For weeks I had heard of the Masazir’s famous salty lake.  Usually it came from other Peace Corps volunteers living close to the lake in places like Saray and Masazir.  “Wow, walking down to the lake was so fun,” they would say.  I would ask “when are you going again, I would love to see it?” They were going to let me know, but, like most good intentions, it never saw the light of day.

Then I was talking to my host family here in Azerbaijan and they told me of the men who go out every day and shovel salt from the bottom of the very shallow lake into horse drawn carts.  So interesting was their story of these men that in that very same evening I started planning a trip over to Masazir.

The next morning I met Chris in Ceyranbatan, right outside of my house. We quickly had some tea then we got on the Marshrutka to Baku.  Chris had contacted Amanda, who lives in Masazir not too far from the lake, beforehand and recruited her for the trip as well.

If anybody is interested, to get to Masazir from Ceyranbatan or even from Sumgayit, you have to get on a Marshrutka going towards Baku (which costs 50 qepik), then get off at the Masazir city sign (which you can’t see if you are going towards Baku, you will just have to ask to get off at that point) and hike or take another Marshrutka back up another road.  The Marshrutka going back up towards Masazir is 20 qepik.

We decided not to take the second Marshrutka, but instead walked the kilometer up the hill.  Not knowing where to go (the journey is just as fun as the destination, right?), we took a right at some point along that road and found ourselves on top of a big hill looking down at the salty lake (which was still far away).  In this part of town we found a graveyard, which to any intrepid wanderer is like striking gold.  Graveyards, especially outside of the United States, are very interesting to wander around and to look at.  I took some pictures and wandered a bit.  There, we met a man who took us to an older part of the graveyard which only had small standing stones to mark the graves.

It was eerie in a pet cemetery sort of way.

After that, he also showed us what he called an ancient monument and explained to us, as best I could figure out, that the people would take plates and break them on the monument to ward off ghosts.  To prove his point he showed a pile of broken plates at the base of the monument.

Soon he took us from the graveyard to the local mosque, which drew a sizeable amount of attention from the children.  They followed us around asking me to take their picture and then asking me how much I was selling the prints for.  Note that most photographers in this country take pictures as a street profession, so to these children they thought that anybody with a camera must have a way to instantly develop and sell their photos.  Why else would they have a camera?

After explaining for the 10^th time in this country so far that I am taking pictures for my own self and that there was no way that I could get a picture to them, Chris and I found out that we were lost in the middle of a very confusing block of land.  We could find our way out and back up the hill, but people kept on telling us that we could get to the lake from here too.  To make things worse, Amanda was at the lake waiting for us.

About 5 small twisty tan brown colored corridors later, Chris and I finally found a road which descended down to the lake.  20 minutes later we found Amanda down at the shore of a salty, pink lake.

First, we needed to find those salt workers.  We saw large piles of salt down the lake a ways so we headed there.  The first group of people had been working all day, so they were no longer in the lake.  After posing for some pictures with them (and subsequently explaining that I can’t actually make a photo and there is no way that I could get the pictures to them unless they had email, unfortunately), we moved farther up the lake.  We found about three other groups of people working in this part of the lake.  They had their trucks parked about 20 feet out into the lake and were out there shoveling salt from the bottom of the lake into the back of the trucks.

I took a few shots, and then we moved on.  By this point I had thought that maybe it had been years since the workers actually used a horse and a cart to harvest the salt and that they had modernized the process by involving a truck instead of a horse and that pictures of men shoveling salt into trucks was the best I was going to get.  Notice how I just used foreshadowing to introduce the next part of the story.

At this point our goals had been met.  I had seen the lake and I had photographed the salt workers.  We saw that close to us was a grassy hill and we started towards it.  As everybody knows, it is only natural to want to climb a grassy hill.  On the way we saw the next bend in the lake.  It revealed to us that my host family was right, that there really were horse drawn carts in the middle of the lake and salt workers around them shoveling salt.

We waved, we took pictures, we marveled at the pink lake, and then we walked up the grassy hill with all of our goals achieved.  The top of this hill was very pleasant.  You could see all of Masazir and all of another city on the other side of the lake (which we thought might have been Saray, another bit of foreshadowing).  We spent some time up there, enjoying the breeze.  That was when we noticed the huge mosque in the distant city and decided that we needed to check it out.

We walked through some almond orchards, saw a flower, plant and tree store and entered into Novxani.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

I had never heard of a magic bus before, but today i got to experience one in person. At first glance one could be mistaken for thinking that the rusted orange shit box taking us from Qax to Zaqatala, was just a battered piece of metal on four wobbly chunks of rubber. So what if its motor barely functioned, one really needed to look past the mere trivialities of the machine, to understand its ability to defy quantum physics.

The interior had been partially stripped leaving just a few bare seats, which gave the vehicle a stream lined effect. The other advantage was that it allocated more room for the gypsies and vagrants, who clambered on board with their countless bags, presumably moving home to God only knows where. With the engine been gunned the pilot set our destination, then keyed in the desired time of arrival, today we were going to travel to the future!

Now I'm no expert on time travel, but i can tell you its a bumpy old ride and not for the faint hearted. Loud bangs could be heard, which one could easily have mistaken for our 'contraption' backfiring, but this was obviously incorrect, as such state of the art vehicles don't suffer from these problems in the 21^st Century. As the rain came down outside, i was flabbergasted that we were moving so fast that the buses mass actually disappeared, somehow allowing the droplets to fall onto me. At first i questioned whether the hole in the roof could be responsible, but then i brushed this idea aside.

As the automatic doors creaked and strained to open, i was amazed at what hardships this bus must have suffered to be in such a state. But our mission was accomplished and whereas any normal vehicle could have delivered us to our Zaqatala in half an hour, we had successfully defied the laws of physics and arrived in an hour and a quarter. Normally people would not like to lose time from their lives, but in the name of Science, i couldn't grumble.

If there had been any doubts in my mind that we hadn't travelled through time, these were soon dispelled when we arrived at Motel Gorush. The owner showed us through his restaurant to the rooms out back and i had to clear my ears when he only asked for 10 Manat ($12.50) for a room. Normally in Azerbaijan 10 Manat gets you two prison beds in a boxy room and thats that, but here we got an en-suite hot water bathroom, double bed, sofa, TV and radiator. The levels of comfort had improved dramatically just one hour into the future, imagine what they will be like tomorrow!

It was approaching 17.00, but there was still enough daylight to take a quick walk to the town centre for a look around. I was charmed by the colourful buildings that lined the leaf filled streets, it was just a shame that the weather was so bloody miserable. The town boasted a fine new Mosque and also a slightly derelict Russian Church, which really appealed to me. After taking a quick walk up to the old fortress walls we found a small eatery to buy a kebab from and then returned to our room for the night.

