2026 Skopje

Not a London double-decker bus

18.4.26

In Macedonia Square by the stone bridge, the Archaeological Museum in front of me to the right. The River Vardar quite narrow, shallow and fast flowing. Behind me, the truly massive equestrian statue of Alexander the Great, although for political reasons it is known as the Warrior on Horseback (Greece hates any reference to Alexander and Macedonia here). Sun shining, clouds, gentle breeze.

Don't call him Alexander the Great

The most amazing thing about this place is that it exists, a complete culture and nation that practically no one outside knows about. It is like a secret land, hiding in plain sight. This ensemble – the square, statues, river, buildings – is astonishing. Although quite new, it has an eternal, classical feel to it. It brings to mind The Ideal City, usually attributed to the architect and artist Fra Carnevale.

Flight here from Luton, alas – with Wizz Air – was also rather magical: I fell asleep as is my wont, and woke up thinking I had had a short nap, to hear the captain announce we were beginning our descent – I’d slept for over two hours. Incredibly cheap ticket – just over £100. Accommodation cheap too, about 130 euros for four nights, even though I will only sleep three – my plane leaves Monday evening, so I can use the place during the afternoon.

Met at the airport by a cheerful chap who spoke a little English. Said there were few tourists coming here – something that will change, I am sure. New airport, pretty relaxed passport control. Road good on the way in, lots of Turkish companies in evidence – Halkbank etc. and the airport is Turkish-run, the taxi driver said. Ads for solar panels – some of which I saw in fields flying in, as well as some small-ish wind turbines in the distance. The villages have that characteristic spider web appearance – houses joined by tracks. Beautiful landscape flying in – very hilly, covered in thick but low vegetation, few roads – mostly dirt tracks.

Once I arrive at my flat, at 21 Dimitrie Cupovski, very close to the centre, out again to buy a few groceries, water and some apples. Which they only sold in big packs in the nearby Kam supermarket. The lady on the till looked a typical ex-communist worker: really unhappy with her lot, unsmiling. Seemed fairly tranquil out last night, and still very quiet now. A couple of street dogs – large – lie in the sun. Sparrows abound, as do pigeons. Also saw a hooded crow. Quite a lot of green here, probably because it is all quite new.

A fair number of electric scooters, ridden by people smoking as they go – lots of cigs here. On the way in last night, on the verge by the traffic lights, there was a Roma woman – young, early 20s, with her three small children, all under five. She was begging from the cars that had stopped at the lights, and the children were, well, surviving somehow, as the traffic zoomed around them.

People out running along the river – lovely location. A man selling sunglasses – the sun is indeed bright – might have to put mine on. People out walking their dogs.

The old bazaar, similar to Sarajevo's

Across the bridge, past the South East European University, into the old bazaar. Very extensive – far bigger than in Sarajevo, but very similar in feel. Full of shops offering jewellery, the main tourist gift here, it seems. Beyond the bazaar lies the real Skopje market – quite small compared to Bishkek et al. A few cats around, a few very large stray dogs. Rock music playing from cafés, a very lazy feel to this fine Saturday morning. Few tourists – seems mostly locals that are out.

Back to the flat, then out to get Denar. Found an ATM, which charged me £5 commission per transaction. But no choice: I need them for the taxi to the airport when I leave. Then back to the bazaar, taking a right, not left, past the Historical Museum and Art Gallery – closed. Then a long walk uphill to the Museum of Contemporary Art. It seemed closed at first, but as I walk around, it opens – well, one room, done out in garish red for a single theme exhibit. I sense a pattern here. Feels very like Sarajevo’s historical museum, rather run down, half-hearted, but they probably lack funds. More people out now, enjoying the sun and the warmth.

Museum of Macedonia

To the Museum of Macedonia. No sign of how to enter. I go to the museum shop, which is where you buy the entrance ticket, apparently, costing 100 Denar – about £1.40. No one else here, of course. Historical section about the liberation of Macedonia – very recent, 1940s. Civil war in Greece (1946-49). All so close. Clearly a lot of suffering back then.

