The alarm went off at 6 a.m. today, but I was already awake. I calmly packed my things and loaded them onto the moped. Unfortunately there was no tea yet, so I had to leave as it was. I wanted to avoid the morning rush hour in Baku and be at the ferry in time, in case it left on schedule. The trip to Alat was unproblematic, and exchanging my e-tickets for paper tickets at the port was also no problem. After that, I had to wait. Around midday, Anton, a Frenchman from Tours, joined us. Like Ben, Anton is on his way to Japan and has been on the road for 11 months. My tour of Asia now feels almost like a long weekend. It is now 9:20 p.m. and according to an official, it will take about 4 hours before we can board the ferry. So far, so good. Anything is better than waiting for the ferry for days. There is hardly anything to do here in the port.

Pictures may be available later. Filming and photography are prohibited here in the harbor.

It is now 1:30 a.m. and we - Adam and I - have finally moved into our cabin. We are sharing the establishment with two truckers from Hungary. Nice guys, like most people here.

06/01/2024: The night was pleasant, albeit short. For breakfast, as has often been the case recently, there was dry bread, sausage and cheese. But this time there was also some jam and honey. It is now 2:00 p.m. and the ferry has anchored somewhere off the Azerbaijani coast. It hasn't moved any further for several hours now. Let's see what comes next.

02.06.2024: The situation is unchanged. The ferry is anchored in front of Baku and is not moving. As I walked to the motorcycle, I asked a crew member when we would continue. If I understood him correctly, the answer was: Tomorrow

Apart from a few conversations with various truckers, there was only one highlight. One of the truckers caught a fish with a fishing rod. Since yesterday, fishing rods have been appearing everywhere, which truckers and crew members use to pass the time. I am left with the role of spectator. At breakfast, everyone is reminded of the cabin door with a few strong knocks. We'll see how it goes tomorrow. 😜

06/03/2024: At some point during the night or early in the morning, the ferry started moving again unnoticed. It has now really picked up speed. There is not much to do during the day. Life only starts again when a narrow, tiny strip of land appears on the horizon. Suddenly everything happens very quickly and we are in the port of Kyryk. Adam and I have decided to share a room in Aqtau. After a customs check on board, we get our passports back and are allowed to go to the motorcycles. But it takes quite a while before we are allowed off the ferry. We drive to the first checkpoint and wait for it to open. It is now 8 p.m. At some point the officials come and start their work. As motorcyclists, we are given priority and are first in line. After we have overcome this hurdle, we head towards the exit. Here it is made clear to us that we have to go back to reception to get a certain document. I can only guess what the reception is. But I'm lucky. A man who happens to be passing by speaks a little English and gives me the crucial tip. Meanwhile, Adam has also arrived and once again has to open his luggage roll. So far I have been spared all of this, which probably has something to do with my tender age. When it comes to the bureaucratic hurdles that follow, we are again given preferential treatment and receive something like VIP service. After paying around €110 in fees and getting all sorts of forms and stamps, we've made it. Without us noticing, it's now 2 a.m. Now it's time to withdraw some money, eat something for dinner and get the 70 km to Aqtau behind us. Fortunately, the road is in very good condition, so we don't have to worry so much and can make good progress. Neither Adam nor I want to drive at night. Fortunately, the hotel is still open and has a room that suits us. All's well that ends well. At least for now.

The alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. and at the same time Ben called to ask about the taxi. There was still no confirmation from Bolt, so I mentally prepared myself for a bus ride. To my surprise, the taxi Dan did come and everything went as planned. Exiting and entering the country was also completely unproblematic. Anton was at the airport as agreed and drove us to a hostel in downtown Baku. My first impression of the city was impressive and this impression was confirmed as I explored the city over the course of the day. Super-modern buildings, everything spotlessly clean and the people are all modern and well-dressed. You can see that the country has money.

The motorbikes will be picked up tomorrow. Anton will take us there. If I have time, I will take a look at the old town, a world heritage site.

05/29/2024: Anton actually picked us up from the hostel today and drove us to customs. Luckily for us, he also managed the entire process there, so that we got the motorcycles out of customs without any problems. Without him, it would have been a real challenge.

Because everything went so smoothly, there was still time for a tour of the old town. You can find the pictures above. I actually wanted to go to the beach boulevard again, but I'm too tired for that now. Last night was extremely restless because one of my roommates snored a lot and, to make matters worse, got messages on his cell phone. Since Ben checked out today, I took the opportunity and took over his sleeping space.

05/30/2024: Today I had planned to visit one of the mud volcanoes and a place where gas comes out of the rocks and burns. Both near Baku. The so-called mud volcano was rather disappointing, it seemed to have been extinct for some time. In comparison, the Burning Rocks were more interesting. But not so much that you absolutely have to see them. The drive there, out of the city, was more interesting. You immediately feel like you've gone back in time. The roads were much simpler and there was no trace of the capital's splendor. Everything was dry and dusty. The many small towers all over the landscape were also remarkable. You get the impression that Azerbaijan is floating on a single oil/gas bubble. Shortly after noon I was back again. In Baku there are people on many streets who regulate and monitor parking in a street or a section of a street. This was also the case in the street in front of the hostel. After two short conversations, if you can call them that, with one of these people, it was clear that I could park my motorcycle there for free. Very nice and a nice gesture.

This evening I went to the beach boulevard again. It's just wonderful there in the evenings.

Tomorrow I want to leave for Alat very early and look for the ferry. According to the plan, a ship should leave at 12pm. But I've read that the ferries only leave when they have enough cargo and that can sometimes take a few days.

nothing to do.nothing to do.

Don Curry is still learning as he travels. In recent years, the realization has developed that it is advantageous and quite pleasant not to burden the last day before departure with the necessary program, but rather to simply have time to round off the trip and calmly pack up the suitcase for the return journey to pack. And maybe even enjoy the final destination a little more...

That's exactly what was in the foreground today: enjoying. It started with the advantages of the exclusive bathroom, continued with the beguiling panoramic view in the Baku morning light and finally led to breakfast, which Don Curry was able to experience for the first time in Azerbaijan in the form of a buffet. This was more international than Azerbaijani in character: with croissants, Danish Danish pastries, hash browns and muesli variations. Don Curry took it as an opportunity to gradually break away from the Caspian-Oriental realm. After a long walk around the hotel and the necessary clearing out of Kia, it was already time for the next meal. At lunchtime, the hotel's various specialty restaurants offered very affordable menu options. Don Curry forewent the offerings of the Italian, Turkish and Japanese establishments and chose the Asian restaurant "Spices" as the setting for his lunch, which he had outside on the hotel terrace on the 20th floor. From the many options he chose a Thai shrimp and coconut soup, Chinese fried ground beef balls and finally borderline spicy pork kung pao with rice; A glass of mineral water was included free of charge for a total price of €7.50.

Strengthened in this way, he was able to plunge into the Baku adventure one last time and this time he chose the metro as his means of transport. In the metro station, around 500 m away, we first had to go through a security check like in the airport. Don Curry then had to generate a Baku Card in the machine for the equivalent of €1, which he then topped up with €1. Since a metro ride only cost the equivalent of €0.15, that would be more than enough for his purposes. In former Soviet republics, metro stations are always dug very deep into the ground in order to be able to serve as bunkers in times of (nuclear) war if necessary. This possible defensive purpose is probably also the reason why there is a strict ban on photography in the metro and why there is a large police presence everywhere. Don Curry only rode two stops in a crowded subway and then had to walk almost 1 kilometer to his actual destination: the Heydar Aliyev Center.

This dreamy masterpiece by famous Iraqi-British architect Zara Hadid is worth a trip to Azerbaijan in itself. Like a mirage in the style of Dali, the monumental building rises in radiant blossom white and organically flowing form. You won't find right angles here. Even the stairs gradually bend towards the wall to merge into it. The center is the permanent home of various museums and at the same time a venue for outstanding cultural events. When Don Curry visited, the Turkish-Azerbaijani Film Festival was underway, so a large red carpet was spread out in front of the center's cinema hall.

At the center, Don Curry discovered an extensive biographical exhibition about Heydar Aliyev and a presentation of the numerous state gifts given to him by foreign diplomats and heads of government during his time in office. There were also some state cars on the ground floor that were used in the Soviet Republic and the independent state of Azerbaijan in recent decades. In keeping with the astronomy conference currently taking place in Baku, there were some tapestries on display by a German artist who had transformed spectacular images of the cosmos into the art of carpet weaving. Other exhibitions were dedicated to Azerbaijani musical instruments, classical carpets and outstanding buildings. Don Curry's favorite area was quite remote at the far end of the center. Here, young modern artists from Azerbaijan exhibited works on the theme of “Life and Living Space”. Don Curry was particularly impressed by the paintings of a certain Leyla Aliyeva, a daughter of the current President, as he later found out.

After enjoying so much art, Don Curry strolled around the area around the Heydar Aliyev Center with the artificial waterfalls and the constantly besieged "I Love Baku" sign. Instead of walking the one kilometer back to the metro station, he decided to simply walk the three kilometers straight back to the hotel. During the journey it became increasingly clear why Baku is also known as the City of Winds: strong gusts prevented even Don Curry from making progress for a short time.

In the evening, Don Curry just sat down at his panoramic window, ordered a club sandwich with fries and Xirdalan in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed the culinary highlight in the face of the visual one. After a restful night, Don Curry visited the breakfast buffet again and then left the hospitable hotel and the sophisticated city of Baku.

He actually wanted to calmly sort his luggage for the flight in the airport parking lot and prepare the Kia for delivery, but as soon as he turned off the engine, Samir, the well-known employee with difficult to understand English, knocked on Kia's windows and asked for the rental agreement see. Don Curry handed it out, but Baku's still-gusty wind almost immediately ripped it from Samir's hands and sent it disappearing into the distance. The landlord didn't care. He had brought with him a list of five speeding violations over the last 10 days, as determined by radar measurements, and was very surprised at where Don Curry had been in such a short time. Don Curry had to pay a total of around €40 for these offenses and for the necessary car wash. He also had to unload his luggage immediately and leave Kia behind to complete the final formalities at the desk under the stairs in the airport building.

This unexpected and unwanted rush when returning the vehicle at least gave Don Curry more time in the airport, where he sorted his luggage, checked in without any problems and was even able to leisurely explore the small but architecturally interesting airport in daylight. He also discovered a row of armchair cabins in which one could lie comfortably and even close the top so that one could slumber undisturbed in the dark. It's a shame that there is no such thing at Istanbul airport...

In complete contrast to the miserable outbound flight, everything worked smoothly on the return flight: the planes took off and landed almost on time, Don Curry was given aisle or window seats, served delicious food and even discovered a huge area in Istanbul Airport that he hadn't yet seen knew. The transport to the parking lot of his car was also completely uncomplicated - and so in the end the wonderful impression remained undiminished: this trip through Azerbaijan was a real pleasure!!!

Don Curry would first like to apologize deeply for the terrible German-English word construction in the headline. Such clumsy Germanized anglicisms are not his style at all. But it expresses most clearly in one word what would have to be laboriously described in the German language.

Language problems also became apparent at breakfast at Xan Lankaran, because the young waiter spoke absolutely no English, so another guest first had to translate his question: How would Don Curry like his breakfast eggs? Don Curry responded with an internationally understandable gesture for “scrambled eggs,” which the friendly interpreter additionally couched in an Azerbaijani term. Satisfied, the waiter returned to the kitchen and soon served Don Curry a sumptuous morning meal: scrambled eggs, bread and butter, tomato and cucumber, various types of cheese, honey, the very creamy Qaymaq cream (60% fat content) and a fried dumpling with cheese filling. And he let his smartphone ask: "Do you need anything else?" Don Curry thanked us, also for cleverly dealing with the language barrier.

After checking out, pouring rain greeted him on the way to Kia. Since there were only 3 destinations on the daily program today, Don Curry decided to drive a little further south to find tea plantations, which can be quite photogenic even in wet weather. But the increasing precipitation reduced visibility enormously, so that Don Curry could only see the landscape directly next to the road; There wasn't a single tea bush there. Finally, Don Curry gave up and began the long journey back towards Baku, most of which was on a well-developed highway. Since the fuel gauge was gradually moving towards "zero" and there was no refueling option on the highway, Don Curry pulled off near a small town to refuel briefly, just to be on the safe side. However, the road to the small town consisted entirely of construction work: the old pavement had already been removed, so it was a pretty bumpy ride to get gas and Don Curry decided not to put Kia and himself through the same route back again. Unfortunately, the Azerbaijanis obviously worked extremely thoroughly. The thoroughfare in the city and the further route had also already been cleared of asphalt, so that he finally had to fight his way through the construction site for over 40 km at low speed and only then found an entrance to the motorway.

The Qobustan National Park was soon reached, his first actual destination of the day. In addition to an almost desert-like hilly landscape, the national park is home to two outstanding destinations: a collection of mud volcanoes and - far more important - an area with excellently preserved rock carvings from the early history of humanity. An extensive visitor center was currently under construction near the mud volcanoes, from which a boardwalk will lead conveniently to the volcanoes and back in the future. This time, Don Curry had to laboriously move through this construction site on foot, but was still able to climb the mud volcanoes unhindered. These rare geological phenomena are also due to the natural gas-rich subsoil of eastern Azerbaijan. The gas constantly bubbles through a softened layer of earth and escapes through muddy bubbles to the "volcanic cones", which gradually increase in height over time. However, the highest volcano in this area rose a maximum of 5 m into the sky. As Don Curry left the area, two large tour buses disgorged dozens of Asians who also wanted to marvel at this natural spectacle.

At the second destination, the visitor center is already in place and contains a technically complex museum on the subject of rock carvings worldwide and the life of the early artists of Qobustan. You could then continue for 1 km to a pristine landscape that looked as if giants had stacked huge rocks on top of each other like building blocks. This resulted in numerous natural caves and protective overhangs that once served as an ideal habitat for prehistoric people. In many places they left scratched drawings, some of them large, of the hunted animals and their everyday lives. Don Curry followed the signposted circular path, which introduced the individual representations at the relevant locations, but left it up to the visitor to actually see them in the chaos of rocks. No sooner had Don Curry completed the route than the tour buses full of Asians reached this destination and flooded in.

No matter, Don Curry was already approaching Baku, where an important Islamic shrine was waiting for him on the southern city limits: the Bibi Heybat Mosque with an integrated mausoleum of Ukeyma Khanum, a direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammed. The extensive terrace in front of the mosque offers magnificent views over Baku's harbor, the interior impresses with its discreet, tasteful design, in which the gold-decorated tomb under a shiny green dome is particularly noticeable.

For his last two nights in Baku, Don Curry had saved a real highlight in several senses: he booked a deluxe room in the Landmark Hotel, the just affordable lowest category in this dignified hotel, which has 7 restaurants and a huge indoor room -Pool with wellness oasis. At the reception he had to be told that unfortunately there were no deluxe rooms available anymore; but the hotel staff smiled encouragingly as he delivered this bad news. The hotel therefore had to upgrade Don Curry to a two-room apartment on the 18th floor. Beaming, he handed Don Curry the key card. He started to shine when he entered his temporary quarters. He could easily have held a conference in the main room with its fitted kitchen, sofa and 6 comfortable armchairs. The bedroom offered a huge second TV, the oversized bathroom had a Japanese toilet, a whirlpool bathtub and a control forest shower with a 60cm wide shower head - and most importantly, underfloor heating. But for Don Curry, the ultimate feature of his accommodation was a 10 m wide floor-to-ceiling panoramic window facing Baku's city center. Here the entire city lay at his feet - from the shores of the Caspian Sea to the Old Town and the Flame Towers in the background.

It was almost difficult for him to leave this look and go to the highest restaurant on the 20th floor. Although there was also a terrace area here, the temperature in Baku in the evening was only 13°C. So he sat inside at a huge round table for 12 people and enjoyed an excellent salmon kebab with French fries and tomato and cucumber salad, accompanied by a xirdalan. Curious, he went onto the terrace after the meal to get a good view of The Crescent and the surrounding area. He then moved back to his apartment and simply reveled in this incomparable upgraded view...

Don Curry also considers himself a researcher and discoverer in the culinary field who is fundamentally open to new taste experiences. Whether fried tarantulas in Cambodia, beaver goulash in Lithuania or zebra steak in Namibia - Don Curry likes to open his mouth and stomach to regional specialties. And sometimes he even allows himself to be persuaded to eat something that he has no idea what it is.

However, the breakfast at the Vego Hotel offered nothing unexpected or even mysterious; with sausages and various slices of sausage, it was at best significantly more meat-heavy than Don Curry's previous breakfast offerings. But with enough tea, a lot of things could be washed down. Strengthened, he checked out and went on a long walk through the center of Ganja. The hammam and the mosque in front of the front door made a very good impression, even in daylight. Beyond a small tree-lined park, the central square opened up into a huge open space, at the end of which a stern-looking copper statue of Heydar Aliyev loomed larger than life. The left front of the open space was occupied by a huge, palatial building surrounded by police posts: the local administration. As Don Curry hurriedly climbed the stairs to take the shortest route to the cross street, a police officer barked vigorously at him. Don Curry didn't have the freedom to choose his own path here; he had to go back up the steps and go around the stairs.

At the end of the cross street, the famous bottle house, which a long-deceased loner had designed over the course of many years, was waiting for him. Thousands of bottles decorated the facade in an artful arrangement. But it didn't seem all that impressive. He walked past the Russian churches into the Xan Bağı, the Khan Garden - a beautiful park with several tea rooms, monuments, an open-air theater and the remains of the former city fortifications. From there it was just a few steps left to get back to Kia in front of the Vego Hotel.

