deal: minority wants to separate and create their own state; majority wants to retain territorial integrity. It was resolved in 2002 with the UN-backed Ohrid Agreement, which guaranteed stronger minority rights for the 20% or so of the population that's ethnically Albanian. Like in Canada, there are now two official languages (even street vendors have to display in both languages). Here, an example:



Back to Struga. While I was there, I saw an interesting ethnic dance performance by local ethnic Albanians. It sounded somewhere between Bosnian and Turkish, and it was really cool.

4. Shkodra
When I got to Albania, I skipped over Tirana, the capital, and went straight to Shkodra in the north. Culturally, it's an interesting city since it has a lot of Catholic Albanians; the people are also renowned for their friendliness. I trekked across town to the imposing Rozafa fortress, a giant, largely-intact castle with fantastic views of the surrounding area. A shot of the valley from the ramparts:

5. Ulcinj
My last stop before Croatia was Ulcinj, a small, picturesque Adriatic beach town in Montenegro near the Albanian border. I ran into two cool guys from Austria and Germany and we ended up hanging out for the rest of the day. Montenegro is not a cheap place to bed down for the night. After some oh-so-precise mental calculations, we realized that we could actually save money by buying beers and food and spending the night on the beach, rather than going to find a hotel. When we first got there, the beach was jam-packed with people, but they trickled away towards dusk. In true Balkan fashion, people took to the streets at night, hanging out at the bars, restaurants and nightclubs along the beach. We watched it all happen and then went to catch our bus at 3:30 am. The beach at night, with the cliffs in the background:



P.S. I saw some funny Ingrish in Skopje. Among the instructions for guests at my hostel:
- "It's ok! Water from the tub is drinkable."
- "Please be quiet after 10 pm (bed neighbors)."

Central Asia: Post-Mortem

From: Shkodra, Albania

Since I left Turkmenistan, I've found myself reflecting from time to time on Central Asia. I decided to write a sort of overall analysis on the region like I did for the Caucasus.

My friend James (whom I traveled with in Uzbekistan) is an editor of a very professional and high-quality blog covering Central Asia. He asked me to write an article with my impressions of the region, as well as some comparisons with other regions I've visited -- West Africa and Latin America in particular. Here's the link to my article (you might have to paste the text in two blocks):
http://www.neweurasia.net/2008/08/08/central-asia-a-veteran-travelers-perspective/

If you're generally interested in Central Asia, the blog James works for -- http://www.neweurasia.net/ -- is one of the best sources of information out there.

Thesstivities

From: Struga, F.Y.R.O.M.

After I got back from Mount Olympus, I spent a couple of days hanging out in Thessaloniki, Greece's second city. I had heard good things about it from my Greek friends, so figured I'd give it a shot.

I ended up couchsurfing with a Greek guy called Aris. He's a playground-equipment designer by day and a musician by night. Both he and his apartment were effortlessly cool in a way that I'm not, but I can still appreciate. Here, a corner of coolness:


Aris' apartment was a neat top-floor pad with a wrap-around balcony that offered great views of the neighborhood. I spent a couple of afternoons on the balcony reading, eating and sleeping. The view:

The town of Thessaloniki itself is also nice, but not in an overwhelming way. That was fine by me, since I'm just about hit my limit of churches, castles, mosques and firepits by this points in my trip. The town has some very nice parks and a promenade along the water.

A park near Aristotle square:

The waterfront with Thessaloniki's famous "White Tower:"


I did almost nothing during the days there. In the mornings, I went to the market and bought some fruit, bread and water and ate it at the apartment or in a park. I also had quite a few good Greek pastries.

Thessaloniki has some good food and drink. I had never eaten souvlaki before, mostly because I thought it consisted of steamed squash and eggplant. Turns out it's actually a delicious meat-bread-and-sauce thing that tastes incredible. We also went out a couple of night. Below, Aris, his girlfriend and me at a local bar:

Overall, I found Thessaloniki an interesting city. I'd like to come back here at some point.

Next up: Macedonia, Albania and maybe Montenegro

Olympics

From: Skopje, F.Y.R.O.M.

This post is about the three days I spent on and around Mount Olympus.

My first stop in Greece was Litohoro, a small town on the Aegean coast and the main base for climbing Mount Olympus. Olympus is Greece's highest mountain; it's probably best known as the home of the gods of ancient Greek mythology. I've always really wanted to climb it, so I figured I'd dedicate a couple of days to the cause.

I didn't do much when I got to Litohoro -- just stocked up on supplies for the climb (water, delicious green olives and some weird cheese crackers) and then went to my campground for the evening. I had planned on staying at this little place with affordable bungalows, so I could spend a restful night in a good bed before starting the climb.

I had forgotten it was high season for tourism in Greece, so all the bungalows had been rented out weeks before. The campground took pity on me and said I could just sleep on the ground for half price, as long as I didn't bother anyone. So much for my good night's sleep! I did, at least, get to swim for a bit in the Aegean. It was warm, beautiful and there were lots of young people hanging out and working on their tans.

