Friday evening, quite late, the question is raised whether we enjoy hiking, and if we are free Sunday? The plan is to walk some 20 km, from one former Russian colonialist village to another: Altyaghadiž to Astraxanka. Apparently this is one of the closest walks in the greenish mountains near Baku, a mere 2 hours away by mashutka (bus). The route –looking at the map– allows the minimum of going up and down, ascending, descending and ascending mountain passes again. The level of the passes are roughly the same, not too high (the highest peak is 2205 meters), and we only have to go through two seasonal river beds and up the hills around it. Do-able! 
Sunday morning early the alarm rings: thankfully the hike was planned the morning after putting the clock an hour forward, so little sleep was lost. Never-the-less, my flat mate Agata hardly closed an eyelid that night, and I had a slight headache. Time to reconsider the 20 km and make it 10? An option we would have to discuss with initiator of the trip, Andrej.
But first the bus station had to be reached. While we waited for the mashutka – we receives a message to go to another point as our bus to Altyaghadiž was already full.
At the meeting point the first critical hurdle had to be taken: do we take a taxi to the village, try another but or hitchhike? Agata is opposed to taxies, but all the running busses go to the wrong directions. So hitch-hiking is the only option left. The plan: first a mashutka out of the city, than a ride direction one of the villages, and depending on the time we set our hiking route. This sounds really easy, but reaching this mutual consent took two strong-minded people to assert their method, have a little strop, a shrug, some bickering and voila- the outcome. (In fact, each time transport decisions had to be made, this clash played up).
It did not take too long to get a ride: two men en route Sumgayit, were cu
rious what these crazy Westerners were doing. From there another mashutka passing Xalac, from where we could walk to our village. Luckily a truck stopped and took us a long way up the road, and when we got out, fortune proved to be on our side and we crammed into a four-wheel drive which had 2 seats left. This car was actually going to our starting point, so we would be able to walk the planned route after all. This to the entertainment of our lift- why walk that far, and actually, why come there after all? They themselves were going up to supervise the construction of their weekend/holiday house there, taking great pleasure in calling their daughter-in-law who speaks immaculate English, and make us talk to her.
At the village, we naturally we were invited to have a look at the house and have some tea –çay. Polite rejection, saying that we really need to get started with our hike, is not allowed and çay it is. First we get a quick look at the old Russian village of Altyaghadiž. It is really picturesque, with houses with verandas and wooden second floors.
But first the bus station had to be reached. While we waited for the mashutka – we receives a message to go to another point as our bus to Altyaghadiž was already full.
At the meeting point the first critical hurdle had to be taken: do we take a taxi to the village, try another but or hitchhike? Agata is opposed to taxies, but all the running busses go to the wrong directions. So hitch-hiking is the only option left. The plan: first a mashutka out of the city, than a ride direction one of the villages, and depending on the time we set our hiking route. This sounds really easy, but reaching this mutual consent took two strong-minded people to assert their method, have a little strop, a shrug, some bickering and voila- the outcome. (In fact, each time transport decisions had to be made, this clash played up).
It did not take too long to get a ride: two men en route Sumgayit, were cu
rious what these crazy Westerners were doing. From there another mashutka passing Xalac, from where we could walk to our village. Luckily a truck stopped and took us a long way up the road, and when we got out, fortune proved to be on our side and we crammed into a four-wheel drive which had 2 seats left. This car was actually going to our starting point, so we would be able to walk the planned route after all. This to the entertainment of our lift- why walk that far, and actually, why come there after all? They themselves were going up to supervise the construction of their weekend/holiday house there, taking great pleasure in calling their daughter-in-law who speaks immaculate English, and make us talk to her.At the village, we naturally we were invited to have a look at the house and have some tea –çay. Polite rejection, saying that we really need to get started with our hike, is not allowed and çay it is. First we get a quick look at the old Russian village of Altyaghadiž. It is really picturesque, with houses with verandas and wooden second floors.
Yet the house under construction does not follow the traditional style in the village, and is a far less pretty concrete square block.
Making tea at 2200 meters takes time- even more if you still have to open the gas pipeline, bring the kettle up, and fill it with at least 3 liters of water. At first we were sat inside, but it was quite fresh there. Interestingly, it was also the collection point for lots of flies. This attracted Andrej, having the mission to catch as many as possible in his hands.
The cold drove us onto the porch, where we helped our hostess, Agata herding the invading cows out of the garden, and us moving furniture and hoisting materials up to the kitchen. After tea, we bid our goodbyes, took quick pictures and exchanged phone numbers- all Azer people seem to collect them, whether you will actually ever call each other or not!Although we planned to hike next, we were m
ade to sit in the car once again. The owner of the house would drive us in the right direction. And drive he did! He took us a long way up, and would have nothing of our pleas to stop, so he could go back and we hike. At the top above Altyaghadiž he finally let us out, and so our great trek started.What to say of this trip? It was long, a bit too long for the shape Agata and I were in. It was also a bit too long to actually walk it leisurely, look around, take a million and one photos, and have tea with locals in the village we passed, or with the shepherds.