Two more destinations on the outskirts of Ganja were still on his agenda. First he headed for the huge Heydar Aliyev Park, which welcomes visitors with a mighty triumphal arch à la Paris. Here you have the opportunity to rent bicycles so that you can really do justice to the wide area of the park. Don Curry made do with his feet and only explored the front part, where dozens of gardeners were busy watering the flowers and tending to the artfully trimmed boxwood figures. A particularly large bush had been trimmed into the shape of a concert grand piano complete with a pianist and singer. Don Curry also found a dozens-meter-long tunnel through a boxwood thicket impressive.

His last destination in Ganja was the modern mausoleum of Nizami, the most important Iranian poet in the Middle Ages. Almost like a rocket ready to take off, it rose steeply into the sky; in the subtly oriental interior you could look down on the writer's marble sarcophagus, surrounded by precious carpets.

For the rest of the day it was Kia's turn to take Don Curry around 400 km from Ganja in the middle of Azerbaijan to the very southeast, almost to the Iranian border. Here lie the Hyrcanian Forests, one of the few extensive forest areas in the country that extend far into neighboring Iran. Since it was already getting dark, Don Curry was no longer able to go on a hike, but instead admired the unspoiled green landscape mainly from the car; Only in a few places did he step out briefly to get a more detailed look.

His pre-booked hotel, Xan Lankaran, is on the edge of the port city of Lankaran. While a caravanserai served as accommodation for traveling merchants in earlier times, a Han served as an inn for all other travelers. This tradition lives on in Xan Lankaran to this day. The half-timbered building offers wonderfully oriental rooms that also have all of today's technical amenities. The attached restaurant also maintains the tradition of earlier inns. Don Curry was surprised that there was only one table in the courtyard but half a dozen waiters. Only gradually, after he had secured the "only" table, did he notice that all the remaining tables were in separate rooms where the waiters brought the ordered food and drinks. This gave families and groups of friends the opportunity to dine privately and undisturbed.

In addition, as Don Curry had read, the Xan Lankaran restaurant is famous for its levengi, another Azerbaijani culinary specialty that is primarily native to the Absheron Peninsula and right here in the southeast of the country. Levengi usually comes as stuffed fish or stuffed chicken, but the Xan Lankaran knows four other types of levengi, including stuffed duck and stuffed coot. However, the waiter recommended Don Curry a Gərəf-Levengi; that would be best for an individual. When Don Curry asked what a gərəf was, the waiter simply replied: "It's a bird." So Don Curry plunged into the unknown and also ordered a dovga soup, which consists of yogurt, rice, chickpeas and herbs, and a lentil plov to accompany the levengi. For the first time, Don Curry wanted to treat himself to a glass of Azerbaijani red wine with this special meal. The waiter poured vigorously from the bottle - and lo and behold, the red wine was a white wine. Embarrassed, the waiter tried to throw away the wine. But Don Curry insisted on at least trying it - a good fruity, off-dry white. Don Curry had the glass filled completely and postponed the red wine until later. Then the waiter brought a large tray of various appetizers and salads for Don Curry to choose from. He chose a piece each of walnut Kükü and watercress Kükü (Küküs are very thick, airy omelettes) and an eggplant levengi. He had barely finished eating the little delicacies when the rest went onto his table. He was particularly excited about the Gərəf-Levengi. The filling of all Levengis consists of walnuts, fried onions, dates, raisins and cherry plums, which are chopped and made into a grainy paste. Unfortunately, the sour cherry plums made the Levengi a little too sour for Don Curry's taste. And the stuffing filled not just the bird halves, but the entire pan, so that the gərəf was actually bathing in it. He still couldn't identify the bird; too big for a quail, too small for a type of chicken. Possibly a pigeon? No matter, the bird was tasty, even if the numerous small bones meant intensive, almost surgical work. Thankfully, several cats gathered around Don Curry's table and devoted themselves to the Gərəf bones. Did they know what kind of bird that was? A particularly small kitten even dared to sit on the table, but was quickly chased away by the waiters rushing past. Don Curry had long since been served the Azerbaijani red, which was also delicious. At the end of the opulent meal, the white wine that had not been ordered but was drunk did not appear on the bill.

Back in his beautiful room in the Xan Lankaran, Don Curry spent some time researching the Internet to determine the identity of the Gərəf, unfortunately without success. Who knows what he took in there...

PS: Further investigations after the return journey revealed that Gərəf is a teal, a particularly small species of duck.

Don Curry woke up after a very quiet night in the middle of the lively town of Sheki. The thick walls of the old caravanserai offered protection from possible enemies, today from annoying traffic noise. Don Curry wandered through the impressive building once again, then followed in the footsteps of the Khans of Sheki. Of course, they not only had a summer palace, but also a winter palace, which was hidden in the middle of the city and could only be reached through narrow streets. Here, too, Don Curry paid 9 manat, but he was the only visitor for miles around and was therefore accompanied the entire time by the ticket seller and prevented from taking photographs. The palaces were strikingly similar in terms of their external shape and room layout, except that the Winter Palace had a fireplace in every room. In addition, only the main room on the upper floor, the divan, showed the same splendor of frescoes and shebeke windows as its summer counterpart.

Don Curry also visited this counterpart again in the hope of being able to photograph the facade early in the morning without groups of tourists. But the first busloads were already waiting. In the souvenir shop next to the ticket counter, Don Curry asked for a book about the palace or all of Şəki's art treasures. But there was only one illustrated book about the whole of Azerbaijan, which only contained a few pages about Sheki. There is a real gap in the market here, as the ban on photography would certainly encourage many interested tourists to buy a suitable booklet.

After leaving Sheki, Kia initially moved further west. This area once belonged to Georgia, so a few Georgian churches were still preserved here. One of them, the former monastery church of Kurmukhi, greeted us from afar on a high hill above the access road to the city of Qax. Google Maps clearly showed the route to the church, but Don Curry had learned that slopes can be treacherous. So he left Kia at the bottom of the hill and didn't regret that decision; After around 100 meters the runway became impassable for normal vehicles. Don Curry was able to climb the climb easily on foot. The church was open, but looked pretty unkempt. But its lofty location boasted a wonderful view.

Don Curry knew that there was at least one other Georgian church in Qax, which was the only one still used liturgically in Azerbaijan. When he arrived at St. George's Church, the priest had just begun his sermon, which he apparently delivered once in Azerbaijani and once in Georgian. Don Curry sat at the back in one of the few seats because he didn't understand either language. Towards the end of the sermon, the altar boys also returned to the church, two of them sitting right next to Don Curry. They looked at him curiously from the side and whispered to each other who it was. When Don Curry heard the word "Russkiy" he made a negative gesture with his head. The bravest boy asked. "English?" Don Curry said yes. Then it just gushed out of the mess dinner: "My name is Giorgi: Nice to meet you. What is your name? Don Curry also answered in a whisper because the Pope had just started to expand on the sermon. Then Giorgi discovered his smartphone and was there He couldn't contain his enthusiasm anymore. He marveled at the cameras of the device, the integrated pen and knew more about the technical details than Don Curry himself. The other altar boys were also fascinated and caused so much unrest that several of the churchgoers turned around indignantly and said stern things Distributed glances.

Giorgi typed the message into his smartphone: "Can we go outside and take a photo?" Don Curry immediately agreed so as not to involuntarily annoy the congregation and the priest even further. Almost all of the altar boys followed them, so that the priest had to forego their help for the rest of the service. Several of the boys tried to take a photo of the whole group with Don Curry, but unfortunately, as Don Curry later discovered, none of them succeeded. He was busy answering Giorgi's many questions: "Whether he would live in Qax? Would he also go to Georgia? Would he have a Mercedes? How much did his smartphone cost?" and many, many more questions. In the meantime, the service in the church was obviously ending, and the boys told all the visitors streaming out that this was a guest from Germany and that he only spoke English. Finally, Don Curry took a few pictures of the completely painted church and said goodbye to Giorgi and his friends. They cheerfully shouted "Good-bye" and waved after him for a long time...

From Qax, Don Curry drove a little north into the beginning of the mountain landscape of the Caucasus. The road ends at Ilisu. Here he admired an old bridge and the Sumuq Qala defense tower, the only remnant of a once extensive fortress. The resort SangarGala also looks like a medieval castle, and is really eye-catching with its playful architecture a la Disneyland and numerous decorative elements such as life-size animal sculptures or cannons. The restaurant is located in the highest room and offers wide views of the surrounding forests and mountains. The unusual menu included some game dishes such as wild boar kebab; But the waiter quickly made it clear that many items on the menu were currently out of stock. So Don Curry ordered the classic Azerbaijani dushbara, a Lüle kebab and a Choban salad, with homemade apricot compote and water to mix. Dushbara soup is a strong broth in which numerous Azerbaijani "ravioli" swim. The Lüle kebab was equally delicious: minced meat rolls wrapped in lavash with a mountain of very thinly sliced onions. The Choban salad made from small cubes of tomatoes, cucumbers and onions was refined with lemon juice in this restaurant. Sated and very satisfied, we began a very long journey to Ganja, the second largest city in Azerbaijan.

On the way, a police officer stopped him again because he hadn't stopped at a stop sign on the roundabout. He showed Don Curry the table of fines, but then gave up because of Don Curry's German driver's license and let him continue driving without being punished. Near Ganja, a mighty black mountain range rose to the south. This had to be Nagorno-Karabakh, the area that had been hotly contested between Armenians and Azerbaijanis for decades, and which had to be largely deserted at this point in time following the exodus of the Armenian residents. Why do people keep inflicting so much suffering on each other, Don Curry asked himself. He met friendly and approachable people in both countries. Azerbaijan's current "victory" would not solve any problems, but would only fuel further hatred and vindictiveness....

Since dusk was already setting in, Don Curry postponed most of his sightseeing in Ganja until tomorrow. He only visited the Imamzadeh Ibrahim grave mosque, an important shrine for the Shiites. The external splendor alone is impressive. The actual mausoleum from the 8th century stands under the mighty central dome. as an independent building. The colorful and lavishly decorated grave rests inside. After this deep immersion in Islamic architecture, Don Curry drove many more kilometers through the vast Ganja until he reached the central square. The Hotel Vego has its own parking lot there, so he was able to park his Kia safely and conveniently directly in front of the hotel. The view from his hotel room captured the domes of a medieval hammam and the delicate minarets of the Shah Abbas Mosque, both located in the middle of the sprawling main square.

A short walk through Ganja in the evening created enough of an appetite, which Don Curry simply wanted to satisfy in the hotel restaurant, which was completely un-Azerbaijani: a huge chicken schnitzel with fries, and a Turkish Efes Draft from the bottle. This exotic dinner cost Don Curry around €7.50. He still thought about Giorgi and his friends, who all dreamed of a bright future with a great smartphone. This future can only arise together, never against each other, Don Curry mused before he fell asleep undisturbed...

When selecting his accommodations, Don Curry always tries to find buildings that fit into the region he is traveling to and, in the best case, even have a historical background. Jabir's apartment in a classic Baku residential building or Rahman's guesthouse can certainly be described as regionally typical. The EviM Hotel in Lahıc also belongs to this category as it was built in the usual architectural style of this city. Don Curry wanted to go one step further with his accommodation in Sheki: it should be truly historic.

But first, breakfast at the EviM Hotel was enticing. The first thing the manager reported was that the police had found the three men yesterday evening and were able to help them. Don Curry was happy about this reasonably good outcome. The meal presented, on the other hand, did not necessarily invite celebration: two cold, hard-boiled eggs, bread, butter, cheese, jam and honey stood in front of him in small bowls and bowls, nothing fresh. But the tea was convincing and helped to wash down the rest.

After leaving the hotel, Don Curry strolled through rustic Lahıc. In Azerbaijan, the town is considered a kind of Rothenburg ob der Tauber, a kind of inhabited open-air museum from the good old days. The coarse cobblestones of all the streets and paths reinforced this impression, but at the same time made it difficult to move forward. Almost all of the buildings in the city center date from the 12th - 14th centuries. and were built by the Tat people who still live here today in their very own architectural style from carved river stones in order to make them resistant to the frequent earthquakes. Lahıc is famous throughout Azerbaijan for the coppersmith craft, which has been cultivated here for centuries. Don Curry discovered several shops and workshops in the picturesque old town where you could hear people working with hammers and anvils.

As the journey continued, Kia once again ran into a large herd of sheep and had to laboriously make her way through the masses of animals. Shortly before the winter sports resort of Qəbələ, Don Curry turned into a nature reserve, the highlight of which is the Yeddi Gözəl waterfall, the "Waterfall of the Seven Beauties". A shocking amount of tourist infrastructure had formed at the foot of the natural wonder - from parking attendants to souvenir shops, cafés and restaurants to several children offering bouquets of flowers for sale on the access road. Don Curry resisted all of these temptations (except for parking) and bravely climbed the numerous and completely irregular steps to the multi-tiered waterfall. He reached the destination bathed in sweat and really enjoyed the cooling spray of the photogenically falling water.

His next goal required even more effort from him, although of a completely different kind: it had to be found with some difficulty. Although the ancient city of Gabala could be easily located on Google Maps, there were two ways to access it from different directions. Don Curry chose the shorter one. After 20 km on good roads he suddenly turned onto a gravel road. That didn't seem very comfortable to him, but the remaining 2.2 km couldn't be too bad, even on a gravel road, he thought confidently. But the track deteriorated noticeably: first it led over coarse scree, then through several deep puddles and finally over a boggy forest path. When only 400 m remained to be covered, a raging torrent about 5 m wide crossed the piste. There was no further progress here. Even on foot, Don Curry would not have been able to safely cross the stream. So the whole terrible route back and another 50 km on roads to the second access option. This was effective!

And yet the goal was still a bit reluctant. When Don Curry reached the site of the ancient city, a security guard demanded the ticket from Don Curry. Where would Don Curry get a ticket from? “Museum,” the man explained, turning away from the street. So Don Curry turned back again, but this time he only had to cover around 700 m. The apparently recently built museum also housed the ticket counter. Here Don Curry paid 1 manat to tour the museum, 1 manat to tour the ancient city and 1 manat for the car. Don Curry thought it was the parking fee, but he was wrong. After properly examining the museum treasures, he drove back to the site, was now able to show the ticket and saw the security guard open a large gate through which Kia was now allowed to drive onto the city site. Don Curry has experienced many strange things on his travels, but never a drive-in excavation site. The impressive remains of the city wall and the reconstructed medieval city gate made this detour into Azerbaijan's past particularly worthwhile.

The old Albanian Church of Nic was even more shy than the old Gabala. Despite an intensive search, Don Curry couldn't find her. All he knows is that it can't be in the exact location where it appears on Google Maps. Instead, Don Curry discovered a living Albanian church, clearly more recent but clearly still in liturgical use. Don Curry had read that many members of the predominantly Christian Uden people live in Nic. They certainly celebrate their church services here. A large painting of the Last Supper and a baptismal site in the pond in front of the church announced noticeable Christian activity in the middle of this almost entirely Muslim country.

Don Curry ultimately had better luck with old Albanian churches in the village of Kiş. The church, which is quite hidden in the town center and can only be reached through narrow streets, was excellently signposted. Don Curry had to pay the usual 9 manat entrance fee for foreigners because this medieval church only serves as a museum. The Kingdom of Albania has nothing to do with today's Balkan state. As a Christian state, it was located east of the Georgian kingdoms, but lost so much of its importance after the Arab storm that it disappeared completely in the late Middle Ages. Only a few churches have survived to this day. Don Curry was happy to have found and visited at least one.

His final destination took him to a somewhat later time: the historic city of Sheki, once an important stop on the Silk Road and capital of its own khanate. From the 18th century. Most of the city's sights, such as two caravanserais, come from here. One of them now serves as a hotel and restaurant. Since this hotel cannot yet be reserved via the Internet, Don Curry took the risk of not asking for a free room until he arrived. He was successful and was now able to spend the night in an extremely historical atmosphere. When choosing between a simple room and a luxury room, Don Curry chose the second option, which cost him 50 manat (= €28). However, no real luxury could be expected at that price; The only thing that mattered here was the oriental ambience. Don Curry learned from the manager that the main destination for all tourists in Sheki, the summer palace of the Khans, was only open for 50 minutes. He quickly set off, paid the usual 9 manat and by now had so much experience with the ticket laser scanner that he gained entry himself and the ticket inspector had to follow him into the palace to check his ticket analogously.

The inside of the summer palace looks like an oriental treasure trove. Every single room has delicate frescoes full of flower and animal motifs, but also - completely un-Islamic - depictions of people can be found in historical and mythological scenes. In addition, the unique Shebeke technique, which comes from Sheki and enables large-format stained glass windows, is impressive. Unfortunately, this overwhelming splendor cannot be photographed; several cameras per room and additional security guards prevented even Don Curry from breaking the rules. Later he found two large posters outside with parts of the interior and simply photographed them. Don Curry was surprised to see a large number of Asian tour groups passing through the palace one after the other. He had never met so many tourists even in Baku.

The tour groups also made their way into the caravanserai, but only until 7 p.m. Then this old accommodation with its discreetly lit inner courtyard was left to the hotel guests. Don Curry first found inspiration through photography and then sat down in the hotel restaurant, where he was currently the only guest. Therefore, he was able to choose a wonderful table with a view of the inner courtyard and still sit comfortably outside when it was 20°C. He ordered the typical specialty Şəkis, a piti, and, at the waiter's suggestion, a mixture of pickled vegetables. Since there was no beer in this restaurant, he chose compote and sparkling water, which when mixed resulted in a refreshing, fruity, not too sweet drink.