The beach:


The next morning, I set off early for Olympus. There are a couple of routes to the top, most of which involve staying at one of the mountain's seven refuges (basically small lodges where you can sleep, warm up, and eat. I decided to hike to the Giosos Apostolidis refuge, the highest lodge (at 2,720 metres), with the best views over the ridge by the summit. I planned on doing a 7-hour hike from the lowest refuge to the highest one on the first day, then climbing to the summit and back down to the Litohoro on the second.

The first part of the climb was great. The forest and path changed several times on the way up as the altitude changed -- first it was lush woods with lots of deciduous trees, then a cooler, rockier pine forest, and then small trees and shrubs as I got closer to the ridge. I stopped a bunch of times and ate little snacks of crackers, olives, salami and bread.

A shot of the lusher forest:

Some evil-looking forest higher up:


I did have a scary moment, though, when I had no water left. I'm actually surprised that I ran out, since I packed almost 4 litres of water for the first day of the climb -- should have been enough. I also looked at a trail map before I started the climb, and it indicated pretty clearly that there was a water fountain halfway up the mountain, near something called the Anathema. I came across a sign for the Anathema after three hours, but there was no water anywhere to be found -- not good. After about five hours, I was thirsty and completely out of water, so I decided to sit down under a bush and let the weather to cool off. After a little while, I saw a Greek couple coming down from the summit. I explained the situation to them, and they gave me half a liter of water, enough to finish the climb and keep hydrated. I'm very grateful to them.

After I ran into the couple, the climb got a lot steeper, with a switchback trail climbing through a tree-less rockfield. After twenty minutes of that, I saw across a steel cable set into the rock. I hauled myself up and found myself on the Plateau of the Muses at the top of the Olympian ridge. The plateau is spectacular, a huge mile-long table next to the Throne of Zeus, with sheer cliffs all around and stunning views of the Aegean.

My refuge was on the far side of the plateau. I devoured my dinner in about fifteen minutes, drank a heavenly Powerade (ambrosia?) and fell asleep. I woke up early the next morning and headed for Mytikas, the highest peak on Olympus at 2,919 metres. From the refuge I stayed at, the approach is just a short walk along the spectacular Plateau of the Muses, then around the back of the Throne of Zeus (the second highest peak). After that, it really gets fun: a 40-minute scramble along a fairly steep rockface (50-60 degrees vertical) to the summit. The rockface has a lot of holes and steps, as well as suggested-path markings, so it's possible to climb without ropes. But it's a workout.

Here, a shot of the rockface (to the left of the center you can see a climber working his way to the top):


Reaching the peak was incredible. The view from Mytikas is amazing, taking in the smaller Olympian peaks, the forested valley, the Plateau of the Muses, and the Aegean coast in the distance. I also took the mandatory holding-the-flag shot:

I stayed at the summit for twenty minutes, mostly because there were other travelers there who had good cheese, beer and chocolate, and they kept offering me some. When the chocolate was finished, I headed back down, doing the rockface in reverse. It actually took longer to go back down because the rocks are slippery and I was trying to be cautious.

After Mytikas, it was all, well, downhill. The main track down to the coast goes through different types of forest, passes by another refuge, and ends up in a place called Prionia. The 'town' of Prionia consists of a public toilet, a water mountain, two very nice cops and a taverna, which makes an incredible feta-stuffed eggplant.

Prionia is a long way from the coast, so I hitchhiked in the back of a truck to Litohoro beach then caught the train Thessaloniki.

Next up: fun in Thessaloniki

The Caucasus: Post-Mortem

From: Thessaloniki, Greece

[I thought I would write a bit about my overall experience in the Caucasus. I'm planning on doing the same thing for Central Asia, but haven't really gotten to it yet. Some more pics forthcoming too.]

I loved the South Caucasus. I spent a rushed two weeks there, but it really should have been at least four.

The area has tons to offer. The capitals of the regions are varied and interesting: wealthy, atmospheric Baku; lazy, charming Tbilisi; kinda-ugly-but-still-cosmopolitan Yerevan. Outside the big cities in the region, there are more than two dozen distinct cultures to explore: Persian-speaking Mountain Jews in Quba, Muslims in Georgian Tusheti, blood-feuding tribes in Svaneti and Rachi, and the Turkified Adjaran people. Regional food is incredible, varied, and pretty cheap for what you get (especially Georgian cuisine -- delish). The drinks (wine in particular) are plentiful and really good.

For me, I also liked finally being able to use my Russian. When I got to Azerbaijan, I realized that six weeks of learn-as-you-go Russian in Central Asia had finally paid off. I won't insult Russophones by claiming to actually speak their language, but I found myself able to get by pretty well. As a result, I had some interesting conversations with people about their lives: I heard both the Azeri and the Armenian perspectives on Karabakh, and learned about village life in Georgia. Definitely a step up from the inevitable "where are you from? ... how many children do you have?" chitchat I got in Central Asia.

The best thing about the region is being able to see weird and exotic sights without really having to trek too far. Making a meal in Karabakh was top of my list, followed by our trip to Georgian wine country, and then probably the cold mud volcanoes in Azerbaijan. The Caucasus is fun, but in a pretty accessible way.

