Now that all of our things are gone and we're counting down the days until we get on that plane, it's time to reflect on the past two years in Baku. As I watched the movers pack up my kitchen, I thought of the many happy memories we've had in our house over the last two years. It's been a good two years without any major trauma and plenty of good times. We've had a great time here and made some great friends. But now it's time to leave, which is also okay because as nice as Baku has been, it's not home. No place is home for us, home is wherever our family is together. One day we'll stop moving around the world, go back to our home country, settle down, and have home mean the place where our family is from. But until then, it's okay to leave after a few years and go somewhere new.
But for those of you who want to know what we liked best (and worst) about Baku, here's the list.
10. The weather. With the exception of our first winter here, which was very unusual for the whole continent, Baku's weather has been very moderate. The winter temperatures hardly ever dip below freezing and usually stay in the forties and low fifties. In the summer it gets above ninety for about six weeks, and then only sporadically before it dips down into a long, warm fall. After two years in Cairo, it was nice to actually have winter and have summer that didn't start in April.
The weather. So the winter didn't get very cold but it lasted forever. The weather never really ever warmed up enough to make swimming for more than twenty minutes at a time pleasant. Our main pool, the CMR, never got above seventy-five degrees. And for a girl who grew up spending all summer hanging out in ninety-degree pool water that's just not right.
9. The food. But I suppose you could say this about a lot of posts. Brandon claims (and he's not kidding) one of the reasons he joined the Foreign Service was because of the food. The food here is quite delicious, especially when you count all of the Georgian restaurants as part of "the food" here. We have more things to add to the list of Food We'll Never Have So Good Again - fresh tandiir bread, still hot from the oven with a crisp crust that shatters all over the car while you eat it driving home because you just can't wat, gutab, saj, and lula kebab. And I haven't even mentioned the amazing fruit. We'll spend the rest of forever trying to recreate the food and never get it quite right.
The prices. I pride myself in trying to shop like a local as much as possible, but even when I shop like a local I'm still amazed by the prices of some things here. The children think that bananas are a rare treat because I'm too cheap to buy them at $2.75 a kilo. I usually order everything I can off the internet because shopping locally really adds up. This Christmas, however, we got stuck and ended up buying some Duplos (two sets and a truck) for the children - for a low low price of $180. Ouch.
8. The nice parts of the city. Baku has spent a lot of time and money prettying itself up. And we've really enjoyed all of the efforts. I remember the first time Brandon and I stumbled on the Bulvar and were shocked and amazed at how nice it was. There was nothing even touching it in Cairo, and we were expecting Baku to be much more like Cairo than it actually is. There are several nice parks and lots and lots of places to walk around and a pedestrianized shopping area downtown. It's pleasant to be in places that don't have piles of garbage with stray cats picking through them. And you just can't beat eating dinner overlooking the Caspian on a warm June evening as all of Baku promenades by.
Road construction. And construction in general. The price of all of Baku's new niceness is construction. There is construction everywhere in the city, including the roads. There is an interchange of tunnels and overpasses that has been under construction since we moved here and still isn't finished which is unfortunately the most direct route to a few key things in the city. And this construction makes pretty miserable traffic downright awful when you get stuck in it. When it's all done, I'm sure it will be lovely, however.
7. Our neighborhood. We were really lucky and got put into a gated neighborhood with more Western-style houses. Not only does our house have closets, we even have a laundry room. But even better than the houses are the neighbors. We have nine or ten embassy families living in our neighborhood so there's always someone around for the children to play with. I've loved not having to drive anyone to playdates. I just have to wait until around 3:30 or 4 and then the doorbell starts ringing and the girls are off with friends until dinner. Having someone you can call for a cup of sugar or bit of baking soda or even a ride is pretty nice, too.
Our yard. When we filled out our housing survey, we mentioned that our shipment included a half-dome climber and swing set and a yard to put them in would be quite nice. When our sponsor was driving us home from the airport he mentioned that unfortunately they couldn't put us into a house with a yard big enough for the equipment. I thought at least we had a yard that the children could play in, but I was wrong. Instead of a yard, we have a mud pit surrounding our patio. It started out with a little grass, but two years of gardeners' inattention and flooding and drought methods of yard care have killed what grass it did have. I gamely tried to grow vegetables in pots for two summers in a row, but there wasn't even enough sun for that. Sometimes I daydream about one day being able to have a garden and a lawn.
6. The holidays. Have I mentioned how great it is to live in a country that celebrates Muslim holidays, Persian holidays, and Soviet holidays? I think I have. But I'll say it again. It's fantastic.
No parking. I don't have a driver, but when I have to run errands (only every few months) I really wish I did. I don't care if he drives my car, I just want him to park the dang thing. I'm pretty sure the only parking lot with lines I've seen in the city is in the embassy compound. It's a good thing I perfected my parallel parking skills in college because I have really used them here. And my backing skills when I realized that I can't turn around because the driving lanes are too tight. I dream of big, wide American parking lots with vast driving lanes and spacious stalls that let you open both of your doors at once. I know that big box stores and their big parking lots are not cool anymore, but I don't care. Call me a destroyer of the earth as much as you want as long as I can keep my parking lots.
5. Getting out into the countryside. Azerbaijan really has some lovely countryside, and we've had a great time exploring it. See previous posts here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Most people don't think of Azerbaijan as beautiful mountain scenes, but they should.
How far Baku is from the pretty parts. Unfortunately for our gasoline bills, Baku is at the very tip of the ugly part of Azerbaijan and you have to drive at least an hour an a half before you get to the pretty parts. Which makes for a pretty long day trip when you're hauling four children around with you. I'm looking forward to being a little closer to the mountains for the next posting.
4. Everyone here loves children. I love living in areas of the world where children are still cool. A few weeks ago I was pushing everyone through the grocery store tossing the usual cheese, milk, eggs, and butter into the cart when a gaggle of admiring store workers pointed to the children and held up four fingers questioningly. I nodded my head. Yes, they're all mine. Then they pointed to my pregnant figure and held up a fifth. I nodded again. They all smiled enthusiastically like it was the best news they'd heard all day and congratulated me roundly. It's nice to be seen as a hero and not a blight on society. I also enjoy my children being petted and admired instead of looked at like little vermin that shouldn't be let out of the house.
Everyone here loves children. So having a fan club can be a bit of a distraction when you're trying to remember what you're planning on cooking dinner for the week while answering four different children's incessant questions while trying to keep those horrid Euro-style four-turning-wheels shopping cart from bashing into the shopper trying to squeeze past you in the aisle. I'm looking forward to shopping with a little anonymity. Just sayin'.
3. The embassy community. Can I tell you how much I love small embassy communities? I think I already have, but I'll say it again. For some people it's a fishbowl, but for a Mormon who's used to being in a tight-knit congregation with lots of open-invitation activities, it's wonderful. So wonderful that I hope to stick to small embassy communities for the rest of this gig.
The traffic. There's something that makes any rational mind scream in frustration when it takes over an hour to travel three miles. I don't know a single person here who doesn't list the traffic as one of their top aggravations.
2. The people. We've found the Azeris to be a perfect mix of friendly, helpful, tolerant of crazy foreigners, and standoffish. After living in Egypt where all twenty million Cairenes would have (when we were there) taken you home for three weeks to be your best friends, it's nice to have some personal space while still being all of the nice things that Egyptians are.
The driving. All of the above things don't count when everyone is behind the wheel of a car. After some time driving and being amazed and incensed by the stunts drivers here pull routinely, I had to just stop asking why anyone would do that because I realized that I would go crazy. All I can say is that DC driving (and parking) holds no fear for me anymore. None.
1. And of course, the best thing about Baku has been our friends. We have made wonderful friends and will always remember everyone that has made us feel loved and welcomed. Even though there are some things about this lifestyle that I could do without, the friendships we make at each post make those annoyances just annoyances and nothing more. I'll always remember Baku by those who have made our life more rich over the past two years. And I'll always miss it too for the same reason.
Showing posts with label Living in Baku. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living in Baku. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Baku State Circus
Did I ever tell you that I've never been to the circus? My parents claim that they took my older sister once and all she did was complain about the smell so they swore it off forever after. Every time the circus came to town I would beg and plead to be taken (I think this lasted into high school) and they would bring out the same story about elephant poop.
Circuses were evidently a big deal in the Soviet Union and so pretty much every major city has a circus building that various circuses make the rounds of throughout the year. I've meant to go to one the entire time we've been here (just like I've meant to go to the opera house) but there's no good way of telling when they're in town other than spotting the banner when you're driving past. The circus is in a part of town I don't do much driving in and so usually I would see the banners just as it was over. Once we even saw the banners before it came and tried to buy tickets but they were sold out.