Piti is a type of stew made from chickpeas, potatoes, onions and as fatty lamb as possible in a strong broth, which is prepared and served in a tall earthenware vessel. The waiter showed Don Curry the classic way to enjoy piti: First, the liquid from the clay pot is poured onto a plate and used as a very spicy starter soup, then you use the soup spoon to break up the solid components in the clay pot into a kind of porridge Eaten with bread and pickled vegetables as the main course. Don Curry really liked the piti itself because of its exquisite spiciness, but the sour vegetables usually seemed too sour to him. In total, the filling meal with drinks cost around €7.50. Real enjoyment can sometimes be very cheap.

Afterwards, Don Curry wandered around the nighttime Sheki for a while until he retired to his luxury caravanserai room and perhaps dreamed of historical times...

Don Curry was able to survive another pretty cold night. He already knew this from Old Omalo and Ushguli, where he had stayed overnight at a similar altitude. Here in Xinaliq there were more than enough thick blankets. Only Don Curry's nose got pretty cold that night. Rahman had shown him a video yesterday that showed the first snow of this winter two days ago; But nothing was left behind. When Don Curry had to make his way to the hole shortly after 7:00 a.m., it was already daylight. While Mount Xinaliq (3713 m) was still largely covered by clouds yesterday, today it was in all its glory. All that was missing was the sun...

When the Xinaliq was completely lit up around 8:00 a.m., Don Curry set off for a long walk through the village. People and animals have been busy in a variety of ways. Geese were chattering at him, chickens were running away and two clumsy puppies couldn't decide whether they should sniff Don Curry or run for safety. Don Curry even reached the Ethnographic Museum on the top square of Xinaliq through winding streets; He had already explored a second museum yesterday. When he arrived back at the guesthouse shortly before 9:00 a.m., the agreed breakfast time, Rahman's wife spoke to him: "Hey, tourist. Omelette?" Even without extensive language skills, the essentials of life can be clarified. Don Curry just nodded vigorously.

A short time later he was sitting at the long table; Rahman poured him tea and left. Nubar wanted to demonstrate to him how fast she can already run. When the omelette came, with Ms. Rahman's significant comment "organic!", Nubar sat down next to him again. Her mother brought bread, butter, sheep cheese and jam and of course more tea. Then she also disappeared. Presumably both parents enjoyed their free time away from the child, which Don Curry now had to look after. It wasn't entirely clear to him who was looking after whom, because Nubar was constantly finding things that she wanted to show him. She could speak English better than her mother and constantly asked Don Curry to "Look!" while he ate the massive omelet. Of course, Don Curry also had to admire her earrings. "Nice!" Nubar dictated how Don Curry should evaluate them. This turned out to be quite a long breakfast, during which Nubar clearly enjoyed having the stranger all to himself. But at some point Don Curry had to pack up his things and leave this extremely hospitable guesthouse. He paid Nubar's mother the equivalent of €20 for a surprise and half-board, although the human encounter remained unaffordable. Nubar and her mother waved goodbye. Rahman was away on some business.

First, Don Curry drove to the only Xinaliq store right at the entrance to town. Rahman had told him that there would also be petrol here. Using a hose and a cut plastic bottle, the shop owner slowly filled the contents of a 20 liter canister into Kia's tank and charged the equivalent of €15 for it. Continuation of the journey was assured. Beforehand, Don Curry panted and climbed a steep viewing hill, which provided a wonderful panoramic view of the village and mountain Xinaliq. He sat here motionless in the warming sun for almost 30 minutes, taking in this incomparable mountain world with all his senses.

The return journey was also spectacular. Where clouds and shadows had obscured visibility yesterday, today everything shone in full daylight. Not far from Xinaliq, 2 huge eagles and 2 even bigger vultures seemed to have been waiting for Don Curry to give him a private flying show. One of the vultures even stayed put until Don Curry was finally able to take a decent photo of it.

Kia ended up needing almost 2 hours for the 45 km back from Xinaliq to civilization. Since it was now lunchtime, Don Curry decided to visit one of the Qutab restaurants in the sparse forest. The choice of food was not difficult: there was qutab with herbs or qutab with (minced) meat; Don Curry ordered a copy of each, along with tea. Qutab are a typical Azerbaijani specialty: a kind of filled pancake in a very thin egg and wholemeal flour batter. When Don Curry chose a simple wooden bench and table, the young waiter, presumably the Qutab baker's son, escorted him to a particularly kitschy pavilion with flashing blue fairy lights. Don Curry found it more unpleasant that he was apparently supposed to eat the oil-dripping qutab without cutlery. Napkins only came to the table when a large pot of tea was brought to him. He was enjoying his frugal meal when he once again caught the attention of a small cat. But this time the animal wasn't after his food, but rather Don Curry himself. It really wanted to make itself comfortable on his lap. In principle, Don Curry has nothing against cuddling cats, but please not while eating. So he kept lifting the kitten away until at some point it respected his wishes and just cuddled gently against him. Don Curry paid around €5.50 for this very authentic lunch.

The day had started so wonderfully positively that Don Curry almost suspected that it couldn't continue like this. When he finally had the chance to overtake a troublesome truck, he did so with a solid center line and right in front of a patrol officer. Don Curry saw from the corner of his eye how he quickly got into his car and drove behind Kia with his lights flashing. But Don Curry voluntarily pulled over to the side of the road and waited for what was to come. With a stern look, the police officer first explained to Don Curry that he had driven across a solid center line and that it was forbidden. Don Curry agreed with the police officer on all points. He asked for driver's license and vehicle documents, took photos of everything and then handed Don Curry his cell phone. An English-speaking police officer explained to him that he would have to pay an 80 manat (= €45) fine for his offense - via bank transfer. Don Curry asked if it was possible in cash. No, actually not, bank transfer is the prescribed way. But he could ask the patrol officer whether he would accept cash. He was unruly, but handed the cell phone back to Don Curry. The voice explained that the colleague actually didn't want to take it in cash unless Don Curry insisted. Don Curry insisted! He knew how complicated and expensive transfers to non-euro areas still are. The policeman finally took the 80 manat, thanked him and let Don Curry go.

On the long journey, Don Curry came into contact with the police several times. Once he was said to have driven too fast, twice he was probably flagged down by chance for a routine check. He knew something similar from Turkey. When he showed his German driving license, the police always gave up and Kia was able to continue driving until he reached the Diri Baba mausoleum in Qobustan. All of Azerbaijan's sights cost 9 manat entry for foreigners, while locals pay 1 to 2 manat or get in for free. Don Curry didn't mind. At the mausoleum, the entrance fees seemed to have been invested in modern infrastructure. The funerary monument with the classic dome was built on the site where the Sufi saint Diri Baba had lived and prayed for a long time in a cave; However, he is not buried here. Included in the ticket price is a personal guide who joined Don Curry as he climbed the many steps to the mausoleum. Panting heavily, the young, somewhat corpulent man apologized for his temporary shortness of breath, but after some recovery he was able to pass on a lot of knowledge to Don Curry in good English. He then invited Don Curry to explore the neighboring rock caves on his own. Helmets were ready, but he should watch out for snakes and scorpions. Instead of exciting animals, he only discovered unspectacular caves without any decoration. The old Muslim cemetery opposite the mausoleum, on the other hand, was much more atmospheric, with its numerous grave steles standing out wonderfully against the beginning of the sunset sky.

Don Curry's other short stops on the way, the Jummah Mosque of Sarmaxi and the observatory in the mountains, were both already closed. So Don Curry drove towards his hotel in Lahic as darkness fell. This place is not as far from the rest of civilization as Xinaliq, but is certainly not on a thoroughfare either. Don Curry experienced the worst road he had ever driven on in Azerbaijan. Around 16 km from Lahic, he saw the beam of light from a car coming towards him in the distance. Suddenly the beams of light made strange circular movements until they froze. What happened there? Two minutes later, Don Curry arrived at the scene and saw three men getting out of a completely wrecked vehicle that lay motionless on its roof. The driver must have missed the curve, so the car left the road, rolled over several times and came to rest shortly before a deep abyss. Don Curry immediately got out and asked the men if he could help. But they didn't understand him and were understandably in a state of absolute shock a few minutes after an almost fatal accident. Don Curry was relieved to note that they were not injured, but they were currently unresponsive. He decided to help in another way, drove on to Lahic and told the hotel manager about the accident that had just happened and asked him to call the police. He did that immediately. A policewoman who spoke English well had Don Curry tell her the exact street and distance, but also wanted to know things such as the make of the vehicle involved in the accident. Don Curry really hadn't paid attention to that. At least she promised to send a company car to the scene of the accident immediately.

Meanwhile, Don Curry checked into his room in the small hotel and asked for dinner. He could get kebab and salata, the manager said to Don Curry's satisfaction. When he arrived at the restaurant at the agreed time, there was even a Mercimek, a red lentil soup, waiting for him. When he asked about beer, the manager initially said no, but then said he could offer non-alcoholic beer. This is how Don Curry enjoyed a Delster beer from Iran (!). The kebab consisted of meaty chicken pieces throughout, but was grilled a little too hard and dry. Regardless, Don Curry enjoyed the pick-me-up after the long drive and recent scare. Nubar would probably be slumbering blissfully by now and would be having breakfast with the three Dutch women tomorrow: "Look!" - "Nice!"

Don Curry sometimes has to think for a long time to find the right daily title. It should either summarize the whole day in a concise manner or at least highlight the highlight, it should arouse curiosity and it must not have been used before. The problem today wasn't having to laboriously find a title, but choosing between three extremely suitable titles. Because the day would have deserved the headline “Don Curry back in the High Caucasus” or “Don Curry at a family dinner”. But since Don Curry realized that daily titles with animals always attract a particularly large number of readers, he decided on the turtle headline. But don't worry, the other things also appear in the report.

Like every day before, the weather in Baku continued to deteriorate. Thick gray clouds prevented any sun from getting through today; it seemed to have rained again during the night. At around 10:00 a.m., one of Jabir's employees knocked on the door to briefly inspect the apartment and was very happy to receive the key. Actually, Don Curry would have liked to stay in this optimally located apartment for a while, but he also wanted to discover the rest of Azerbaijan, and to do that he had to get moving.

Today was almost entirely devoted to the country's natural wonders, but Don Curry found the miserable weather all the more annoying. But the further north he went, the more the sun came through. His first destination, the Candycane Mountains, was already visible in the bright sunlight. He had already encountered something similar in the west of the USA and to some extent in Georgia, but the mountains in northern Azerbaijan, which were fascinatingly illuminated by colorful layers of rock, could only be described as extraordinary. Some of the layers formed real curls that were actually reminiscent of the patterns on candy canes. Don Curry trudged extensively through this surrealistic landscape, which would have uninhibitedly thrilled and inspired artists from Van Gogh to Dali.

As he continued driving, Don Curry braked abruptly when he saw a rather large turtle about to cross the road. He carefully approached the animal from behind to encourage it to hurry up. But “turtle” and “hurry” are two terms from very different worlds. And if Don Curry got too close, the reptile retreated into its shell and stopped moving at all. Finally we reached the middle of the road when a car came speeding from afar in the path that the animal was still ahead of. Don Curry spontaneously grabbed the astonished creature, who shortly afterwards hissed indignantly and didn't appreciate his free flight at all. He set it down again across the street. The toad eagerly crawled away without noticing its rescue. Don Curry, on the other hand, drove on with a very good feeling.

He saw the next ornament from afar. A striking rock formation rose clearly from a mountain range to the left of the highway, which not only looked like a castle, but was also artificially expanded and used as such: Beshbarmaq. Kia followed in Xerra's footsteps up an adventurous gravel road, so to speak, without of course being able to exploit the power and sovereignty of an all-wheel drive vehicle. At least Don Curry arrived safely at the foot of the rocks, where the remains of a massive castle wall were still clearly visible. From here there were numerous steps leading up, in some places Don Curry had to squeeze through narrow rocky passages. Almost directly at the summit of the highest rock there was a brick hut in which a park ranger was lying comfortably on an improvised divan and was constantly talking on the phone. Don Curry found another place to quietly enjoy the magnificent view of the coastal plain and the Caspian Sea. After an equally steep descent on foot and by Kia, Don Curry continued to follow the well-developed road north to Quba. There a side road branched off into the mountains to his actual destination.

Until now, Kia had been able to get by completely with the landlord's tank filling. The fuel gauge reported that the fuel would last another 145 km. The navigation system showed 45 km to the destination, so Don Curry assumed that he wouldn't be able to refuel in peace until he returned to the mountains tomorrow. Unfortunately, fuel gauges can sometimes be tricky. Don Curry would soon find out for himself.

First we continued our journey through a sparse forest full of deciduous trees. A number of Qutab restaurants were located here, each of which had set up numerous pavilions and benches in the forest so that guests in groups could eat their Qutabs undisturbed. Don Curry certainly had an appetite, but it was more important to him to arrive at his destination in daylight. Even a young rider who offered huge walnuts to Don Curry could not make a successful business. After the Qutab forest, the road became noticeably narrower and steadily gained altitude. Don Curry was shocked to find that after 5 km of driving, the fuel gauge only guaranteed 115 km remaining. If it stayed that way, it would just be enough for a safe return from the mountains. But it didn't stay that way...

As the surrounding landscape became more and more impressive, Kia's remaining lifespan decreased rapidly. The road followed a rushing river through a mighty canyon and later climbed up one of its walls. While the area had previously been characterized by autumnal forest, Don Curry soon left the tree line below him. There were a few tea rooms and small restaurants on the side of the road, but in the last 30 km Don Curry only passed a tiny mountain village, but also several herds of animals, which consisted of a colorful mix of sheep, goats, cows, horses and donkeys. Sometimes he had to drive through the middle of the herd, and Kia was repeatedly bumped into by cows with gross motor skills.

Behind the already mentioned mountain village, Don Curry finally reached a pass with an eagle monument, which finally led him into a high mountain landscape. He returned to the High Caucasus! The snow-covered mountain peaks quickly brought back memories of Tusheti, Svaneti and Khevsureti. The road followed a meandering river for many kilometers until a final, intense climb to 2,100 meters above sea level. And there the destination lay before him: the village of Xinaliq at the foot of Mount Xinaliq, inhabited by the Xinaliq people, who are the only ones in the world who speak the Xinaliq language. In short: a world of its own!

The fuel gauge now indicated that Kia only had 20 km remaining driving time. So Don Curry would have to stay here if he didn't get this problem solved. But first there was another problem: where was the accommodation he had booked, the Ecomama Guest House. Don Curry knew from the reviews of the guest house that it was definitely not where it was shown on Google Maps. But where then? He drove carefully on the increasingly poor slopes to the highest accessible point in the village. Here he got out and went to a tea house. An older woman in folk costume who was sitting there couldn't understand him, but - presumably - called over her son, who understood some English. When he heard the word “Ecomama” he knew straight away and pointed to the lower part of the village and to his cell phone. He made a phone call and then happily said: “Ecomama coming!”

A short time later, a small white car rumbled up the track, from which a warm, gray-haired man emerged, introduced himself as Rahman and told Don Curry to just follow him in the car. At first it went downhill, but then a little bit uphill again on another slope. Kia was able to stay there and Don Curry was led into the house, where he first had to take off his shoes at the entrance. Behind the anteroom, the dining and living room awaited him, which essentially consisted of a long table with around 20 chairs. Behind it was Don Curry's room with a plush double bed, a table and 4 chairs. Right next to it was the landlord's bedroom and another guest room, which would only accommodate 3 Dutch women tomorrow. What is not available in residential buildings throughout Xinaliq are kitchens and toilets. Both are located in simple sheds outside the house, with the toilet consisting of a 40 cm long and 10 cm wide hole in the floor, which should be targeted when carrying out the tasks here. The landlords provide buckets of water, there is only light if you leave the door open during the day or - the better solution - have a flashlight or smartphone with you.

Rahman told Don Curry that Germans and Brits can easily adapt to these simple circumstances, while Chinese, Iranians and Arabs complain about the lack of comfort. He immediately invited Don Curry to share tea from the samovar and began to philosophize about good and bad people all over the world, about the increasing commercialization in all areas, and he dreamed of a future in which Christians and Muslims can support each other visit their prayer houses and praise and praise God together. He then showed Don Curry the video of the last UNESCO conference in mid-September, in which Xinaliq was officially added to the world heritage list. Another video showed Rahman himself showing Xinaliq and the surrounding area to a reporter on an Iranian television broadcast. Meanwhile the tea glass was being filled for the third time when a little girl, about three years old, came out of the landlord's bedroom, but quickly ran back when she saw Don Curry. Now Rahman talked about his family, about his daughter, who died 5 years ago, and his two other children. “And your granddaughter,” Don Curry added, hitting the spot. "Oh, this is my youngest daughter," Rahman clarified. "Her name is Nubar."

When it came time for dinner, it wasn't just Don Curry and Rahman who took a seat at the long table. Nubar also came along, took another close look at Don Curry and then, laughing happily, chose the chair right next to him. In the meantime, her mother served up: there were kofta, home-made fries, fresh cucumber slices and flatbread for everyone, and for Nubar and Don Curry there was also lentil soup with lots of sumac; Plus, of course, tea from the samovar. Finally the mother was able to sit down with Nubar and we had a relaxed family meal. Rahman spoke English with Don Curry, Xinaliq or Azerbaijani with his wife, and Nubar spoke a little of everything.

Don Curry soon retreated to his room to have some real family time. Although he had brought a beer with him, he refrained from taking any additional fluids. He didn't want to have to go outside to the hole at night. The weather app also showed a nighttime minimum temperature of -1°C for Xinaliq. Good thing his bed had plenty of down pillows and he also wore a sweater over his pajamas. He was still happy about the rescued turtle. Little did he know that a much bigger rescue effort would come his way tomorrow...