But while I was charmed by the region, I did find myself thinking about its uncertain future. After all, it seems like every country there is gripped by vicious conflicts.

In Georgia, the overarching conflict is with Russia, onetime political master and, until recently, a close ally on the international stage. Since independence, however, Georgia has become increasingly Western-leaning, and recently announced their intention to move towards EU membership. The move met with fierce opposition from Russia, who has used their economic might to put the hurt on Georgia. Here, Georgia slapping Russia in the face:

The overarching Georgian-Russian conflict is exacerbated by several secessionist movements. Although it's a small state, there are no fewer than 3 independent regions within Georgia: Adjara (peacefully autonomous), Ossetia (actively and violently seeking separation) and Abkhazia (de facto independent since the brutal war in 1992-3.) Russia, happy to weaken Georgia and eager to extend its own political reach, has taken the side of the separatists in each of the conflicts.

The combination of the secession movements, backed by Russian military and political support, has been a lot for Georgia to handle. I couchsurfed a week ago with Alex, associate editor of Tbilisi's only English-lanugage daily -- he's very up-to-date about the conflicts in the region. He said that both the Abkhazi and the Ossetian situations seemed permanently on the brink of war; when we spoke, there had been several casualties in both locations every week for the past month.

Georgia isn't the only one with conflicts on several fronts; Armenia is sandwiched between two hostile Turkic neighbors. With no sea access and only two international borders (Georgia and Iran), it has a marginal geographic position. The national income is propped up by remittances and investment from the diasporan Armenian community. And the country has a big burden to bear: Armenia has also been the sole support (financially and militarily) for the Nagorno-Karabakh Republic since the end of the war.

The Karabakh conflict isn't just an Armenian problem, of course. On the Azeri side, the country has to deal with over a hundred thousand refugees forced out of Karabakh and Armenia proper during the conflict. When, and how, these displaced people will be dealt with is still unclear. And in the midst of the uncertainty and conflict, of course, the NKR itself doesn't even exist in the eyes of the international community.

The South Caucasus will be an interesting region to follow over the next decade. I hope that the political problems get resolved... but it's still an incredible (and largely safe) place to visit in the meantime.

Continental Divide

From: Thessaloniki, Greece

This post is about crossıng back to Europe through Turkey, with a stop in Istanbul. I had meant to spend a few days in Turkey -- see Capadoccia, check out Nemrut Dagi, catch some coast -- but I simply ran out of time on this trip. I ended up taking a bus all the way across Turkey and stopped in the capital for a day before heading to Greece. I was solo again for this part of the trip, since Thierry decided to stay in Georgia a little longer and take his time through Turkey. The days of the Dutch-Canadian duo had come to an end!

The bus ride to Istanbul was pretty uneventful but long -- a 28-hour haul from Tbilisi to Georgia. I say 'pretty uneventful' because I did have one near-mishap. The bus didn't have a toilet on board so the driver made stops every two hours or so, for around five minutes at a time. When we stopped at a small town in Adjara (Western Georgia), I asked if I could run and change currency for two minutes. Yes, he replied. Thanks, I said.

Well, you probably know where this is going. I went and changed my money, which took less than a minute. When I came out, the bus was 200 metres down the road and driving away (with all my bags and things in it). I took off sprinting after it, but it was raining and I kept slipping on the streets. I think most people in the town caught on pretty fast: red-headed guy dashing after big tour bus -- can't be good. Some thought it was funny, some yelled at me to get the hell off the road, some cheered me on. Fortunately, the bus hit a red light and I managed to catch up... at which point I gave the driver a pretty good earful. But at least I got my exercise for the day, right?

We made it to Istanbul in the end. I'd come here before and done a lot of the big sites before: the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Cemberlitas, Galata Tower and Topkapi Palace. I decided not to go in them this time, but they are truly spectactular buildings even from the outside.

Here, Hagia Sophia:


Istanbul's giant covered bazaar (5,000 stalls spread out over countless passageways):


I spent my time walking around newer parts of the city. Across the Golden Horn from the old city is Beyoglu, a trendier, hipper part of Istanbul with cool shops, bars and clubs. There were no highlights really, just an afternoon of casual exploring on foot. A view of the Italian-built Galata Tower in Beyoglu:



I had sat down by an ablutions-foundation when an old man came up and asked me what I was doing. "Just resting a bit," I said. "Well you didn't come all the way to Istanbul to rest, did you?" he pointed out, then drew me a little map with places I just *had* to check out in the city. I could tell he wasn't going to leave until I followed his directions, so I headed off towards the nearest palace. Later I came across a little tea-garden (actually just a bunch of plastic chairs sitting in a park facing the Bosphorus) with cheap chai. I hung around for a couple of hours, looking at the Asian side of the city and marveling at the lengthy 2-hour Turkish lunchbreaks that many of the local businesspeople were taking.

At the hostel, I also bumped into a French-Canadian couple from Montreal and we went out to dinner a couple of nights. They were very cool, and it also gave me a great chance to speak French and reminisce about our northern homeland.

