Baku

Thursday, and another travelling day. I left Betsy’s at 1130 for the airport. Two small snippets along the way; I was going down the cobbled street towards the Old City and an ambulance was ahead of us going very slowly despite the blue lights. Halfway down it dropped into an open manhole right in the middle of the carriageway and got itself stuck. I noticed it had a woman driver, and a male taxi driver hooted in derision at her. The whole episode was very Georgian.

Then I noticed that the way to the airport, the only good way out of the country has been re-named George W Bush Avenue. How very apt!

So on to Baku and I must confess I felt cheated. The way that the planes usually go is to fly due east until they get right against the Caucacus mountains and then head south to Baku. Because they use turboprop airliners and they fly lower than the mountain tops, this is one of the great white-knuckle rides of the aviation industry.

But today it was the boring route-south east down the Kura valley and in from the South over the Caspian Sea; all barren parched countryside and flat as a pancake.

I was put straight to work in Baku, seeing the head of the Ecology Department of the Environment Ministry, and then it was back to a very nice hotel by the side of the UNESCO World Heritage listed old city of Baku. It’s not Turkey, but not so you’d notice the difference.
And it was here on a balmy midsummer’s night that I had my dream meal of pickles, salad and shashlik. I ate like a prince and tipped like a moghul and still came away not more than £10 poorer.