A few weeks ago, however, the CLO sent an email around about an upcoming one. All we had to do was give her the money and she would go buy the tickets. And so finally, after almost thirty years of waiting, I got to go to the circus last Saturday.
Brandon had warned me not to expect too much - this is, after all not Barnum and Bailey - but I wasn't too worried. I'm not much of a 'cultural experience' sort of person, in the traditional sense. I'm not that interested in traditional cultures; what fascinates me instead is seeing contemporary culture and going somewhere like the circus is a perfect place to observe contemporary culture. This circus would never even think of being a tourist attraction - it was a place where locals took their children for a good time. It wasn't even just the rich locals, who we see at some of the places we take the children, it was all sorts of locals. We even passed busses filled with children who had been shipped into town to come see the circus. Evidently the circus is just as exciting now as it was when I was five.
The show started out with Father Christmas in his blue-and-white outfit and tinsel-wrapped cane introducing the Snow Maiden who sang everyone a song before the New Year's Tree was lit. Then we got to watch a troupe of jump-ropers, poodles doing tricks with a stiletto-wearing bicycle lady, a restaurant comedic act, a family of acrobats, more dogs doing tricks (big ones this time), a couple of snakes and crocodiles, some dancing with more stilettos, a plate-twirling man, and the first-act finale, three bears doing various tricks including dancing, catching balls and hoola-hooping. After the popular acts, children would file down with flowers to give to their favorite performers.
After fifteen minute break we got to watch trapeze artists followed by a magic show with people disappearing and reappearing from a false floor they had set up during the break. The whole show was accompanied by waving, flashing brightly colored wands throughout the crowd, bubbles from children with bubble guns, and balloons waving through the air. Popcorn and cotton candy littered the aisles by the end, and at least a hundred phones got the whole show on tape.
It was interesting to see what was considered 'cool' here - lots of sparkly stiletto heels and sparkles in general, big band music from America, lots of flesh-colored leotards and bleach-blonde and red hair. But, other than the music and flesh-colored leotards that's pretty much half the female population of Baku. The first half of the show felt straight out of the fifties, and the second, complete with laser lights and smoke machines was early nineties.
But what wasn't different was how much everyone enjoyed the circus. I guess it doesn't matter where you come from, watching a little girl catapult through the air and land in a handstand on her father's upraised hands is pretty cool. And who doesn't like dog tricks? And even if you know that the magic isn't real, it's still pretty cool to see those white doves emerge from handkerchiefs, crumpled newspaper, and thin air. I confess that I'll always enjoy a good trapeze show.
After the show was over and we had swam through the crowd we asked the children how they liked it. "That was great! Can we go again next time?" I doesn't matter where you are and where you're from, the circus is still the circus. And it's pretty amazing.
But what wasn't different was how much everyone enjoyed the circus. I guess it doesn't matter where you come from, watching a little girl catapult through the air and land in a handstand on her father's upraised hands is pretty cool. And who doesn't like dog tricks? And even if you know that the magic isn't real, it's still pretty cool to see those white doves emerge from handkerchiefs, crumpled newspaper, and thin air. I confess that I'll always enjoy a good trapeze show.
After the show was over and we had swam through the crowd we asked the children how they liked it. "That was great! Can we go again next time?" I doesn't matter where you are and where you're from, the circus is still the circus. And it's pretty amazing.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Our Turn
We have been reading and hearing about snow falling in practically everywhere in the Northern Hemisphere (even Egypt). I have felt smug and the children disappointed. Just about every afternoon for the last two weeks Kathleen has been asking if it just might possibly snow here in Baku. I haven't encouraged her hope very much because I'm a mean mom and don't like snow.
But on Thursday her optimism won out and we woke up to snow. Unfortunately it started snowing around three AM and wasn't deep enough by eight to get Brandon out of work. But since I'm the teacher, principal, director, and superintendent of our school, I called school for the children. It doesn't snow here very much and nobody would have gotten much work done anyway and I had a lot of things to get done for our move, so it seemed like a good idea.
We don't own any snow clothes (yet), so we had to improvise. Edwin ended up in Sophia's tights, his pants, Kathleen's jeans, my socks, and Kathleen's black knee-high boots. Sophia was in a mix of her and Kathleen's clothes with my socks, and Kathleen wore all of her clothes, supplemented by hand-me-down snow boots (the only pair in the house) from the neighbor. Everyone was soaked by the end of forty-five minutes. Sophia came home and declared that she was done with snow for the year, took a warm shower, changed, and went to the neighbor's to play for the rest of the morning. Definitely have to get snow clothes for the next post.
I didn't set foot outside all day except to get some rosemary for dinner and neither did Joseph. If you're not old enough to get yourself dressed in cold weather gear, you're not old enough to go outside alone.
The weather is flirting with snowing again tonight and I wouldn't mind Brandon having work cancelled tomorrow but I'm not holding out hope. But just to be on the safe side we stocked up on groceries yesterday. You never know, right?
But on Thursday her optimism won out and we woke up to snow. Unfortunately it started snowing around three AM and wasn't deep enough by eight to get Brandon out of work. But since I'm the teacher, principal, director, and superintendent of our school, I called school for the children. It doesn't snow here very much and nobody would have gotten much work done anyway and I had a lot of things to get done for our move, so it seemed like a good idea.
We don't own any snow clothes (yet), so we had to improvise. Edwin ended up in Sophia's tights, his pants, Kathleen's jeans, my socks, and Kathleen's black knee-high boots. Sophia was in a mix of her and Kathleen's clothes with my socks, and Kathleen wore all of her clothes, supplemented by hand-me-down snow boots (the only pair in the house) from the neighbor. Everyone was soaked by the end of forty-five minutes. Sophia came home and declared that she was done with snow for the year, took a warm shower, changed, and went to the neighbor's to play for the rest of the morning. Definitely have to get snow clothes for the next post.
I didn't set foot outside all day except to get some rosemary for dinner and neither did Joseph. If you're not old enough to get yourself dressed in cold weather gear, you're not old enough to go outside alone.
The weather is flirting with snowing again tonight and I wouldn't mind Brandon having work cancelled tomorrow but I'm not holding out hope. But just to be on the safe side we stocked up on groceries yesterday. You never know, right?
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
My Azeri Hero
Driving in Baku is an irregular proposition. Most of the major roads are fairly well-paved, and the city is continuing to repave roads that hadn't seen new asphalt in several decades. I spent the first six months playing pothole slalom on the road in front of our neighborhood, but now it's nice and smooth and even has these painted lines on it that drivers occasional interpret to mean lane markers. But the cross-streets on either side of our block are every bit as horrendous as they were when we came and don't show any sign of getting fresh asphalt any time soon - definitely not before we leave. When I'm driving on these roads I pretend that I'm practicing for our next post.
Occasionally new obstacles will pop up in these ignored backstreets, usually in the form of potholes or ditches or open manholes. Despite being crazy drivers, Azeris, when out of their cars and not being forced to form lines, are very considerate of other people. I don't know how many times I've had a stranger on the street back me up as I try to squeeze into a tight parallel parking spot. They'll often help too when I'm trying to see how the width of my car lines up with the width of a hole between two other cars in traffic. This drives Brandon crazy, but I find it really quite kind. If you have seen my car you would know that I need all of the help possible because I am a horrible judge of its width. Just ask the metal fence, water pipe, bus, gas main (they don't bury them here), and light post that I've run into over the last few years.
The locals' consideration also extends to warning drivers about new features in the road, so often you'll see sticks, bricks, and occasionally clothing on sticks marking holes and trenches that might be a problem for drivers going too fast for their own good. It's not exactly orange cones and it's a far cry from road repair, but it works better than nothing.
So last week when I saw a brick in front of a dip in the side road near our neighborhood and watched the car in front of me swerve to avoid it, I swerved too, despite my impulse to just drive over the brick and show everyone I'm not afraid of some little dip. As we sailed around the brick, I looked down to see the biggest hole I've ever seen in a road, probably ever. It looked like there had been some sort of concrete-lined box under the road (part of the sewer system?) that had then caved in. The edges of the hole hung over empty space and the bottom was over two feet deep - deep enough to cause a lot of trouble for any car who didn't heed the concrete brick. Thank heaven I had decided to swerve.