Overall, Istanbul seemed a lot like I remembered it, with one big difference: women's dress. Two years ago, I remember thinking (liking?) that women tended to dress in a very modern way -- their clothes were revealing (like in other Mediterranean countries) rather than conservative (like in other Islamic countries). By and large, that's still the case, but there seemed to be a rise in conversative Islamic garb for the women. I estimated that maybe 15-20% of women in the old city were wearing headscarves, and I even saw a lot of women wearing full-length black burqas (totally absent the last time I came). I wonder if the shift in dress is a sort of religious affirmation in light of the Erdogan government, or maybe part of the broader religious surge affecting much of the Islamic world. I'll have to ask about that.

So that was Istanbul. My second evening there, I got on board the overnighter to Greece. Air-conditioned two-bed berths: that's entering Europe in style...

Next up: climbing Mount Olympos in Greece

Back in Europe

From: Thessaloniki, Greece

Hi there... back again. It's been an interesting week or so since my last post: a bus ride across Turkey, a couple of days in Istanbul, a trek to the top of Mount Olympos, some couchsurfing in Greece's second city. Now I'm way behind on blog posts, but I'll get to those soon.

Greenian

From: Tbilisi, Georgia

I'm back in Georgia again. This post is about my time in Armenia and its close affiliate, the tiny Nagorno-Karabakh Republic.

I spent most of my time in Armenia in and around Yerevan, the capital. Yerevan is huge, and I haven't seen enough of it to comment fairly. Most of it seems Soviet and grey, but some of the parks (like the one near the Opera, where I've spent a lot of time) are fantastic: lots of nice fountains, dozens of cafes, and locals talking or grabbing a drink. The parks and cafes are packed at night. Even on weekdays, people are out until midnight socializing with friends and family. Also, the beer is pretty cheap.

Instead of staying in a hostel, Thierry managed to find us a place to sleep through CouchSurfing (http://www.couchsurfing.com/). I hadn't used it until this trip, but I'm now a big believer. It's basically a huge website where independent travelers can find other young people with a couch, bed or floor to crash on, in almost any city they want. Surfing is free, but there's an expectation that people who use it offer their place to others in the future. Like other social networking sites, you can send messages, references, and upload pictures -- an incredibly convenient way to find a crash-pad while abroad.

We stayed a few nights with Oscar, a really cool Lithuanian NGO worker and excellent host. His apartment was often full with other Couchsurfers, friends and co-workers from all over Europe, so it was a lot of fun. We made a couple of meals, played cards and backgammon, drank some beers and had a lot of great conversations in French, English, German and my favorite, mock-Russian.

Our only day trip from Yerevan was to Echmiadzin, the 'Armenian Vatican' and seat of the Catholicos (head of the religion). It's also a UNESCO World Heritage place. Like the Holy See, Echmiadzin is a collection of churches, shrines, seminaries and administrative buildings. They also have some pretty incredible relics, such as the Geghard Spear (the spear used to stab Christ on Calvary), although these aren't available to the public. Mary Tachar, the head church, is a medium-sized building from the 7th century:

The courtyard around the church is great: it's filled with tourists and pilgrims, both national and diasporan, as well as bearded Armenian priests dressed in their long black robes. There are also three more substantial churches in Echmiadzin, with Surp Hripsime my favorite. It was very quiet -- a great place to go, light a candle or two, and forget about everything outside for a little while. It's also a nice break from the oppressive Armenian heat. Here, the prayer room with stone tablets, towards the back of the church:

Those were the highlights of Armenia. Now, onto the NKR (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nagorno-Karabakh).

The Nagorno-Karabakh Republic has a complicated and unfortunate recent history, especially given the internal war in the early 1990s. Here's the oversimplified version: the current territory of Karabakh was an ethnically mixed Armenian-Azeri region within Azerbaijan during Soviet times (although the area had an Armenian majority). Towards the collapse of the USSR, the Armenian population held a referendum to become independent from Azerbaijan, which was, of course, opposed by Azerbaijan. This led to civilian massacres on both sides and a military clash between Armenian-Karabakhtsis (backed by Armenia and Russian mercenaries) and Azerbaijan (backed by Turkey and some mujahideen). The war went on for a few years, with huge losses on both sides. The Armenia side basically won, and the NKR became effectively independent (although few other countries officially recognize its legitimacy). Almost all the Azeri population fled or was forced out, leaving NKR roughly 95% ethnically Armenian. Tiny, and with no industry, the current Republic effectively operates as an Armenian protectorate; there is only one road in, since the borders with Azerbaijan are mined and guarded.

Despite the grim events of the 1990s, the tiny republic is a fascinating place to visit; it offers stunning scenery, remote monasteries, charming villages and, for those looking for it, stark reminders of the conflict itself.

Our first stop in the NKR was Stepanakert, the Karabakhtsi capital. This is the place where everything happens in this country; with 40,000 inhabitants, it's the beating heart of the place. First things first: we had to get the registration for our NKR visas and permission to visit the different parts of the country. The process cost $0 and took all of 3 minutes. I wish that more countries in the region could be like that.

