My friends in New York asked me why I'm so interested in Eastern Europe, and my answer was usually, "These places were all closed off when I was a boy. Our President had us so fired up against the Soviet Union, it seemed the countries and regions under their control would never be open. But now they are, and I want to see them. I want to see these places which have retained their cultural identity through centuries of conquest, which have withstood hardships and remained themselves. I want to walk ancient streets, travel ancient routes, cross ancient mountain paths! Along the way, I want to prove that those who were called our enemies are in truth our friends!"
And though theatrical, that is essentially true. And that has been the impetus for most of my travels. But this one, this trip, started getting planned when I had my first taste of adjika. It's a spice my friend Meg brought me from Georgia with a flavor like nothing else. Kind of salty, kind of spicy, a savory vegetable heat.
She gave me a small jar, and I slowly started adding it to things like crackers, and then I started throwing giant spoonfuls into sizzling pans of green beans, and then I needed it on everything, and then the jar was empty.
I couldn't get enough of it, and they only way to get another hit was to come to The Caucuses.
People in Eastern Europe also ask me why I visit, and that is more difficult to answer, because it's much easier as a concept. "I grew up dreaming of your country, and I could not go. Now that I can, I want to see it all, to fulfill that childhood wish." It makes me feel like I am exoticizing them, the equivalent of someone who only dates types. You don't want to date ME, you just want a Jewish boyfriend. I could be anyone. It's not ME you love, you just want to sleep with Asian women. Etc.
A longago host in Poland let me off the hook. He didn't ask, he just told me why I was there:
Host: You are here Poland for cheap vacation.
Me: Well, not exactly. I have always wanted to see--
Host: You are here because it is cheap. Americans come Poland because is cheap for them. But where does Poland go when Poland wants cheap? Eh? Do you know? It is Georgia!
Then he showed me a bunch of pictures of he and his wife wearing fur hats by the seaside. Seeing them, I could almost taste the adjika. And so, the trip made it higher up on the list. And now it is here!
Sara is with me, and, bless her, she didn't need the lure of spices or the promise of a thrifty seaside to convince her. Her motivation is adventure!
Azerbaijan Airlines has a direct flight to Baku from JFK. A very nice price and nonstop. That combination is unheard of, but we heard about it (Meg again), and we took it. It meant I got to spend a few days in New York where ten years ago I lived for ten years.
In return for walking a sweet old dog, I got to stay in a Greenpoint apartment and have drinks with old friends. They are survivors too, with the tenacity of Eastern Europeans. Some have published books! Some promote the books that other people have published. Most edit for television. They are creative, beautiful people. And it was a marvelous start to be able to share stories and drinks with them.
And then... off to Baku. The airline is blue, blue, everywhere blue. Blue plane. Blue uniforms on the stewards. You are fed from turquoise trays. They tint the windows inside to make the sky outside look deep blue. It was like the glasses they make you wear in Oz.
They ought to call it azure-baijan.
Turquoise means "Turkish" of course but has come to mean the color. It really has nothing to do with the trays but the etymology seems mentioning, because Turkey has had such an effect on the development of this region. The countries here embrace and resist its influence in equal measure.
The Caucuses are a kind cultural geographic taint. They ain't the East, and they ain't the West, and they get smeared with the trappings of both. The twain DO sort of meet.
They met on the plane, anyway, which was populated with a fascinating mix of Azeri, Georgians, Turks, Iranians, and a few obvious tourists. Mostly families, though, seemingly heading home or to bring grandma a sack of fashion magazines and the kind of nylons they only make in America.
A huge dude in an undershirt stood up for much of the flight, leaning on the wall and breathing hard. He looked like a superintendent on the fire escape of a Bronx tenement during a heatwave. Whenever I looked up from my book, I got a burst of delight. It was so funny to me that he had stripped down to his undershirt.
I finished a book on Bosnia so the rest of my reading could be region-appropriate, and I watched an old Soviet film about a soldier who has to guard a harem. It was fascinating, though I could not understand a word. I also watched the last Planet of the Apes movie and greatly disliked it. Switched to a long history of Baku in the 90s called Azerbaijan Diary.