I didn't think much about the hole until I came upon it again after grocery shopping this week. As I barreled toward it, a girl on the street motioned that I should probably swerve and this time I knew that she wasn't kidding. Last time there was plenty of room to swerve but this time there were cars parked on both sides of the hole. That is something Azeris are not considerate about - blocking anyone and everyone in the quest of finding somewhere to park their cars.
First I went right. About halfway through the creep to avoid certain disaster on one side and certain car damage on the other, I gave up and decided to back out and try the other side. By this time two other cars were behind me, waiting to try their luck with the hole and so they got to back up too. Azeris are good at backing up because they have to do it all the time. Then I tried the left side. It turns out that this side was even tighter than the right, and I decided that a few scrapes would be better than breaking a car axle by falling into that hole so I crept about as close as I could and was literally two inches from whatever idiot had decided parking their car next to a big hole would be a good idea.
As I said before, I'm a terrible judge of space in traffic. I drive a big car and I'm a little person so I don't sit very high and can't see what is going on. I started sweating and talking out loud. I was about halfway around the hole and I didn't like the idea of backing up again. But could I go forward? I couldn't tell. What should I do? Part of me just wanted to park the car, unbuckle the children, and leave the car where it was. Hopefully when I made Brandon go back and get it the blasted car would be gone.
But I couldn't do that. What if the other car couldn't get out because I was blocking it? When I was done reflecting and reminding myself to breathe, I looked up to see an Azeri man standing in front of my car talking on his cell phone. He couldn't help but see the panicked look in my eyes, only standing about three feet away so he did what any person on the street does when a car is obviously in a tight situation - he started directing me. Turn left. Go forward. Turn to the right. A little more forward. Then his eyes widened. Stop. Stop!!
I stopped. He walked over to the passenger window and motioned for me to roll it down. He couldn't reach the driver's side as it was about to kiss the Lada that had gotten me into this problem in the first place. Did I speak Russian? I shook my head no. English? Yes. I nodded my head enthusiastically. Yes. He looked down at the hole, at the car, and then at me. Why don't you let me drive your car?
I practically kicked the passenger door open after slithering across the car and shot from the car. He hung up from the conversation he had been having - just hold on a minute, I've got to help this crazy white lady who can't drive and is about do wreck her car in a big hole, I'll call you back. He got in, slithering back over the seats to the driver's side.
Now, if I had been in America, I would have paused a few moments before handing my car with my four children over to a complete stranger. We've all heard stories of carjackings and nobody wants to be the stupid person who just hands their car over. I would have thought again about just leaving the car parked. Maybe I would have called Brandon for advice. But here, in Baku, I didn't even hesitate. I handed my car right over. Maybe I was so stressed by my situation that I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I'm so used to being a person that can't be messed with that I just assumed nobody would try anything. But most of all, I just knew this random stranger wasn't trying to cause me problems. He was just trying to help. Because that's what men do here - they help women in trouble. So I handed the car right over.
When I got out and saw exactly how close the car was to driving into a big hole, I almost passed out. The font tires had cleared the hole, but the back was hanging on the edge, getting ready to plunge in and cause major problems. Was my car insurance current? I really wish I had a camera on my phone.
I almost passed out again as I watched my stranger-rescuer oh so very carefully back the car around the hole, performing magic right before my eyes, adjusting the wheels just a little this way and just a little that to keep the tires right on the edge of the hole. I made a lame attempt at directing, but he wisely got some advice instead from a truck driver navigating the other side of the hole. Then the car was free.
Evidently not trusting my ability to navigate the other side (smart man) he crept carefully around the marginally wider right side and got so close to the edge that the back tire bumped down on a loose piece of asphalt clinging to the side with the aid of some twisted re-bar. As he drove down to the end of the road brief thoughts of carjacking flashed through my head, but my car stopped at the corner and he hopped about, already dialing his friend back on the phone. As I almost cried with gratitude, thanking him repeatedly, he just nodded his head and walked down the road. Another day, another white lady saved. That's how things roll here in Baku.
Occasionally new obstacles will pop up in these ignored backstreets, usually in the form of potholes or ditches or open manholes. Despite being crazy drivers, Azeris, when out of their cars and not being forced to form lines, are very considerate of other people. I don't know how many times I've had a stranger on the street back me up as I try to squeeze into a tight parallel parking spot. They'll often help too when I'm trying to see how the width of my car lines up with the width of a hole between two other cars in traffic. This drives Brandon crazy, but I find it really quite kind. If you have seen my car you would know that I need all of the help possible because I am a horrible judge of its width. Just ask the metal fence, water pipe, bus, gas main (they don't bury them here), and light post that I've run into over the last few years.
The locals' consideration also extends to warning drivers about new features in the road, so often you'll see sticks, bricks, and occasionally clothing on sticks marking holes and trenches that might be a problem for drivers going too fast for their own good. It's not exactly orange cones and it's a far cry from road repair, but it works better than nothing.
So last week when I saw a brick in front of a dip in the side road near our neighborhood and watched the car in front of me swerve to avoid it, I swerved too, despite my impulse to just drive over the brick and show everyone I'm not afraid of some little dip. As we sailed around the brick, I looked down to see the biggest hole I've ever seen in a road, probably ever. It looked like there had been some sort of concrete-lined box under the road (part of the sewer system?) that had then caved in. The edges of the hole hung over empty space and the bottom was over two feet deep - deep enough to cause a lot of trouble for any car who didn't heed the concrete brick. Thank heaven I had decided to swerve.
I didn't think much about the hole until I came upon it again after grocery shopping this week. As I barreled toward it, a girl on the street motioned that I should probably swerve and this time I knew that she wasn't kidding. Last time there was plenty of room to swerve but this time there were cars parked on both sides of the hole. That is something Azeris are not considerate about - blocking anyone and everyone in the quest of finding somewhere to park their cars.
First I went right. About halfway through the creep to avoid certain disaster on one side and certain car damage on the other, I gave up and decided to back out and try the other side. By this time two other cars were behind me, waiting to try their luck with the hole and so they got to back up too. Azeris are good at backing up because they have to do it all the time. Then I tried the left side. It turns out that this side was even tighter than the right, and I decided that a few scrapes would be better than breaking a car axle by falling into that hole so I crept about as close as I could and was literally two inches from whatever idiot had decided parking their car next to a big hole would be a good idea.
As I said before, I'm a terrible judge of space in traffic. I drive a big car and I'm a little person so I don't sit very high and can't see what is going on. I started sweating and talking out loud. I was about halfway around the hole and I didn't like the idea of backing up again. But could I go forward? I couldn't tell. What should I do? Part of me just wanted to park the car, unbuckle the children, and leave the car where it was. Hopefully when I made Brandon go back and get it the blasted car would be gone.
But I couldn't do that. What if the other car couldn't get out because I was blocking it? When I was done reflecting and reminding myself to breathe, I looked up to see an Azeri man standing in front of my car talking on his cell phone. He couldn't help but see the panicked look in my eyes, only standing about three feet away so he did what any person on the street does when a car is obviously in a tight situation - he started directing me. Turn left. Go forward. Turn to the right. A little more forward. Then his eyes widened. Stop. Stop!!
I stopped. He walked over to the passenger window and motioned for me to roll it down. He couldn't reach the driver's side as it was about to kiss the Lada that had gotten me into this problem in the first place. Did I speak Russian? I shook my head no. English? Yes. I nodded my head enthusiastically. Yes. He looked down at the hole, at the car, and then at me. Why don't you let me drive your car?
I practically kicked the passenger door open after slithering across the car and shot from the car. He hung up from the conversation he had been having - just hold on a minute, I've got to help this crazy white lady who can't drive and is about do wreck her car in a big hole, I'll call you back. He got in, slithering back over the seats to the driver's side.
Now, if I had been in America, I would have paused a few moments before handing my car with my four children over to a complete stranger. We've all heard stories of carjackings and nobody wants to be the stupid person who just hands their car over. I would have thought again about just leaving the car parked. Maybe I would have called Brandon for advice. But here, in Baku, I didn't even hesitate. I handed my car right over. Maybe I was so stressed by my situation that I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I'm so used to being a person that can't be messed with that I just assumed nobody would try anything. But most of all, I just knew this random stranger wasn't trying to cause me problems. He was just trying to help. Because that's what men do here - they help women in trouble. So I handed the car right over.
When I got out and saw exactly how close the car was to driving into a big hole, I almost passed out. The font tires had cleared the hole, but the back was hanging on the edge, getting ready to plunge in and cause major problems. Was my car insurance current? I really wish I had a camera on my phone.