And so, registration in hand, we headed for Shushi, a once-charming walled town near the capital. Before the war, Shushi was the Azeri cultural capital in the region, and had several beautiful mosques, protected by 300-year old fortifications at the top of sheer cliffs. During the war, the city it was the main staging point for the Azeri-led campaign, and it took a lot of damage towards the end of the fighting.

Here, some semi-inhabited apartment buildings:

Fortunately, the place is undergoing some restoration. Since the NKR has no domestic income, all the reconstruction money is coming from diasporan Armenians, mostly living in the US or Russia. Two of Shushi's Armenian churches have been nicely restored and look like they're in full operation again. One of them even had a wedding going on (in fact, the third I've seen in Armenia). Here, a church assistant sweeping away the congratulatory rose petals:

We also walked around the 'old town,' which consisted of a few ruined mosques and the old city walls. Some of the mosques were very beautiful, but it's unlikely that they're going to be restored anytime soon, given that there are no Muslims living here now. This mosque lost the top of its minaret:

We ended up finding accomodation in a local village called Selo. I was introduced to a haematologist-turned-taxidriver called Ashot -- he offered to take us to his home village to see the traditional way of life, stay for the night, and have a 'free' meal.

And the meal was indeed free, but first we had to make it. Ashot gave us each our tasks. My first one was to help him 90-year-old father dig up potatoes out of the garden (what my Scottish relations would call 'houking tatties'). I must say I was highly impressed by the elderly gentleman: despite his age and the fact that he had lost an eye as a POW in WW2, he still managed to keep his garden in working shape. Here, me scooping the potatoes up:

Halfway through preparing the meal, I was asked to go get some peas from the garden. Easy, right? But as soon as I stepped onto the soil, I was aware of the shameful fact that I didn't actually know what peas grow on -- a side-effect of living in suburbs and cities by whole life, I guess. So I checked the different parts of the garden, where I discovered that peas don't grow on pea-trees or underground on pea-roots. They grow on vines. And I picked a bunch, but not before promising myself that I would learn about farming, or at least gardening, when I get back home.

The next morning, Ashot woke us up early to go to Gandzasar, Karabakh's most famous monastery. It's considered the NKR's most stunning sight, a 13th-century monastery perched high in a range of forested mountains, with a great view of the villages below. The main church there has unusual carvings on the outside walls, with randomly-placed stone slabs with Armenian script on them. We also managed to arrive early enough to catch the Mass inside the church, a very ancient-feeling ceremony: the assistant shook a rattle that off incense, lit up by a few shafts of light from the windows; the priest sang some sort of plainsong in Armenian. Very enchanting. Here's a picture of the church:

All over Karabakh are the shattered remains of former Azeri settlements. We saw several as we drove past; all of them were lifeless, with broken buildings and streets grown over with weeds. Ashot and other locals were unwilling to take us to any of those places, especially the ghost town of Agdam, near the Azeri front line. I can think of a few reasons why they didn't want to take us, and all of them are understandable given what a recent and painful memory the Karabakh war is for those living here. We did, however, get to see a tank monument just before Agdam and the mined border region. Here, a decommissioned Armenian tank, now a monument to the war.

On a less serious note, we also stumbled across the famous 'Karabakh sculpture.' This strange thing was commissioned after the war -- it's made of Armenian stone and is featured on, say, 80% of the postcards you see for Nagorno-Karabakh. Now you won't even need to buy the postcard:

After an early rise and a morning packed with sights, I was pretty exhausted. So I sat around the hotel for the rest of the day, drinking fizzy mineral water and eating Armenian gingerbread. It's like normal gingerbread but is softer and has a sugary glazing -- excellent.

Next up: not really sure. I'm heading to Turkey tomorrow so I'll probably write more from Istanbul. In the meantime, I'm going to go find some khachapuri for dinner. I'm very hungry all of a sudden, probably from writing about gingerbread.

Georgia on My Mind

From: Yerevan, Armenia

Georgia gets a lot of hype. Half the backpackers I've met in Central Asia have gone through here at some point. Almost without exception, they told me that Georgia was the best country they'd ever seen: incredible food, great people, amazing culture, striking scenery, abundant adventure. So my expectations were pretty high. This post is about my first few days in the country; so far, seems like it's living up to the hype.

My first stop in the country was Tbilisi. Thierry and I came here with another traveler -- Dan, an English guy we met in Baku. We took the overnight train and got in late morning.

The capital is charming, a large but relaxed city set over a lazy, grey river. The main drag, Rustavelis Gamziri, just south of the river, has fancy European shops, slick bars, and nice hotels. Very fun place to walk around and people-watch. North of the river, where we're staying, the city is poorer and more cluttered, with multiple houses set up around these big courtyards, just off the streets. It's very busy and charming, however, with fruit vendors and shoppers packed on the sidewalks. Also, I see a lot of expensive-looking, single-breed dogs around here -- none of the strays and mongrels that were more common in Central Asian.