Don Curry now gives his travels titles. Simply numbering his trips or naming them by year or destination seemed too banal to him. His journeys have titles that provide clues but do not directly reveal the actual destination. He called it "A Trip to the White Sea" for example. B. his trip through northern Russia. "Where Noah landed..." was the name of his tour of Anatolia. For this year's Caucasus tour he chose the motto: "Between Fire and Ice". However, he had not yet completely fulfilled his claim. In Georgia and Armenia he encountered a lot of ice - on the Caucasus peaks or right on the side of the road on the daring mountain passes - but the countries he had traveled to so far could not offer him fire. Only today would he actually make the title a reality, and in multiple forms.

After a rainy night, the morning fortunately turned out to be free of precipitation. The gray overcast sky still clouded Don Curry's photographer's heart. That was exactly the reason for not going up to the Flame Towers yesterday. Today he just had to ignore that reason if he actually wanted to visit the highest part of Baku. Not far from his apartment is the valley station of the Baku funicular, called Funicular. For one manat, he was able to comfortably cover the approximately 500 m long route to the mountain station at the Flame Towers in this ultra-modern, almost entirely glass vehicle. The sun even came out briefly at the top, so that Don Curry was able to photograph the enormous, sparkling skyscrapers between 160 and 182 m high. An old mosque right at the foot of the towers, which made it seem tiny, created a welcome contrast. Don Curry had actually hoped to find an open space with cafes and restaurants in the middle of the three towers, but the entire area turned out to be absolutely inaccessible. Only residents and guests of a luxury hotel were allowed access to the towers, no one else.

So Don Curry simply left the stylized flames standing and occupied himself with the surroundings. Even to him, this architectural encounter with fire seemed all too abstract. But not far away there was a real flame burning. On the other side of the funicular station began the "Avenue of Martyrs". It commemorates two events in Azerbaijan's recent history. In 1990, the Red Army wanted to make an example of the crumbling Soviet Union in Baku in order to ensure Moscow's continued access to the country's rich oil sources. Over 200 people who demonstrated peacefully for independence were shot: men, women and children. They are buried here in Martyr Alley and life-like pictures on their gravestones keep their memories alive. Fresh roses lay in front of many gravestones. There are also graves of the victims of the first Nagorno-Karabakh War, in which Azerbaijan suffered a heavy military defeat and lost control of extensive areas in and around Nagorno-Karabakh. Behind the graves there is a monument to the martyrs, visible from afar, in which an eternal flame burns. Here Don Curry was very close to the fire, but of course an artificial flame was burning here.

Even more impressive was the wonderful views of all of Baku and parts of the Abseron Peninsula, which he wanted to visit later in the day. From up here he could even see the window of his bedroom, from which he could admire the lights of the Flame Towers every night. Instead of taking the funicular again, Don Curry chose to descend on foot, which occasionally opened up new perspectives of Baku.

Then Kia's free time ended. Don Curry bravely plunged into the usual traffic chaos of the city of over a million people to initially head to two destinations on the outskirts of Baku. His son and successor had the Heydar Mosque built in memory of President Heydar Aliyev. Built in the classic Ottoman style, it is certainly appealing with its towering shape and elaborate decorative elements. Only the escalators to the main entrance don't really fit in with the historic building. Unfortunately, it is probably mostly locked so that Don Curry cannot assess the inner values.

Even further on the outskirts of Baku lies one of the most important sights in all of Azerbaijan. Two things came together here long ago: Zoroastrianism, which came from Iran, in which fire plays an important role, and the geological conditions of the Abseron Peninsula, where oil and natural gas have always appeared on the earth's surface. Once ignited, a natural gas source continues to burn, which must have seemed like an inexplicable miracle to people in earlier centuries. A fire temple was established at this point early on, which later gained international importance through the Silk Road towards Baku. The temple reached its peak in the 17th and 18th centuries. Century; With the exploitation of oil and gas reserves that began in the 19th century, the natural eternal fire went out and the buildings fell into disrepair. The complex has now been reconstructed and a perpetual flame burns again on several altars. In the adjoining rooms, the history and religious significance is partly retold using life-size figures. Here Don Curry actually met the fire, but he was to encounter it even more intensely.

But first he had to quench the feeling of hunger flaring up inside him. Since the Ateshgarh fire temple is on the agenda of all tour groups, a corresponding infrastructure with souvenir shops and food options had been created. Don Curry wanted to have a lunch snack in the attached, very oriental restaurant. Since the daily program listed a few more points, this time he stuck to a meal and a drink. The pilaf or plov, which is widespread throughout Central Asia, is also one of the national specialties in Azerbaijan, which is available in countless variations - in this restaurant alone there were six. Don Curry chose the plov with ram ragout, chestnuts and pomegranate sauce. Even though the amount served was manageable, it was completely enough to fill me up. Don Curry also ordered the typical (post-)Soviet compote that he had already gotten to know in Georgia - a liter of liquid made from and with pickled fruits, in this case grapes, for 5 manats (= €2.50). Strengthened, he had Kia continue on to the Abşeron Peninsula.

He headed for the museum complex in Qala, but given the advanced time, he only took a few photos of the small Qala castle. He wanted to devote more time to the Absheron National Park, which is the extreme eastern tip of Azerbaijan and extends far into the Caspian Sea. Accordingly, the landscape consists of beaches and dunes with light vegetation. When entering the national park, Don Curry not only had to pay 2 manat, but also had to show his passport so that he could be registered as a visitor. But his passport was in the apartment in Baku. Now the parking attendant was overwhelmed and called his boss, who showed up shortly afterwards. The boss asked for Don Curry's driver's license - it was also in Baku. Don Curry was already thinking about whether he shouldn't just come by again tomorrow with all the papers. But the boss didn't want to disappoint the foreign tourist. He simply wrote his name and underneath - instead of the passport number: "from Germany". He was happy, the park ranger was happy, and Don Curry was happy. He was particularly pleased that pragmatic solutions can replace fixed rules in this country too.

From the visitor center, Kia was able to move eastward for another 6 km on an asphalt road. Then a sandy road continued to the end of the mainland. Don Curry didn't want to expose Kia to unnecessary risk, but instead wanted to complete the route on foot. But the strong wind and the blown sand soon made the joy of the walk disappear. So Don Curry turned around halfway and instead went straight to the shore of the Caspian Sea and felt with one hand how surprisingly cool the water was.

In the coastal town of Mərdəkan in the north of the peninsula, Don Curry visited two important examples of Islamic architecture: the Pir Hassan Mosque has tombs of important Muslim personalities, and the Movsum Aga Ziyaretgahi burial mosque is considered an important pilgrimage destination. On the outside it looks like a classic building from Central Asia, on the inside the walls and ceiling are completely covered with glass and crystal, so that you feel like you have been transported into a glittering world of wonder. When he wanted to move from the anteroom with the graves to the actual mosque, he was vigorously reprimanded - albeit in Russian. Yes, yes, always the evil Russians! 😉

The gradually falling darkness was just right for Don Curry in view of his final destination: Yanar Dağ, the Burning Mountain. Here he actually encountered fire as a primal force, as a natural element. Natural gas is still leaking from this (very small) mountain and has been burning continuously for centuries. In recent years, this place has been developed for tourism and upgraded with a small museum, cafeteria and plenty of seating - now it was easy to charge a 9 manat (= €5) entry fee from foreign guests. But Don Curry was happy to pay for this unusual natural spectacle. He stood in front of the fire with many others, allowing himself to be warmed, enchanted and inspired to take many photos.

The long journey back through Azerbaijan at night, however, turned out to be less of a pleasure. But Don Curry reached his destination without any problems, just as the rain started again. So a cozy evening on the balcony came to nothing. Since the plov from lunch was still around, he simply ate yesterday's honey cake as a late dessert.

Now his Caucasus trip was truly complete, Don Curry thought. He had actually moved between fire and ice, and between many other opposites too: between remote mountain villages and cities with millions of inhabitants, between the Black and the Caspian Seas, between Europe and Asia. In the coming days he wanted to round off all these experiences and experience in a good way and perhaps even deepen them. The next ice cream was already waiting for him...

Don Curry has visited many cities on his travels. As a result of globalization, they have become more and more similar in many aspects. McDonald's branches and Dolce e Gabbana shops can now be found everywhere. And yet cities, just like people, have their own personality and character. Don Curry still remembers the almost overwhelmingly lascivious, morbid charisma of Naples, the omnipresent polyglot atmosphere of Brussels and the extremely brittle charm of Yerevan, which only became apparent behind the facade of obvious ugliness after a lot of well-meaning patience.

Baku did not fit into any of these categories. Quite the opposite: there is nothing morbid, polyglot here (except Jabir, of course!) and certainly nothing ugly. The capital of Azerbaijan presents itself as a very vital center, full of restaurants, shops of all kinds and a variety of leisure options, including some quite unusual ones. For example, between the capricious building of the Philharmonic Hall, which was very reminiscent of a huge Baroque church, and the massive old town wall, there is a concert grand piano under a large lamp - passers-by can demonstrate their pianistic skills here day and night; and they actually do that. Almost every time Don Curry passed the grand piano, artistic melodies could be heard there. Don Curry found the large chess facility on the waterfront promenade just as original, where crowds of people formed to watch the exciting progress of the game and occasionally even cheer on the two opponents.

Baku is (still) a long way from being polyglot and cosmopolitan. If obvious tourists are not walking around in groups, they are usually classified as Russians and addressed accordingly. Knowledge of English is quite common. Don Curry was almost always able to easily manage the purchase of tickets, going to a restaurant or getting drinks in English. And if a saleswoman or waiter didn't understand anything, you quickly called in a colleague who could help out. Don Curry was irritated by the strong national consciousness that he repeatedly encountered. The people were proud to be Azerbaijani, and Don Curry was asked several times in the first two days how he liked Baku and Azerbaijan. Of course, when you can admire the huge Flame Towers in the colors of the Azerbaijani flag every evening, and the president repeatedly propagates a clearly nationalist policy, something like this quickly takes root in people's minds and hearts. But Don Curry experienced genuine curiosity about the guest from abroad as a healthy counterweight to an overemphasis on ethnicity. Because the question about his origins came up even more frequently than the question about his assessment of Azerbaijan. Even when he wanted to buy a Cola Zero at a small kiosk on the waterfront in the evening, he immediately had a conversation with the interested young salesman, who was then able to tell us that his father had worked in Berlin for a few years.

The least appropriate attribute, however, is that of ugliness. On his first drive through the city, Don Curry could only be amazed. He can't remember being so impressed by the architecture of a city - across the board. Baku seemed to him as if someone had wanted to create an ingenious mix of Dubai, Saint Petersburg and Istanbul. Of course, Dubai is reminiscent of the huge high-rise buildings on the outskirts of the city, real glass palaces that try to avoid any stupid box shape. Instead, curved lines, twisted shapes, sometimes the imitation of floral concepts or a clear expression of organic growth predominate. In the city center area there are buildings that clearly date from the Russian-Soviet period. But instead of stereotypical prefabricated buildings, which are so common in Yerevan, Baku represents a veritable playground for renowned and aspiring architects who were able to really let off steam with the stylistic devices of Stalinist displays of splendor, Orientalism and European Art Nouveau. The beginning of the oil boom at the turn of the 20th century. created a large number of wealthy customers who wanted to show off their economic success in the form of representative buildings and palaces.

The comparatively tiny old town, the actual core of Baku, is a world of its own. Behind thick defensive walls there existed a thoroughly oriental city with mosques, caravanserais and narrow, winding streets. Don Curry researched all of this intensively that day - from the Maiden Tower to the Shirwanshah Palace, which, together with the entire old town, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Don Curry felt reminded here more of the Islamic character of the old town of Istanbul, not of the exuberantly oriental chaos of the medina of Fez or Cairo. Baku's old town gained a lot of charm when the subtle street lamps gave the houses and walls a golden light in the evening.

Don Curry took time for Azerbaijani cuisine for the first time that day. He had actually chosen a restaurant right next to the Maiden Tower, and when he left around 12:00 p.m. after completing the tour and thoroughly admiring the fantastic view from the roof platform, he had already developed a sufficiently hungry feeling. But at reception he was told that only breakfast was being served at the moment and lunch didn't start until 1:00 p.m. Don Curry really didn't feel like eating breakfast at this time. So he moved on, explored in detail the palace of the Shirwanshah dynasty, which ruled Baku and the surrounding area in the Middle Ages, and finally ended up in the wonderfully shady garden of the "Kükü" restaurant, not far from his apartment. He chose fried Gürzä as a starter, without knowing exactly what to expect. The waiter soon brought him a bowl with 8 pieces of shortbread, the shape and size of a little finger. These gürzä are filled with a spicy mixture of minced lamb and lamb fat and were served with a fairly sweet cream cheese. Delicious! In the end, the numerous restaurant cats in attendance enjoyed his main course more than Don Curry: he ordered a chicken saj. The Saj is a wok-like pan that is typical of Azerbaijan. Meat and various vegetables are seared in it and then poured over with meat broth and served with lavash bread. Unfortunately, Don Curry only discovered the strong broth at the bottom of the saj very late, because without it the meat and vegetables lacked the necessary seasoning. In addition, some tomatoes and peppers were so burnt that they simply tasted bitter. The chicken must have been breastless because the saj only contained bony pieces with meat that was difficult to gnaw off. Don Curry tried his best and left the rest to the delighted cats. The "Kükü" salad was much more satisfactory, a good mix of small pieces of tomato and cucumber with corn and leaf lettuce, refined with a sweet and spicy dressing. For drinks, Don Curry chose still water and an Alivaria beer, which he thought was a beer from Azerbaijan. Only later internet research revealed that he had drunk his first beer from Belarus. When it came to dessert, he made a clear mistake: he ordered a sweet tea set, expecting to get a large glass of Azerbaijani tea with two pastries. The waiter served a large pot of tea with two huge slices of cake: a tiramisu and a honey cake. Don Curry ate the former and had the latter packed up. More than satisfied, he returned to his nearby apartment and took a long siesta.

He had actually wanted to climb to the Flame Towers later in the afternoon, but the completely overcast sky took away much of the visual appeal of the glass towers. Instead, Don Curry moved towards the waterfront, using the exquisitely designed pedestrian passage to cross under the extensive Azneft roundabout, Baku's most important traffic junction, and just in time to see the huge Azerbaijan flag on the promenade being lowered as darkness fell. Shortly afterwards, the Flame Towers began their light display to strengthen national sentiment. At “Little Venice,” people lined up to be transported through the artificial canals on silent electric gondolas.

Meanwhile, Don Curry enjoyed the awakening night skyline of Baku with its diverse but still subtle glitter and sparkle. When he reached the pedestrian zone of the modern city center, he was immediately reminded of cities like Paris, Brussels and Riga. Countless street restaurants had spread out under plane trees and other trees and were vying for customers. Suddenly Don Curry noticed what was completely different here in Baku than in all the cities already mentioned - the dirt, the rubbish, the thoughtlessly thrown away garbage was missing. The more lively and attractive a city is, the more dirty places it has. Baku doesn't have that. There are no dirty places anywhere here. There is no graffiti or graffiti anywhere here. There is no visible poverty here, no bum in front of the shop window, no beggar woman holding out her hand. Baku is a thoroughly clean city! The only thing that creates disorder on streets and squares is the freshly fallen leaves of the trees - but only for a few hours.

Don Curry had already observed yesterday how this cleanliness is achieved. Countless cleaning crews regularly roam the entire city. There are almost always three of them: the man pushes the large bin, the two women sweep the rubbish towards him. No wonder supermarkets here generously push plastic bags; They have no chance of polluting the environment, the cleaning crews are faster. And the omnipresent surveillance cameras certainly help against graffiti and begging. Nothing escapes them. And somewhere there will be someone for whom it is extremely important that everything is clean and runs in an extremely orderly manner.

Meanwhile, Don Curry decided to try for an Armenian solution for the evening because of the sumptuous lunch, or more precisely: a Yerevan solution - to enjoy a delicious shawarma with plenty of beer comfortably on the balcony. He was able to easily order the shawarma to take away in the city center. Buying a beer was more difficult, as a liquor license is either expensive or rare to obtain. Don Curry finally found a store that also sold beer. Surprisingly, it was not the brand or origin of the beer that determined the price, but only the quantity. A liter of beer - regardless of the type - cost 3.30 manat (approx. €1.60). To be on the safe side, Don Curry took 2 liters of Azerbaijani Xirdalan beer with him and was once again surprised by Baku. It was pouring rain as we left the store. Even though he only had to walk 200 meters to the apartment, he was soaked to the skin during that distance. He could now forget about a cozy evening in Yerevan - the balcony has no roof...

Does Baku consciously resist being compared to other cities? Don Curry is still unsure how to truly assess this city. Sure, it is vital, extraordinarily beautiful and, above all, extremely clean - but there is still an unpleasant feeling in the background. When Don Curry looks from his balcony not at the Caspian Sea, but in the opposite direction, he sees the presidential palace: a huge block that, above all, radiates power and size and wants to be unmissable. Maybe the cleanliness celebrated every day in Baku is just meant to cover up the real dingy spots...

Don Curry's journey failed in a glaring way this year. Instead of being able to visit all three geographically and historically connected states of the South Caucasus one after the other, like a string of pearls, Azerbaijan refused to allow him (and all other car drivers) to cross the border. Despite careful preparation and planning - he had not only obtained a current visa and a notarized permit to drive the Georgian rental car - the Georgian border guard made it clear to him that the neighboring country had once again closed all borders without giving any reasons. So Don Curry looked stunned and sad at a country that didn't want him. He turned back and used the days originally planned for Azerbaijan to get to know Georgia even better and in a more leisurely manner. He shouldn't regret that...

But even in those days, a mixture of disappointment and indignation gave rise to the plan not to be fobbed off so easily. If Azerbaijan thought it could keep Don Curry out by arbitrarily closing its borders, then this country didn't know Don Curry well: he simply made another attempt to overcome the borders in the second attempt - this time from above!