I almost passed out again as I watched my stranger-rescuer oh so very carefully back the car around the hole, performing magic right before my eyes, adjusting the wheels just a little this way and just a little that to keep the tires right on the edge of the hole. I made a lame attempt at directing, but he wisely got some advice instead from a truck driver navigating the other side of the hole. Then the car was free.
Evidently not trusting my ability to navigate the other side (smart man) he crept carefully around the marginally wider right side and got so close to the edge that the back tire bumped down on a loose piece of asphalt clinging to the side with the aid of some twisted re-bar. As he drove down to the end of the road brief thoughts of carjacking flashed through my head, but my car stopped at the corner and he hopped about, already dialing his friend back on the phone. As I almost cried with gratitude, thanking him repeatedly, he just nodded his head and walked down the road. Another day, another white lady saved. That's how things roll here in Baku.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
This time I don't even care about charm
I fired my fourth housekeeper last week. To clarify, I haven't fired four housekeepers - two quit, one went missing, and the last I fired - but I now have had four former housekeepers in less than two years. I'm not sure what this says about me; am I bad to work with, do I have bad luck, are my expectations too high, or is it just Azeri housekeepers? I think maybe I hold the record among my friends, however, and maybe in the whole embassy community.
The last one didn't survive very long. After swearing off housekeepers entirely, I broke down and admitted that I can't handle life by myself and hired my friend's housekeeper. As a salve to my conscience, I only hired her for one day instead of the two I had my last housekeeper working. I never liked having someone else fold and wash my laundry anyway and Asli had never, ever stayed for the eight hours I was paying her for. I figured that if she didn't have to put anything away, wash laundry, tend children, or cook dinner, a housekeeper should be able to clean the house in seven hours. Just basic cleaning, after all, nothing fancy. Our windows would just have to be dirty the last four months of our tour, and I suppose I could finally bring myself to clean out the refrigerator every now and then. Or, maybe four months isn't too long to leave the refrigerator uncleaned? I know that if I didn't have children to watch, I could clean the house in seven hours. Really.
Boy was I wrong. I had been warned that she was slow; another friend had her previous to my first friend and she had commented that people had fired this housekeeper for being slow, but I thought that they were just being picky. They weren't. At all.
The first day she came, the housekeeper (I'll avoid publicly smearing anyone's reputation that hasn't done me any wrong) cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen. Then she left, because her six hours were up. Granted, we have four and a half bathrooms, but the bathrooms aren't that dirty and Joseph's only gets used for diaper pail duty. She'll get better, I told myself, it's just the first day. The next week she cleaned all of the rooms, but no bathrooms. When I discussed the situation with Brandon he asked if maybe there were toothpicks and q-tips involved with the cleaning? I looked, but the rooms didn't look any better than when Asli took five hours to clean the whole house, including hiding all of our stuff and watching Joseph - they even looked a little worse.
I really like to think that I'm a reasonable person. Maybe I'm not, but I like to think that I am. However, I also have a house that I need cleaned every week - the entire house, not just half of it. After all, we have four small children and four children make a lot of mess over one week - mess that needs to bed cleaned. And I would be inclined to be less concerned if every other housekeeper I've had hadn't been able to clean the whole house in one day. But they did. I'm also a cheap person, and I can't stomach the idea of paying someone to clean half my house when I can pay someone else to clean the whole house for the same amount of money. So she had to go.
Meanwhile I had another friend whose housekeeper had some extra days and by this time I was so desperate that I didn't even care that the lady doesn't speak English. If she can clean my whole house in one day, she can speak whatever language she wants. Or none at all. Or be a mime. I don't care. I just don't want to scrub my own toilets.
So yes, that is five housekeepers in two years, if you are keeping track. Good help is so hard to find these days. Don't laugh. It really is.
The last one didn't survive very long. After swearing off housekeepers entirely, I broke down and admitted that I can't handle life by myself and hired my friend's housekeeper. As a salve to my conscience, I only hired her for one day instead of the two I had my last housekeeper working. I never liked having someone else fold and wash my laundry anyway and Asli had never, ever stayed for the eight hours I was paying her for. I figured that if she didn't have to put anything away, wash laundry, tend children, or cook dinner, a housekeeper should be able to clean the house in seven hours. Just basic cleaning, after all, nothing fancy. Our windows would just have to be dirty the last four months of our tour, and I suppose I could finally bring myself to clean out the refrigerator every now and then. Or, maybe four months isn't too long to leave the refrigerator uncleaned? I know that if I didn't have children to watch, I could clean the house in seven hours. Really.
Boy was I wrong. I had been warned that she was slow; another friend had her previous to my first friend and she had commented that people had fired this housekeeper for being slow, but I thought that they were just being picky. They weren't. At all.
The first day she came, the housekeeper (I'll avoid publicly smearing anyone's reputation that hasn't done me any wrong) cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen. Then she left, because her six hours were up. Granted, we have four and a half bathrooms, but the bathrooms aren't that dirty and Joseph's only gets used for diaper pail duty. She'll get better, I told myself, it's just the first day. The next week she cleaned all of the rooms, but no bathrooms. When I discussed the situation with Brandon he asked if maybe there were toothpicks and q-tips involved with the cleaning? I looked, but the rooms didn't look any better than when Asli took five hours to clean the whole house, including hiding all of our stuff and watching Joseph - they even looked a little worse.
I really like to think that I'm a reasonable person. Maybe I'm not, but I like to think that I am. However, I also have a house that I need cleaned every week - the entire house, not just half of it. After all, we have four small children and four children make a lot of mess over one week - mess that needs to bed cleaned. And I would be inclined to be less concerned if every other housekeeper I've had hadn't been able to clean the whole house in one day. But they did. I'm also a cheap person, and I can't stomach the idea of paying someone to clean half my house when I can pay someone else to clean the whole house for the same amount of money. So she had to go.
Meanwhile I had another friend whose housekeeper had some extra days and by this time I was so desperate that I didn't even care that the lady doesn't speak English. If she can clean my whole house in one day, she can speak whatever language she wants. Or none at all. Or be a mime. I don't care. I just don't want to scrub my own toilets.
So yes, that is five housekeepers in two years, if you are keeping track. Good help is so hard to find these days. Don't laugh. It really is.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Georgia, Part II
When we pulled into the Tbilisi train station, we were met by the usual zoo of taxi drivers looking for easy marks. Brandon, deciding to be an easy mark in a foreign country where he didn't speak the language, accepted the assistance of one, stipulating that we first buy our return tickets. So to the ticket desk we hustled and I stood guard over children and luggage while Brandon got the harder task of buying tickets in a language he didn't speak. Thankfully the Russian worked enough.
After a few minutes he came back. "They don't have any coupé tickets. They're all sold out." I had worried about this, since the tickets had been sold out on our journey from Baku. I panicked, thinking about spending sixteen hours in third class. Can you even sleep in third class? I kept thinking of poor Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in White Christmas.
"See if they have any first class tickets," I instructed him, "just buy two compartments."
After ten minutes he came back with the good news that they had first class tickets available and the bad news that the money he had changed in Baku ($200) wasn't enough to buy the tickets. Thank heaven for ATMs. And so the tickets were bought, and all of the disastrous situations in our trip were finished. I'm not going to complain when the worst thing that happens is we have to pay more than expected for a return trip.
The rest of our vacation went great.
Monday we started our day with taking a funicular to the top of the hills surrounding Tbilisi. On one of the hills is an amusement park filled with lots of tacky rides that appeal to small children. Very cultural.
The hike started out well. It was a lovely day, a lovely hike, and the views were quite nice.
Smelled the sulfur baths. We had brought swimsuits for bathing if we had time, but we didn't. So we just smelled instead.
After a few minutes he came back. "They don't have any coupé tickets. They're all sold out." I had worried about this, since the tickets had been sold out on our journey from Baku. I panicked, thinking about spending sixteen hours in third class. Can you even sleep in third class? I kept thinking of poor Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in White Christmas.
"See if they have any first class tickets," I instructed him, "just buy two compartments."
After ten minutes he came back with the good news that they had first class tickets available and the bad news that the money he had changed in Baku ($200) wasn't enough to buy the tickets. Thank heaven for ATMs. And so the tickets were bought, and all of the disastrous situations in our trip were finished. I'm not going to complain when the worst thing that happens is we have to pay more than expected for a return trip.
The rest of our vacation went great.
Monday we started our day with taking a funicular to the top of the hills surrounding Tbilisi. On one of the hills is an amusement park filled with lots of tacky rides that appeal to small children. Very cultural.
In the funicular.
The view from the top.
On the Ferris wheel.
The Ferris wheel, which lights up at night and can be seen across the city.