Tbilisi has some stunning views. The city backs onto to a very steep cliff which is pretty dramatic. There are also a lot of old cathedrals which look amazing at night:

Another cool thing: the language. Georgian has one of the coolest, yet weirdest, languages I've ever seen. It's part of the Kartvelian language group, a collection of dialects which, like Basque, is completely unconnected to any other tongues. The alphabet is beautiful but hard to read. For some reason, nothing in this country is printed in Russian or Latin, so you have to decipher the script to use public transport. I'm trying to learn the letters, but it's slow-going. Here's an example from the subway:

Georgia is famous for more than just its capital. East of Tbilisi is the land of Kakheti (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kakheti), Georgia's wine country (in fact, according to some experts, wine may have first been cultivated here). We decided to make a day-trip there; it was a long marshrutka ride to Telavi, and then we hired a taxi for the afternoon to take us around all the sights. None of us had any idea what the "sights" actually were, but we lucked out with a taxi driver who took us around all the local hotspots.

We checked out a couple of monasteries, for which Kakheti is famous. Georgia is one of the oldest Christian countries (only Armenia became Christian earlier), having been converted by St. Nino in the 4th century. There are still a lot of very old monasteries and churches in the region (mostly Eastern Orthodox), many going back centuries. We stopped at three. The first was a small working monastery up in the hills. I wasn't allowed inside since I had shorts on. Or maybe I just looked unscrupulous, which is quite possible.

The second one was a beautiful old church-monastery, further up the same mountain. Although it was undergoind repairs, there was an old man outside selling three handmade prayer candles for a lari (less than $1). I have no idea how he got up the mountain, or who he normally sells the candles to. We bought some and lit them inside the vault-like prayer room.

The last monastery we visited was called Iraklo -- it's an old and famous site close to Telavi. The original site was founded by Zenon, one of the 13 ancient Syrian Fathers (old Christian dudes from when Syria was Christian). Until very recently, it was the leading religious and philosphical academy in the country, and many famous Georgians came here to study (among them, Rustaveli, the national bard).

I was also eager to check out the wine in the region best known for it. We went to the Chavchavadze Estates (a hilariously-named place for anyone familiar with British 'Chav' culture). The C family used to be wealthy landowners, and their former home has been converted into a stately park. It also has an incredible wine cellar, with thousands of old and expensive bottles from around the world. Among the highlights: unopened bottles of pre-1900 Chateau Yquem, expensive Burgundy and even first-growth Bordeaux from the 1880s. Pretty insane to see that stuff just sitting there collecting dust.

The stuff in the estate cellars was a little more than my daily budget, so we went to a local winemaker, GWC, well-regarded for its semi-sweet whites and reds. They offered us a wine "degustatsiya" for around $7, which ended up being good value given the tremendous amount of wine they gave us.

Unlike other, more serious and snobbish tastings I've done, the Kakheti wine-tasting experience is pretty straightforward. There's no talk about mouthfeel, tannin levels, or subtle undertones of hibiscus-blossom. Instead, the owner takes a glass and fills it to the brim out of a giant wine tank coated with insulating foam. You're expected to finish the glass in a couple of minutes, by which point your next glass has already been poured. As you drink, the staff wash out your glass with a hose on the factory floor and the process starts again. We tried four wines in all, and one of them (from the Saperavi grape for which the region is famous) was delicious.

Here, the owner pouring out a generous glass of semi-sweet Georgian white:

I decided to break my Georgian trip into two parts, with a side-trip to Armenia in the middle. Will write more Armenia on my next post, and probably some more about Georgia later on.

Bizarrebaijan

From: Tbilisi, Georgia

The next bunch of posts will cover the countries of the South Caucasus. This little region sits in between Russia, the Caspian, Turkey and the Middle East -- it includes Azerbaijan, Georgia, Armenia and the disputed independent republic of Nagorno-Karabagh. This post is on Baku and the surrouding region.

Baku is a beautiful and charming city, a combination of bustling, modern oil-town and slow-paced, romantic old neighborhoods. The newer neighborhoods are full of stately buildings modeled after Paris, many of them tastefully refurbished with the city's newfound petrodollars. My favorite part, however, is Iceri-Seher, the rambling and atmospheric old town where we managed to find a hostel. The streets of the old town are built on the side of a hill, and are ringed in by ancient castle walls dating several hundred years.

A picturesque mosque in the heart of the Old Town:

A few of the neighborhood from the gigantic Virgin Tower (Not the Gigantic-Virgin Tower, which would have different implications):


A shady street:


A park just outside the city walls:


Baku is also a great place to explore the surrounding area. We took a couple of trips: one north to Suraxani, and one south to Qobustan.

Suraxani is a dusty and boring suburb of Baku, on the polluted and blighted Abseron Peninsula. Sounds fun already, doesn't it? Suraxani has one really cool sight, though: the Atesgah Fire Temple, built on an ancient Zoroastrian temple site dating back 2,500 years. Although the initial structure was destroyed by invading Arabs a long time ago, some Parsees from India (who worshipped the fire) came and built the current structure a few hundred years ago. There is a small community of fire worshippers who still pray at the temple. I was expecting some giant fire pit like in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, but it was really just a couple of tame fire set into the ground. No human sacrifices either.

