No Cricket in Baku

Posted in Ashgabad

Azerbaijan has proved to be a country of real contrasts. Crossing the border from Georgia you pass through a landscape of lush rolling hills with the soaring Caucausus mountains as a backdrop to enter into a flat, treeless moonscape of parched badlands alleviated only by the odd wrecked concrete building, before finally being confronted with the acquamarine expanse of the Caspian Sea. We did the journey in a couple of days, camping one night (illegally it transpired) at a spot surrounded by the most striking prehistoric petroglyph rock carvings, and close to an area of bubbling mud volcanoes, one of which our American friend Jason managed to fall into. The onwards drive to Baku confronts you with the powerful presence of the oil industry in this country, the source of Azerbaijan's wealth as well as its environmental problems. Nonetheless, the poisened hinterland of the city couldn't contrast more with the unexpected elegance of the city itself. Baku has a markedly Western feel to it and is full of ex-pat Brits out here working on the rigs, ably provided for by a plethora of English pubs, restaurants and shops in the new part of the city, as well as a healthy trade in prostitution by the look of things.

Despite these promising signs of links with Blighty, Ron, Graeme and I discovered as we traipsed from bar to bar that the game of cricket hasn't yet penetrated the country. Eventually at about the tenth attempt our search for a place showing the first England vs Australia one-dayer on the satellite tele was rewarded, only for us to sit there gobsmacked as the channel opted to switch its coverage to women's athletics just as Freddie Flintoft came in to bat. Ultimately we had to rely on text message updates from the UK, though it was good having Ron as a captive Aussie to bait when the good news finally got through to us.

Spending time in Baku waiting for our old tub of a ferry to take us across the Caspian to Turkmenistan was a lot of fun. The old town is really quite atmospheric and contains the loveliest 15th C palace of the local ruling Khans, which reminded me a little in its concept and scale of the Alhambra in Granada, though it's carvings are less intricate and exquisite.

Since my last post I've acquired a rather severe US naval marine style haircut (not entirely intentionally) and an Icelandic girlfriend with an unpronounceable name. These two developments are not directly connected I hasten to add. I'm having a blast!