Having exhausted our the rides and our funds by 1:00, we decided to walk to the botanical gardens, which looked like a reasonable hike on Google Maps.
The only problem with arial shots is that they're really bad at showing elevation, and scale can sometimes be hard to determine.
The only problem is that we just kept hiking and hiking and hiking.
We stopped for rest breaks, water breaks than then necessitated other types of rest breaks, granola bar breaks, picture breaks, and ibuprofen breaks for Brandon's knee, injured while he worked at Stouffer's, and no longer happy about going up and down lots of hills while carrying twenty-five pounds of Joseph on his back.
But eventually we made it to Narikala fortress, which was next to the botanical gardens, and as we realized after looking around, only separated by a 500-foot drop. Those maps really don't show ridges very well, and no guidebook (we had three) mentioned the botanical gardens being in a side valley not connected to the city.
By this time it was 5:30 and everyone was exhausted and hungry so we took the cable car down into the city,
crossed the river, and trailed through the old city looking for somewhere that didn't ask for Joseph in exchange for dinner. My favorite part of the March of Death for Dinner was Edwin repeating over and over in monotone while being dragged down cobbled streets past tourists, "I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired," until we told him to quit it. But really, it was a pretty long day for a three year-old and he took it quite well.
The next morning, after eating a very big breakfast, we took a leisurely stroll back down to the old city to enjoy it with somewhat fresher eyes than the evening before.
We paid through the nose for two dolls that could add to our Christmas tree ornaments from foreign countries collection.
We found a trail that went past the baths and into a ravine behind the city that dead-ended into a waterfall.
We finished the afternoon with more Georgian food, for the third day in row. "Please, no more khachipuri!! the children all begged," so we obliged. Who knew you could get sick of khachipuri? After a late lunch, we hailed a taxi to swing by the hotel for our bags before taking us to the train station for our night train back to Baku. We arrived the next morning by 9:00, too early to even eat the breakfast we brought. Whatever else you can say about this country, the train (to Tbilisi) seems to run right one time.
And that was our trip. If you're ever in the mood to travel to Tbilisi, I recommend it. Even if you're not, try it anyway. You might be surprised!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
So How Was საქართველოს*? *Georgia (the country, not the state)
We're back from Georgia and I am proud to report that we still have all four children. Nobody got lost, nobody got hurt, and most importantly, nobody got abandoned by the side of the road because we just couldn't stand them anymore. And that is something that I'm proud of.
We've obviously traveled with our children before (otherwise, how would I be writing this from my home in Azerbaijan?), but this is the very first trip we've taken for pleasure that didn't involve seeing any family. And it's also the very first international travel we've done with the children. So even though we've flown across the world with all of the children, we've never gone on a trip with the express purpose of having fun. Which is a pretty tall order when you throw in two overnight train rides, two nights in a hotel, lots of Georgian food, and a major amount of walking around a city with not much to recommend it other than old buildings. Even the guidebook, under the heading "Tbilisi With Children," told us that it wasn't a good city for children.
Nevertheless, we still enjoyed ourselves. So take that Lonely Planet.
We started our adventure Saturday night downtown at the Baku train station waiting to board the 8:30 train to Tbilisi. Brandon and I had walked down to the station a week before to purchase the tickets which turned out to be a good thing as the train was sold out a few days before our trip. As Brandon asked his way to the correct window and then chatted with the lady in Russian and explained what he needed I thanked the heavens (for the hundredth time) that I was married to someone who had lived in a Russian-speaking country for two years. I imagine buying tickets would have been possible without Russian or Azeri, but it certainly would have been much more complicated.
Not wanting to park our car downtown for five days, we took a taxi down to the station and enjoyed the pleasant evening, having arrived too early to board. As we waited we saw friends coming down the platform and soon realized we were next door to them on the train. The children had a fun time running up and down the platform and wondering when the engine would come and if we would get left behind and which window would be ours and what would the train look like inside and how fast it would go and could we have snacks yet? I think they didn't really care where the train was going, just that they were going on a train.
The inside turned out to be very clean and recently renovated; we had a coupe with four beds, two down and two up that worked excellently as clubhouse and monkey-swinging tree and something to climb. Stored on the top two bunks were pillows and pallets to lay on top of the padded vinyl seat benches. After we had been on the train for an hour or so the attendant brought bags of linens to put on the pillow and pallet and we made all of the beds while the children negotiated who would be sharing with whom.
I had been wondering ever since we decided to try traveling with four children how getting all of them to sleep on a train with everyone in the same compartment would work out. When we put them to sleep at home, every night there are at least three requests for water, five bathroom trips, two fights to break up and seven injunctions (increasing in severity and decreasing in civility) to just go to sleep already. And that is without Joseph in the room.
But either the running had worn them out or the excitement of sleeping on a train that was moving or the late hour or perhaps the Benadryl helped, as everyone actually just went to sleep after they had been pajama-ed and tucked into bed. Joseph gave us a little trouble so Brandon pulled him up to the top bunk and wrestled him down to unconsciousness (in a loving, non-violent manner) in about ten minutes and returned him to the bed he shared down below with Sophia.
I've flown enough red-eye flights to know how to get sleep in uncomfortable places and had packed accordingly: earplugs, Unisom, and my own pillow. So that just left Brandon, who was a big boy and had the Kindle's warm LED glow to keep him company if he couldn't sleep.
The night wasn't exactly the best sleep I've ever gotten - the room was hot until someone turned the air conditioning on and I had to keep shifting to find a comfortable position - but it certainly wasn't the worst and I didn't hear a peep from the children all night long. Maybe Brandon did, but that's why I packed earplugs.
The next morning after dressing, waiting in line for the bathroom (we knew enough of traveling to bring our own TP, but I'm not complaining because the toilet wasn't a squat), and making our beds, we had breakfast. When I mentioned something about a dining car to Brandon, he just laughed, "Dining car?!? Don't you realize that this is a Soviet system? All you get on these trains is hot water for tea. Period." So I had packed accordingly and we had pumpkin muffins, slightly squashed bananas, and granola bars to start the day off with.
We finished before reaching the Azeri border where we stopped for about an hour for border control and then rode for about half an hour before getting to the Georgian border where we stopped for more passport flashing and stamping. By then we were getting close to Tbilisi and I made a vain attempt to get Joseph to sleep (and maybe catch a nap myself) which worked about fifteen minutes before we pulled in, around noon.
So in summary: train travel with kids is vastly better than air travel. You can sleep laying down, you can shut the door, nobody has to wear seat belts, everyone can look out the window, and your children can misbehave without any witnesses. Of course the train took longer (sixteen hours versus ninety minutes), but we spent over half of the trip sleeping. And not once did anyone ask me to take off my shoes, empty out the liquid in my bags, or send my children through a metal detector. The only line we had was at the bathroom. And it was cheaper - one hundred dollars to get everyone to Georgia.
Of course, the way back was a different story. But that's for next time.
We've obviously traveled with our children before (otherwise, how would I be writing this from my home in Azerbaijan?), but this is the very first trip we've taken for pleasure that didn't involve seeing any family. And it's also the very first international travel we've done with the children. So even though we've flown across the world with all of the children, we've never gone on a trip with the express purpose of having fun. Which is a pretty tall order when you throw in two overnight train rides, two nights in a hotel, lots of Georgian food, and a major amount of walking around a city with not much to recommend it other than old buildings. Even the guidebook, under the heading "Tbilisi With Children," told us that it wasn't a good city for children.
Nevertheless, we still enjoyed ourselves. So take that Lonely Planet.
We started our adventure Saturday night downtown at the Baku train station waiting to board the 8:30 train to Tbilisi. Brandon and I had walked down to the station a week before to purchase the tickets which turned out to be a good thing as the train was sold out a few days before our trip. As Brandon asked his way to the correct window and then chatted with the lady in Russian and explained what he needed I thanked the heavens (for the hundredth time) that I was married to someone who had lived in a Russian-speaking country for two years. I imagine buying tickets would have been possible without Russian or Azeri, but it certainly would have been much more complicated.
Not wanting to park our car downtown for five days, we took a taxi down to the station and enjoyed the pleasant evening, having arrived too early to board. As we waited we saw friends coming down the platform and soon realized we were next door to them on the train. The children had a fun time running up and down the platform and wondering when the engine would come and if we would get left behind and which window would be ours and what would the train look like inside and how fast it would go and could we have snacks yet? I think they didn't really care where the train was going, just that they were going on a train.