The site was understated but cool to see. It's apparently the more impressive of only two fire temples outside of India, and it was cool to see a religious that was as old as 2,500 years. Here, the heart of the temple:



The walls of the temple had old Sanskrit and Farsi carvings, as well as rooms that were part of a caravanserai (like a motel, but older and with more charm). For your education, I have painstakingly reconstructed a typical day in the life of the Indian Parsees at the temple:



We also took a trip to the bizarre district of Qobustan. Qobustan is home to three good sights. In increasing oddness:

1. The easternmost Roman graffiti ever discovered. Some imperial soldier was supposed to be doing recon but instead decided to carve his name into the rock. This was before spraypaint, you see.

2. Cave carvings. Qobustan is home to a staggering array (over 30,000) of carvings and cave drawings by the earlier inhabitants of Azerbaijan. Some of these go back to the Upper Paleolithic period (as far back as 35,000 B.C.), a period that interests me because of my favorite book, The Clan of the Cave Bear (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clan_of_the_Cave_Bear -- you'll probably hate it, but I think it's good). There are tools and carvings from that period, all the way up until the present. Many of the carvings show giant dogs, buffalo, horses and deer.

The most intriguing archaeological finding in the caves is the hundreds of carvings of reed boats. The distinctive design of these boats matches those of early Scandinavian settlers, leading some scientists to speculate that the Vikings and similar ethnic groups may have originated in modern-day Azerbaijan long ago (the Caspian, Black and North Seas were once connected). A quick glance at actual Azeris makes me a bit skeptical of this idea, but it's food for thought.

3. Mud volcanoes. The highlight of Qobustan is definitely the chain of twenty-something little mud volcanoes clustered on a small plateau. High pressure from natural gas under the ground causes the greyish mud to shoot out of the volcanoes every few seconds. Standing in the middle of the volcanoes (they're as tall as a person), you can hear popping and farting sounds all around you. Some of the volcanoes produce big muddle bubbles that splash up into the air -- quite a show. The strange thing is that the volcanoes are completely cold. I don't know if it will upload here, but I have some good video footage of the site.

The top of a small volcano:

A river of slow-flowing mud:

Azerbaijan's people have impressed me as much as the sites. Central Asians talk more about hospitality, but the Azeris I've met have been genuinely welcoming in a very humble, understated way. When Thierry and I were coming back from Suraxani, three women saw us searching for directions to the Old City. They took us by the hand, insisted on paying for our subway ticket, took us to the right train, and told us where to go. Then, when the first thing women got off, another young lady decided to help us, and walked with us for 30 minutes out of her way to make sure we got back home. That story might be exceptional, but all the people I've met here have been incredible friendly.

Time's up for Azerbaijan, however. Because of the high prices there, I ended up cutting my time short. I'm a bit sad about that; three days in this amazing country is just scratching the tip of an interesting iceberg. I still want to se the Mountain of Languages, a series of high-altitude communities in the Azeri Caucasus that were cut off from the rest of the region for a long time. Many groups here (such as the Mountain Jews of Quba) speak languages found only in a few villages in the entire world. But, I guess that will have to wait until next time.

Next up: Armenia, probably

Exit Strategy

From: Tbilisi, Georgia

Ashgabat was one of my last stops in Central Asia. From there, it was a long trek west to the Caspian Sea and to Azerbaijan. Thierry and I parted ways with Michael in Ashgabat; he was moving on to Iran and we were heading to the Caspian shore.

The drive from capital to coast is grueling: over 450 miles in scorching desert heat, along very bumpy, unsealed roads, with (in this case, at least) a pretty sore stomach. Not that the destination is great either; the seaport of Turkmenbashi is an overpriced and boring place full of soldiers, sailors, working women, and cargo people waiting to send or receive shipments coming from Azerbaijan.

I've noticed a trend in the countries I've visited in Central Asia: they've gotten progressively harder to travel in. For instance: Kazakhstan had incredible infrastructure, Kyrgyzstan was accessible and easy, Tajikstan was bureaucratically painfully, Uzbekistan was a repressive police state with decaying telecommunications, and Turkmenistan was a logistical nightmare. The border crossings, too, have gotten harder each time.

So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that the crossing from Turkmenistan to Azerbaijan across the Caspian was the most difficult part of the trip yet.

The crossing is hard for a few reasons. First, it's never really clear when the ferries will come in. The boats are primarily Azeri cargo freighters, and their main concern is goods coming from Asia, not passengers. Because Turkmenistan chargies heavy port fees for every hour they spend in harbor, the Azeri ships don't dock unless all the cargo has arrived from the east. If there are delays on the roads or train lines, the ferries might not dock for days. When we arrived to Turkmenbashi, there were six boats on the horizon waiting for the signal.

Unfortunately, there are often many people waiting at the dock for a few seats on the boat. Those that can't afford a hotel wait, sometimes for days, in the sweltering heat of the departure lounge with its gross bathroom. When the boats finally show up, those waiting will do anything to get onto the boat before it leaves. All this plays nicely into the hands of the dock officials, who impose extortionate bribes on anyone who wants to board.

We spent the better part of two days waiting for the right boat to come in. Our guide had placed a couple of calls to Azeri sailors who were supposed to tell us when to head to the dock.