To the ethnological part, which is larger, but equally deserted. Halls full of mannequins wearing ornate national costumes – lots of red and black. They look frozen, like a meeting of faceless zombies… Dug-out canoes, wooden wagons, threshing instruments. Lots of pix of traditional house buildings, but too dark to see well. One room looks very Turkish, seats around the walls, lots of carved wood, as in Topkapı Saray. A “town reception room” apparently.

I discovered why everything was so dark: I forgot to take off my sunglasses…

Back to the old bazaar, to here, “Eski Kasaba” – the old town. A burektore – börekci in Turkish, a kind of pie shop, selling börek. Eating one with meat, another with cheese, wrapped in slightly oily puff pastry. Delicious, and just £3 for the two, plus a glass of tea.

I forgot to mention: weirdly they have lots of red double-decker buses here, apparently 202 of them bought as part of the Skopje 2014 project…

St. Clement of Ohrid’s flying saucer church

To St. Clement of Ohrid’s flying saucer church. Quite effective. Inside, every surface is covered with painting/frescoes – all with strong blues and reds and yellows. The iconostasis is huge, but oddly unimpressive. North of the church a big Macedonian flag flutters in a desultory fashion. With its form and colours, it has always struck me as rather similar to the Japanese “Rising Sun” flag. But now that I am here, seeing it everywhere, I detect another congruence: to the Union Jack. Make of that what you will…

Walking around the area to the west, where there are quite a few restaurants, then back to my flat for tea. UHT milk here – usually tasting of plastic – remarkably tolerable. Out to the main square, full of people, then taking a right through the huge “City Trade Center” mall that runs alongside the river. A strange atmosphere inside: vast and yet not very glitzy, but not exactly rundown either. 

Another relic of Skopje 2014

Then north over the Phillip II bridge, past the semi-derelict Jack Sparrow galleon, to here, by the Foreign Ministry. In front, there are curious statues of couples, neither classical nor modern. Lots of litter everywhere, although it has to be said my block of flats very clean – a woman was washing the floor this morning, eyeing me suspiciously.

South over the Bridge of Art – adorned with 28+1 statues of artists – all men. To the north, the huge pepper-pot design of the Public Prosecutor's Office. The south side very like London's South Bank, full of pubs and restaurants. Rather wider – but then the river is narrower than the Thames… On the north side, there are some female statues in front of the Macedonian Opera and Ballet – only nine (the muses?), and all ancient. The opera and ballet seemed closed, at least today. And pretty run-down. The Philharmonic of the Republic of Macedonia hall more impressive – a huge bulbous edifice – but closed. Its orchestra on tour in Germany apparently – Bonn this evening. Lovely end of day atmosphere as the sun declines, the wind rises, and people sit peaceably by the river.

Philharmonic of the Republic of Macedonia

A Polish group of tourists get explications. Earlier, I heard Greek, in the pie shop there were Turks (who spoke to the staff there in Turkish). Also worth noting the use of Albanian on signs here – the other official language. A fair number of women wearing headscarves – I can’t make out if they are all locals, or visitors… Probably the former.

19.4.26

On the way to the Museum of the City of Skopje in the hope that it might be open, I pass a typical post (?) communist building. Very odd proportions – squat, with the stumpiest columns at its base – completely out of place. The columns’ capitals look like smudged approximate versions of the Corinthian style. Moreover, the columns themselves are made of fibre glass (I think), certainly flimsy and hollow.

How not to do columns and capitals

I write this sitting by another such building, with the enigmatic name of “BMPO-ΔΠMHE”, which apparently stands for “Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organisation – Democratic Party for Macedonian National Unity”, which really rolls off the tongue. Also very odd design, with all the windows bearing Michelangelo-esque pediments – each storey alternating round and triangular ones. A portico with four Ionic columns is stuck on the front, and in front of that, in a square currently closed off with graffiti’d corrugated iron, a weird column – quite low, with a bronze lion on the top. Seems to be commemorating various uprisings – 1903, 1922 etc., and dedicated to “Revolutionary Organisations”.

City museum with its symbolically stopped clock

And of course, the museum is closed when I get there, even though a sign on the door says “open”… But wait, a man has opened it just for me… In the entrance hall, a frieze of pix shows Skopje on 26.7.1963 – ruined buildings everywhere as a result of the massive earthquake that struck that day. Apparently around 80% of the city was destroyed [I found out later that the clock on the front of this museum, which was the old railway station, is fixed to show the time 5.17am, the moment the earthquake struck the city].