The inside turned out to be very clean and recently renovated; we had a coupe with four beds, two down and two up that worked excellently as clubhouse and monkey-swinging tree and something to climb. Stored on the top two bunks were pillows and pallets to lay on top of the padded vinyl seat benches. After we had been on the train for an hour or so the attendant brought bags of linens to put on the pillow and pallet and we made all of the beds while the children negotiated who would be sharing with whom.
I had been wondering ever since we decided to try traveling with four children how getting all of them to sleep on a train with everyone in the same compartment would work out. When we put them to sleep at home, every night there are at least three requests for water, five bathroom trips, two fights to break up and seven injunctions (increasing in severity and decreasing in civility) to just go to sleep already. And that is without Joseph in the room.
But either the running had worn them out or the excitement of sleeping on a train that was moving or the late hour or perhaps the Benadryl helped, as everyone actually just went to sleep after they had been pajama-ed and tucked into bed. Joseph gave us a little trouble so Brandon pulled him up to the top bunk and wrestled him down to unconsciousness (in a loving, non-violent manner) in about ten minutes and returned him to the bed he shared down below with Sophia.
I've flown enough red-eye flights to know how to get sleep in uncomfortable places and had packed accordingly: earplugs, Unisom, and my own pillow. So that just left Brandon, who was a big boy and had the Kindle's warm LED glow to keep him company if he couldn't sleep.
The night wasn't exactly the best sleep I've ever gotten - the room was hot until someone turned the air conditioning on and I had to keep shifting to find a comfortable position - but it certainly wasn't the worst and I didn't hear a peep from the children all night long. Maybe Brandon did, but that's why I packed earplugs.
The next morning after dressing, waiting in line for the bathroom (we knew enough of traveling to bring our own TP, but I'm not complaining because the toilet wasn't a squat), and making our beds, we had breakfast. When I mentioned something about a dining car to Brandon, he just laughed, "Dining car?!? Don't you realize that this is a Soviet system? All you get on these trains is hot water for tea. Period." So I had packed accordingly and we had pumpkin muffins, slightly squashed bananas, and granola bars to start the day off with.
We finished before reaching the Azeri border where we stopped for about an hour for border control and then rode for about half an hour before getting to the Georgian border where we stopped for more passport flashing and stamping. By then we were getting close to Tbilisi and I made a vain attempt to get Joseph to sleep (and maybe catch a nap myself) which worked about fifteen minutes before we pulled in, around noon.
So in summary: train travel with kids is vastly better than air travel. You can sleep laying down, you can shut the door, nobody has to wear seat belts, everyone can look out the window, and your children can misbehave without any witnesses. Of course the train took longer (sixteen hours versus ninety minutes), but we spent over half of the trip sleeping. And not once did anyone ask me to take off my shoes, empty out the liquid in my bags, or send my children through a metal detector. The only line we had was at the bathroom. And it was cheaper - one hundred dollars to get everyone to Georgia.
Of course, the way back was a different story. But that's for next time.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Adventure is a Four Letter Word
I am not an adventurer. I wasn't before I got married, and having children has made me even less so. When you have an entire circus train to haul behind you every time you leave the house, 'adventure' really just is another word for a big old hassle that will probably cost more time, money and aggravation than it is worth.
So when the CLO sent around an announcement about a trip to Georgia for the upcoming five-day holiday weekend next month, I read it and laughed. An overnight train? With four children? No thanks, I'd rather stay home and stick pins in my eyeballs for entertainment.
But when Brandon read it, instead of laughing he looked interested.
Let me tell you something about Brandon - he's even less adventurous than I am. His idea of the perfect weekend is coming home Friday night and leaving the house Monday morning. After being gone at work all week all he wants to do is stay home and enjoy the castle all of his meetings, email exchanges, and cables have provided for him. I'm the one who hauls him on our little adventures.
I looked at him, "you're not really seriously thinking about this Georgia trip, are you? We would have to get the children to sleep on a fourteen-hour train ride twice. And we wouldn't have our car. And we would have to make the children eat Georgian food for four days."
He looked back and shrugged. "When else are we going to get to Georgia?" I was so shocked I told him I'd think about it.
I thought about it, and the deadline for signing up passed. Oh well, we can do something else that weekend, I told myself and Brandon. Then it was extended so I had to think about it again. I thought about it and got busy with sick children and life and remembered it had passed the day after.
But then it got extended a third time. In a spasm of adventuresome spirit one day while taking the children on errands, I brought up the subject with them.
"So, your father and I were talking about maybe taking you on an overnight train ride to Georgia. I'm not asking for your vote, just your opinion. What do you think?"
Thirty seconds later it was decided - we're going to Georgia. I called Brandon at work and broke the news to him. "You had to ask them didn't you? Of course they're going to say yes to sleeping in a train!"
So that's how we backed ourselves into taking four children on the overnight train to Tbilisi, staying two nights in the city at a hotel where there will be other people Brandon works with, and taking the overnight train to Baku. Did I mention that we're doing this with a seven year-old, five year-old, three year-old, and one year-old?
But I suppose in the end, as long as nobody has died, we will have taken the children on a train ride, gotten of town for a break, put Georgian stamps in our passports and most importantly, gone on a really big Adventure. Which is, after all of the bad memories have faded, what counts in the end, right?
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
It's Autumn Time
This week fall came. Thunder woke me up around two AM Monday morning and we had rain for the next two days. When our preventative maintenance men came on Friday I had them switch off the air conditioning and turn on the heat. Of course the weather says we're supposed to have eighty-five degree heat on Thursday, but everyone knows that it's just a bluff, a brief flirtation with a summer that is done.
I've grown to like fall more and more. I used to hate it because it meant that winter was coming and I wouldn't be warm again until spring. This is still true, and winter is even worse when you have to corral wiggling bodies into socks and shoes and coats before going outside. But the children have worn me down or I'm getting older and more tired or maybe more zen about life, but I like the change that fall brings. Summer has grown stale anyway and it's time for crisp air and cloudy days and tasty fall things, like pumpkin bread.
This Saturday we decided it was time to resume our Azerbaijan promotional posts and so we went up to find some real trees to walk around in and crunch leaves and feel appropriately fall-y. Because to me, it doesn't feel nearly enough like fall when you're surrounded by concrete.
After breakfast we announced to the children our plans "we're going to go into the mountains and go hiking!" Nobody said a word, so I continued, "and have a picnic!" Cheers followed.
So we packed up the car, took off north, drove around in the mountains until we found tall trees to wander around in, which happened to be the Atiagach National Forest.
I've grown to like fall more and more. I used to hate it because it meant that winter was coming and I wouldn't be warm again until spring. This is still true, and winter is even worse when you have to corral wiggling bodies into socks and shoes and coats before going outside. But the children have worn me down or I'm getting older and more tired or maybe more zen about life, but I like the change that fall brings. Summer has grown stale anyway and it's time for crisp air and cloudy days and tasty fall things, like pumpkin bread.
This Saturday we decided it was time to resume our Azerbaijan promotional posts and so we went up to find some real trees to walk around in and crunch leaves and feel appropriately fall-y. Because to me, it doesn't feel nearly enough like fall when you're surrounded by concrete.
After breakfast we announced to the children our plans "we're going to go into the mountains and go hiking!" Nobody said a word, so I continued, "and have a picnic!" Cheers followed.
So we packed up the car, took off north, drove around in the mountains until we found tall trees to wander around in, which happened to be the Atiagach National Forest.
Joseph was very pleased.
"Look mom! A triplet tree!"
Before we showed up, the entire forest was dead silent. No horns honking. No music. No perpetual city-sounds. The silence was deep it was its own sound. I wonder if I could build a hideaway here?
What you don't see in this shot is Brandon hovering two feet away telling everyone they'd better not fall off the tree because he wasn't going to haul them back down the trail before driving ninety minutes into town to get any broken bones fixed. We're very safety conscious in our family.
In the end everyone was happy with our hike. I got out of the city into a green place, Joseph got snacks, all three of the children brought home sticks, and Brandon... got a happy family. Hooray for fall!
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Field Trip!
The children and I have been working hard at school. So when a friend invited us to spend the day at a local beach club I decided it was time for a field trip. I love having the flexibility to cancel school so that we can hang out at the pool all day. Like I've said before, I'm not complaining about my job, not one bit.
After living in Azerbaijan a year and a half, I've learned that one of the things Azeris love to do is hang out. And when I say hang out, I mean sit around for a long time and eat food while talking and drinking tea. I've never been somewhere with more tea houses than here. If there's a park, there's at least a tea house and usually a restaurant somewhere in it. On a summer evening you can stroll the bulvar with half the city and pass at least twenty tea houses and restaurants, all with people hanging out at them. When we hiked up to Gala castle, we parked by a restaurant in the woods that was nowhere near the next village.