We had to speed up for the time we lost, in order to make it before dark. Despite this, we still demanded the occasional stops from Andrej, who would have rather marched the whole way in one go. On top op the passes, we had mini-breaks. The stunning views are indescribable – empty hill flanks with dramatic rocks and green shrubbery. At the bottom, we had to cross seasonal rivers, luckily mere streams at that moment.The map of the terrain we had was very interesting, a photocopy of part of the old Russian army map. Apparently still the best, albeit forbidden and outdated. Its use may
be questionable, as locals don’t use maps and view it with great curiosity. Yet they know their area, and happily point out the shortcuts. Even more knowledgeable are the shepherds, who roam the mountains spring, summer and early autumn. Their individual herds are about 50 - 200 sheep, with maybe some cows and horses, and many fierce dogs to guard the flock. For this reason, approaching a flow requires calling out and asking the shepherds to call back their dogs.Usually, Shepherds don’t work alone, but group up. These people are formed by the weather, sleeping in plastic tents, strolling the mountains or lowlands in the wintertime. One of the men we spoke to -or rather, the others in Russian- was from Qәbәlә, and said he preferred this job to the alternative: being a cab driver in Baku or another big city.
After the crossing of the last river, I was ready to sit down and quit. But we still had the ‘hill’ to hike up to get to our destination: Astraxanka. We had to hike on, as the sun was quickly going down. Luckily we made it in time, only to face the next challenge, getting back to Baku.
As we stumbled into the village, the last mashutka, full, left. Luckily, we were unaware of that fact, and merrily walked along. At one point two women come out of their houses, ask where we are from, and when Agata anwers ‘Polish’, they insist we enter for tea. It is god ordained that they went out, and we must simply come in. This we did, and in their tiny house we received a great welcome. This family was one of Russian families left. Of the originally 500 settled families, only about 40 -50 remain. This village was created when Russian’s of an orthodox branch considered heretic were moved there. Most left during the build up to the Karabach conflict, and pre- independence. Having been a majority once, these people face the problems of having become a minority now. They speak very bad of Azeri’s, sorting them into the general ones who are not to be trusted, and some worthy few.
The very kind family treated us to tea, bread with pickled tomatoes and raspberry jam, all home-made off course. Interesting, the women were the ones doing the talking, the man sat silently. Normally, the man would take the lead. Also interestingly, we were not offered to drink vodka. Charismatic, these people looked very distinct from the mix that Azeri’s are. All of them, for one, had piercing blue eyes. My favourite was the grandma, who I would happily adopt as my own, and albeit not being able to converse with her, we could still communicate. We are invited back, and I would love to go and visit them again! (By the way, this programme for lay-out is a real pain!!!)
Meanwhile, the problem of transport remained. We were still to get to Baku (despite being offered a place to sleep there) somehow. Meanwhile, the sister of our host arrived, with some other people. She works as a bureaucrat, and the others were put to a short interrogation. Then, she set out to call trustworthy Azeri’s with car. The one who was available, had no gas, but as we walked out to meet him, we saw another car heading our direction. Being Azeri, the women told them not to cheat us, which they later remarked back on to us: ‘we are not bad you know’.
Our lift dropped us in a small village en route to Shamakhi, from where a lift/taxi brought us to Shamakhi itself. From here we hitched a lift further down to a shop for some food, and than from there all the way to Baku. Our lift was one gentleman who was an Azeri from Armenia before, and his friend from Agdam- both long time refugees, one now working as taxi driver! They dropped us home in front of the gate, wanted no tea, and left. By this time it was midnight, and we were really happy to get back home after the long, but fantastic day.
25 Oct. 2009
Meanwhile, the problem of transport remained. We were still to get to Baku (despite being offered a place to sleep there) somehow. Meanwhile, the sister of our host arrived, with some other people. She works as a bureaucrat, and the others were put to a short interrogation. Then, she set out to call trustworthy Azeri’s with car. The one who was available, had no gas, but as we walked out to meet him, we saw another car heading our direction. Being Azeri, the women told them not to cheat us, which they later remarked back on to us: ‘we are not bad you know’.
Our lift dropped us in a small village en route to Shamakhi, from where a lift/taxi brought us to Shamakhi itself. From here we hitched a lift further down to a shop for some food, and than from there all the way to Baku. Our lift was one gentleman who was an Azeri from Armenia before, and his friend from Agdam- both long time refugees, one now working as taxi driver! They dropped us home in front of the gate, wanted no tea, and left. By this time it was midnight, and we were really happy to get back home after the long, but fantastic day.
25 Oct. 2009
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