Motourama Part 38: The Road to Baku

Hello family, friends and followers! However lovely it has been, it is time to leave Georgia behind and travel onward to Azerbaijan where new adventures await us – some excellent, some not so much.

We set off from Tbilisi in beautiful, hot weather, flowing with the traffic in its slow, strangely smooth, chaotic way.

Bends and twists through the city.

Following the flow of the traffic and being prepared for unexpected situations.

On our way out of the city, we looked for an air compressor at each fuel station to check and refill air, if necessary. We had no luck finding one at any of the fuel stations we encountered, and it wasn’t until our 5th place, that someone could explain to us where to get air. We had been looking in the wrong places. The air could be found with the tire shops, logically. We had just been so used to finding it at gas stations, that we had not kept an eye out for any of those.

Five minutes later we had the desired amount of air squeezed into our rubber, and as a bonus, we found a hell of a cute puppy.

Excited puppy hunting a bug.

From Tbilisi it was not a long drive until the border. The application for the visa had been a very easy task. It was an e-visa, and all we needed to do was to fill out an online form, add scans of our passports, and pay a small amount of money one week before entering Azerbaijan. It was not without butterflies, that we approached the border, however. We had heard a couple of stories from other travelers crossing the border into Azerbaijan, that it could be very easy going and smooth, or it could be a horror scenario of hour long interrogations, luggage rummaging, and even rumors of strip searches had been told.

Last view from Georgia before arriving at the border.

When we arrived, we got out of Georgia without a problem, and soon found ourselves at the first gate of the Azerbaijani border. We were told to wait there by a young guard, who proceeded to ask us about our purpose of entering Azerbaijan, while writing down our number plates. Being satisfied with our answers of traveling and tourism, he gave us a small slip of paper, which we should hold on to. After a little while, we allowed to enter the main border area to be processed.

Rolling up to the border offices, we saw a couple of cars in front of us with all doors, hood and trunk open and luggage spread all around them. Several guards were investigating the cars’ interiors and the contents of the luggage. Not the best sign, we thought, but we kept a positive mindset for the time being. As we came to a stop, some of the guards, not busy with the cars, approached us and asked us to open all of our bags. We set to work untying the straps, unlocking the locks, and prepared for a show and tell of our belongings. In the middle of this, another guard, with a magnificent hat, came and told us to take our papers to the first window of the main office building. We were a bit confused, as we had not yet finished with the show and tell of our belongings, and it seemed for a short moment, that the guards we were entertaining were confused as well. They had clearly not finished investigating the contents, but Captain Fancyhat insisted that now was the best time to process the paperwork. Leaving the bag inspectors with our open bags, we set off for what would turn out to be a series of windows where different processes would take place. With limited instructions in English as to which piece of documentation was needed at a given window, we slowly made our way around the building from window to window.

At the last window, Esben was asked for 10 US dollars, and naive as he was, gave it to the man. At the time it had seem legit, but as it was Denise’s turn at that particular window, and the man finished what he had to do, he had not asked for the money. Denise was kind enough to ask him if he didn’t want the money, and with a quick surprised look, he accepted. The 10 dollar bill just went into a drawer in the man’s desk unceremoniously. It wasn’t until that point in time, that it started to seem a bit shady. Oh well, if 20 dollars were all we had to pay to keep everybody happy, we would consider ourselves lucky. We also considered it a learning experience, and would be a lot more skeptical in the future for any curious requests for money.

Coming back to the bikes, the luggage inspectors asked us to show them more of the contents, but quickly lost interest in the heat of the sun, and asked us to pack up and continue on to the next gate. While we were busy packing our stuff back into the bags, we were asked again, this time a bit more rudely, to pack up and continue to the next gate. This happened once more while packing up. Not that it could do much to speed things up, as we were already doing our best. Slightly irritated by the constant request to basically hurry the hell up as well as the burning sun, we made our way to the next and final gate.

There we were greeted by another young guard, who asked us for the slip of paper, that the very first guard had given us at the first gate. This guy was in a much better mood than his colleagues had been, and collected the paper slips with a smile and a thumbs up at our bikes, and waved us on through the gate. We had arrived in Azerbaijan! Not the easiest of border crossings on our journey so far, but a hell of a lot easier than some of the horror stories we had heard from others.

Across the border and happy.

Now that we had arrived in Azerbaijan, all we had to do was find our way to Shaki, once a bustling and rich trade city along the Silk Road (even with their own silk worms for a period), now a smallish city tucked away at the foothills of the Caucasus mountains with a palace covered with beautiful mosaics.