Skopje before its neo-classical remodelling

An amazing black and white pic of the city – perhaps taken in the 1960s after the earthquake – showing a depressing Soviet-style city, with many dull tower blocks in the centre, perhaps replacing the homes destroyed in 1963. The flying saucer church is there, looking very shabby, as is the old fort, but nothing of today’s neo-classical confection, which is much later. The bazaar is hard to make out. Interesting to see the block of flats where I am staying already present.

In the museum’s basement, ancient historical periods – the usual pots, coins, ornaments, vases – plus a rather fine 2nd century “Venus pudica” in good condition, from Roman Scupi. Makes you wonder who the original model was, 2,000 years ago. Most of the museum is closed off. Still no one here except me. Wonderful smell in these old, rather neglected museums – of ancient things…

Church of Saints Constantine and Helena.

Walking north, past the new Church of Saints Constantine and Helena. Very unusual geometrical decoration of the external walls. Inside, super-chromatic frescoes. Rather nice. Alongside is the bell tower, with the similar geometric patterns. Very pleasant sitting in the morning sun here. A pedestrian precinct full of cafés and trees. Skopje has come a long way since that grim black and white panorama of the city 60 years ago. A man brings out a few second-hand books for sale; but who buys this stuff? 10 o’clock – the bells strike in the bell tower – a fine, clangorous sound.

The great mother goddess

To the Archaeological Museum. From the archaic necropolis of Korošišta - 6th century BCE helmet + gold pectoral + other bits – impressive. Must have been thriving at that time. The museum is very modern, very well presented. The most impressive things I’ve seen so far are the votive offering boxes (?) - human figures, mostly female, on top of empty spaces, presumably for offerings. These are from 8,000 years ago… Some have interesting octopus-like legs attached – clear proof aliens visited us back then, no? The section with Macedonian armaments very interesting.

Just part of a huge and well-presented collection

To the bazaar, and the horribly named Kebapçılnıca Turist restaurant next to the place I ate yesterday. Despite trying to avoid it, I end up eating veal, which I hate doing. It seems widely used here – and not much food suitable for vegetarians. A lot of tourists out: a group of very dark Tamil/Indians – Gastarbeiter? Also, a group of Muslims, looking quite Central Asian/Malaysian. Very hot out, but a slight breeze.

To be fair, all the restaurants and shops are pretty relaxed – no pushy selling as in some places. Similarly, in the museums, everyone is very helpful. (Fabulous bread – pide. The muezzin calls to prayer – such an evocative sound…). Everyone is smoking here – even in the restaurant, next to small children. Macedonia still has a long way to go in this respect. Surprising number of electric mobility vehicles here – would not have expected them. Also far too many electric scooters – going fast… But no electric cars that I’ve seen. I’ve also not seen pregnant women here: I wonder if that is because they don’t go out, or is indicative of a demographic problem. There seem to be plenty of children, so presumably the former.

The Archaeological Museum is really well done: exhibits well displayed, with good info – but only in English. One problem is that the building’s unusual shape – a very long and thin squashed ellipse – makes it hard to provide a logical flow from ancient to more recent. At times I had to backtrack to continue. Not a big issue, and the building is indeed rather fine.

It’s a pity that so many of the other museums and galleries here – including the National Gallery and the Museum of Contemporary Art – were closed. It made it hard to get a more rounded picture of Macedonian art and culture. But obviously they are tight for funds, and there are as yet few tourists to justify diverting money to keep them open all the time.

In the Archaeological Museum there was a group of Greeks being shown around – nice hearing the language spoken. And I’ve heard German and English spoken today by tourists. Before, I’d heard Spanish and maybe Russian, and definitely Turkish. Indeed, judging by the signs everywhere, Turks form an important group as far as tourism is concerned. There is a greater presence of Islam than I expected – pretty much as in Sarajevo.

Out to the church of this morning, and I hear my first French tourists. Lovely atmosphere here in Macedonia Street (appropriately enough). The pedestrian street and its cafés in the shade, the church and its bell tower still baking in the hot afternoon sun. Quite a few people here have tattoos – mostly men, but a few women with more discreet ones.