Saturday was to be our final day in Azerbaijan and i was sad to be leaving the place behind, as i had developed a fondness of it over the past fortnight. Ok they lack any decent cheap accommodation, the food sucks and there's too many gypsies for my liking, but the scenery, the towns and the people more than make up for the shortcomings. It was a country i expected little from and left with more than a handful of places that i would highly recommend people to visit. Its one of those uncovered gems, which has so far slipped off the tourist radar, but I'm not sure how long that can last for when there really is so much to see.

Sadly we left the country on a bleak day, with rain spattering the marshrutkas windshield as we sped along the road to Balakan. From here we changed into a taxi and completed our journey to the border. Thankfully this crossing was a bit more professional than the clapped out bus turned office, which we were greeted with when entering from Iran. Formalities were quick and we were ready for another new country day!

Finally the day arrived in which I was going to visit my permanent destination here in the Peace Corps.  As I stated earlier, I will be spending the next two years in Devechi, Azerbaijan.  In those two years I have no doubt that I will become very familiar with the area and the people in that city.  As a first time visitor though, I did not have the necessary skills to navigate the city and find where my permanent host family lives.  To make things worse, not a single person came to pick me up.

I stood there, right next to a market store, for about a half an hour trying to get the host family to send someone to take me to their house.  I don’t quite know what was going on, but the girl kept on saying that the house was right next to the school.  As I stated before, I’m new to the city and for obvious reasons (at least they should have been obvious), I don’t know where the school is.

Finally, one of the 7 taxi drivers who were sitting there, staring at me, asked to see my phone and started talking with the family.  He understood them perfectly and told me (in Azeri of course), “ahh, they are right next to the school.”

Now, the taxi driver had the upper hand in this situation.  He said it would only cost 2 manat for him to take me to there.

“No, that is expensive,” I replied.

“No it isn’t,” he said.

By this point I was already frustrated.  “2 manat is expensive, but for 1 manat I’ll go.”

He consented, but for some reason I went with another taxi driver (who had no idea where the school was and had to call and ask the family for directions).

Now, you might say to yourself that 2 manat equals about $2.40.  Realize that I only brought 20 or so manat for the entire trip, and the Peace Corps was only reimbursing 16 manat for the entire trip.  It cost me 12 manat to get here to begin with.  Now, at this point I was already figuring that the trip was going to put me into the hole, and that perhaps I might not even have enough money to get home.  Now you know why I was all of a sudden being a stickler about 1 dollar.

So, the taxi driver drove me about two blocks south and a block or so east to where the school and my permanent home was going to be.  All of this trouble was over what could have been a 5-10 minute walk from the bazaar to the home.

Obviously I was walking into this whole situation already somewhat frustrated.  No matter how frustrating it was, I had to put on a good face and make a good impression.

The school director (the temporary one, I’ll get into it later), and my host father were waiting right next to the school for me.  I stepped out, warmly greeted them and got underway with introductions, etc.  Luggage was taken and I was escorted into the house.

I got the formal tour of the house and met the host family.  Firuz (the host father), and Sanam (the mother) are a bit older.  Firuz is a doctor who works in a laboratory that checks for contamination in the city’s food and water.  Sanam is a biology teacher in the school right next to us.  The two kids are older as well (both in their 20’s), Kameron the boy being younger than Arzu, the girl.  Neither of them have a job.  I’m not sure what Kameron does all day, but his main job he said was preparing for the university.  Arzu has already gotten her law degree, but she is in the house most of the day cooking and cleaning.

Olxan is another male, in his 20’s, who is boarding in their home.  He works in a bank, or something, I didn’t quite understand, and isn’t from the region.  We shared a room for my stay here and he is a very nice kid.

The family itself is very hard to talk to.  Sanam, Kameron and Arzu don’t understand a word I say.  I also don’t understand them.  However, Firuz and I can sit and have a conversation with no trouble.  Also, the people who visited us had no trouble understanding me, nor do I they.  It is so funny (and annoying) how they try and compensate for me not understanding them.  The conversation will inevitably go like this:

“Kori! Sabah, bir ijwfoj2fj2fjfjsvasnfjksdfkwifoj.”

Now, sabah means tomorrow, and bir means one.  Those are the words I understand.

“I’m sorry, could you speak a little clearer, I didn’t understand.”

“Kori! Tomorrow, one oj29fj2f98j2fjp8f28jfjjj.”

They think that by translating two words in their extremely complex sentences that I will somehow understand them.  That got frustrating after about 10 seconds.

Sometimes they would ask me a question like “Do you have a mother back in America?” Of course I would answer, simply, yes, I do.  Then they would all (meaning Sanam, Kameron and Arzu) say to each other that I really didn’t understand what they asked me.  Then I would say “actually, I understood just fine, yes, I have a mother.” Even then, they wouldn’t believe that I understood them.

Like good hosts, they asked if I was hungry.  I actually was, so I said yes.  Ten minutes later, a plate of kalam dolma appeared (one of my favorite dolma, mmmm).  I got to work eating the dolma, but like most recently cooked food, it was hot.  I started blowing on the food and this is the conversation that went on:

“You dislike the food?” Arzu asked.

“No, it is just a little hot,” I responded.

“You dislike the food because it is hot,” she stated.

My response was a jumble of something because I didn’t have the language to explain myself.  She responded by telling Kameron that I didn’t understand the question.

Later on we were talking, the best we could, about how long I have been here and how long I was going to be staying.  I started talking a little bit about my training host family and I mentioned that Tamam is a good cook.  Sanam looked a little hurt, as if I was saying that they were bad cooks or something.  Immediately these questions followed:

“Do you like Devechi food or Ceyranbatan food?”

“I like Devechi and Ceyranbatan.”

“Which city is better, Devechi or Ceyranbatan?”

“I like Devechi and Ceyranbatan.”

“He didn’t understand,” they said to each other.

The brother came closer to me and said “Is Devechi more beautiful or Ceyranbatan?”

At this point, I was done answering this question.  “I will not answer this question,” I responded.

“Why”

“I don’t want to”

For two days I got multiple versions of those same questions, to which I would always reply that I did not want to answer. 

The house is absolutely beautiful.  It is a lot bigger than the house I have been staying in and there are windows lining the entire front side.  They have 3 cats, a dog (who hates me right now, but he’ll love me later) and a huge garden in the back (complete with pomegranate trees in fact).  Inside, there is a central living room where the mom, dad, brother and sister sleep (because it is much warmer that way) and three rooms attached to that.  On the side of the house, in a small hallway, is a set of stairs going to the upstairs.  Now, the upstairs is pretty much going to be my own place.  They have another person boarding there (who works in a bank I think).  His name is Olxan and I get along with him well at this point.

The kitchen is outside of the house, as is the shower and the toilet.  The shower is huge, and has hot water pretty much all of the time.  The toilet itself is a squat toilet (basically a hole in the ground), but it is a very nice room.