Sara and I were in different rows, she was behind me, so we only saw each other once or twice during the eleven-hour flight. I was seated next to an older Turkish guy who used both arm rests and adjusted my reading light so I could only see sections of my book at a time. It was dark, and I grew half-sick of shadows. I made it work.
An attendant named Tofig brought decent food every three hours or so. I thought "A Steward Named Tofig" would make a good name for an Azeri romance novel. Someone bugged him about the plane's wi-fi, and he said the plane didn't have it. The passenger held up a thing reading "Complimentary Wi-Fi throughout the flight." He shrugged and said, "Oh, yes. I do not remember a day in my life where this works."
Classic Tofig.
They did have free video games, though, and I played one where you touch a rabbit's underwear to open up a maze where you try to keep him from escaping by surrounding him with traffic cones. He always gets away, though, and the screen says, "Ha ha ha, Hold me close! You didn't hold of Jett."
Our final meal was a choice of "sausage or cake." I was very interested in what cake might mean but got the sausage in case cake meant a brownie breakfast. It was pancakes, though. I saw someone else's.
My last image of Tofig was to see him carrying a cartoonish load of blankets. They made him collect them from everyone, and not everyone had folded theirs. The blankets were piled high in his arms, reaching up to his face. Farewell, gentle steward. You are one with the blue now. You have joined The Blue.
And that was it. Sara and I were reunited, got our visas at the visomatic machine, got some hard looks at customs and went to grab some money and a cab. The guy at the change place was fast asleep. Sara gently woke him with some bills.
Two drivers were leaning on an official taxi booth. It was unclear whether or not they were associated with said booth or had tied up the owner and stowed him under the counter.
One showed me his plastic license, and one waved his hand under the word TAXI in a charmingly stagy way. We went with him. The license guy shouted in protest, but Stage Hands set him straight. We followed him out and into a large London-style hansom.
We were staying in an airbnb hosted by a guy named Gulzan. I showed the driver the info, he nodded, and we were off. A few yards toward the exit ramp, he asked to be reminded of the address. I showed him on my phone and he nodded. We got a little further along, and he asked to see it again. He didn't speak much English and was mostly shouting "Address! Address!" and "Navigation?!"
Eventually, he saw another cab on the side of the highway and pulled over to talk to him. It was Plastic License! How had he gotten ahead of us and why was he pulled over on the side of the road? Stage Hands asked for my phone so he could show the address. Plastic License was like, "I don't know where that shit is either, bro. Still feel cool for stealing my fare? Sucks to be you."
So, we drove on. A few more feet and he pulled over again. "Phone number!?" I didn't think I had one, but I saw that our host had sent me a Whatsapp thing. I was like, "Do you have Whatsapp?" and he was like, "Give." So I gave.
He dialed it up, someone answered, and Stage Hands said "Gulzan?" Then he said "Ha ha ha." It seemed sarcastic. Then he talked for a long time, and those marvelous hands snaked around. He was picturing the roads in his mind. Then he said "Ha ha ha," and hung up.
We still weren't sure what had happened, but it seemed good. Sara reasoned that "ha" must mean "yes." I think she was right. I had been thinking of that underwear rabbit from the plane game. Ha ha ha, you can't hold of Jett.
The city approached! A wide highway lined with monumental buildings of indeterminate purpose led to a shady interior above which the famous Flame Towers of Baku shone. We drove to their base and bade farewell to Stage Hands, who treated himself to a victory smoke for having figured the whole thing out.
Gulzan appeared and led us to our room. I did laundry, and when I hung it on the line to dry, I saw a litter of kittens in a little cat house. How they scampered and played! Flickering and leaping like the flames of a Zoroastrian fire! It seemed a good omen.
It was hot. The journey had been long. We slept. We slept for a long time. We slept like a guy manning an airport change booth on a Sunday morning.
I’ll have my sausage a la mode, please.
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