This city is a great place to spend a long weekend, but the absence of much to see is a big drawback. Next time I come I would aim to hire a car and drive out to Ohrid with its lake, and elsewhere. The landscapes look very attractive, and with a car it would be easy to access some out-of-the-way places. The drivers look vaguely sensible on the roads here, surprisingly.

There seem to be fewer women in scarves here than in the bazaar: is this the more cosmopolitan quarter perhaps? Also there’s the Orthodox church here, whereas the bazaar area has several mosques reflecting its Ottoman heritage. The south side is more secular and Western.

The unfinished, hollow bell tower with its cabling

Upon closer examination, the new bell tower is only partly finished: one third of the external marble (?) is still missing. It also seems entirely hollow: I wonder how they ring the bells… One thing conspicuous by their absence : Chinese tourists. Not a single one have I seen. Everywhere else – even Khujand, say, they were present. Here: 不是，没有… So the bell tower is indeed completely empty, but I can see at least two metal cables running the entire height, obviously connecting to the bells.

On the stone bridge, a balmy night. The Archaeological Museum looks splendid, of course. Hundreds out, enjoying the evening. I guessed this is how it would be. But hard to imagine how this spot looked 50/60 years ago, as shown in the black and white panorama. Different worlds.

Van Gogh would have loved those eddies

To the west, a suitably thin crescent moon + planet. The reflected lights on the swirling river eddies create a Van Gogh-like effect. Into the bazaar. By the entrance, a man selling roast chestnuts. Quiet at first, further in it livens up, people out eating, drinking, smoking. Lots of small children, even though it is getting late…

The old bazaar by night

Just seen my first pregnant lady. Do I get a prize?

On the way back from sitting by the river, I saw not one, not two, but three red double-decker buses – a herd of them. They were going home – I had seen them in a similar group last night. Has to be said that these Chinese-made buses are singularly dirty.

20.4.26

In the old fortress. Good view across the city, and north to the snow-capped mountains. The fortress is big – and mostly derelict ruins. Various buildings here of unknown use. Up in the highest stone tower, with a telescope on a platform that can’t be reached since the stairs have disintegrated. Cigarette butts everywhere. Grass very green – but probably full of poisonous snakes. Sunny, but with light clouds. On the way here – which is the same route as to the Museum of Contemporary Art – I passed a rusty howitzer sitting amid peaceable trees. A relic of past civil wars, presumably.

A view from a stone tower looking across the old fortress

Looking east towards the bazaar, the minarets and characteristic metal domes are evident. I can also see the small church of the Ascension of Jesus where I hope to visit next. First Chinese tourists – one wearing a face mask, in the middle of a large open-air space… Needless to say, when I got there, the church was closed to visitors, even though it was supposed to be open, for no good reasons.

Into Ramstore Mall, which is as anonymous and depressing as malls everywhere. One minor difference: a sign on the door indicating “no guns”. To the Diamond Mall next door. More modern, better designed, pretty empty and still depressing, also with a sign saying "no guns". Quite a good bookshop – Literatura.mk.

No guns in this shopping mall, please

To the Memorial House of Mother Teresa (with the rather splendid domain name memorialhouseofmotherteresa.com) – not something I would normally bother with, but there’s not much else to do here on a Monday (as in many cities around the world, most museums are closed today). Interesting pic of Skopje 100 years ago – unrecognisable.

In the airport. One thing I forgot to mention is that along with a huge number of electric scooters, there are also WOLT deliveries zooming around everywhere.

Skopje has been very pleasant, aided by the splendid weather, although let down by the fact that half of the things to see were closed. Perhaps preparing for later. Also, I have to confess that Skopje was a little too familiar - it was clearly European, albeit with fascinating tinges of the Ottoman empire that linger on. I suppose I have been corrupted by my Central Asian travels. I now hanker for more of a cultural difference, if not shock. Bad me…

Looking at the departures board here, it is striking that there is one flight each to Bologna, London and Paris, seven to Germany, four to Turkey – three to Istanbul, and one to Izmir. The German flights are presumably migrant workers and their families coming and going, since there don’t seem to be many German tourists as such. Also two flights to Ljubljana, which is odd...