One thing that I especially appreciate about this house is that it is so clean.  When Sanam showed me around, that was something she was particularly proud of.  Really, the house is very nice.

After meeting the host family and having some food with them, I was a little frustrated and feeling like I needed a break from it all, so I said that I would like to take a nap.  This is always a good way to get some space when you need it in a situation like this.  Anyways, when I got to my room I found out that actually I was tired, and I pretty much passed out.

I woke up some time a couple hours later and thought it would be a good idea to go back downstairs and talk a little bit.  There was a teacher there (who taught biology), waiting for me.  We talked for about 5 minutes and then suddenly she said “ok, let’s go to school.”

Now, most Peace Corps volunteers went on this trip with their coordinators.  Aida, my official coordinator from the school and the person I will probably be working with the most for the next two years, had to go to Baku on the day I was going to Devechi.  This is why I went alone and why I needed someone to show me where the house and school were.  When I met her in Sumqayit, she asked me to wait to go to school until she got there because she wanted to be the one to show me around.

Also, to make all this the most interesting dynamic possible, the school director had died two days before I came to Devechi.  Really, no matter what, without Aida, I was walking into this completely blind.

In any case, my intention was to honor Aida’s request, and when I asked the biology teacher if my coordinator was going to be there, she answered yes.  I was a bit dizzy, and I hadn’t really prepared what I wanted to say to people (it is something you have to think through a little bit, I feel), but because Aida was going to be there after all, I left.

In the school, I met some teachers and then sat with the assistant director (whose name is Chasm).  After a couple of minutes of small talking with him, he said that we were going.  Completely clueless, and still a little dizzy, I followed him down a poorly lit green hallway to the other side of the school finally getting to their auditorium.  Inside there were at least 200 teachers sitting around and talking in the fading light of the evening.  The sun had gone down about 30 minutes before and in the window the side of a large hill could be seen casting a shadow over the entire area.

I was surprised at the amount of male teachers in this group, as well as with the amount of teachers that there were in this school.  I met a couple of them and told them in the best Azeri I knew how that I was an English teacher from America.  Then the session began.

We stood for a minute to give respect to the director that just passed away. At least I think that is what we were doing.  That was the last thing I really understood.  Soon Chasm was yelling at all of the teachers, saying something to the effect that they were bad and this wasn’t a real school yet.  I know the subject had been changed from that when everybody was yelling back at him, and at each other.  Then it became a very friendly conversation.  That was an odd teachers meeting.

I was asked to come up and to present myself.  Thankfully this was during the friendly part of the session.  Unfortunately, I was still dizzy.  I got up to the front of the room and stood next to one of the English teachers and started talking a little bit about myself.  My name is Corey Stevens, I’m an English teacher, I’m excited to be here, etc.  I didn’t plan on speaking that evening and just came across as an overwhelmed foreigner who didn’t know what to say rather than the professional that I feel like I am.  So much for first impressions.

The next day Aida came in and showed me around the school.  I met with the other English teachers more formally and even sat in on a few classes.  The school itself is very impressive.  It has been renovated from a broken down soviet style school that had been abandoned for years to a modern(ish) beautifully put together building.  The English teachers are equally as impressive.  The ones that I have met so far are very excited to work with me, to learn new ways of teaching and to improve their English, but they are even more excited to teach using more interactive methods.  They have even been trying to implement group work and pair talking activities in their classrooms since before I showed up.  Compared to every other school I have seen so far in this country, these teachers are light years ahead.

At this point though, they haven’t been successful.  They ask students to do difficult conversations completely on their own with no scaffolding (a term teachers use to indicate the concept of preparing a student to do more difficult work than they could do on their own).  For example, they would put two students in front of the class and based on the dialogue that was read before them, the students were expected to create their own dialogue based on words they already knew.  This is next to impossible for these students, especially if they aren’t used to that style of learning.  Instead, what they could do is to focus on smaller bits of the conversation, model it, practice it with students, and then in VERY small ways ask them to change it.

Basically, they are mere steps away from already implementing good foreign language teaching techniques.  I was impressed, and I feel like I could do a lot of good very quickly here.  They asked me to teach the next day’s lesson and I prepared one specifically to show them how they could make this concept work.

I started by reviewing with the students some very basic words that pretty much all of them knew.  Foods like hot dogs, apples, tomatoes, meat, etc.  Also, I threw in things like pens, pencils, paper and books.  Then, we discussed who sells all of these things (the grocer sells apples, the butcher sells meat, etc).  In the book, they were learning grammatical concepts such as how “some” and “any” are used in a sentence.  Then, I wrote on the board:

1. Greet
2. Ask
3. Response
4. Goodbye

I didn’t write the actual phrases (such as hello, or do you have any books), I just wrote the order of the conversation they were to use.  I then modeled how to go about a conversation like this with the students.

“Hello”

“Hello”

“Do you have any meat?”

“Yes, I have some meat, here”

“Thank you, good bye”

“Bye”

The game after that was that each teacher who was there (there were 3 other teachers observing me in the classroom) was selling something.  Students would go up to them, follow the pattern of the conversation and ask to buy something from them.  Sometimes the teachers had the item, sometimes they didn’t and the student would have to ask again.  Most of the students figured out how to, in a normal conversation, ask again (they have strategic competence, to those linguist geeks out there).

“Do you have any apples?”

“No, I don’t have any.”

“Oh.  Do you have any tomatoes?”

“Yes, I do.”

Etc.

If a student went through the conversation without making a mistake, the student got a sticker.  The first student with 4 stickers (one from each teacher, including myself), got a prize.  I feel like it worked out really well, but for some reason I got the idea that the teachers didn’t like it.  I just didn’t see them getting into it and I have no idea why.  Hopefully that is just my own self not understanding their culture well.

It was a very good trip and I think I can do a lot of good in Devechi.  I couldn’t ask for a better place to work. 

So, I am going to Devechi in December.  It is 2 hours north of Sumqayit and here is the best map of the area that I could find:

Notice how I didn’t say that we entered Saray.  I still don’t know where Saray is.  However, the huge sign on the highway said that we were entering Novxani.

I bet you (the reader) are thinking “wait, you’ve already been in Novxani!  You took a picture of a road, and the Caspian Sea and a giant eagle statue surrounded by garbage!” If you aren’t thinking that, refer back a few blog posts and you will see that Aqua Park was in Novxani and that we stayed there for about a week.

On we went, into Novxani towards the huge mosque and possibly towards Aqua Park.  En route we decided that instead of walking up the main road, it would be faster and more interesting to go cross-country over a large field, across a stream and then up the hill through side streets and passageways.  It definitely turned out to be interesting.