For the first time, Don Curry's trip got a second helping. Today's new beginning was almost shockingly similar to the disastrous beginning of the first part of the journey, and in some points even exceeded it. Yesterday, Don Curry had not only packed his travel bag and backpack, but had already stowed them in the car so that he could easily get off to Hamburg Airport in time. But shortly before he wanted to leave at around 11:30 a.m., an email came in from Turkish Airlines saying that the departure of the booked plane would be delayed by 40 minutes. That's exactly how the drama started when we left for Georgia, but only after we arrived at the airport. This time, Don Curry had made some learning progress for himself and deliberately booked the flights so that the transfer time would now be a whopping 150 minutes instead of just under 60 minutes. That's why the news from the airline didn't frighten him much and even enabled him to have a noticeably more relaxed journey.

Instead of a valet service for his car with key delivery, this time he booked a parking space with a private provider who also provided a shuttle service to the airport. The parking lot is behind a restaurant in Norderstedt, but from there it takes a maximum of 10 minutes to get to the airport departure terminal. Don Curry found the specified location without any problems and took the fact that the space was almost completely filled with cars as a good sign of the seriousness of this provider. At the same time as he arrived at the parking lot, he received another email from Turkish Airlines: the delay was now 60 minutes. No problem, he thought, and allowed himself to be transported to the airport. His driver turned out to be the owner of the restaurant in the parking lot and told Don Curry how, during the Corona period, he came up with the idea of building up an additional, more crisis-proof commercial base in addition to the catering business. So he began to level the unused, overgrown area behind the restaurant parking lot and prepare it as a parking area for travelers' vehicles. However, such flashes of inspiration are not that easy to implement in Germany: he not only had to officially register this additional business, but also get a taxi driver's license and purchase a vehicle exclusively for the shuttle service. But now business is going quite well, and sometimes he can even persuade parking lot customers to stop by his restaurant before driving to the airport.

However, Don Curry wasn't one of them because, despite the increasing delay, he wanted to get the airport formalities over with as quickly as possible so that he had at least done his part to ensure that the trip went smoothly and according to plan. At the check-in counter he was greeted with news that the probable delay had increased to 75 minutes. But today all flights to and from Istanbul were delayed, the check-in woman tried to console him with regard to his connecting flight and, without asking, assigned him extremely bad seats: on both flights the middle seat in a row of three in the rear of the aircraft. Don Curry felt in no way comforted by either the delay information or the seat assignment. Today a new top candidate seemed to be gradually emerging in the “worst journey” category...

When Don Curry reached the gate, a very large crowd was waiting for him. In addition to the passengers on his flight, there were also the passengers from the Istanbul flight that was supposed to take off three hours ago. But boarding soon began for them, and when the Turkish Airlines flight in question landed in Hamburg and docked at the gate in time for its delayed departure time - now 105 minutes - the worst seemed to be over. Don Curry should be wrong. Shortly after the loudspeakers announced that boarding for Don Curry would soon begin, another announcement was made: "Sorry! Due to the high volume of flights, the departure of the Turkish Airlines plane will be delayed by another 60 minutes." Now Don Curry's generous stopover buffer was finally used up. So would he be stranded at Istanbul airport again?

The flight to Istanbul finally took off a good 3 hours late and landed there more than three hours late. Don Curry now experienced an airport in a state of emergency: on the display board he could see that around 90% of the flights were at least 3, and sometimes up to 8, hours late; some had even been completely deleted. The flight to Baku was scheduled for 1:40 a.m., almost 4 hours late. Don Curry now had just as much time in the well-known Istanbul airport to spend the beginning of the night there. But would it stay at 4 hours? When Don Curry checked the Turkish Airlines homepage, his flight was there with a departure time of 4:45 a.m., another 3 hours later. As Don Curry approached the central area of the huge airport, he discovered a huge line of people. This was where the rebooking counter was located in the event of flight cancellations or delays; A few weeks ago, Don Curry waited in line for 5 minutes to get a new flight to Tbilisi after being stranded in Istanbul. Today the queue of those wanting to rebook was at least 100 meters long. How long would you have to wait in line to finally be able to find out when and how things will continue for you?

Don Curry was extremely relieved that he was at least spared this fate. He strolled through the familiar halls of the airport, treated himself to a Memphis BBQ burger in a branch of his favorite burger chain "Carls, Jr" and went to one of the two oases to spend the time as pleasantly as possible on the lounge chairs there let. When the gate was announced 90 minutes before departure, it was once again right next to the chosen oasis of calm. Don Curry enjoyed the modicum of happiness in all the mess. He was able to cancel his first night in the holiday apartment in Baku on time; After all, he would spend this night in the airport or on the plane.

This actually took off at 1:40 a.m. 4 hours late, but surprisingly flew so slowly that it landed in Baku 5 hours late. During the flight, Don Curry felt terribly squeezed between two gentlemen of similar stature, gave up the kofta in the middle of the night and only managed a little microsleep while one of the neighbors snored blissfully.

The plane arrived in Baku in the dark, but Don Curry's future was also in the dark: Would he be able to enter Azerbaijan today? Would the Armenian stamps in the passport cause problems? After this strenuous journey, would he still have the strength to organize the trip back to Istanbul or somewhere else if necessary? Full of inner tension, he waited until it was his turn to go through passport control. A young Azerbaijani woman smiled at him. "Ah, you're from Germany," she said in good German as she examined his passport, "I'm glad! Please look into the camera!" Don Curry did as he was told. She stamped eagerly. "Welcome to Azerbaijan! I wish you a good stay! ° - Don Curry has rarely entered a country so friendly and so easily. Did the Azerbaijani government secretly read his travel blog and wanted to make amends?

Don Curry was in! Don Curry was in Azerbaijan! All the hardships of the journey suddenly seemed meaningless. When his travel bag was the third to be spit out at baggage claim, Don Curry's joy grew a little further, and the first light of the new day fell through the large glass surfaces of the architecturally impressive Baku airport. Now quickly pick up the rental car and the “Baku” adventure could begin.

Don Curry had booked his car through Opodo with a rental company called "Surprise" - a word that means "surprise" in both English and French. And rightly so, Don Curry would soon know. According to the booking documents, there would be a landlord's office in the airport terminal where Don Curry could clarify anything further. Baku certainly has a nice airport, but not a particularly large one. The arrivals hall was quite clear: several ATMs and exchange offices, small offices for some airlines, a tourist information center and the counters of the usual rental companies Avis and Hertz. No trace of Surprise. So Don Curry went to the Hertz counter, which had no customers. "No, they don't have an office here; he would have to call them," was the somewhat stumbling answer to Don Curry's question. To be on the safe side, Don Curry checked the square in front of the terminal, but there was only a café and a taxi agency there. So Don Curry dialed the Azerbaijani phone number he had on file. In hard-to-understand English, a man's voice made it clear that the office was in the airport terminal; he should come to him. Okay, so back again! Unfortunately, Baku is also one of those airports where you have to go through security checks as soon as you enter the terminal. So Don Curry had to go through full security with baggage screening and body scanners. During the second inspection of the terminal, Don Curry again did not find a Surprise office. Was he in for a pretty nasty surprise here? He turned to the tourist information office with questions. For help, she turned to the Hertz employee, who was about to explain to Don Curry that he had to call there, when he quickly replied that he had already done so and that there must be an office in the terminal. She answered sullenly that he should try "Green Motion" and pointed to a desk that was positioned quite inconspicuously under a staircase and advertised "Rental Cars Baku" with the green sign "Green Motion". The employee there was currently talking to a customer, so Don Curry had to get in line. When the employee finally wanted to set off with the customer to his rental car, Don Curry quickly asked whether the "Surprise" company's office was there and showed his voucher with their company logo. "No," said the employee, "I don't know them!" But Don Curry had long since recognized the voice of the man on the telephone with his difficult-to-understand English: he was sitting here in front of him. Don Curry pointed to his name on the voucher and asked the employee to find that name in the paperwork. He actually found it, but for 2:00 am. Don Curry explained the flight delay and the employee promised to take care of him right away. But first he put a sign on the desk saying “This office broke down for 10 minutes” and disappeared with his customer.

After that, things went pretty quickly. The employee already had Don Curry's details, took a photo of his passport, driver's license and credit card, tried to persuade Don Curry to take out additional insurance and then brought him to the car. It was actually supposed to be a Kia Sportage, but in front of Don Curry was a Hyundai Venue with a gray-black chassis and a white roof. Don Curry was satisfied. The employee asked if Don Curry had manat, the Azerbaijani currency, to pay the parking fee. Don Curry had, but only 50 manat notes fresh from the machine. So the employee had to go all the way back to his "broke-down" office in the airport to get the necessary change. Meanwhile, Don Curry discovered a few small scratches on his vehicle, photographed them and later showed them to the employee. But he just waved it off, handed Don Curry the parking ticket he had paid for and called after him: “Petrol libre 92”. Ok, now Don Curry at least knew what to fill up with without having to read anything about it. He quickly left the airport parking lot to calmly adjust the mirrors at the next possible parking space and familiarize himself with the unfamiliar vehicle.

But there are no parking spaces in Baku, at least not many and not just on the side of the road. On the entire route towards the city center, Don Curry didn't find a single opportunity to briefly park his car somewhere on the side of the road. The streets, which are usually unusually wide, have 3 to 5 lanes in each direction, a kind of sidewalk behind hedges or trees, but no parking spaces. Don Curry knew that a modern mall had recently been built not far from his vacation home directly on the Caspian Sea. There had to be parking there. The mall was not yet open at 8:00 a.m. and therefore all parking spaces were cordoned off. As soon as Don Curry slowed down somewhere, stern-looking security guards immediately emerged from the shadows to drive him away. In the end he simply drove out of the city on a wide boulevard near the sea and finally found a number of parking spaces: those near the city were generally chargeable, but further out they were free. He felt more and more clearly that it wasn't a particularly brilliant idea to drive completely tired in an unfamiliar car through a completely unknown city with over a million inhabitants with extremely high traffic volumes and the lively, creative driving style of the locals. He desperately needed a break, so he turned off the engine and tried to get some sleep. He had now received information from the landlord of his holiday apartment that the cancellation of the first night had been accepted and that he could move into the apartment from 2 p.m. He would have to hold on for another six hours until a bed awaited him...

After a short walk along the Caspian Sea with a wonderful view of the Baku skyline including the Flame Towers and The Crescent, Don Curry was once again looking for a nap, but, annoyed, decided to look for a quieter parking space - not directly on a busy arterial road. By then he had decided to simply name his current support vehicle “Kia,” even though it wasn’t a Kia. But neither Hyundai nor Venue were suitable as a template for a pleasant, memorable name. Don Curry thought Kia sounds good, cheerful and reliable. The fact that Kia was equipped with Android Auto made it easier for him to work together in a trusting manner, as Don Curry also knew this from his own vehicle. The targeted parking lot could only be used for a fee, but there was a large event center nearby with free parking. Don Curry rested there in his car until 10:00 a.m. However, the gradually increasing sun soon caused Kia's interior temperature to rise so much that Don Curry was eventually happy to be able to leave.

He drove back to Deniz Mall, whose underground parking garage was now open. The sun was no longer a problem here, but the extremely loud air conditioning fan was. So Don Curry preferred to explore the mall, which, in addition to numerous shops and restaurants, also contains a huge cinema complex, a go-kart track, a children's palace with the actual German name "Kinderpalast" and huge slides for children (and customers?) with which you can quickly get past many Curves from the top can get to the exit. Don Curry was also pleased by the surroundings of the mall: from here, the Flame Towers seemed almost within reach, the "Baku Eye" Ferris wheel is in the immediate vicinity, as is the Carpet Museum, which was architecturally designed in the form of a rolled-up carpet. Directly behind it, in a spacious park, is "Little Venice", a small ensemble of canals and numerous bridges where you can take a gondola ride. It must be important to someone to keep the people entertained through entertainment and activities of various kinds. Don Curry also noticed the downside of this seemingly positive and well-meaning world: masses of surveillance cameras and a veritable army of police officers. As he made his way through the city center, there was a police officer in a black uniform every 100 meters - on each side of the street. In the mall, each of the many entrances had its own security scanner and at least one security guard on duty. When Don Curry finally left the mall, he had to pay 2 manat (= €1) for parking using a machine, although the machine already knew the Kia license plate number when he inserted the parking ticket. Cameras had to have recorded the license plate number as you drove in and combined it with the number of the parking ticket. This is how a surveillance state works.

The clock now showed 11:30. Still 2 1/2 hours until moving into the apartment. Since the tiredness was almost unbearable, Don Curry drove very close to the apartment. In this area there was actually street parking, although official parking attendants in uniform were in charge and collected fees. The actual street near the apartment was completely blocked, so Don Curry drove onto a side street and quickly found a parking space. He decided to call the landlord and ask if he could perhaps move into the apartment a little earlier. Jabir, the landlord, was completely understanding, but the apartment was not yet ready for occupancy. He'll get in touch as soon as he can give a time. So Don Curry waited and kept brushing off the parking attendants who wanted to collect; he would leave straight away. When Jabir got in touch a short time later, he regretted that the apartment wouldn't be ready until around 1:00 p.m., but Don Curry was welcome to use a room in a hotel that also belonged to him in the meantime. That sounded good, but Don Curry asked what would happen to his car in the meantime. Jabir suggested leaving it in the apartment's private parking lot; he would send someone to guide Don Curry out of the side street. Meanwhile, a particularly grim-looking parking attendant assigned a few students to Don Curry and explain to him in English that he had to pay now or drive away. Don Curry replied that he would just wait a moment for someone and then drive away immediately. The students thanked him very politely for this answer and went away; the park ranger continued to look grim. When, after 10 minutes, Jabir's employee still hadn't shown up and the grim parking attendant was walking purposefully toward Kia again, Don Curry finally left the parking lot to find his own way to the apartment. As soon as he turned onto the main street, Jabir called because his employee couldn't find him at the location described on the side street. Don Curry tried to explain that he would be at the apartment in a moment, but the phone connection went dead. The actual road was still so congested that Don Curry's progress was very slow. He finally reached the address and - under the eyes of a traffic policeman - double-parked, congesting the street even more. Then he called Sabir and reported that he was now waiting directly at the apartment. Then his employee came around the corner and guided Don Curry to an extremely narrow entrance through which Kia could get into an inner courtyard. Kia passed this first real test with flying colors, and Don Curry was just happy to be able to park the car.

Since it was now 12:10 p.m., he decided not to stay in the hotel room, but wanted to use the remaining time to take a little walk through the old town opposite. At some point here he happened to meet Jabir's employee, who had just guided him and now greeted him in a friendly manner and stopped for some small talk. Don Curry had only been in Baku for a few hours and was already meeting acquaintances here... At the end of his walk, he grabbed a shawarma and a kebab to take away and returned to the courtyard.

Waiting for him here was Jabir himself, a lively middle-aged manager who greeted Don Curry with great warmth. He even knew that Don Curry had already booked the apartment in the summer, but had to cancel completely. He also proudly said that he was currently learning French and German at the same time because he wanted to get more involved in the tourism industry. And he asked Don Curry to only speak German to him - he wanted to do that now too. Don Curry can also choose the apartment he likes best. First, Sabir took him to a huge, almost luxuriously furnished four-room apartment on the second floor. Wow! Then we went to a much simpler but tastefully furnished 2-room apartment on the 4th floor. And when Don Curry stepped onto the balcony, his decision had been made: an unobstructed view over the magnificent boulevard in front of the house to the nearby Caspian Sea. Double wow! For Don Curry, views and atmosphere are always more important than luxury and ostentation.

However, there was still a catch: this second apartment wouldn't be ready for another 20 minutes. Don Curry no longer cared about that. So Jabir invited him to the Café Giusto next door to spend the waiting time pleasantly. When Jabir asked what Don Curry wanted to drink, he asked about Azerbaijani tea; Jabir thought this was an excellent idea and ordered one too. At the next table sat three police officers, eyeing Don Curry rather curiously. Meanwhile, he learned from Jabir that Russian was still the first foreign language in Azerbaijan, followed by English and later French or German. He estimates that probably 10% of Azerbaijanis speak or at least understand German. It would therefore be very nice if more German tourists traveled to this country in the future. Then they both made small talk about Oktoberfest, about differences between Tbilisi and Baku and inevitably about Bayern Munich. In between, one of the police officers asked Jabir whether the German could also speak English? When he answered in the affirmative, the officer stood up, introduced himself by name and shook hands with Don Curry. He listed a surprisingly large number of German cities that he had already visited; and above all he wanted to know how Don Curry would find Baku? Don Curry emphasized that he had only been in the city for a few hours, but was already amazed at the architectural beauty of the numerous buildings. The officer was happy to translate this to his colleagues, and Don Curry got lots of tips about what else he had to see in Baku and Azerbaijan. So the waiting time for the excellent tea really flew by.

Jabir quickly organized a remote control for the entrance gate to the courtyard and then personally dragged Don Curry's travel bag to the fourth floor. After many more hints, he finally said goodbye. Don Curry had some shawarma and kebab and then just collapsed into bed. Sleep didn't come immediately, but it came...

Don Curry woke up again around 6:00 p.m., but he still felt so exhausted and listless that he abandoned all further plans and ideas for that day or evening. He still admired the insane glitter of the Flame Towers at night, wrote this detailed report and looked forward to tomorrow.

What a day! Because he was unable to sleep at night, Don Curry's entire journey took place in one day. And he has rarely experienced so much adversity and so much positive in equal measure. But after just a few hours in Azerbaijan, Don Curry can say without question: the second helping was worth it!

