China to the UK by bike - Chapter 3

Sunrise on my arrival in Azerbaijan. What a way to start out across a new country.

Cheating?

That day turned out to be one of my hardest of the trip. The roads were terrible, with potholes jarring every bone in my body. The weather was getting mercilessly hot, and I had to be covered head to toe in clothes, with two buffs across my face to protect my north-European skin against the inevitable sun burn. When I reached the Uzbek border at 6pm in the evening, I desperately needed to get through as quickly as possible and find a hotel on the other side. However, just as I was going through immigration control, the lights went out - a power cut. I was left standing there for what seemed like forever while the immigration officer absent-mindedly flicked through my passport, again and again and again. I was dog-tired and didn’t need the added stress of having my documents scrupulously checked for what felt like hours.

When the power came back and I finally did make it through, the hotels I had seen on the map turned out not to be hotels - or at least not hotels that accepted foreigners, as no amount of pleading would convince the old man who ran one to take me. I also had no local money, as had again been unable to find anywhere to change any on the way in. With night closing in, I desperately tried to reach the only other place that might have accommodation, a holiday park by a nearby lake. On arriving I found it ringed by a perimeter wall, but after a few minutes of desperate knocking, an attendant came out who spoke some English and took me to the park boss. He also had some English, and mercifully argued with his wife to allow me to stay in one of the holiday homes for a much reduced fee. She must have been bemused - most other guests were families here to relax around a barbecue at night and enjoy the first class facilities, with swimming pools and tennis courts on site. Yet here I was with the boss taking a liking to me, personally checking me in to a villa and ensuring I had dinner and breakfast prepared and delivered.

Some huge days across Kazakhstan had left me tired. Strava link below.

I was beyond relieved, and able to rest properly for the first time in days. But I also realised I was getting more and more ill, and with the time to finally look more than one day ahead, I realised my original plan of cycling across the Turkmen desert to the Caspian Sea, then catching a cargo ship across to Azerbaijan, would not necessarily work. The cargo ships had no guarantee of being able to buy tickets, and opinions varied as to whether travellers would be allowed to board in the current environment. On top of this, the wait for a ship could be a week or more, time I didn’t have.

I therefore decided that getting to Azerbaijan by the most guaranteed way possible was more important than doing everything the ‘right’ way, so I re-routed to Tashkent, and bought a flight across the Caspian to Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, from there. In hindsight, that decision probably saved my trip: the time I was able to spend relaxing and recovering among the leafy greenery of the boulevards of Tashkent, and a night in the airport hotel on arrival in Baku, gave me just enough time to recover some strength and be ready for the next stage of the journey. That said, the flight was the worst I have ever experienced. Trying to drag a boxed-up bike through a foreign airport was bad enough, but the 3am flight was harrowing. I was joined on the flight by a party of retired Arab tourists, most of whom seemed to have never flown before, refused to queue at any point, and decided that they weren’t in any way obligated to sit in their designated seat. The arguments on that plane were the last thing I needed in my condition, and it was a massive relief to touch down in Azerbaijan and be alone on the road again.

Views of the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains on the Sheki Road towards Georgia

Best of Both Worlds

Being with Turan, I was already biased in favour of Azerbaijan. But it genuinely became my favourite country of the trip so far, despite only spending three days there. I hit real mountains for the first time, with the days spent pedalling through Qabala and Sheki, stopping at roadside tea houses to sip çay while admiring the views.

The friendliness of the people was heart-warming too. Again, it seemed to be the poorest who were the most willing to give. Caught in a rainstorm on the first day, the first local workman I ran into tried to give me his waterproof jacket, while the next pair invited me to shelter with them in a bus stop and share their meal. Azerbaijan definitely had that mix of cultures - while the northern areas claim to be, geographically at least, European, the openness, interest in and desire to help travellers was distinctly Central Asian.

Another interesting aspect to the country was seeing places from Turan’s childhood. While I could not meet her parents or any of her relatives this time around as Turan had not yet broken the news of our relationship to them (another story…), I was able to pass through her mother’s village, Vandam. Turan had excitedly told me of the sights I would see there, only for my own experience to be distinctly underwhelming. The best picture I took was of the middle of the Main Street: a hairy, brown cow roaming free and munching on grass outside a dilapidated old building with a fading sign pronouncing it the ‘Market’.

Needless to say, I would have to wait for later trips to be able to fully understand the positive aspects and places of Turan’s upbringing.

The ‘Main Street’ in Vandam

All too soon, my time in Azerbaijan came to an end. I had attacked the mountains with renewed vigour following my rest in Tashkent and Baku, and crossed the country in three days. Next up was Georgia - a country with a flag just like my own, but dogs that couldn’t be more different.