We met a man standing in the middle of the field.  I’m not saying that I can understand the Azeri language 100%, but I can usually get what people are trying to say to me.  This man’s accent was so different than the people in the area that I couldn’t understand a word he said.  Neither could Chris.  Fortunately he understood it when I asked if I could take a picture.

He let me take a couple of pictures, and then he hurried over to his donkey and his sheep and brought them around to meet us.  Amanda got to ride the donkey and I shot a few more pictures.  Chris wanted a donkey ride, but he and I are too big for the poor animal.

This was one of my favorite parts of this trip because the man was so excited to meet us and to show us what he did.  He seemed to me like a very cute grandpa type character.  That experience is now in my head as one of my favorite memories.

Soon we bade him farewell and headed up towards the city and the mosque.

The mosque itself was absolutely beautiful.  There was an old lady tending to the plants around the edges of the large gated courtyard and the two spires set against the sun were inspiring.  The area was clean, well swept and spacious.  If you are paying attention to the pictures, you can judge where we are based on where the mosque’s spires are in the background.

Having seen what we came for, we left the city, making sure to grab a lunch of bread, cheese, sausage and juice while we were there (from a lady who probably had never even seen an American and was elated that we came to her shop).  We ate lunch on top of a very steep slope overlooking the lake.  All we could see in the direction we were going were green, rolling hills almost completely void of anything.  There was a large house in that direction, overlooking the lake as well, but there didn’t seem to be anything going on there.

It was a bit windy.  It was idyllic.

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  We saw some more cow skulls and a place where heavy machinery was digging something.  When the road ended we slid down some slopes.  We had walked around the entire lake.

After making our way back to the main road, we met with a Peace Corps volunteer who was staying with Amanda (she was there to help the trainees that week).  Chris and I quickly met Amanda’s family when we dropped her off, then we went home.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

The sun had just disappeared on the horizon as our bus trundled into the town of Qax. It was already starting to get chilly, so the 10 minute walk to Hotel Qax gave us the chance to warm up a bit. The town has roughly 12,000 citizens although only one hotel that we knew of, so there wasn't much room to bargain at the 10 Manat ($12.50) price tag on the room. Having settled in, we went and ate a dreadful meal in the attached restaurant, which cost 2 Manat ($2.50) for a frazzled bit of meat and chips. To make matters worse we both felt terribly ill after eating this muck. It would have been possible to finish this sorry helping in three mouthfuls, so we were forced to go out to buy some bread and cheese to make some sandwiches. At first glance the town looked really nice, although the streets were dimly lit, so we'll see the reality in the daylight tomorrow!

It was a gloomy morning when we left the Hotel, but we held out hope that it would clear up, as it had done on almost every other occasion of our stay in Azerbaijan. Our plan for the day was to begin with a trip to Ilisu, located 25kms away from Qax and then return to look at some old Churches. This plan was scuppered when we arrived at the bus station to be told that there was no longer a 10.30 bus and we must wait until 12.00. We didn't want to wait so long, and as our trusty guidebook said that a ruined Albanian Church was located a mere 3kms away, we figured that we could walk there and back in this time.

Crossing out of Qax via two rickety old bridges, Julia nearly managed to fall off the bridge, but just recovered her footing at the last moment. This girl is like a super human cat, I'm telling you, its incredible to witness. Whereas a cat only has 9 lives, my lovely girlfriend must have at least 99, as I've seen her dicing with death on countless occasions. Whilst her head is in the clouds, I'm becoming a nervous wreck with worry, its really that bad!

The walk to the Church was pleasant, as the road passed by a wood that was filled with trees covered in golden brown leaves. But there was no way that it was only 3kms away, as we walked for well over an hour to reach our location. The journey terminated up a steep path, with the Church handsomely positioned facing out across a large plain, with mountains in the distance.

Whilst the site of the Church was idyllic, i was a little disappointed with the structure itself, which didn't really live up to its description. Now I'm not a thesaurus, but my understanding of the word 'ruined' as in 'ruined Albanian Church' would be something like collapsing, destroyed or in pieces, but this Church was anything but that. In fact it looked like a new building, constructed with modern small bricks and glass. Julia at least liked it, but for me it was way too restored to be interesting.

Heading back towards Qax we were joined at different intervals by three hungry dogs, who were all aroused by the food bag that we were carrying. As they were all well behaved, we spared some bread for them, even though we hadn't even had chance to eat ourselves yet! The weather really couldn't make its mind up today and one minute it would be spitting and the next moment the sun would break through the clouds, but at least it was nice and cool, which made walking quite pleasant.

As the distance had been more like 5kms both ways, we didn't get back into Qax until 12.40 and as the next bus to llisu wasn't until 14.00, this at least gave us time to go to the bank and get some money. The problem was that both ATM's in town were switched off, both banks were closed and we couldn't find a currency exchange shop for love nor money. Walking back to the bus station we passed a nice old Russian Church and then the heavens opened. As we stood under some shelter we made our mind up to skip Ilisu, as we only had 4 Manat ($5) to our name and this was really pushing it to get there and back and then on to Zaqatala, where we knew there were at least two banks that we could try.

The rain still hadn't stopped 20 minutes later, so we donned out fetching yellow raincoats and made our way back to the hotel, amidst countless stares and giggles. The kind babushka in the hotel let us dry off in the staff room and gave us some hot water to make some tea and we also took the opportunity to eat some cheese sandwiches. The rain wasn't letting up and we didn't want to miss the bus to Zaqatala, so we jumped into a taxi for the 2 minute trip into town.

What happened next was hilarious, as our taxi driver insisted that he wouldn't drop us 10 metres walk from the bus station, but would instead drive us around the town square so as he could leave us smack outside the ticket office. His little Lada chugged downhill to the bottom of the square and circled the roundabout, but then the car died as he tried to drive back uphill to the terminal. He'd only gone and run out of petrol! Whilst walking 10m would have been fine, walking 100m up the square was enough to get us soaking, so we stayed in the car as he pushed it to face back down the slope and then free wheeled it to the petrol station. With the car filled up, he then realised that his battery was basically dead and it took several attempts before he could actually start the car again! What should have been a quick hop across town had turned into a 20 minute fiasco. Luckily we were still in time to catch the 15.30 bus, but i felt a little sad that we hadn't seen the town in sunshine, as I'm sure it would have looked beautiful.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

Sheki (called Nukha until the 1960's) and the neighbouring village of Kish boast rich intertwining History's, with Sheki growing at the expense of Kish, which was wiped out by not one but two floods in the 18^th Century. Kish has been inhabited since at least the Bronze Age and there are human remains at the Albanian Church to attest to this fact. The khanate that was begun in this village in the 1740's was however moved to Sheki by 1772, although only lasted until 1805 when the town was ceded to the advancing Russians. What remains today is a thoroughly charming colourful town of 63,000 people, which boasts charismatic crumbling buildings and some which have been lovingly restored.