The road there was at first as full of potholes as the lesser maintained roads in Georgia, but after a short ride, the potholes gave way to first road construction, and finally smooth tarmac. Everybody were waving at us, as we drove past, and all cars were giving a cheery honk of the horn.

Stick stuck in Falkor’s rear wheel.

Away with it.

Avoiding pot holes with zig zagging.

There were a few at the start.

Happy, friendly people.

Waves and smiles all around.

Giving the bum some rest.

A bit of side by side riding.

The quintessential adventure riding photo – loose surface ground and standing riding posture.

We arrived in Shaki after a bit of rain and made our way to our guesthouse for the night. It was a cozy little house run by the loveliest couple, and there was even a mulberry tree in the garden. We were offered the customary glass of hot tea, as well as some home made jam, which we were supposed to just eat straight out of the bowl with a spoon. Not a bad way to consume jam, albeit a bit too sweet in the long run.

A slight drizzle.

More friendly people.

Original horse power.

Playing around with the camera.

The foot hills of the Caucasus.

Arriving in Shaki – but too slowly for the Lada driver.

Phoenix and Falkor in the yard.

Mulberries! So delicious.

Our hosts were eager to hear about our travels and one tea turned to many. We didn’t even notice our grumbling stomachs in the pleasant company until after we had finished with our stories. By then the sun had set and heavy clouds loomed over the mountains to the north. Our hosts gave us a couple of recommendations for places to eat traditional Azerbaijani food, and we set off with the hopes of reaching the designated eatery of the evening without getting wet. As we arrived at the address, which had not been easy to find due to road construction, we were met by a locked gate. The road construction had made it impossible for cars to get to the restaurant, so they had closed it down for the time being. Wanting to find another place to eat before the heavy rain, visible despite the dim light of the twilight, would reach the city, we set off towards the center. Alas, we did not find a place to eat in time, and we had a good soak while searching for anything that would be serving food. In the end, we happened upon a local fast food establishment, complete with bright lights and colorful, back illuminated photos showing the different dishes of food plated next to a glass of well established soft drink, that rhymes with koka-kola. Wet and hungry, we decided that authentic Azerbaijani food could wait for another day, and that this place would suit our need for food right then and there. The menus we were handed, after we sat down in a closed off booth, even had English text. We ordered a bit of bread, some kebabs, sauces for dipping, and had an altogether pleasant meal, despite the harsh light. Slightly more dry and a lot less hungry, we went back to the guesthouse for the night.

Our lovely hosts.

The next day we went to the beautiful palace, Palace of Shaki Khans, which our hosts had recommended as well. Sadly, we were only allowed to take photos from the outside, which was a shame, as the rooms were lit by glass mosaics in the outer walls, casting a splendid display of colors in the palace. We took a tour through the palace, which had been the summer residence of Shaki Khans and built without a single nail. The ceilings were beautifully painted with hunting scenes from particularly adventurous and successful hunts, and the larger rooms were naturally air-conditioned by clever placement of fire pits and running water. The warm air from the fire would ascend, while the cold air from the water would descend, creating a ventilation system.

Driving up to the palace.

Curious crowd.

The palace front. You can’t see the colorful glass mosaics as well from the outside as the inside.

Esben taking the photo above.

A “mirror” pool in front of the palace.

The palace was undergoing renovations.

On our way out, we encountered a man, that wanted us to pay him to get out. He had not been standing there as we came. Not in a mood to waste time arguing with him, we paid him the modest amount and drove on.

After the tour, we saddled up and rode out of town towards Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan. The route took us from the green, cool foothills of the Caucasus, through dryer and dryer scenery until we were driving through almost 35 degrees Celsius desert landscapes, where the wind wasn’t doing much to cool us off anymore. It was a mesmerizing transformation to witness, and made the drive quite interesting despite very straight stretches of highway. Audio books also helped.

The main road in Shaki. These Renault copies made by Lada where everywhere.

Wheat fields on the way out of Shaki.

The roads were very straight for long stretches.

Photo of Esben taking a photo of Denise by Denise.

Photo of Denise taking a photo of Esben by Esben.

A quick drinking break in the sweltering heat.

Yay! A bend in the road!

The dry landscape starts becoming more prominent.

A bit of green in the brown.

The landscape got more and more arid the further we got away from Shaki.

A cow wrangler like in the wild west!

This car was just sitting there without anybody around.

The first of this kind of gate. It’s a common sight in this region.

