Merci Baku

What has become increasingly important to me is the idea of giving people from peasant backgrounds who have very little concept of wealth and taste loads and loads of money.  But the catch is that we get to watch them spend it all and it’s made into a weekly reality TV show that is an hour long and we can bask in their inherent bad taste.  But why sit on your couch watching this for an hour a week when you can simply go to Azerbaijan and watch it 24/7?  While I never actually made the effort to find out the origins of the word Baku, I am pretty sure it means “Old Money.”  I don’t want to give the impression, however, that the Azeris seem to have a higher propensity towards gaudiness and tasteless displays of newfound wealth than, say, other former Soviet republics.  It’s just that the Azeris seem to be the only ones who actually have real, newfound wealth to play with.

We stopped at this cafe twice in my travels and both times I bought peach juice. 

Unlike the dismal agro-coops of Moldova and the dilapidated pharmaceutical industry of neighbouring Armenia*, Azerbaijan is one massive oil mecca.  Of course the best way to demonstrate that to all comers is to build a bus depot that looks a bit like the Titanic.  I mean, why not, right?  If you have lots of money and only a vague sense of what the West is like based on magazines that get shipped over with Goodwill and, more recently, YouTube video blogs made by depressed teenage girls then you really can’t be blamed for whatever god awful monstrosity you decide to spend your money on.  A Titanic-shaped bus depot and the world’s largest cake is the most we could ever hope for. 

Seeing these oil pontoons or whatever was one of the most exciting things about first catching a glimpse of the Caspian Sea.

After debussing and learning that for all this oil money they hadn’t quite figured out a way to dehumidify and air condition the outdoors, I hopped on a city bus and headed into town.  My brother had told me to get off at Hotel Europa, so the first thing I did was not look out the window at all until we reached the very last stop in the centre.  This of course resulted in a nice tour of Baku from the bus  and a hilarious exchange with a couple of metro ticket sales ladies and a guard with an AK-47 and full gold teeth.  We all laughed heartily at my foolish mistake, they put me back on the bus and I went almost right back up the bus depot where the Hotel Europa was.

Not sure if this really captures the bus depot but perhaps you'll just have to go.

The first thing I did was try to figure out a way to contact my brother which likely would not be easy because neither of us had phones and he didn’t have internet.  Some might consider this bothersome, but not when you’re from a family that only selectively embraces technology.  I knew that somehow it would work out so instead I went to the nearest and incredibly posh café that had WiFi, parked my backpack and my sweaty and disgusting body on the cushions and ordered an 8 manat (!!!) café glacée while the waiters eyed me contemptuously as I tapped out an email on my iTouch.  Yes, wait staff of urban Baku, this is me.  This is the West.  I’m sorry to disappoint but this is exactly what the Western World is about: people with lots of money who dress like garbage and are sweating everywhere.  Have you flown business class lately?

After I finished up I went to sit in front of the Hotel Europa under a street lamp and read my book for about two hours until my brother came to collect me by peeling me off the pavement where I had apparently collapsed.  We then went and ate chicken sandwiches in a gas station parking lot, which if anything points Azerbaijan not only in the direction of Europe, but even further west to rural parts of North America.  I can confidently say I had arrived. 

*Someone (my brother) tried to tell me this was Armenia’s cog in the Soviet machine but I think we all know the entire Armenian economy subsides on royalty earnings from Kim Kardashian’s body.