The call came early in the morning and we rushed to the docks, paid the relevant fees and got in line with the others trying to get on board. This part is nerve-wracking, since the Turkmen officials can refuse your exit stamp, confiscate money, or otherwise make the ferry crossing not work. But we got through it, got neatly ripped off for our cabin on the ship (is this stopping in Cozumel or something?), and made it safely on board. We left a little after that.

As the boat pulled away from Turkmenbashi, I looked back at the shoreline and felt surprisingly triumphant. Four grueling days were over and had almost completed one of the trickiest border crossings in the region. On another level, I was leaving Central Asia, with its incredible sights and troublesome logistics, behind -- and sailing to a new region entirely.

The boat wasn't luxurious, but I figured that, if I just paid top dollar, I can at least pretend like my cabin is a good one. I mean, If it's good enough for the Azeri Navy, it's good enough for me. And here we were:



Maybe thanks to this attitude, I slept pretty well, and woke up to a view of Baku harbor at sunrise. We'd made it across!



Next up: a post-mortem on Central Asia; adventures in Azerbaijan

Absurdistan

From: Baku, Azerbaijan

This post is about our adventures in the capital of Turkmenistan.

I had heard only a little bit about Ashgabat before we got there, and most of it was in that way that people describe lesser-known cities with unhelpful references to better-known places. Backpackers do this a lot. For instance: Lithuania, "the Spain of the Baltics," Springfield, "the Paris of the Midwest," or, as one traveler described Ashgabat, "the Dubai of Turkmenistan." C'mon, people! Turkmenistan has, what? Three cities? I think it was justifiably skeptical of a description that included a comparison to a wealthy Emirati city.

Turns out I was wrong: Dubai-like it is. The city is full of unecessarily large structures, mostly made from white marble and inlaid with gold. The main boulevards are lined with trees and the parks have (expensively irrigated) gardens full of flowers. The streets are even clean, with small teams of traditionally-dressed Turkmen women picking up garbage and sweeping the sidewalks.



Ashgabat isn't so much a city of 'must-sees;' it's more a matter of soaking up the bizarreness that permeates the place. That said, there are a few unmissable oddities. Certainly the most ostentatious is the central Arch of Neutrality, constructed in 1998 to celebrate the Turkmen people's total support for Turkmenbashi's Policy of Neutrality (read: near-total isolation). The arch is over 80 metres tall and is capped by a giant, gold-covered statue of the man himself, which... wait for it... revolves to face the sun.



Close by and, to me, more ridiculous, is the Earthquake Memorial. In the middle of the Soviet era, Ashgabat was leveled by a gigantic earthquake that killed over 75% of the population. Turkmenbashi's mother and brothers died in the collapse, so he constructed a touching moment to honor the victims many years later. The way he chose to honor their memory, however, is pretty hilarious.

The bull presumably represents the tremor shaking the earth, upon which sits Turkmenbashi's mother, who is holding him (conveniently shown in gold). It's a little difficult to understand how the statue represents the other victims of the earthquake given that the only people in the statue are T-bashi and his mother... but there you have it.



The city, of course, has many more wonders. Among them: the Ministry of Fairness, the Ministry of Investment, the Museum of Turkmen Values, Turkmenbashi World of Fairytales (an amusement park), the Walk of Health (a 28 km-long set of steps set into the mountainside where government officials were once forced to trek annually), and... drumroll... the world's largest flagpole:



But I don't want to give you idea that Ashgabat is just some impersonal city of marble. It's also a deeply spiritual place. For around the city are many bookstores, shrines and reading rooms devoted to the Holy Ruhnama (see more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruhnama). The Ruhnama, or the Book of the Soul, was one of the many books published by Turkmenbashi when he was alive, but it enjoys a very special role in society (on par with the Qur'aan, according to its author). The book is basically the former President's fanciful interpretation of national history and a compilation of his thoughts on Turkmen values. Frighteningly, it's required reading for driving exams, high schools, medical schools and government examinations for all kinds.

I really couldn't resist buying a copy, especially when the government had so kindly subsidized my copy with its natural gas revenues (it was about $2.50, hardcover). For your enlightenment, I am attaching a few choice quotes from the Holy Book.

The Ruhnama on national identity: "I want to make the young Türkmen alert to this simple fact and to awaken his whole heart and mind to this fact. Why is the Türkmen people a great people? There are various reasons. “Ruhnama” focuses on all those great Türkmens. They are great because such great Türkmens made their own historians and foreign historians say that the Türkmen has been alive for five thousand years."

And on religion: "Allah selected the four heroes of the Türkmens – Oguz Han, Gorkut Ata, Görogly and Magtymguly - as the inheritors of the prophets. Today, Allah the Great has designated you as their inheritor. [Turkmenbashi], devote your life to maintaining the unity of the turkmen nation and to sustaining the golden life for them.” Hmm...

And on geography: "The Türkmen people has a great history which goes back to the Prophet Noah. Prophet Noah gave the Türkmen lands to his son Yafes and his descendants." Really?

So there you go: Ashgabat and the Ruhnama, an incredible adventure into the hilarious and the bizarre. Next up: escaping Turkmenistan and crossing the Caspian Sea. Adios!