Stood in the bus station we struggled with the dilemma of which hotel we should head to. A converted caravanserai sounded incredibly romantic, but was twice the price of a functional hotel on the other side of town. The main priority was to make sure that wherever we stayed we had a hot shower, so we decided to phone Pensionat Sahil to find out some information on its rooms. The owner came across as a friendly guy and confirmed that 16 Manat ($20) was for an en-suite twin room with hot shower and tv, so we opted to stay here. With the money that we saved we planned to go to the caravanserai's restaurant for tea the following day.

Having checked into our room we walked along the quaint streets into the town centre, looking for somewhere to burn my photos to DVD. Eventually we found one shop willing to burn three copies for 4 Manat ($5), whereas other places had asked for 9 Manat ($11.25)! It was going to take an hour to complete the burning, so we walked to the town square to get some food at Shelebi Xan Restaurant. Now i take my hat off to Lonely Planet in this instance, as they recommended the place for its cheap Borsch (soup), but looking at it from the outside and in the location that it was in, you would never believe that there could be anything affordable to a budget traveller. It was therefore a pleasant surprise that a huge bowl of Borsch only cost 1.40 Manat ($1.75), whilst the scrumptious chicken soup was a bargain 1.60 Manat ($2). The service was excellent, the soups delicious and we even received a tasty basket of homemade bread for free.

Returning to the photo shop we collected the DVD's and then found an internet cafe on the square to upload some photos to Travbuddy. By the time we stood up from our workstations it was pitch black outside and freezing cold. We scurried across the square and back into the warmth and comfort of the restaurant to have our evening meal. This time i had the Borsch and Julia had the chicken soup, and for a main course we ordered some Manti. Manti are supposed to be large dumplings, but these were more like small dumplings and at 4 Manat ($5) for 10, it was rather overpriced. Nevertheless the “33” Export beer was only 1 Manat ($1.25), so we ordered a couple of those to accompany our meal and settled in for the night.

I was surprised to see it had been raining when we left the restaurant, but thankfully it held off whilst we made our way home. Not such good news was to discover that both my trainers  had holes in them, even though i only bought them in Iran, so my feet were sodden by the time we reached the hotel. It felt wonderful to jump into a warm shower before bed, only the second one that we had had the chance to take in Azerbaijan!

On Thursday morning we checked out of the hotel and caught a rickety old bus to nearby Kish. Heavy fog was obscuring the mountainous scenery that encompasses the village and just as i said “There's no way this will clear up today” the sun literally burst through the mist. I really must use this reverse psychology on the weather more often! By the time we arrived into the old hamlet there were patches of blue sky and the setting seemed instantly more appealing.

Whilst Sheki has steadily grown over the last few centuries, Kish has stood stagnant and most of its 2300 residents appear to be elderly citizens. This is a far cry from times gone by, when the village had been an important centre for Albanian Christians, who occupied most of Northern Azerbaijan. This religion gradually died out and was finally enveloped by the Armenian Church in the 19^th Century, but there are several churches still standing in the region to attest to the former glories of the religion. Whilst most now lay in ruins, Kish's Church was rebuilt with the aid of Norwegian funding, after famous ethnologist Thor Heyerdahl claimed that the Norwegian race originated from Azerbaijan.

A pleasant 10 minute walk took us from the bus stop, up through cobbled streets that were sporadically dotted with red tiled houses, to the Church. The striking red round towers stood our magnificently against the white brick walls and it reminded me of Tallinn a great deal. The curator of the Church let us in for 50q ($0.60), and i decided not to bother with my camera as this cost an additional 2 Manat ($2.50). Outside the Church were some interesting Bronze Age burial pits, including one that was home to a gigantic woman who measured a staggering 2.20 metres! Inside the Church was an excellent little Museum describing the History of the Albanian nation (not related to modern day Albania) and exhibiting a few nice artifacts.

Returning to Sheki we made a beeline for Shelebi Xan Restaurant to warm up on a couple of bowls of chicken soup. I was struggling to work out why the soup was so cheap, as the other dishes were all 13 Manat ($16.25) and upwards, but i was too busy pigging my face to bother asking! From the restaurant we went East through the Old Town and began climbing a hill that led up to the old fortress. It was a real pleasure to walk along the streets, which had countless fascinating old photogenic structures and i was pleased to see that they hadn't had the life restored out of them.

Entering through the fortress walls we heard several women screaming “Museum, Museum” at us, but this really isn't a good sales pitch from my perspective. Now if they were shouting “Piva, Piva” - “Beer, Beer” then thats another matter, but coaxing me into a building with promises of old fragments of clay just doesn't wash with me. Instead we took the opportunity to walk around the wall and view the delightful Russian Church and a couple of other character filled edifices.

Xan Sarayi is the former Khan's Palace, built in 1762 and located in the North East of the fortress. Whilst i didn't expect too much from it, the admission price was a reasonable 80q ($1), so we decided to go in and take a look. The building was set in a nice garden with two towering plane trees dominating the entrance, whilst the facade was intricately decorated and contained two silver stalactite vaultings, similar to what you often see at Iranian Mosques. Even from the outside i was already wavering on whether i should pay the 2 Manat ($2.50) camera fee, but decided that it was sensible to take a look inside first before committing to anything.

Having donned some fetching old slippers we were granted entry into the interior rooms and i was immediately blown away by their beauty. Stained glass windows (shebeka) filtered sunlight into the room, casting striking shadows over the wooden floor, whilst the walls were adorned with intricate paintings. One ceiling had a hypnotic effect as its carved wooden pattern had dancing beams of reflected light shimmering constantly. It was all too much for me and i whipped out my 2 Manat and started taking photos!

The two stories of the building contained some really dazzling rooms, painted with battle scenes from the days of Haci Chlebi, a lions tail devouring its master, hunting scenes, pomegranate trees and a whole host of different murals. There was a guided tour in Russian which Julia did her best to translate, but its always difficult to hear two voices at once and try to absorb what is been said, whilst admiring what you are looking at AND trying to take pictures!

From Xan Sarayi we continued around the fortress walls and then went to one of the towns restored Caravanserai's. The building was incredible and had been lovingly restored into a hotel and restaurant, but sadly they didn't serve tea, so we just had a nosy around and then walked back to the town square. Along the way we passed some interesting Mosques and also a very peculiar chess club, but it was all part of the towns quirkiness.