I have thought long and hard about whether or not I should even travel to Azerbaijan. A country that has been ruled so authoritarianly for decades that one must speak of a dictatorship. A country that performs worse than Russia in both the Democracy Index and the Freedom House! Since the collapse of the USSR, this country has been ruled by the Aliyev dynasty, first by Heydar Aliyev until his death in 2003, then by his son Ilham. Ilham Aliyev was awarded the title of the most corrupt person in the world by the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project in 2012 and he denies the existence of Armenia as a state by claiming that Armenia is traditionally Turkish and Azerbaijani territory. Aliyev is courted by the US and the EU due to Azerbaijan's dependence on oil. This reminds me of the comment made by former US President Harry S. Truman about Somoza, the former dictator of Nicaragua: 'It's a bastard, but it's our bastard!' In Azerbaijan, pictures of both Aliyevs are omnipresent, pompous buildings, squares and streets are named after Heydar Aliyev, as is the airport in Baku (Some people might now argue that as a Bavarian, I don't need to get upset about the name of the Munich airport!). Nevertheless, my curiosity won and I flew from Tbilisi to Baku on July 28th. Unfortunately, it was not possible to travel by land due to Corona, as Azerbaijan still has its borders closed.

As mentioned in the last post, my start in Azerbaijan was a bit problematic. It started already at Tbilisi airport when I received an email saying that my hotel in Baku, which I booked three weeks ago, suddenly wants almost twice as much money from me. After arriving in Baku, no taxi driver was willing to take me to the city for less than 50 Azerbaijani Manat, which corresponds to about 30€ (The taxi price for the return trip today was 10 Manat!). So I took the bus, where the bus driver tricked me and stole almost 20 Manat from me! When I arrived at the hotel, I insisted on not paying more than the original price, which resulted in me getting a completely dirty room without a functioning air conditioning. Although I booked a room with air conditioning. So after the first sleepless night at over 30 degrees room temperature, I demanded my money back for the second and third night and moved to a very nice hostel. In the following days, I was luckily able to revise my first impression of the people of the country. The Azerbaijanis, or Azeris, are just as warm-hearted and hospitable as the Georgians and Armenians! Unfortunately, at the beginning, I encountered some dishonorable exceptions.

In the afternoons of July 28th and 29th, I visited Baku. The city is a very interesting mixture of an oriental medieval old town with city walls and a huge modern city. In the old town, you can find caravanserais, which are often used as restaurants today, hammams, i.e. baths, a fortress, some mosques, and the symbol of the city, the Maiden Tower. The Azerbaijanis belong mostly to the Shiite denomination of Islam. However, Islam is practiced very moderately overall. Most women do not wear headscarves and alcohol is available everywhere. In the new town, thanks to the oil, there are often very pompous luxury buildings, some skyscrapers, and many upscale boutiques in the pedestrian zone. On July 30th, I took a trip with a small group of 7 people to the surroundings of Baku. The trip went partly along the coast of the Caspian Sea and partly through the desert to Gobustan, where there are rock paintings, called petroglyphs, that are up to 36,000 years old. Some are immediately recognizable, while others require a bit of imagination. Afterwards, we saw something that I haven't seen anywhere else: mud volcanoes! Half of all mud volcanoes worldwide are in Azerbaijan! After a lunch break, we went to a Zoroastrian fire temple! Zoroastrianism is a minority religion practiced in India, Pakistan, Iran, and also in Azerbaijan. The best-known followers of this religion are two musicians, Freddie Mercury and the conductor Zubin Mehta. Afterwards, we visited Yanar Dag, the 'burning mountain'. Natural gas comes out of the ground there, burning stronger or weaker for centuries. Back in Baku, we made a stop at the Heydar Aliyev Center, where the regime's megalomania is expressed. From July 31st to August 3rd, I left Baku and went to the mountains to Sheki, 5 hours by bus and 300 km from Baku. Sheki is a wonderful small town with a perfectly preserved caravanserai, several old mosques, and the Khans Palace, the main attraction of the city. The interior of the palace is decorated with beautiful paintings and it's a shame that you are not allowed to take photos there. On August 2nd, I took a day trip from Sheki by minibus to the small town of Gakh, from where I continued by taxi to the village of Ilisu near the Russian border. There I went on a mountain hike to the ruins of an old tower and to the Salala waterfall. I particularly liked my accommodation in Sheki, which was as I knew it from most cases in Georgia and Armenia: a private accommodation with a very nice and hospitable family! Back in Baku, I visited the carpet museum, a building shaped like a carpet! The art of carpet weaving has a similarly long tradition in Azerbaijan as it does in Iran. Then my last evening in the Caucasus had come and the big change of location via Dubai to Malaysia was due.

Now it's time to draw a short conclusion about this region: All three countries are absolutely fascinating, there is so much exciting to discover everywhere, and the people are very hospitable and warm-hearted! Particularly interesting is the cultural transition from Europe to Asia. Overall, traveling on your own without a car can sometimes be a bit difficult, especially without knowledge of Russian! Public transportation often offers little comfort and takes some getting used to. Most of the time, you travel in cramped marshrutkas (singular: marshrutka), as the often heavily aging minibusses are called in the successor states of the USSR. Many of them would not pass the TÜV in Germany, once the exhaust pipe was broken and the exhaust gases entered the bus! I only had a proper coach from Baku to Sheki and back. Overall, traveling in Southeast Asia or South America is certainly more comfortable, but the distances in the Caucasus are shorter! Unfortunately, the relationship between these three countries is not the best, especially the relationship between Armenia and Azerbaijan is catastrophic! The reasons for this are not only the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict! On the other hand, one must wish the Georgians that they can preserve their state independence. The threat posed by Russia is often noticeable! I wish all three countries that they will focus on their commonalities and that old conflicts can be resolved.

As mentioned in the Armenia blog, my last landlord in Gyumri helped me organize my onward journey back to Georgia. So on July 17th, I first took a shared taxi across the Georgian border to Ninotsminda and then continued with a minibus to Akhaltsikhe, near the Turkish border. There I had a very nice private accommodation with a very nice family for two nights. However, it was a bit unusual that I had to pass through the family's living room from my room to the bathroom. And that was also the grandpa's bedroom! Right after my arrival, I visited the oriental fortress Rabati, which mostly dates back to the Ottoman period, and the next day I took a trip to one of Georgia's biggest tourist attractions, the cave city of Vardzia. Incredibly impressive! The city dates back to the 12th century and about 500 of the original 2000 caves have been renovated and partially accessible. The cave city stretches high above the Mtkvari River, 900m long and with 13 levels. On the way back, I also had a look at the Khertvisi Fortress, which feels like being in Europe. On July 19th, I continued to Kutaisi, the third largest city in Georgia. Unfortunately, the weather changed on the way there and it rained for the first time since the beginning of my journey. In the immediate vicinity of Kutaisi is the Gelati Monastery, which is one of the most important monasteries in Georgia! No, even though the name sounds like it, there is unfortunately no ice cream there! On the second day in Kutaisi, the weather was bad again and I only took a short walk through the city and visited a museum. In the evening, the rain stopped and I drove to the Motsameta Monastery in a fantastic location. Unfortunately, on this evening I received the news that my father was seriously ill and in the hospital. What to do?? Fly home immediately? After consulting with my mother, I decided to continue the journey as planned for now. In the following days, my father's condition improved a bit.

On the next day, July 21st, I took a 6-hour minibus ride to Mestia in the high mountains. Mestia is located in the Upper Svaneti region. The people there speak Svan as their mother tongue, in winter some villages are sometimes cut off from the outside world for months, and they are known for their defensive towers. Every family had one! You could hide from your neighbor there if blood revenge was threatened, which was practiced here on a large scale until the 1930s! Between 1917 and 1925, 600 men fell victim to blood revenge, which corresponds to a percentage of 2%! Today, Upper Svaneti is a paradise for hikers in a largely unspoiled environment, ranging from middle mountain areas to heights of over 5000m. I chose the Mestia-Ushguli Trail, a 4-day hike with overnight stays in small mountain villages in private accommodations. A total of 60km and almost 3500 vertical meters are covered. I was able to leave most of my luggage in Mestia. The trail is beautiful, mostly well marked, not too strenuous, and never dangerous. As about 100 mountain hikers tackle the route every day during the high season, you always find company if you want, but you can also be completely alone on the way. So on the third stage, I was accompanied by Jeronimo, an Argentine, who immediately invited me to Mendoza if I should be in Argentina as planned in spring. He likes all Germans, he said, except Mario Götze! In the villages, the accommodations offer dinner and breakfast, simple dishes but always good and plentiful! Unfortunately, the weather was still changeable. On the 4th day, I reached Ushguli as planned in the early afternoon, the most beautiful place in Upper Svaneti with partly very well-preserved defensive towers (the partner city is appropriately San Gimignano) and the magnificent Shkhara Glacier in the background at the foot of Shkhara, the highest mountain in Georgia at 5200 meters! The next day, I took a shared taxi back to Mestia, where I could do a final mountain tour to the Mestia Cross. On July 27th, I returned to Tbilisi by minibus and then it was time to say goodbye! My last evening in Georgia had come! Late in the evening, the shock came! I accidentally found out that I had to have my e-visa for Azerbaijan in printed form with me! Where should I find a printer at this time? My landlord finally helped me, and my visa was eventually printed at a neighboring hotel. Another example of Georgian hospitality! So on July 28th, at noon, I arrived in Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan. My start there was a bit bumpy, but more on that in the next post.

Sunday, August 25, 2019, I start the day with a bowl of porridge and fried peach halves. Then I pack my stuff and enjoy a coffee at the Flora Hostel in Baku. It is already noon when I make my way to the train station with Rango. Shortly after four, a train departs for Şirvan, which hopefully takes us all the way to Baş Ələt. On the way, I treat myself to a pair of shoes, as the sneakers I have been wearing since Mingəçevir are not suitable for longer distances. Then it's time to wait at the train station. Tickets are available directly on the train. I cannot find a place for Dicken there, so I can't find out at the station. Shortly before four, I go to the platform, the train is ready, but there is no staff to be seen. I wait for a while on the platform and then sneak into an empty wagon with Dicken. The train has been standing in the sun for a while, I sweat while sitting and Rango is clearly struggling with the temperatures. Shortly before departure, a railway worker appears. We are allowed to stay, but have to change wagons. With the start of the journey, a gentle breeze blows through the train and the stay becomes more pleasant. After about 7 km, we are still in Bakı at the Keşla stansyasi, the train stops unusually long. One or the other railway worker runs through the train compartments, checking fuse boxes and raising and lowering the pantographs on the roof of the train. Then we have to get off the train, we have a breakdown. We wait with the other passengers for a replacement and Rango uses the time to charm a few girls. After an hour, the next train is ready and we can continue. We leave the train in Baş Ələt around seven, I buy something small and head southeast with Rango. We are accompanied by a group of teenagers who become increasingly pushy. A resident gives me a bag of fruit before we leave the village and walk along a country road to the port area. After almost two hours of walking, I can immediately get a ticket for the ferry upon arrival. Dicken can also come on board for free. The departure date is set for August 27, which is also the expiration date of my visa. Perfect timing. I set up my tent right next to the border police building, take a shower in a container, and lie down.

I spend Monday quite relaxed at the port. I set up my camp, listen to some podcasts, and wait. In the meantime, I receive the good news from Flora Hostel that my slightly delayed registration has been accepted by the Azerbaijani immigration authorities. In the afternoon, a progressively strong gusty wind blows, which could delay the arrival of the ferry. The exact departure time for the ferry cannot be determined throughout the day. The responsible port workers can't provide me with more than a shrug.

On Tuesday, August 27, 2019, after breakfast, I pack my things. I inform the border police that my visa expires at midnight. According to the border guard, it would be better if I crossed the border before twelve, otherwise I would have a problem. I already suspected that. In the afternoon, more backpackers arrive at the port, making the waiting time a bit more lively. Anna and Pablo are cycling eastwards and are temporary companions. Melanie and Jeoffrey are on their way to Japan and have decided against flying. Markus and Ali are backpackers like me, without a specific destination. But we all want to cross the Caspian Sea. In the late evening, it becomes clear that I probably won't be able to board the ferry before midnight. I treat myself to a soup at the port pub and let Pablo invite me for a coffee. Then it's midnight and we are still waiting in front of the ticket counter at the port.

Anna and Melanie have already given up and gone to sleep when, in the night between Tuesday and Wednesday, the passport control finally starts around half past one. Markus, Ali, and our French couple can pass through the border control without any problems. Then it's my turn with Dicken. It goes smoothly at first, until I truthfully answer "Yes" to the question: "Have you ever been to Armenia?" Then things start to get complicated. The border guard tells me that there are problems. The man can't or won't be more specific, but it seems to be an immigration problem. Whatever that means. I am sent across the port to another office of the border guards, which is not staffed at night. Even an employee of the ferry company doesn't really know what to do. I go back to the border post. The guys want to send me to the immigration office in Baku, which I refuse due to the duration of my visa. I make it clear that I have to leave the country today. They make phone calls and act busy while I have to wait at the border hut. Then I'm offered to pay a fine of 400 Manat. I bluff and claim that I can't withdraw that much money in one day. Then they explain to me that I will be deported if I refuse or can't pay. When the answer to the question "Where to?" is "Kazakhstan", I decide on deportation. I have to wait for a while, get my stamp in the passport, and finally check in one and a half hours after my new acquaintances on the ferry named "Professor Gül". Since my name is no longer on the passenger list (the employee on land, whom I asked about my immigration problem, deleted me prematurely), I also have to wait a bit here. Anna keeps me company in the meantime and takes care of Rango, while I receive my room key. It must have been around half past four when I finally throw myself into my bunk. There is a small breakfast at nine. Boiled eggs, cheese, butter, jam, and bread are offered. A tea helps wash it down. After the feast, I check on Dicken, who has to stay on deck, take a shower, and lie down again. The last day at the port has been exhausting. After lunch (lentil soup with bread, from which I can get a portion for Dicken, as well as noodles with fried chicken), I stroll around, doze off, and listen to podcasts. After dinner (lentil soup with bread, and rice with fried chicken, from which there is also something for Dicken) we sit on the deck for a while before I retreat to my cabin and fall asleep quickly.

In the night before Thursday (August 29, 2019), I am awake again around half past three and take a walk on board. Dicken dozes off in his spot, a trucker sits in the communal room and sleeps, otherwise no one is to be seen. Almost a bit eerie. On the top deck of the ferry, there is a magnificent view of the starry sky, with no artificial light disturbing the view. I enjoy the sight for a while and then retreat to my cabin again. Breakfast is once again at nine. The view from the window suggests that we are already on the Kazakh coast. In fact, the ferry docks in the port of Kuryk while we are still eating. So it's time to pack up and disembark after the passport control. Everything goes smoothly, the Kazakhs in uniform are very friendly and seem quite relaxed. We are driven from the port area to the next station by a minivan, where our passports are inspected again. Someone seems to have lost the key to a door there and we are asked to slide our documents under the door slit. A short time later, we receive the documents back the same way, before someone finally finds the key to the door and we can leave the port area. In the meantime, we were able to negotiate a reasonable price for a taxi to Aktau. The taxi driver takes 5 people, backpacks, and Rango in his car. I take a seat in the front passenger seat, Rango finds a spot in my footwell, while Markus, Ali, Melanie, and Joeffrey are positioned on the back seat of the vehicle, with my backpack on their lap. The Kazakh clearly enjoys the challenge and probably also the money he earns with us. We drive through mostly flat, dry steppe landscape and can see sheep, horses, and even some camels or dromedaries by the roadside. In addition to the Asian phenotype of most Kazakhs, another indication that we are now in Asia. After about 90 km, we get off at the southern end of the provincial capital and set off on foot into the city. We take a break at a coffee bar, can get Kazakh SIM cards, and also find some beef heart for my four-legged companion. Then we find a place to camp, near the waterfront promenade close to the city center. We set up our camp, organize dinner, and let the first day in Kazakhstan come to an end. A good start.

Here in the Caucasus, the economies in which we are staying are not doing so well. The prices are very low for us, yes. We can travel 6 hours by air-conditioned bus for 4 francs/euros per person. Insane. We buy food and vegetables for one day and pay 1 franc/euro. Unbelievable. But only advantageous for us. Because when converted to the 200 to 300 francs/euros that an average person earns here, it is quite a lot. What we have done - saving money outside of our daily living expenses, to then go travel or buy an apartment, for example - is not something that people here can easily do. They have to borrow money or give up on the new car or the good gas stove.

In Georgia, pretty much everyone we met and saw on the streets was in a similar situation. And what we had heard about Azerbaijan - namely that it was more expensive, but that the infrastructure and healthcare system were catastrophic - confirmed our expectation of traveling to a poor country again. So the surprise was great when we arrived in the capital Baku by night train - and ended up at a new, huge train station made of marble and modern design. There were over 20 fancy workspaces for people to work on their laptops while waiting - as you would expect from international airports. We didn't see anyone working on laptops and sat there for our breakfast. Immediately, multiple security guards appeared, staring at us but not daring to send us away. Out of nowhere, a cleaning lady appeared, sternly cleaning up every crumb our children dropped. It was surreal - and we didn't know what to make of it (by the way, there was no other place where you could eat. Everything was made of marble and there was security personnel everywhere).

The surprise continued. Our path was paved with marble. Gleaming, sterile clean. And chrome, lots of chrome rails. Underpasses, metro stations, parks. We strolled into the old town of Baku, where our small one-room apartment was located (unfortunately not made of marble and also a bit shabby - as I said, traveling frugally). One fancy hotel after another. Expensive restaurants, completely in oriental style with classic decoration. We didn't see a single stray dog.

