Winter walks near our house...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Baku Green Market Jan 2009 - Delicious!!!
Gorgeous fresh food on display at the Green Market on a lovely clear crisp day in Baku - January 2009!!!
Sweet, Tough Caucasian Ants
The fresh produce in Azerbaijan is delicious. It’s mostly locally grown, is completely organic and has the most amazing strength-giving powers. I’ll give you an example.
We bought a jar of gorgeous local honey a while back – best I’ve ever tasted - and there was an ant in it. The ant was deep down in the honey, and it was pretty thick honey too. That ant had been there, stuck in the honey, a long time; and I’d been very careful each morning after eating my porridge to replace the lid tightly on the jar. But one morning, a few months later, I kid you not, but when I’d finished rinsing out my bowl and went to replace the lid, that tough little Caucasian ant had gone.
Russian Lessons
As you can see, Chris and I have undertaken an enthusiastic embrace of Caucasian culture since arriving here. When we first arrived in Baku, I even used to wag my tail when meeting new people, and tell them “Hey, guess what, I’m learning Russian!”
The reply was usually “So what?”
From Russians, this means “…of course you are, it’s the best language in the world (…and you suck at it…)”
From Azeri’s and Georgians it means “…why (the hell) aren’t you learning our language?”
Part of this Russian endeavour was so that I could speak to our driver (whose English really does suck). He is honest though. For example he was late for work one morning and sent us the following text:
“I am no qud. Kenay Kamin 10-oklok? B, Koz I biq dirink vodka in vedink”
Despite my best efforts, over two years, I’d made virtually no progress with him. A few months ago Chris’s pal, who speaks fluent Russian, told me that our driver doesn’t actually speak Russian.
The reply was usually “So what?”
From Russians, this means “…of course you are, it’s the best language in the world (…and you suck at it…)”
From Azeri’s and Georgians it means “…why (the hell) aren’t you learning our language?”
Part of this Russian endeavour was so that I could speak to our driver (whose English really does suck). He is honest though. For example he was late for work one morning and sent us the following text:
“I am no qud. Kenay Kamin 10-oklok? B, Koz I biq dirink vodka in vedink”
Despite my best efforts, over two years, I’d made virtually no progress with him. A few months ago Chris’s pal, who speaks fluent Russian, told me that our driver doesn’t actually speak Russian.
Winter Soup in Baku (Xac)
A culinary favourite during the cold snaps in Azerbaijan is a soup called “Xac” (pronounced like “Hash”). It’s made from boiled bones. Nothing accompanies it other than Vodka (which one self administers all night prior to, and at the same time as, ladling this warm glue down one’s throat). If a smell were a taste, then I’d say Xac has a “barn-yard” flavour. They say it improves if you add salt, vinegar and fresh garlic. After my first sip I tried this (enthusiastically), and agree entirely. When something tastes like barn-yard it has to improve, no matter what you add to it.
Local instructions, after Xac consumption, are to go home, get under the covers and hibernate in the spoon-position with one’s wife all day. On an early Saturday morning in winter, following all-night Vodka drinking to celebrate the departure from Baku of Matt and Seva, I arrived home smelling of garlic and barnyard, and then explained these local instructions to Chris.
I was most surprised to find that I hibernated alone, undisturbed even by our three cats. However I did notice that Xac tremendously improved my powers of endurance in Baku’s famous Bath houses. Little Western boys like me are normally the last guy into a sauna and the first one out. Following our night of Xac consumption, Matt, Niall and I outlasted even the hardiest of Baku’s sauna-goers.
Baku New Year 2008
Reflections on Baku New Year 2008....
The President threw an enormous New Year 2008 party for us (and for the four million other residents of Baku) down on the waterfront, near the magnificent “Dom Soviet” palace (house of the people). The press of humanity was so great (with folks even climbing trees to get views of the concert, and of a six-storey inflatable golf ball with laser beams and images of our benign, smiling, president projected onto it) that we snuck away to our favourite spot; an old dilapidated peer a few hundred meters out into the middle of Baku bay.
The wind blew gently in a direction so that, from their launch site, the exploding fire-works suddenly bloomed directly over our heads and burned-out cartridges plopped and fizzled into the sea all around us. We choked on cordite and ran for cover, doubled over, while the smiling man on the golf ball strode confidently across the world stage, shaking hands with statesmen and cutting ribbons.
Then Baku froze for three solid weeks. We watched from our balcony while Mercs, BMWs, Volga’s, Kamaz trucks and Lada’s pirouetted through intersections and elegant ladies in stilettos flailed, clutched madly at the sky, and threw their shopping to the gods.
Locals, expats, kids and even construction workers (the latter wearing hard hats for once), aimed snowballs at each other; Erich and I even dusted off our cross-country skis.
BP (rather thoughtfully) closed its offices and issued the following advice:
- wear rubber soled shoes;
- walk with your legs slightly spread apart and your arms outstretched;
- gather in groups near graveyards, scrabble in the dirt and, when foam builds in the corner of your mouth, scream “brains”; “I must eat brains”.
We’ve not actually eaten brains in Baku, at least not knowingly. On occasion we’ve not known what animal we were eating, or what part of what animal; and we’ve tried asking, but are always advised, condescendingly, “It’s meat!”