This is completely different from the American restaurant culture - drive to the restaurant, sit down and eat, and leave. I waitressed (very badly) one summer during college and remember detesting anybody who had the gall to hang out and take up valuable table space that could be filled by the next customer.
So when my friend said beach club, I had some idea of what we were going to. I knew there would be a pool, a beach, and most importantly, a restaurant. The beach we've gone to several times has a beach, a restaurant, and tables to drink tea at, so I guessed this would have something similar.
But when we drove up and there was a paved parking lot with lines, I knew we were in for a real treat. I've only ever seen a parking lot at the embassy, and this one was in better repair than the embassy's. Parked in the parking lot, at a slant so nobody would think about denting them, were a BMW, a Bentley, and a Maserati. 'Good,' I thought, 'they'll probably have normal toilets.'
And the club didn't disappoint. The children and I got to spend the day hanging out in the three pools, going down water slides, warming up on the playground, and eating pizza delivered to a grassy area complete with hammocks, couches, and basket hanging chairs. Like I've said, Azeris really know how to lounge.
The children had a great time, and we finally had to go home so that Brandon didn't have the indignity of having to work all day why we played compounded by coming home to an empty house with no dinner.
I'm sad to have only discovered this place with a month left before R&R. I've already made plans to go back.
After living in Azerbaijan a year and a half, I've learned that one of the things Azeris love to do is hang out. And when I say hang out, I mean sit around for a long time and eat food while talking and drinking tea. I've never been somewhere with more tea houses than here. If there's a park, there's at least a tea house and usually a restaurant somewhere in it. On a summer evening you can stroll the bulvar with half the city and pass at least twenty tea houses and restaurants, all with people hanging out at them. When we hiked up to Gala castle, we parked by a restaurant in the woods that was nowhere near the next village.
This is completely different from the American restaurant culture - drive to the restaurant, sit down and eat, and leave. I waitressed (very badly) one summer during college and remember detesting anybody who had the gall to hang out and take up valuable table space that could be filled by the next customer.
So when my friend said beach club, I had some idea of what we were going to. I knew there would be a pool, a beach, and most importantly, a restaurant. The beach we've gone to several times has a beach, a restaurant, and tables to drink tea at, so I guessed this would have something similar.
But when we drove up and there was a paved parking lot with lines, I knew we were in for a real treat. I've only ever seen a parking lot at the embassy, and this one was in better repair than the embassy's. Parked in the parking lot, at a slant so nobody would think about denting them, were a BMW, a Bentley, and a Maserati. 'Good,' I thought, 'they'll probably have normal toilets.'
And the club didn't disappoint. The children and I got to spend the day hanging out in the three pools, going down water slides, warming up on the playground, and eating pizza delivered to a grassy area complete with hammocks, couches, and basket hanging chairs. Like I've said, Azeris really know how to lounge.
The children had a great time, and we finally had to go home so that Brandon didn't have the indignity of having to work all day why we played compounded by coming home to an empty house with no dinner.
I'm sad to have only discovered this place with a month left before R&R. I've already made plans to go back.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Living in Baku: Summer
Friday was the first day of summer. It was also the first day of swimming lessons for the girls. One of the summer hires (children of mission members) teaches swimming lessons in the States, so she got drafted to teach lessons here while she's not making copies and running errands down at the annex. So this year we have free swimming lessons. Hooray for summer hires!
There are several hotels in the area that offer memberships to use their pool facilities, and most American expats have memberships at one of the hotels. Our Ambassador's residence also has a smaller pool that we can use for free, so being the cheapskate that I am, we've been using the free one this summer. It's not that big, and the shallow end is five feet deep, but it's private and nobody cares if my children lay on the pool deck, splash, or are rowdy.
Some of my friends were at a hotel pool during Eurovision last year. The children were playing and splashing like children do at pools; nothing too disruptive, but acting like children. One of the hotel guests came up to my friend, got in her face, and asked if he was going to get a nap that afternoon. She told him it didn't look very likely. Like I've said before, I'm not big into cultural experiences and am perfectly happy staying in the bubble. So having a private pool works for me.
The only problem with this setup is the weather. Baku is not the place for swimming pools. The weather here is very moderate* and the summer rarely gets very hot. Last weekend the temperature climbed all the way up to ninety degrees. We went swimming, and the water was hot enough to swim for twenty minutes before climbing out to warm up. But it never stays ninety degrees. It will warm up for maybe four or five days and then dip back down into low-eighties territory for the next two weeks.
This is fantastic weather for the summer for just about everything but swimming, if you're from North Carolina. For everyone else, it's probably too hot to do anything outside, but still too cold to swim. And since the weather can never work itself up to prolonged warm temperatures, the pools never quite get warm enough to swim in. When I say warm enough, I mean over eight-five degrees.
So Friday was the first swim lesson on the first day of summer. When I looked out our window in the morning, the tree-tops whipped back and forth underneath grey clouds. Not good swimming weather. The girls asked if they could be spared the lessons but I, being the perennial optimist, told them to hurry up and get their things on and maybe the weather would clear up on the way over. The weather here can be fairly locational, so maybe in the ambassador's neighborhood it might be sunny.
It wasn't and the wind was even worse. Our car told us the outside temperature was sixty-eight degrees and as the goosebumps raised on my arms I regretted not wearing jacket over my cover-up. I also told Joseph there was no way he would be swimming. The other kids straggled in, and we stood around the pool looking at the ice-blue water being whipped into miniature whitecaps. The teacher showed up in a jacket and leggings, which she never took off the entire morning.
Eventually the girls and their friend decided that they were up for swimming despite the whitecaps and hopped in. Edwin joined them. I huddled under a blanket brought by a friend who had been smart enough to step outside before deciding what to wear.
After the warming numbness wore of and the real state of affairs set in, everyone jumped out of the pool to huddle under towels. We tried the hot shower, but the drain was clogged. And so huddle it was. The sun finally struggled through the clouds, or rather the wind ripped the clouds from the sky, after an hour or two and everyone decided playing tag around the ambassador's house was a safer activity than trying to swim.
It's a good thing the lesson were free.
And so that was the first day of summer in Baku - sixty-eight degrees with twenty mph winds and clouds. I never thought that I would miss Cairo in the summer, but on Friday, I did.
*I grew up in North Carolina, so that's where I'm coming from. Obviously if you're from the Pacific Northwest, you're going to have a different idea of hot.
There are several hotels in the area that offer memberships to use their pool facilities, and most American expats have memberships at one of the hotels. Our Ambassador's residence also has a smaller pool that we can use for free, so being the cheapskate that I am, we've been using the free one this summer. It's not that big, and the shallow end is five feet deep, but it's private and nobody cares if my children lay on the pool deck, splash, or are rowdy.
Some of my friends were at a hotel pool during Eurovision last year. The children were playing and splashing like children do at pools; nothing too disruptive, but acting like children. One of the hotel guests came up to my friend, got in her face, and asked if he was going to get a nap that afternoon. She told him it didn't look very likely. Like I've said before, I'm not big into cultural experiences and am perfectly happy staying in the bubble. So having a private pool works for me.
The only problem with this setup is the weather. Baku is not the place for swimming pools. The weather here is very moderate* and the summer rarely gets very hot. Last weekend the temperature climbed all the way up to ninety degrees. We went swimming, and the water was hot enough to swim for twenty minutes before climbing out to warm up. But it never stays ninety degrees. It will warm up for maybe four or five days and then dip back down into low-eighties territory for the next two weeks.
This is fantastic weather for the summer for just about everything but swimming, if you're from North Carolina. For everyone else, it's probably too hot to do anything outside, but still too cold to swim. And since the weather can never work itself up to prolonged warm temperatures, the pools never quite get warm enough to swim in. When I say warm enough, I mean over eight-five degrees.
So Friday was the first swim lesson on the first day of summer. When I looked out our window in the morning, the tree-tops whipped back and forth underneath grey clouds. Not good swimming weather. The girls asked if they could be spared the lessons but I, being the perennial optimist, told them to hurry up and get their things on and maybe the weather would clear up on the way over. The weather here can be fairly locational, so maybe in the ambassador's neighborhood it might be sunny.
It wasn't and the wind was even worse. Our car told us the outside temperature was sixty-eight degrees and as the goosebumps raised on my arms I regretted not wearing jacket over my cover-up. I also told Joseph there was no way he would be swimming. The other kids straggled in, and we stood around the pool looking at the ice-blue water being whipped into miniature whitecaps. The teacher showed up in a jacket and leggings, which she never took off the entire morning.