Moody Sonnets: Discovering Skopje

More destinations:

1993 Istanbul

1994 Trieste, Ljubljana 
2017 Bucharest

2018 Tirana

2019 Moldova

2025 Sarajevo

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2025 Azerbaijan

Entering Azerbaijan's Caucasian paradise

14.6.25 Baku

Sitting on the north-facing balcony of our apartment, on Baku's Tolstoy Street, there are dozens of old-style houses, many with enclosed balconies.  Ringing them are the big new blocks of flats that are springing up everywhere in Baku, a city in rapid evolution.  To my right, another building is going up.  I see a worker balanced perilously on a single plank bridging two flimsy scaffoldings.  A slip would mean certain death. To the south, the Caspian Sea, the first time I have seen it from ground level.  Such an anomaly, this huge body of water, sadly now drying out, just like the nearby Aral Sea.  Hundreds of swifts swoop through the morning air, catching their breakfast.  It’s going to be hot today.

The view from the ninth floor

The journey here yesterday was easy but fraught.  Easy because it was direct flight from Gatwick to Baku on the national airline.  Fraught because we were flying in a Boeing Dreamliner, the day after a similar plane crashed in India, for no obvious reason.  Fraught, because the day of our flight, that madman Netanyahu decides to attack Iran – just a few hundred kilometres from here – risking a war in the region.  Well, yesterday was Friday 13th, so I suppose it makes sense.

Baku airport very modern, rather nice, and efficient.  The usual photos at passport control, then a short wait for our bags, then out to find our driver, Akif.  Confusingly, his mobile phone was from Uzbekistan, so I asked if he was Uzbek.  He said he wasn’t, but that his phone number was, without explanation.  He had a little English, but spoke Russian well – he said he had been in the army.  He was 55, with grizzled hair and a rather careworn face.  But he had turned up on time, and drove well, so I asked whether he might be able to drive us to Qobustan, where we wanted to see the petroglyphs, on Sunday.  Seems a possibility.

Lots of traffic during the drive in from the airport, which is about half an hour from the centre.  Broad roads, which were all artistically illuminated as we entered the city, now in darkness.  The numerous buildings from the early 20th century in the Italian style made the place look like Italy – specifically, Sicily.  The traffic jams and bad driving similar too.

We got to our flat here, which was not the one we paid for.  The other apartment, which gave onto the boulevard by the sea, had “technical problems”, unspecified.  I spent much of Thursday arguing with the owner of Bakapart – which seems to have dozens of properties in the capital – and trying to get something nearer the sea.  Tolstoy Street isn’t, but it is central, near Fountains Square and the old city.  It also has a 24-hour supermarket next to it, which is pretty damn useful.  When we get to the flat, we find the wifi isn’t working (but our eSIMs are, so that’s not too much of a problem), and the dishwasher wasn’t plugged in, because the electric cable is too short.  I managed to get it working by moving the fridge and angling the dishwasher to get it closer to the socket under the sink.  At least the aircon is good.

Sitting on the boulevard beside the Caspian Sea.  The Caspian.  Amazing.   Walked down here from our flat to Fountains Square.  Very peaceful, few people about.  A bright yellow trailer marked shah döner has ethnic music playing, filling the morning air.  Lovely sea breeze here.

The boulevard along the Caspian, and the famous Flame Towers

To my right, the famous Flame Towers, and on the front, the eight-petalled Sydney Opera house lookalike.  To my left, the striking Polo mint building, with its huge hole in the middle.  Nearby, lots of new office blocks, flats and shopping centres.  Pleasant just to stroll, to sit, to stare.  Back to Fountains Square, then here, Fisincan Restoran.  Cool, and with a good view of the Armenian church in front.

Out on the balcony, the wind is surprisingly strong – this is the other Windy City.  Swifts taking a quick snack…

After lunch, back to our flat, where I was busy organising our big trip into the Caucasus.  This involves some logistical choreography.  A taxi form Baku to Quba, which is one of the main towns in the north of the country, not far from the border with Russia/Dagestan.  After lunch in Quba, another taxi needs to take us to Khinalug, one of the highest inhabited villages in Europe.  There we stay for three nights, before reversing the choreography – Khinalug to Quba, Quba to Baku.  Organising the taxis was one thing, the other being finding how much they would cost, since I need to pay in Azerbaijani manat.  And that means extracting local currency from ATMs.  As in Kyrgyzstan, the ATMs limit the max withdrawal – in this case to 200 manat – about £100.  That means multiple trips to the ATMs.