It felt disappointing to leave behind such a wonderful little place, but we had seen the main attractions and didn't have too many spare days before needing to be in Turkey. Therefore we collected our bags and caught a taxi down to the bus station. We knew the price of the taxi should be 1 Manat ($1.25), but confirmed this when we got into the cab. When we arrived the driver tried to scam us and say in was 1 Shirvan, which is actually worth 2 Manat. If the hotel receptionist hadn't told us the price i may have paid 2 Manat, as I'd read that this is sometimes the practice that people count in Shirvans, but on this occasion i knew the driver was lying. After one half hearted attempt at extracting the extra Manat from us, he gave up and drove off. The drive to Qax took just over 2 hours and we were treated to some splendid views of the snow capped Caucuses range en route.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

It was 14.00 when we got back to Ismayilli, but we weren't able to head on to Sheki, as we had already paid for another night at the hotel. To pass the time we walked into the centre of town in search of some food and an internet cafe that actually had internet access. Looking for food was once again useless, as all the cafes were serving the same rubbish at inflated prices. Eventually we found an internet cafe which loaded each page in a speedy 15 minutes and after one hour we were totally fed up with this, so went to the grocery store for some food. The staff here fell into line with the other members of the town in their inept service, as they kept trying to overcharge us for what we wanted to buy.

A Bounty Bar that had a 60q sticker supposedly cost 70q, did they think we couldn't read? Then two tomatoes came to 30q on the scales but the woman wanted 60q. Finally cheese at 1.20q and bread at 40q somehow came to a combined total of 1.90q. When we complained about the latter and asked them to add it up on the calculator they became very offended. I couldn't quite follow what the store attendant then did, as he punched in number after number, divided, took the square root and multiplied all this by Pi. When this failed he hit the clear button and typed in 1.9. Fuck it, i just wanted to get the hell out of this pantomime setting, so handed over the money, took the goods and went back to the hotel.

We spent the night listening to some music on my laptop, eating sandwiches, drinking tea and i wrote my blog. A few years ago my solution to such boredom would have been to go out and get paralytic on $1 bottles of beer, but since my problems back in 2006 I've had to limit these little sessions to special occasions. Whooooah, there goes a mouse under the bed, thats got Julia freaked out!

The following morning we checked out of the room and had to hitch hike to the next town of Qebela, as there was no public transport. It took about 20 minutes to find a car willing to take us and we had to pay 2 Manat ($2.50) each for the 40km trip. A rusted orange bus took us the remaining 3 hours to Sheki, overloaded with enough wood to build a small house.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

It was still dark when i crawled out of bed at 06.15, but at least i didn't have to worry about taking a shower – as we didn't have one accessible to us! By 06.30 we were in the deserted streets and heading to a small roundabout, where a beat up old orange bus was waiting to make the journey from Ismayilli to Lahic. Wrapped up in hat, gloves and coat we huddled together on the cold leather seat, waiting for 07.00, when the bus was due to set off. The journey took 75 minutes and passed some lovely scenery, although i was still a little bleary eyed to fully appreciate it.

Lahic is a small mountain village with 1800 citizens, who speak an incomparable language that is somewhat a cross of Farsi and Azeri. Local Coppersmiths are renowned for producing high quality products and they can be viewed at work in many of the small workshops along the main road. Whereas Xinaliq had the jaw dropping scenery, i will remember Lahic for its wonderful stone houses and narrow cobbled streets. If you put Lahic's houses in Xinaliq's location, you would probably have the most beautiful place on Earth.

Starting in the town square we followed the main road through the village and at a gentle pace we reached the far end in 45 minutes, with plenty of photo stops. Horses were been ridden though the streets, whilst cows meandered down other thoroughfares. At times there was certainly the feeling of stepping back in time, but then a battered old Lada would destroy this idyllic notion, as it sputtered past us.

Having walked back through the village we stopped at a chaykhana for a pot of warm tea. Often tea houses in Azerbaijan are reserved for men only, but normally they make exceptions for foreign women and this place was no different. Julia is probably the most clumsy person that God ever put on the face of this Earth and she managed to knock her tea all over the table. This got the old Azeri men grumbling about why they let a woman into the place and see what trouble it brought. I found this quite amusing and when we left shortly afterwards i gave Julia plenty of ribbing about it. As i write this she somehow just fell into the wall and twisted her thumb! I don't know how she manages to do it, but its a 'talent' that I'm glad that i don't have.

Lousy Planets advice was to pay 15 Manats ($18.75) for a taxi back to Ismayilli, so as you could make stops along the way for photos. As it was only 10.30, the sun was coming out and we had nothing else to do, we decided that we would begin walking back down the valley and see how far we could get before the 12.30 bus passed us. The walk was all downhill and offered some breathtaking views, as cliffs sprouted from the valley basin, where a river snaked its way down from the mountains. The bus didn't pass by until 13.45, by which time we had almost walked the entire length of the valley, so we jumped on it for the last 20 minutes back to Ismayilli. This only cost us 1 Manat ($1.25) each, so it saved us $16.25 and gave us the chance to take a fantastic walk. Budget backpackers really should take LP's 'guidance' with a pinch of salt, as nine times out of ten there is a cheaper and more enjoyable way of travelling.

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia)

An idyllic sunset greeted our entry into Ismayilli, but the second we stepped off the marshrutka, Julia shattered the peaceful moment by vomiting everywhere! She'd been feeling car sick for much of the journey, but at least she'd managed to hold it off until we arrived. The town is home to 12,000 souls, 2 crappy hotels, some shabby grocery stalls and possibly the worst selection of 'cafes' on the face of this wonderful planet.

Our first mission was to check into Motel Talistan, which was like all Soviet style establishments, namely shit and over priced. After a short spell of bargaining, we managed to get the price down to 25 Manat ($31.25) for 2 nights, which was good going as they originally wanted 16 Manat ($20) per night. In most developing countries you would expect a pretty decent mid range place for this price, but in any former Soviet State, you are lucky if the room has four walls and a door that locks. In this instance we were shown to a room with a sink, two beds and a nice gas heater. The squat toilet was down the hall and the communal shower was cold water only, which really was pointless at this time of year. On the plus side, the guy gave us a kettle so we could wash in warm water and make tea and instant noodles.

Leaving the peeling wall paper behind us, we went in search of a restaurant and internet cafe. The cafes we found all served some pretty shocking looking grub, which they claimed cost 3 Manat ($3.75), although you could see them eying us up before coming up with a price, to see how gullible they thought we were. Oddly they also had no garnish, so you could eat a small cutlet on its own and that was it. Noodles and some cheese sandwiches sounded a far more appetizing solution to our hunger, which is saying something! Meanwhile the guy sat in front of his computer sniggered when we asked if we could go online, presumably there was some 'in joke' we were missing out on, but there definitely wasn't any connection today.

Back in our room we tucked into our scrumptious treats... and twiddled our thumbs about what to do with the rest of the evening. As it turned out our gas heater actually made our room relatively cozy, so we snuggled up and played a brick game (like tetris) that we had bought in Iran and then i tried to catch up with my blog, which sometimes feels like its becoming a full time job!