Right next to the old town, which really looked like something out of 1001 Nights, with its Persian architecture and lovingly restored buildings, there was a promenade for strolling right by the sea. Shopping streets and a pedestrian zone with many restaurants. We could hardly believe our eyes. It was like a parade of all the brands that have a reputation. We don't even know all of them. Gucci, Versace, Prada, and Co. Paired with the impeccably maintained sidewalks and the many, many (!) expensive SUVs and shiny show-off cars parked in front of the shops, we felt like we had gotten lost in Zurich.

We preferred to flee to the park - everything here was also made of marble, next to lush green lawns, with exotic trees imported from Africa and Italy, and wide fountains. Mind you: around us was steppe. Miles of brown hills and no water. In front of us, the salty sea. If you went very close, you could see a slight sheen of oil on it.

This sheen - and all the oil rigs in the open sea and outside the city - is also the secret that has created this surreal pseudo world. Oil. Azerbaijan has oil in abundance. Even during the time when caravans passed through here, the oil was exported to Europe or China in containers (at that time, among other things, as cosmetics and medicine). It was one of the first countries where black gold was extracted. Today, Azerbaijan is not one of the top players in the global oil industry, but the EU is one of its most important trading partners. So it is realistic that some of the liters of gasoline in your cars or some toothbrushes are made of oil that is being drilled here in this sea in front of our eyes. About 10 years ago, Azerbaijan granted an extensive drilling license to several international companies. Since then, more oil has been extracted. And with that, money has also been earned. A lot, a lot of money.

We are wondering. If Azerbaijan can earn so much money - much more money than we could smell in Georgia - then it must be visible, right? And because we are curious, we play detectives and sniff along money notes.

In the city center, where we mostly spend our time, it is easy to see the banknotes. Apparently, there must be a broad upper class, which is also confirmed by a local. People who drive Rolls Royces and shop in Prada with heaps of bags. Who sit in expensive restaurants and not with their well-dressed children - they are on the playground, just like us, but with their nannies.

In the city center, there is also water all day long, there are plenty of police officers who make sure that the European, big city backdrop remains just that - a backdrop. Aging, bent-over women walk around tirelessly, collecting leaves, cigarettes, and little papers with brooms. There are incredibly many garbage bins. And yet - there they are, the local teenagers, the busy businessmen - they simply don't care. They just throw their trash on the street. And right after, one of the many women comes and sweeps it up. We sense a backdrop, a falseness of this cleanliness that doesn't fit the people who live here.

And there is the next trace of money: Because this facade is primarily meant to impress us - tourists. We may be the only tourists from Western Europe staying in Baku, but it's teeming with Saudis and large families from Dubai, Iranians and Turks, who photograph everything and everyone (especially our children) and let themselves be driven around by fake Venetian gondoliers. It's as if an expert committee has made it their main task to prepare the city in such a way that tourists are impressed: elaborately renovated museums, fountains, observation platforms, sculptures... all that - costs money. Way too much money, in our opinion.

We wonder what life is like next to this Disneyland. For the remaining 90% of the residents of this city. Through the mediation of a friend, we have the chance to get to know locals. They invite us to their homes. It's a wonderful day, we laugh and chat (they speak very good English) and discover so many similarities. 

They are just like us - educated, young families, middle class - but here in Baku. And that's the difference. Because middle class here means that you have to install a water tank yourself so that you always have running water. It also means that you have to take out a loan if you want to go on vacation. We don't talk directly about money - somehow we find it embarrassing - and we are happy for our newfound friends that they can somewhat arrange their lives. But the fear of the abyss - that finances are not sufficient and that you belong to the many, many people who have to live with the poor infrastructure - somehow wafts through their comfortably furnished apartment. And everything outside of this apartment seems like a big financial chaos to us. Inadequate sewerage, bad doctors, and corrupt politicians. What we hear sounds like there is no money around us.

After a few days, we escape this imbalance. We take the bus to the north of the country, to Sheki. It seems that the influence of oil money decreases with the distance from the city center. While our acquaintances in the city center didn't have good heating, they did have a modern park with a playground, here in Sheki, they have neither. It's just as if there is no wealth. One old Russian Lada after another drives by us.

People sell their garden vegetables, men drink tea, someone has an amputated leg. It all seems like another time. We feel sorry for these people that they have to live with such poor infrastructure. But somehow, we feel more comfortable here. Maybe we're just not big city types. Or maybe we prefer places where at least everyone is in the same boat.

On Monday morning (19.08.2019) we arrived in Baku around five o'clock. The bus dropped off some passengers in the city and finally arrived at the Sədərək Ticarət Mərkəzi, a kind of market and shopping center in the southwest of the city. Here, the last goods from the back of the bus are sold and the vehicle is washed. I doze off a bit on the back seat, then treat myself to a tea for breakfast and then head to the center with two girls from Lənkəran. We can still easily get on the first bus, but we are then prevented from boarding the second by a security guard. So we have no choice but to take a taxi for the last kilometers back to the city center. Arriving there, we stroll through the clean and mostly renovated streets around the old town. Hard to believe that we are still in Azerbaijan. A stark contrast to the rest of the country. Around nine, my companions have to go to school and I have time to find accommodation. In a park, I use the wifi and mark some hostels on my map, which I then plan to visit one by one. It is already noon when I find cheap accommodation at the Flora Hostel, slightly north of the old town. Rango gets a spot assigned in the shady courtyard, I settle into my bed, take a shower and then relax for a while. The night on the bus was not very restful. In the early evening, I take a first stroll in the old town with Rango. We walk through narrow winding alleys, past the old city wall, small prayer houses, and many hotels. Away from the hotspots, there are quiet corners, otherwise the streets are filled with people and cars. Back at the hostel, I have a small dinner before the day comes to a well-deserved end around ten.

On Tuesday morning, I am somewhat surprised that it is already past nine o'clock when I open my eyes for the first time. The shutters are closed all around the room and it is still dark. Nevertheless, it is high time to get up. After a small breakfast, I go to the city with Rango, this time towards the harbor. I want to find out when I can take a ferry to Kazakhstan. We walk along externally well-renovated townhouses towards the southeast. At the harbor, I can at least find a phone number. The person on the other end of the line tells me that there is a ferry from Ələt to Aktau today and tomorrow. Both are still too early for me. Then we head back to the hostel, the temperatures are slowly becoming unpleasant. Once there, I upload pictures and write a travel report. There is also time for a coffee, some pastry, and games. In the late afternoon, when the streets offer more shade again, I take a walk with Rango. In a Spar supermarket, I can get sheep offal. Very healthy food for the big guy. Then we return to Flora, it's time for me to have a small meal as well. Later in the evening, Ana, Ivana, and Maruschka from Croatia check into the hostel. The three of them are spending their last vacation days in Baku. So the time until bedtime, which will be around three o'clock, is quite eventful. Especially Ana shows stamina and similar interest in cool hop blossom tea like me.

Also on Wednesday morning (22.08.2019), breakfast is not served until after nine o'clock. During this time, my Croatian fellow citizens also head to the hostel kitchen. Maruschka probably does her own thing, she temporarily moved in with a local and probably doesn't have to sleep on the couch there. From what I know about the area, it would be unthinkable the other way around. Ana and Ivana plan a trip to the beach and/or bazaar, but somehow get stuck in the planning. Time for a stroll with Rango. This time we head northeast towards the zoo. On the way there, we pass modern residential skyscrapers of various styles and some green spaces, all of which are far from being nature-friendly gardens. It is striking that despite the dry impression left by Azerbaijan, there seems to be no reason to save water. This is an observation I have already made in smaller towns and which is firmly established in the capital. At the zoo, we pass a bathing pond, free of any vegetation and completely framed by concrete. Rango takes the opportunity to splash around, I briefly consider it but dismiss the idea. Then we pause briefly in the shade and make our way back to the Flora Hostel. After a short time, Ana joins me and we decide to take a detour to Bilgəh Beach. Ivana set off alone for the bazaar and wants to follow later. It takes us an hour and a half to get there by public transport. In the bus, we choose the wrong side of the window and get a little sunburned. We reach the sandy beach around five o'clock. Our attempt to avoid the overcrowded section of the beach fails due to attentive hotel staff on the neighboring section of the beach. So we join the crowd and enjoy the sun and the sea. Ivana arrives at the beach around eight o'clock, it is already dark. So we go for a night swim before returning to the hostel. After a shared dinner, I take another walk with Rango in the nocturnal Baku. Ana accompanies us and treats us to some cold drinks. Very sympatico. Back at the hostel, we listen to live music in the courtyard for a while before going to bed well after midnight.

After taking a stroll with Rango on Thursday morning, I go to the beach in Bilgəh again with the two Croatians. Ivana wants to take a closer look. We reach the Caspian Sea around twelve o'clock. There are significantly fewer people around and the water is much clearer than the evening before. We spend the afternoon bathing and sunbathing, then we flee from the heat shortly after three o'clock. In the hostel, coffee and pastries await us, then I take another walk in the city with Ana and Rango. We go to a mosque, where only I can go in, Ana and Rango have to wait outside. Then we stroll around in a park that offers a good view of the evening Baku. As it gets dark, we walk through the botanical garden, a park that commemorates the victims of the Soviet era, and the old town back to Flora. There we pass the time with live music in the hostel courtyard and a few cold beers. Around four in the morning, it is time to say goodbye, the three girls have to go to the airport. So Ana, Ivana, and Maruschka get into the taxi and I go to bed.

On Friday morning, August 23, 2019, the walk with Rango is a little shorter and we only go around the block. I doze on the hostel couch during the noon and listen to a few podcasts on the side. A coffee in the afternoon wakes me up and the evening walk is a bit more extensive again. I make extensive use of the hostel wifi to upload pictures and then go to bed early.

On Saturday, during a walk with Rango, I discover a city area north of the hostel that does not appear to have been completely renovated yet. New high-rise buildings are under construction, some already finished, but in between, there is still a lot of older building structure. Small houses and gardens, shops, and various workshops form a nice contrast to the modern concrete structures. Otherwise, I make extensive use of the hostel wifi and relax a bit. After all, on Sunday I want to head to Ələt and take the next ferry to Kazakhstan. Let's see if everything works out and what awaits me on the other side of the Caspian Sea.

On Thursday, August 15, 2019, I set off for Lankaran at noon. A shepherd who had been regularly visiting me at the tent recommended taking a detour to the mountains to the west. I still have some time before my visa for Azerbaijan expires, so there is nothing wrong with taking a look. I can't find a marshrutka to Lerik at the bus station, so I decide to walk north for a while. Maybe I'll find a ride along the way. It's warm again, so after five kilometers at the southeastern outskirts of the city, it's time for a little break. I still can't find a bus to the mountains here. We continue a few more kilometers north before I've had enough of the heat in Kergelan and make a more determined effort to find a ride. Finally, a man in a Lada car takes us to Lerik. Although I can negotiate a better price, the driver still makes a good deal with me. We reach the center of the Lerik district in the late afternoon, I buy a few things at a market, refill our water supplies, take a short walk in the city center, and then set out with my dog to find a place for our tent. I find a spot just outside the town and get settled in for the night. As darkness falls, fog moves up the mountain valleys, creating an almost magical atmosphere in the mountains.

On Friday morning, we are visited at the tent. A shepherd's dog wanders around, and I only see the sheep and the shepherd later. So for now, Rango stays in the tent while I have breakfast and slowly prepare for the next leg of the journey. We set off around nine o'clock. A half-hour later, I am able to refill fresh water at a pumping station in a valley, and the pump station employee invites me in for tea. Then we climb up the mountain to the village of Mastail. After passing through the village, we continue along dusty roads through mostly dry mountain landscapes. We reach Livadirga around noon. In the village, Rango quenches his thirst in the village stream before I leave him with my backpack in the shade. I am invited to have a cool Fanta at the local market. They also give me grapes and some snacks. The two young men are probably teachers in the village and are helping their relatives during the holidays. Shortly before twelve o'clock, we continue. We walk along the village stream to the northeast, through Nusomurya, and then miss the turnoff towards Murya and Shingedulan. Since we had to pass two fairly large and rather intrusive shepherd dogs along the way, turning back is not an option. So we hike along small animal paths towards Aliyabad. We reach the valley again around one o'clock and take a break for an hour in the shady riverside area. It's over 30°C and the paths in the area offer little protection from the sun. Fortunately, there is a slight breeze that makes the situation more bearable. After the Dicke has acclimatized, we continue hiking. We climb up to Aliyabad and also take a break in a shady spot there. Then we continue to Gurdəsər. On the way there, a local offers us a ride in his Niva. Since Rango shows a bit too much initiative when getting in, the offer has a close expiration date. So we continue on foot. We pass through Kirəvud and finally find a suitable spot to set up our tent just before Böyükəndil. I can't manage to set up the tent myself, so two locals help me. In the end, I end up at Shafik's home. After having tea with his father Shalik and his cousin Nizam, I am asked to stay. Since there is a shepherd dog on the property, Rango has to stay in the sheep pen. Then I go with Nizam and Shafik to fetch their sheep from the mountains before I can take a shower and then have a small dinner. They cook lamb with vegetables, yogurt, bread, and cheese. Everything is very delicious. I'm quite tired from my day of hiking. Including the sheep search, I covered about 25 km. Around ten o'clock, I'm the first one to retire to the sleeping area.

Before breakfast on Saturday morning (August 17, 2019) at Aliyev's, I show Shalik my equipment. He seemed quite interested the night before. So after setting up and taking down the tent again, we have bread, cheese, curd, and some fruit for breakfast. Of course, there is also tea. Shortly before nine o'clock, Rango and I are back on track to the northeast. Due to the unfavorable hiking conditions (hot, dry, little shade, little water), I have decided to try to get a ride to Masalli as soon as possible. On the way to the major road, we come across Balaba at a water source. After a short conversation, it turns out that the man is also going to Masalli on the same day. He still has something to do until then, so I walk with Rango for now. We reach a small stream at half past ten and take a break in the shade for a while. Shortly after we start walking again, we can get into Balaba's Lada. I am very grateful for this at the moment. The road we would have had to walk along would definitely not have been enjoyable. After a tea break, we arrive in Masalli around lunchtime. I buy food for Rango and a small lunch for myself. Then we find a shady spot and rest again. It doesn't take long before some children discover us. They keep us company, and some adults join us, and tea with pastries is organized. After a few hours, it's time to take a short walk around the town. It's all quite unremarkable, and I'm not quite sure why someone recommended a visit here. We finally return to the bus station near the bazaar around five o'clock. I want to go back to Lankaran to continue my journey to Baku on Sunday. I share a taxi with some locals for a small amount of money. In Lankaran, I first go to the train station. I am assured that I don't need to buy tickets for the train the next day, it is sufficient to show up again around nine in the evening. The dog is not a problem, I am assured. It almost seems too easy. Then I organize dinner and go to the familiar camping spot near the beach. I set up camp, go for a swim, and then prepare a small dinner. Then it's time to go to sleep.

I have planned for smaller repairs on Sunday. After having breakfast and a swim in the river mouth in the morning, I glue my coffee cup and my mattress back together. Then I take a short trip with Rango into town. When we come back, there is an unpleasant surprise at the tent. A herd of goats is behind my tent, and most of the animals look at me guiltily. My tent is flattened in the truest sense of the word. I chase away the herd and inspect the damage. A few tears in the outer tent and a bent pole seem to be repairable, luckily. The pole is quickly straightened out again, and the tent, along with the inner tent, is set up. I make some coffee and spend the next two hours sewing the outer tent fly. Then I relax a bit before packing up our gear and heading to the train station. I arrive there around half past eight, leave Rango there, and go to the ticket counter. Especially when the train official talks to his supervisor on the phone, it becomes clear that the train ride to Baku could also fail. And indeed, there is no whole cabin available for us anymore. I express my dissatisfaction with the situation. Quite clearly! A local man has watched the whole back and forth and offers to organize a seat for me and Rango on the night bus to the capital. Less than 10 minutes later, I get the OK and can stow my backpack in the back of a bus that is only half full of seats. Then I sit down with Rango on a bench and have a little snack. Rafik, who organized the ride for me, joins me for a while. He advises me to keep an eye on my valuables. When I put my lunch back in the bus, it becomes clear why. Someone just took a shot. The cutlery is still on the back seat, and they are basically wandering through the bus. So I take my documents and credit card for safety. The journey starts shortly after ten o'clock. We make a detour in Lankaran and load cargo. So the back of the bus gradually fills up with various goods. I can identify bags of bay leaves and rat poison. A few other passengers also get on. The fixer gets off along the way, which I'm relieved to see. Until then, it wasn't quite clear whether he might be part of the bus crew. When we reach the highway to the north after an hour, the drivers change during the journey. Speed up and coast until the second driver is behind the wheel. Then the first driver in the back of the bus starts inhaling some kind of smoke that he evaporated on a piece of foil beforehand. A bus ride that is fun. A bus ride that is nice. In this case, it seems quite adventurous to me, especially since shortly afterwards the driving personnel changes again. But since the other passengers still seem quite relaxed (I am the only one with insight into what is happening in the back of the bus) and we are traveling quite comfortably on the highway, I am quite confident that we will arrive in Baku in one piece. Until then, I doze off a little. Way back in the bus and always with at least one vigilant eye open...