More straight highway – at least it makes for fast progress in the heat.

The Caspian Sea and Baku in the distance. Almost there!

A huge shopping center on the outskirts of Baku.

With a few photo stops and rests for water and watermelon, we made it to Baku around six in the evening. We had booked a couple of beds in a dormitory, as we wanted to explore the city, while waiting for a ferry to take us across the Caspian Sea. Also, Esben was very intrigued by the possibility to take a peek at the Formula 1 race going on while we would be in the city. However, locating our hostel proved to be a lot harder than we had hoped for. The address we had from the host took us to a housing block, which had no signs of our hostel, HillSide Hostel. The street numbers on the buildings, however, did not match the number on the address, so we drove up and down the street, asking multiple times, looking for the correct number. After 30 minutes of driving up and down, asking for directions (nobody knew of the guesthouse we were looking for), determining that the house number we were looking for was a construction site, we went back to the housing block, where a group of taxi drivers were having a break. They confirmed that there was no hostel in the area called HillSide Hostel. They were so kind as to offer us to call the number listed in the booking, to hear where to find the hostel. After a few minutes of conversation back and forth between the taxi driver and the person on the other end, it turned out, that the hostel had not existed in a while. After a few more moments, we were offered a room at another hostel in the old part of town. We were instructed to go to another address close to the old part of Baku and call them again, to be guided by them to the hostel. Call them again? That meant we had to hassle another person to ask if we could borrow their phone. We thanked the helpful taxi drivers, and with a bad feeling, we set off for the second address.

On the way down into the city, we got to see the famous Flame Towers of Baku at least.

As the non-existing hostel was supposed to be on the outskirts of the city, we had a scenic drive from the hill sides of the city down towards the old city center. As we were getting closer to the address given to us, the traffic began to get denser and denser. We finally arrived and after a bit of embarrassing and uncomfortable asking around for a phone, we met a kind gentleman, who lend us his. We got the person on the phone again, who had told us to get here. He told us that he had a room for us at a different hotel located in the old part of the city. He then proceeded to instructed us to find a parking spot and from there walk 800 meters to the address. Even though it was already 20:30 in the evening, it was still very hot, and the prospect of having to carry our luggage (about 35 kg per bike) in full riding gear for that far did not seem like a thing we wanted to do. The reason we had to walk that distance was because the Formula 1 race track was between us and the hotel. We decided to try and find a way around, so we wouldn’t have to walk that far with all our stuff. Having found a possible way around, we set off again through the heavy traffic around the track. It took us the better part of an hour to go 4 km, and the further we drove, the heavier the traffic became, until it was pretty much grid locked. Luckily for us, the gaps between cars were generous enough for our small, nimble Hondas, and we were only slowed down significantly, rather than being stuck completely.

As we came close to the address of the hotel, we found the race track cutting us off again. The nearest pedestrian bridge (the only type of bridge going across) was inaccessible to motorcycles, which meant that we had gone all this way for a similar distance by foot to the hotel of 800 meters. At this time (21:45), we were growing weary from riding in the stressful traffic and the heat, and just wanted to crash in a room. We sat down for a refreshment and to think our options through. Either we conceded to walking or we would find a new place outside the gridlock of the city, to be sure we didn’t have to carry out stuff so far. We decided on the latter option, found a place at a reasonable price, booked it to make sure we had the room, and set off once again into the standstill traffic.

After another hour and a bit, we had made it the 15km out to the new place. The day was almost over, and so was Esben’s patience. The new place was not easy to find. We had to drive around the building until we found a way in to the inner yard. There we found the house number we needed, but no signs that told us there was a hostel here. We asked a boy standing around if he knew of a hostel there, and he asked us to follow him. Esben went with him into a dark stair well. Doesn’t this sound like the beginning of a great adventure? Luckily, the boy did lead Esben to the right door – at the top of the stair case on the 5th floor. Up there, he was greeted by a slightly shocked and very apologetic man. He had not noticed our booking, when we made it, even though we received confirmation of the booking shortly after we booked. In between our booking and us arriving, he had given our room away to a guy who had come by and just knocked on the door. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Esben’s patience. After a couple of very stern words with the hostel manager, we were allowed to stay there for one night. The manager promised to help us find another place to stay and show us the way through the horrible traffic of the city the next day. We got our luggage off the bikes and settled into the room for the night. We finally had a bed, and with the clock showing well past midnight, we passed out as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

Until next time, plan for the best, prepare for the worst.