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia), Joe (Canada)

It wasn't surprising to be heading back to Baku once again, as we always seem to get pinned down in every Capital we visit. Whilst Baku had made a positive impression on me, Misha certainly hadn't, so we planned to make a smash and grab visit to collect our bags and get out of there as fast as possible. These plans had been thwarted though, as we had been held up in Qusar waiting for a lift to Laza and as a result we didn't get back to Baku until 16.00, which was too late to think about moving on to Ismayilli. We therefore decided to avoid the house until 18.00, at which point he would leave to work and supposedly leave the key for us, or so he said on the phone.

We sat in an internet cafe for some time and received a pleasant surprise when we got a message from a Canadian couchsurfer called Joe, who we had chatted to on the phone in Bishkek. He had just moved to Baku and was keen to meet up, which sounded like a great opportunity, as we had sadly not had the chance in Kyrgyzstan. A quick phone call was enough to organise a meeting place, which we decided would be the Golden Arches at Fountain Square.

It wasn't hard to spot Joe when we arrived, with his long hair and goatee beard and after the introductions were out of the way we made a beeline for Phoenix Bar. I can't remember the last time we were in a real bar, probably 6 months ago in Beijing, and it felt great to be back in a pub atmosphere. A large 9 ball table, football on TV and 2 for 1 beers was enough to make me feel at home. The three of us decided to sample the local brew “33” Export, which came in half litre bottles and cost a bargain 1 Manat ($1.25) with the special offer. This was my scene!

We spent the next three and a half hours knocking back beers and chatting about travel, which was great. Joe was a seasoned traveller who works as a language teacher and travels at the same time. His CV was really impressive and he had covered a lot of ground over the last 15 years and saw his life on the road and out of Canada. I enjoyed his sense of humour and his outlook on life, its always a pleasure to meet people like this and when it came time to say goodbye both Julia and I didn't want to leave! But Joe had his first day of work to look forward to in the morning and Julia and I had to get back to Misha's before the metro and marshrutka's stopped running. We made it home at midnight and it was a relief to find the key had been left for us. The second my head touched the pillow i was out for the count.

I still felt a touch drunk when i woke up at 07.00, so rather than getting out of bed, i hit the snooze and slept for another four hours! Around noon we left the house and crossed town to catch a marshrutka to Ismayilli. There was some weird guy playing with a knife on the metro, which put me on edge a bit, but thankfully nothing came of it. Having scoffed a couple of kebabs i was feeling far better for the three and a half hour journey North West.

On board the marshrutka we met a couple of nice local guys, who lived in small villages just outside of Ismayilli. Julia got chatting with the pair of them and somehow the conversation got on to animals in the area, and low and behold these guys had bear stories too, I was in good company! One guy recounted a hilarious story of his Dad fighting a bear, and another bear sneezing on him, hmmm. The story i liked most though was of a guy who was looking after some filming equipment at night, which was set up in the woods. Scared of what was in the woods he supposedly climbed a pear tree and went to sleep there. Halfway through the night he woke up to find a bear in the tree with him, holding a pear out towards him. The guy sat there, frozen stiff with panic and the bear dropped the pear.  A few seconds later the bear picked another pear and offered the man it, but again he sat motionless and the bear once again dropped the pear. The third time the bear picked a pear and held it out, the man thought it would be rude not to do something, so he said “No Thanks” and the bear was so shocked it fell out of the tree and died!

Allegedly bears climb pear trees and hold the fruit up to the moon light to see if it is ripe and drop it if it isn't and thats what it had been doing. As it was dark, the bear hadn't seen the guy, so when it heard a voice, it was so startled it froze, fell from the tree and killed itself! Personally i think this is far fetched, but it made me giggle. I just hope people don't treat my bear story with the same disbelief!

People I met here who contributed to, and improved my trip: Julia (Russia), Bayran (Azerbaijan)

Our trip to the Caucusus Mountains in North Eastern Azerbaijan would prove to be a memorable trip for a number of reasons. Firstly there was the warm hospitality of the people, who are unique within the country and have their own dialect called Ketsh. Secondly there were the views, quite simply breathtaking, with snow capped mountains encompassing the tiny stone village of Xinaliq, which is the home to a hardy 1000 people. And lastly there was the fact that i think a bear nearly ate me – seriously! Anyway, I'll get to this in due course and you can be the judge.

The town of Quba was to be our staging post for the trip, located 170kms North of Baku and 50kms East of Xinaliq. A marshrutka from Baku took three and a half hours to reach Quba and the road skirted along the shore of the Caspian Sea. When we got to Quba we had to sit around for a couple of hours and see if any vehicle would be leaving to Xinaliq, which was by no means guaranteed. A taxi driver invited us for tea in a small cafe and we sat with a group of men, watching them play a game that resembled backgammon. A little before 16.00, a Xinaliq resident who had been in Quba for the day, turned up and drove us back to his home in his Lada Niva. Normally taxis wait for four passengers, but as he was heading that way anyway, he took just the two of us for 8 Manat ($10) each, which was the regular going rate.

Our driver wore a funny black hat, had a long crooked nose, a pot belly and a constant smile on his face. He introduced himself as Bayran Qulu, and he turned out to be a jolly nice chap. As he spoke reasonable Russian, Julia chatted away to him for much of the journey. The bonus of sharing a language and having the car to ourselves was that we could ask him to stop to take photos along the way, which he was only too happy to do. The journey began by passing through a beautiful wooded area, where the leaves had turned golden brown, although for some reason my camera showed the leaves colour as green, which i can assure you wasn't the case at all. After 30 minutes or so we began to climb steeply and pass through an amazing valley, where cliffs towered high above and a small river gushed down below. Sadly it was quite misty, but the views were nevertheless spectacular.

Around 2 hours after leaving Quba we arrived into Xinaliq, which was a memorable experience. Snow capped mountains dominated the skyline, whilst a small village of stone houses clung to the edge of a hill, with a river running nearby. We briefly stopped to watch some rams fighting, but it was approaching 18.00, the light was fading and there was a biting wind making it unpleasant to stand still for more than a few seconds, so we were keen to get inside and in front of a warm fire. Xinaliq is located higher than 3000m above sea level, so there was a marked difference from the temperature in Baku.

Bayran had agreed to host us for the night for 7.50 Manat ($9.40) each, which included all of our meals. His house was located in the basin of the valley right next to the river and this is where we headed. His back garden was filled with animals including sheep, cows, chickens, cats and a duck and offered some of the most sensational views that you could wish for. His profession was as a carpenter and he had built his house a few years earlier and fitted it out with all the furniture, whilst his wife had made the rugs. He assured us that whilst it may be nice for tourists to come and nosy around the area for a day or two, to live here was a different story. A road had only been built a few years ago, but they still find themselves regularly cut off from the outside World during heavy snowfalls in winter. There is no running water or gas, although they hope to get the latter next year. Things had remarkably improved with the new road and added to this the prospect of gas, it had made Bayran a huge fan of President Aliyev for helping to give them a better standard of living.