On Friday, August 9, 2019, we had visitors at the tent around seven-thirty. Some of the children from Bayramli, who had already besieged me the night before, are here again. So I have breakfast in company and then pack up my stuff. Meanwhile, Ethibar comes to my campsite again and invites me for tea and a second breakfast. Since I had already postponed him the night before and stayed in the already set up tent instead of his house, I let myself be persuaded. So I have breakfast again around nine. There are two houses on the property and three generations live together. They keep a few birds and there is all kinds of edible greens growing in the garden. Ethibar's father tells extensively about his time as a soldier in the Soviet army, during which he was stationed in the GDR for two years. Ethibar is still quite young, but already retired. His son goes to school in Baku and his daughter studies in Berlin. His wife works as a saleswoman in Shirvan. Although everyone is at home, only the male family members talk to me, as is often the case in Azerbaijan. The role of the women is limited to serving drinks and food. After the meal, I take the opportunity for a shower, as the shore of the Kur was too steep for bathing at the campsite. Around eleven o'clock, it's time to say goodbye. I am accompanied out of the village by Reshad (Ethibar's son) and his cousin, and then I walk a bit on the road to the south. In Haciqahramanli, I leave Rango and my backpack under the awning of a closed shop and try to find a ride to Salyan. Despite the pessimism of some residents, I am able to get on a minibus after a short time. The passengers quickly warm up to Rango, especially since the Dicker (the dog) behaves exemplary again. I arrive in the city in the late afternoon, which is the center of the region with the same name. I immediately go to the banks of the Kura River, which also flows through Salyan. After finding a suitable spot to camp, I make myself comfortable in the shade and enjoy the peace and quiet. Then I walk back to the city and get drinking water. There, I come across Telman, who takes care of my problem. His father Elman promptly invites me to spend the evening with him and a friend. Until then, I set up the tent and take a bath in the lukewarm river. Shortly afterwards, Elman comes back and takes me to his neighbor's terrace. There, I spend the evening and provide a welcome change for the gentlemen from their otherwise monotonous everyday life in the city. Around eleven o'clock, I am back at the tent with Rango, sit by the campfire for another hour, and then go to bed after a night swim.

On Saturday morning, after breakfast at the tent, Elman picks me up. My power bank is broken and he volunteered to help me find a repair shop. Unfortunately, the solder joints could not be repaired with my glowing knife the day before. After the repair is done (the 8 solder joints are on the house), Elman, Telman, his neighbor, and his son take me to a beach north of Neftchala on the Caspian Sea. So the day passes with eating, swimming, and a round of beach soccer on the beach. In the evening, Elman and his neighbor invite me to the city for shashlik and beer. When we return to Elman's house, his dog rushes out of the garden and attacks Rango. I saw it coming, but Elman was too drunk or my Russian was too bad to process my warning adequately. The little one (dog) also bit off more than he could chew with the fatso (Rango). I'm afraid that Rango seriously injures the small one, so I intervene and get bitten in the hand by the little ankle-biter. After the two four-legged friends are separated, the first thing to do is disinfect the wound. It seems not too bad. Then I retreat to the tent with Rango.

On Sunday morning, after packing up, I am invited to breakfast again at Elman's. Afterwards, I am taken to the new bus station, which is about 15 km away. The search for a ride becomes somewhat complicated again, but in the end, I approach Anar, who agrees to take Rango and me south with him. The man is part of a group of young recruiters who start their working day at the bus station with a joint meal. Then we drive south via Uchtepe and Jalilabad. While Anar is at work, I take Rango for small walks in the settlements. In the afternoon, we finally reach Lankaran. After the obligatory selfie of all participants, I buy something in the city and make my way to the beach. I finally find a shady spot near a river mouth in the south of the city. I want to stay for a few more days. Due to the many invitations during the last few days, I am a bit behind with my travel reports, and the weather is not really suitable for longer hiking trips. But even at my remote campsite, it doesn't take long for the first visitors to arrive. There are several shepherds in the area, who are watching over their cow, sheep, and goat herds. I am invited for tea and can meet my power and drinking water needs on a nearby property. So I spend the next few days bathing, sunbathing, reading, writing, doing minor repair and maintenance work, and taking walks on the beach and in the city in summery weather.

On Tuesday, August 6, 2019, it's time to leave the beloved spot near the Mingachevir reservoir. After a final tea at the beach bar, I set off south with my Dicken. I also stop at Nico's coffee bar for a hot drink and say goodbye. Then we go across Mingachevir and through extensive reed fields, along a kind of dam. South of the city, there is a floodplain or swamp area that seemingly gets its water from the Kura River. After about 9 km, we take a break at a small body of water before continuing our hike. Around half past four and after walking about 17 kilometers, we reach a dam of the Kura River and on its southern side is the village of Varvara. At a military post, I am given some drinking water and the first villagers we encounter invite me for a tea. I chat a bit with the elderly men, replenish my water reserves for the night, and then start looking for a suitable camping spot. Not far from the dam, I find a place on the shore of the Kura River, set up the tent, and am already surrounded by some children during the process. I rinse my clothes and wash myself in the river before preparing my dinner. Then the boys are collected by an older villager and I enjoy the evening tranquility at the tent. It is already dark when I get another visit. Two brothers come with their father and mother to visit me. We have tea and honeydew melon as a bedtime snack and chat a bit.

On Wednesday morning, the night's rest is over around half past seven as the two boys are back and practically throw me out of bed. Their parents have given them a small lunch package for me. I find bread, vegetables, and eggs in it. After breakfast, with the very helpful assistance of the two boys, I pack up my things. It's around nine o'clock when we start and cross the village of Varvara. Apparently, all rather simple farmsteads with rather poor rural population. There are some livestock (cows, geese, chickens, sheep) here and there on the streets, but cars are hardly visible. After leaving the village, we walk along reed fields and meadows. Shortly before half past ten, we reach the village of Cırdahan, which leaves a similar impression as Varvara. Then we pass an airfield and head to Yevlax. Here, just after entering the town, I take a little break, as we have already walked 10 km. Then I inquire about trains to the east at the train station. The staff recommend a bus ride from the bus station about 2.5 km away for cost reasons. I have the feeling that they want to outsource the dog problem. Since the next train doesn't leave until the evening anyway, I decide to give it a try. On the way there, I take a break in front of a café where there is no coffee. The boss helps out and quickly organizes a hot drink for me. I can't really relax as we are surrounded by onlookers and occasionally questioned. Then we continue along the main road to Avtovakzal. Upon arrival, I leave Dicken and my backpack in the cool, empty waiting hall. I join Rango for a while before inquiring about buses. The first bus driver rejects my request. I am told to try hitchhiking directly on the roadside. Here, I am promptly besieged by some taxi drivers but can board a marschrutka shortly afterwards. I am assigned two seats on the back seat for my backpack, Rango, and me. During the journey, I start talking to Ulfat. He invites me to his parents' house in Baku, asks about opportunities to work in Germany, and treats me to a tea during a short break near Kürdəmir. At the southern end of the city of Hacıqabul, I get off with Dicken and walk a bit further south. At the northern end of Şirvan, I find water at a small collection of houses and then set up my tent on the bank of a dried-up lake.

After dozing a bit longer on Thursday morning due to drizzling rain, I finally pack my things around eleven o'clock and walk to Şirvan. Right after the start, there is a small detour, a rather large farm dog and a few smaller yappers clearly show us that our presence near them is not welcome. In the end, I don't trust the young resident who tries to hold back the alpha male. Then we continue along the planned route, and after 5 km, I take my first break at Heydər Əliyev Prospekti. I get some sweets in a market and am invited for a hot drink in the neighboring tea house. After 20 minutes, we walk about 3 km again before I stop at a small snack bar with WiFi. I want to upload some pictures and have decided to spend the night in the area again. So there's no need to rush. After a few hours, I organize some food in the village and then head to the southwestern end of the town. I find a spot to camp on the banks of the Kura River and set up my camp. I am quickly spotted by children from the nearby village of Bayramlı and curiously observed. They keep me company, and some parents also show up. I am treated to tea and grapes and invited to stay overnight several times. Since the tent is already set up, I politely decline. After nightfall, tranquility slowly returns, and I can retreat under the tarp.

It's around seven o'clock on Thursday morning (01.08.2019) when I have breakfast not far from Böyük Dəhnə in the semi-desert. The landscape looks like the cliché that I have in mind of Azerbaijan. Hilly, ochre-colored, and sparsely populated by vegetation. An hour later, we are on our way to the settlement. The sun hides behind a thin layer of clouds and makes walking bearable. After about 2 km, we reach Böyük Dəhnə and Ruslan and his father immediately invite us for breakfast. Actually, it's too early for a break and probably not a very wise decision given the good hiking conditions, but the prospect of a cup of coffee is too tempting. Upon arriving at the family's property, we have breakfast together. There is coffee, tea, bread, cheese, sausage, butter, and various fruits and vegetables. Relatives and friends of the family come and go throughout the morning. It seems to be the mother's birthday. I can take a shower and my hiking shirt is washed. I also receive socks and a new top as a gift. Ruslan and his sister speak English quite well, and the father speaks Russian. So we can exchange some words. Once again, I have met very normal and extremely hospitable people. We say goodbye around 11 and I continue walking south along the highway with Rango. After about 10 km, we finally seek shelter under a tree in Aran to escape the sun. The clouds have disappeared by now and continuing to walk seems impossible for now. I manage to get some water from a resident but decline another invitation to eat. After relaxing for a bit, I try to organize a ride along the highway. It takes a while, but around four o'clock, we finally manage to hitch a ride with Razim. Rango jumps a little too quickly into the trunk and is allowed to stay there. A hole in the armrest of the backseat, just big enough for Rango's head, provides access to air conditioning from the interior. So the big guy doesn't suffocate, and my guilty conscience is limited. Razim is from Mingachevir and is a trader. So we visit several markets in several small villages on the way, where the man takes orders. In the evening, we reach Mingachevir and I am invited for dinner. Gradually, a few friends of Razim join us. There is bread, salad, and kebabs. Everything is very delicious. Later in the evening, the slightly tipsy guys drive me directly to the beach, which is about 3 km away. We say goodbye, and I look for a place to camp. I ask at a kind of beach bar and I am assigned a spot and immediately invited for tea and fried fish. Afterwards, I go swimming in the reservoir, wash my clothes, and retreat under the tarp.

On Friday morning, after breakfast in my tent, I am invited for tea, bread, butter, and cheese at the beach bar. Then I set off with Rango to the city. At the bazaar, I buy a pair of new shoes and then dispose of my hiking shoes, which have become irreparably damaged by now. I stroll around the city for a while and return to the beach in the late afternoon. We go swimming right away (Rango also cools down), and afterwards, I relax at the shady beach bar with a cool beer. I have a conversation with Aiche through an interpreter. The attractive young woman is an elementary school teacher and the mother of an eleven-year-old daughter. We get along quite well, but I am not spontaneous enough for the topic of marriage that is brought up. Later in the evening, Ragil and Tural invite me for food and drinks. So the evening extends well past midnight.

I spend Saturday morning (03. August 2019) at the campsite. Before the first visitors arrive at the beach, I splash around in the cool water and then have tea at the beach bar. In the afternoon, I stroll back to Mingachevir with Rango to visit the bazaar. Ragil has invited me to his bookstore and helps me organize a new muzzle for the big guy. I seem to have forgotten the old one when I dismantled the tent near Böyük Dəhnə. Then I have lunch with Tural, we eat dolma. I already know the dish from Romania, Georgia, and Armenia. According to Ragil, dolma tastes best in Azerbaijan. We drive through Mingachevir in his convertible, visit several places, and finally order the meatballs wrapped in vine leaves at a restaurant right by the Kura river. They are really delicious. Then we go to a cool arcade for tea and later go back to the river for swimming. In the late afternoon, I say goodbye and go back to the beach with Rango. If I understood the guys correctly, they were trying to arrange for some easy girls for the evening. That didn't seem appropriate anymore. I spend the rest of the day completely relaxed at the beach.

I start Sunday with breakfast in my tent, followed by tea at the beach bar. Then I stroll back into the city with Rango and pause at a small bar as usual. While strolling through Mingachevir, I bump into Ragil and Tural again. I am invited to eat again, and the girls from the previous evening are brought up in conversation again. The guys are persistent. In the late afternoon, I do some shopping, and then I return to our campsite on the shore of the reservoir with Rango. The evening passes by once again at the beach bar in good company.

On Monday, August 5, 2019, I had originally planned to move on, but the weather forecast predicted temperatures of over 30 °C and a cloudless sky again. Some cooling was only expected for Tuesday. So I stay near Mingachevir a little longer. After breakfast, I have tea at the beach bar, and at noon, almost out of habit, I go to my coffee bar at the entrance of Mingachevir. The owner Nico was born in Nagorno-Karabakh. This also explains the name 'Qarabag' of the establishment. We get along well, and I rarely get a chance to pay for my hot drink. The rest of the day I spend swimming and relaxing at the reservoir. In the evening, I am invited to three different dinners. I have an appetizer with the bar owner, and for the main course, a part of his family comes over to eat. They had to flee from Nagorno-Karabakh as well. They talk about the beautiful landscape, the mountains, the forest, and the good water that can be found there, and they wistfully mention that their children have not yet been able to see their homeland. Nevertheless, they are interested in my experiences in Armenia and the kind people there. I am persuaded to try a homemade spirit that is supposed to have around 80% alcohol. It's too strong for me, and the locals also seem to have a hard time drinking it. Later in the evening, Nico shows up at the beach bar again. Dessert, so to speak. I'm starting to feel stuffed. But since the food is all delicious, it's hard to say no. While taking the obligatory nighttime swim in the reservoir, I prefer not to swim too far out. Then, once again, it's late at night when I go to sleep.

It is raining on and off on the night of Monday, July 29, 2019. Around seven o'clock, I am driven out of the tent, I have breakfast and feed the dog. Then I slowly start preparing to leave. It takes a while for the tent and all the clothes to dry, and we can only start after half past eleven. I pay the camping fee for the last 6 days at the tourist center at the Lagodekhi National Park and go down to the village with Rango. There I find a small restaurant and take a coffee break and have one last khachapuri before we head to Azerbaijan. Fortunately, the road to the east is lined with many trees, and we can mostly walk in the shade. Before the border crossing, I exchange a few Lari for Manat, the next ATM is about a day's march away in Azerbaijan. The dog is already struggling with the heat at the border, and after a successful entry, we pause for a while in the shade of a small snack bar. I have coffee and Rango has water. Then we continue east, unfortunately often in the blazing afternoon sun. Shortly after Poştbinə, we have to pause again, the dog needs to cool down. The village seemed quite sleepy. A few houses with gardens, a market, a few cows and horses, that's all I saw. After about an hour of acclimatization, we can continue. In the late afternoon, just before six, I fill up my water reserves at a small restaurant and have a conversation with the owner. I am allowed to camp on the property. So after enjoying a cold beer, I set up my camp in the shade. I can shower and provide a small dinner for Rango and myself. Before going to bed, I am invited for tea.

On Tuesday morning, we have breakfast around seven-thirty, I pack up my backpack, and we can continue our journey around nine. After about an hour, we reach Balakən, and I leave the dog and the backpack in the central park of the small town. I organize something to eat and a coffee before I search for an Azerbaijani SIM card. In the meantime, I take a little stroll in the city, everything quite unspectacular. Men in parks drink tea and play board games, there are many small shops, a mosque, and several administrative buildings. Back with Rango, I am invited to the terrace of a tea house by a young man for tea, beer, and snacks. I use the Wi-Fi, and Rango is offered water. I am not allowed to pay for the goodies. In the late afternoon, I go with Rango to the train station, the train to Şəki is supposed to leave around seven. On the way, I buy a hat and sunglasses, both seem appropriate given the weather conditions. It is about 35°C with clear skies. I also replenish our food supplies. At the train station, after some back and forth, I finally manage to buy tickets for the evening train to Baku. At first, they said there were no tickets left. But with the help of a young couple from Kazakhstan, I find available seats online, and the lady at the ticket counter tries again. Because of Rango, I have to reserve a two-person cabin. We are then in the train around half past eight, which apparently had all day to heat up on the platform. A sauna on wheels. Shortly after eleven, we reach the stop south of Şəki, and after consulting with a few train station employees, I set up our camp directly on a small lawn at the platform. After having tea with the guys from the train station, I wash myself at a nearby faucet, and we go under the tarps shortly after midnight.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019, 7:20 a.m., I am woken up by the train to Balakən screeching to a halt at the platform. Time to have breakfast and pack up the tent. I have to wait a bit until the ticket office opens at nine o'clock, and I can buy two tickets to Yevlax. Actually, a railway employee from the previous evening offered me to leave Rango and the backpack on his property. But it seems that the good man has gone home without me. So I leave the dog in the shade at the train station building, give him water, and head to Şəki. The city is about 20 km from the train station. On the way, I can ride in a taxi for a small fare (1 Manat) to the bus station. From there, I stroll into the center and take a break in a small park. Then I go to the old caravanserai. Already some houses on the way there have a quite oriental impression. On the caravanserai premises, there are several museums, craft shops, and an art gallery. All very interesting. Then I stroll back to the town and then to its southern end. In my map, something palace-like was marked, but I couldn't find anything. Then I look for another Lada that takes me in the direction of the train station. In the late afternoon, I am back with the dog. He seemed to have behaved admirably. Good dog. I treat myself to a little shower at a slightly distant faucet for cooling down. Back at the train station, bad news awaits me. I have to return my tickets. I can't travel with other passengers with Rango, and a separate cabin is not available. I almost saw it coming in the morning, but it's still annoying. To catch the next train, I would have to spend another day near Şəki, which seems pointless to me. So I decide to cover a few more kilometers to the south in the evening. So after dinner, we set off again around eight-thirty. Despite the absence of sun, it is oppressively warm, and Rango struggles with the heat. Even walking along the highway in the dark is not enjoyable. We almost managed to hitch a ride in a transporter to Mingəçevir, but when Rango emerged from the darkness, the offer was withdrawn in no time. After about 10 km, I finally set up the tent on a small path just before Böyük Dəhnə. Before going to bed, I am bothered by a young taxi driver who apparently has some mischief in mind. After threatening with violence, the pig retreats, and I can go to sleep.