Eventually the girls and their friend decided that they were up for swimming despite the whitecaps and hopped in. Edwin joined them. I huddled under a blanket brought by a friend who had been smart enough to step outside before deciding what to wear.
After the warming numbness wore of and the real state of affairs set in, everyone jumped out of the pool to huddle under towels. We tried the hot shower, but the drain was clogged. And so huddle it was. The sun finally struggled through the clouds, or rather the wind ripped the clouds from the sky, after an hour or two and everyone decided playing tag around the ambassador's house was a safer activity than trying to swim.
It's a good thing the lesson were free.
And so that was the first day of summer in Baku - sixty-eight degrees with twenty mph winds and clouds. I never thought that I would miss Cairo in the summer, but on Friday, I did.
*I grew up in North Carolina, so that's where I'm coming from. Obviously if you're from the Pacific Northwest, you're going to have a different idea of hot.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Living in Baku (Azerbaijan): Wildflowers
We are posted to Baku for two years. Sometimes two years feels like a really long time. Especially at the beginning, when you look at your teeny-tiny seven week old baby and realize that when you leave they'll be walking, talking, feeding themselves, and maybe even (fingers crossed) not in diapers. That's a long time when you're getting up three times a night because someone is screaming about being hungry.
But when you think about seasons, it's not that long. Last year spring came in a bit of a blur. Hooray, the weather is warm so I won't get scolded about not covering my baby's head anymore! We did some exploring, but not much. When your baby is on a nap schedule, interrupting it is a very serious business.
So it wasn't until this spring that we got out exploring, heading into the mountains beginning in March at least every other or every third weekend. Because all of them are far away, we gotten to watch the landscape change each time. And I've discovered something I never would have thought: Azerbaijan has beautiful wildflowers.
They started in March with little tiny irises hiding near the ground.
Then out come a profusion of yellow and white flowers.
After that is poppy season.
And then these pink things.
Last weekend we discovered a large stand of delphiniums growing in the middle of wheat fields (some may have come home with us).
And now comes the part where two years isn't long enough. When we leave the wildflowers will still be sleeping, waiting for spring. They will come up next year in riotous beauty but we won't be here to enjoy them. Ever again.
I hope there are wildflowers in Tajikistan.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
The Tastiest Time of the Year
Living in Azerbaijan has shifted my view of produce. In the States, when I want strawberries, I go to the grocery store and buy strawberries. Sometimes they're more expensive, but strawberries are always available. If I am hungry for asparagus, I can have it any time of the year. Grapes are always available too. And eggs cost the same year-round.
I never thought about where those grapes were coming from in February until I moved here and discovered that in February, the closest thing you're going to get to grapes is raisins. If you want grapes, you'd better wait until summer because that's when it's grape season.
So in the winter you have fairly limited (although better than I had feared) produce options. Potatoes, carrots, and onions are always around, but as the winter goes on, the onions get softer and start sprouting green shoots, as does the garlic. The potatoes start looking pretty scary, too. Apples start looking pretty sad, but the pears are still okay, if a little pricey. In fact, everything gets increasingly expensive as the winter wears on. Apples that were 50 qapik a kilo cost 2.50 manat by April.
Tomatoes that were about the same get up to 4 manat before Iranian tomatoes start coming in May.
By the end of winter everyone in the house is thoroughly sick of roasted potatoes and carrots with almost every dinner, and the children dream of strawberries, cherries, and apricots instead of apples, apples, and the occasional pear.
But everyone can now breathe a sigh of relief because summer is upon us. When we stepped into our local fruit shop last week, the girls squealed in excitement. "Strawberries!! Cherries!! Apricots!! Can we have those mom, please!?!"
Summer fruit season starts with strawberries. Every time we go shopping, I buy a big bag and we sit around after lunch and dinner every day, eating our fill. I've discovered my new favorite combination: strawberries and Nutella. Sometimes without the strawberries.
Since strawberry season only comes once a year, we eat strawberries until we're sick of them. Next comes cherries and apricots. Last year we ate so many cherries that I actually stopped buying them at the end. I never, ever thought that I could get sick of cherries.
Then come nectarines and peaches which aren't even exciting any more because we are so full of plentiful, delicious summer fruit by this time. Peach pie, peach cobbler, peach ice cream, peach milk shakes, peaches on pancakes, peaches for lunch, peaches after dinner, peaches with everything.
We finish up the year with apples, blackberries, and raspberries. When I went to get apples for applesauce last year (about 100 kilos), I picked up some blackberries and raspberries for canning and freezing, and still have them around, waiting to be eaten. Blackberry cobbler, anyone?
And then the fruit season is over, leaving us with frozen and canned remains to subsist on until the next summer brings cherries and strawberries and apricots to feast on again. At first this bothered me - I should be able to eat strawberries any time of the year I want - because they're tasty and I like them. What would I do when I couldn't just go to the store and buy strawberries or blackberries to make trifle out of in December? How would I survive on apples and pears all winter long?
But I've discovered an upside to living in a place where you eat what is available in season and live without it the rest of the year. Since those strawberries aren't being shipped from three time zones away or grapes from the next continent over, the only strawberries around are locally grown and are fantastic.
Yesterday I scooped handful after handful of dark shining cherries from wooden crates lined up at my local fruit stand. My hands were sticky with juice by the time my plastic bag was full with green-stemmed cherries and the occasional cherry leaf. After dinner I brought out the freshly-washed strawberries and cherries for everyone to eat to their heart's content.
"How many can we have?" Kathleen asked, always making sure to keep life equitable. "As much as you want," I shrugged, "It's cherry season. Eat until you black out."
And that's what I love about summer - and endless succession of fresh, ripe delicious fruit. We can eat as much as we want, whenever we want. Winter will come soon enough. So pass the cherries, please.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Victory Day, again
Did I ever tell you about how much I love having double the holidays when we're living overseas? Just in case you forgot, I'll tell you again. I love having double the holidays when we're living overseas. It's twice the fun!
This year for Victory Day, we drove past Besh Barmag (now that we've visited three times) and up to Chirax Castle. This was attempt number two, as number one began on a rainy, cold day in March and ended in failure.
The usual route, via a sanitarium, was closed because of construction.
So we decided to make attempt number two on a warmer, and hopefully drier day so that we could try a back route that the guidebook described as "accessible by 4WD." Good thing we own a 4WD. Azerbaijan - a country where a 4WD vehicle is actually necessary.
The day didn't start out very promisingly - we left Baku under a dark grey cloud raining on us as as we fled the city. But as we drove north the weather showed some promise of clearing and we headed up into the hills.
After some spots requiring, if not the 4WD capacity, some high clearance, and a u-turn through a village hosting more horses that cars, we made it to the trail head and unloaded the children for our brave assault on the castle.
This year for Victory Day, we drove past Besh Barmag (now that we've visited three times) and up to Chirax Castle. This was attempt number two, as number one began on a rainy, cold day in March and ended in failure.
The usual route, via a sanitarium, was closed because of construction.
So we decided to make attempt number two on a warmer, and hopefully drier day so that we could try a back route that the guidebook described as "accessible by 4WD." Good thing we own a 4WD. Azerbaijan - a country where a 4WD vehicle is actually necessary.
The day didn't start out very promisingly - we left Baku under a dark grey cloud raining on us as as we fled the city. But as we drove north the weather showed some promise of clearing and we headed up into the hills.
After some spots requiring, if not the 4WD capacity, some high clearance, and a u-turn through a village hosting more horses that cars, we made it to the trail head and unloaded the children for our brave assault on the castle.
The hike was quite lovely with beautiful views out onto the rolling hills below. I think that I am a waste of a diplomat's wife because the cities hold no interest for me (I guess I got my fill during college) and now my favorite thing to do is to get out of town and see nothing but trees.
Within ten minutes we spotted the castle.
And commenced the adventure part of our hike as we scrambled up rocky hills,
Through very small holes in walls,
And finally to the top with a crumbling tower and very sheer drop-offs that made Brandon almost pass out with anxiety every time the children looked at them. It's good to have at least one parent be safety-minded.
Then we came back down and had a picnic. Because no outing is complete without a picnic. I think the children probably put up with our plans only because they involve chips, cookies, and juice boxes.
The children seriously considered testing out the mutiny clause in our car insurance, but gave up the plan when we pointed out that Brandon had all of the money.
After we talked them back into their own seats, we drove home, put them to bed, and congratulated ourselves on another successful holiday. Hooray for Victory Day!
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