Sat on some pillows in the kitchen / living room we sipped some tea and Julia warmed herself by the wood burning stove. One of Bayran's sons joined us for some tea, but his other one felt too shy. His wife cooked us a lovely meal of chicken, potatoes, onions and bread and we had some tasty local apples and sweets for desert. Julia and I were both tired by 22.00, so huddled up under a think duvet and went to sleep.

Our original plan for Xinaliq was to do a 10-12 hour hike to the neighbouring village of Laza, but every local that we had spoken to had mentioned the dangers of doing it alone and the expense of taking a guide. At this time of year it would be perilous to be caught in fog and get lost, as temperatures plummeted in the night time and there were plenty of hungry Wolves that would account for you if the weather didn't. Therefore we decided to spend the day wandering around the village and maybe taking a short hike up one of the valleys.

Having eaten a light breakfast of bread and tea, we left the house to find it was a glorious day, with not a cloud in the sky. The small kittens sat against the wall basking in the early morning sun, whilst the duck had its head stuck into a jar of water, guzzling from it to Bayran's wifes annoyance. Following a dirt trail up from their house we came to the village in a few minutes and walked up the steep little paths amongst the houses. The locals were very friendly and all stopped to say hello. Women wore colourful garb and one child pushed his snotty nosed younger brother around in a wheelbarrow, which was presumably the villages answer to a pram!

Having spent an hour or two in the village, my adventurous side got the better of me, as it so often does. Eying a mountain in the distance, i managed to somehow persuade Julia that it wasn't too far and it would make a nice morning stroll, and of course we would be back for lunch! What i hadn't really taken into account was the amount of ups and downs we would have to traverse, coupled with the high altitude and the fact that it didn't look that far because the mountain where we were heading was so bloody big. An hour and a half into the walk Julia had seen enough and was keen to head back down, but i was still fooling myself that it wasn't that much further, so decided that i was going to carry on. Once I've settled my mind on something i just can't rest until I've accomplished it and i was damned if i didn't make it to the top of that mountain to look into the next valley! Why i wasn't content with the breathtaking views that were right there in front of me, God only knows. So off i went.

The higher i climbed the colder it became and after some time i reached an altitude where the snow didn't melt. I'd barely eaten all day, i had a half a litre of water left and my feet were becoming wet in the snow, but this was an adventure, so i just couldn't turn back. As i approached the base of what i would later discover was Qizil Qaya (3726m), one of the regions most imposing mountains, i came across something that got my heart beating with excitement and fear – a footprint, or more accurately a paw print. Now I'm no expert in paw prints, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to work out what it was. The print was larger than my hand and it was clearly made by a paw. I was in the mountains, which really only left one contender to make such a mark – a bear. Now was surely the time to turn back, I'd had my fun and wasn't ready for a one on one with Gentle Ben, was I? I weighed it up in my mind, what was the probability of seeing a bear? And if i did see one, think of the photos! And surely if i kept my distance it would ignore me and after taking some pictures i could just go on my merry way, right? Sure, sure, no problem, why be so soft, nothing could possibly go wrong, i half heartedly told myself as i continued onwards and upwards.

By now the terrain was a mixture of boulders and snow, which seemed to go up and down continuously, meaning that it was taking forever to cover what appeared like only a small distance. Maybe 150 metres from the start of the ascent up Qizil Qaya i heard what i presumed was a rockfall, but I'd seen and heard these before, just a few displaced rocks tumbling down the mountain. I continued down a slope and began to climb the section in front of me when i heard rocks been moved like someone or something was coming towards me. My mind was ablaze with thoughts, a shepherd, goats, sheep dog, cow? Whatever was coming my way was large enough to move rocks and I could hear the snow crunching under its feet. Fuck this I'm out of here.

Turning 180 degrees i ran back up the slope which i had just come down, tripping, falling, banging my legs, but the adrenalin carried me up and over that section of rocks. I had no idea what to do, so just hid behind the biggest rock i could find. Here i sat questioning my sanity, its not a bear you clown, just get up and take a look. I couldn't, i was paralyzed with fear. A minute or so passed, when i heard crunching in the snow and heavy breathing, but now whatever it was had maneuvered around in front of me. If it was a person then how had they come from behind me to now be in front of me so fast and why didn't they say anything? If it was a dog then why didn't it bark? It was too cold for sheep or cows and there was no grass to graze on. Whatever it was sure wasn't scared of me as it had approached me and was now sniffing around. I hadn't seen any sign of life in the area, other than a paw print. But what if the  paw print was from a different animal? Thankfully the wind was blowing uphill, so whatever was now in front of me could not pick up my scent, so i just sat and waited.

More than half an hour passed before i plucked up the courage to finally stand up and try to look around and assess my situation. I knew the direction that the 'animal' had come from and where it had been. The one sensible option would be to stay clear of these areas and work my way around horizontally across the ground. I won't deny that i was terrified and i kept repeating to myself that i was through with mountains and climbing, especially after my episode with the bull in Kyrgyzstan, it just wasn't worth it!

It took close to three hours to get down off the mountain, as i tried to stay in hollows and out of sight, even though this added quite a lot to the distance i had to cover. When i finally made it back to Xinaliq a young guy approached me to ask if i needed accommodation, so i took the opportunity to use my limited Russian skills. I pointed to the mountain and said 'Medved est?' which roughly means 'bears, have?'. His reply was 'est, est' – 'have, have'. I got my camera out and showed him the paw print and he immediately became excited and took out his phone to take a picture. There was a lot of gesticulating that then took place as we communicated about how scared i was!

When i found Julia in the village, she was having none of it, “bears, pfff, there aren't any bears” was her reply. I recounted the story to her but she still wasn't convinced. I tried to reason with her, if there was no bear, then why did i come back down and not get to the top of the mountain? She knows my personality that i wouldn't just give up and come back. We headed home to collect our things and see if we could find anyone heading back to Quba, but it seemed unlikely as it was 16.30. Luckily a man that was on his way to collect two cows in a nearby village, and was then taking them to Quba, stopped to pick us up. Although we had to cram into one seat, he had kindly offered to take us for free, so we didn't mind been uncomfortable for some time.

I still wasn't happy that Julia didn't believe me, so i took my camera out and showed the driver my picture. He wasn't sure what the print was, but said there were bears in the region. This partly backed up my story, but it still wasn't hard evidence. When we stopped to pick the cows up, the driver said he had a friend that would know what the print was, so we took the photo to show him. “Medved” was the reply, “Chorny Medved” - Black Bear. I confess i didn't see it, but piecing together what i heard and saw, i honestly believe that i came within a whisker of been eaten. I think I'll be giving up on trekking for the foreseeable future after this escapade and my underwear will require a very hot wash.