After that housekeeping, out again to Fountains Square – where amazingly, the fountains were working, unlike this morning.  Also unlike earlier, the square is full of people.  Lots of young people wearing sashes with the words “Graduate 2025”.  Restaurants full of groups – it is striking that they tend to be single sex – all men or all women.  One road was closed off for what looked like a street party/feast.

The Maiden Tower in the old city

This time we went to the Old City, passing up stone steps, then on past the Maiden Tower.  A completely different atmosphere reigns here.  The roads and lanes twist confusingly, unlike the straight streets around Fountains Square, most of which are arranged on a grid.  One thing I had not appreciated when looking at maps and descriptions of this ancient area was how hilly it was: the paths often rise quite steeply, adding a three-dimensional aspect to the maze.  It felt like I was in Venice, where streets would swerve madly, and apparent dead ends continued their way – except it was anything but flat.  It gave an extra richness to this dense, interesting space.

A minaret in Palace of the Shirvanshahs

The architecture was striking too.  A variety of older styles were thrown together, in a rather pleasing way.  Some of the buildings were very strange.  As we rose, we could see the flame towers nearby, as well as beautiful views across the Caspian to the east.  At the top there was a mosque, and near that the Palace of the Shirvanshahs.  We did not go in, because it is one of the few monuments open on a Monday, and we will see it then.  We sat in a small park near the palace, tall trees providing welcome relief from the sun, still hot.  In general, Baku has done very well with its tree planting – apparently there were few of them until recently.  Similarly, the main promenade by the sea is full of high trees, making a stroll doubly pleasant.  And all this on reclaimed land.

15.6.25 Baku

On the way to Qobustan State Historical and Cultural Reserve.  Very windy – from the north, so surprisingly cool.  Not sure how swifts cope…  Air clearer today – the wind, presumably.  Not much traffic.  Lots of new apartments being built.  Also noticeable the use of sandstone for many buildings.  To our left, a few nodding donkeys, nodding slowly away.  Passing the Bibi-Heybat Mosque – two minarets, two domes.  Unusual design – wide and thin, with mirrored windows.  Sea quite choppy.

Speed cameras on the road – our driver, Akif, slows down…  When we got in, he said that he sent me message: Which was an odd thing to do, since he could give it to me verbally.  I had a look and it said:

“Yes, I am already responsible for you.  I have to take you and bring you back safely, so that nothing happens to you.  Inshallah I am responsible for you before God, so do not worry.  Everything will be fine.  Everything is good.  Everything is great.”

Nice touch.  He also seemed to be saying a prayer before we set off.  Obviously pretty religious.

A sign on the road saying “Evakuator 156” just like in Kyrgyzstan.  A police check, pulling in cars… Not us this time.  A strange, very tall metal construction by the docks – looks like an oil rig, with platform at its base.  Huge.  Even the roadside walls made from sandstone – presumably mined locally, and cheap.  On the wide main road – eight lanes (four plus four), good quality, but max speed 90 km/h.  Wind is whipping up dust and sand…

To our left, two oil rigs close to land.  Max speed 110 now.  A roadside cafe advertising showers.  Baku shipyard to our left, with a half-built ship.  A van in front has its number plate painted larger on its back door – as in Kyrgyzstan.  Fields of solar panels – rather dusty, since they are next to a big cement works…

Passed several lorries carrying blocks of sandstone – like large bricks.  Quite a few police checks along here.  Our driver’s map app gives a warning – in Russian.  Huge wall of sandstone alongside the road.  Turn off the main road, through rather grim, dry landscape.  Houses, shops, but few and depressing.

Just a few of Qobustan's many petroglyphs

In the petroglyph museum – new, well laid out.  To the petroglyphs themselves.  Lots of signs saying: “beware of the snakes”.  Quite a few tourists.  Impressive the quantity of petroglyphs, and the perseverance of the artists.  Kudos to them, too, for choosing such a beautiful site – a big rocky outcrop in the middle of a barren plain.  The rock the same sandstone found in Baku – the national stone.  Easy to carve, obviously.

Qobustan's barren plain

The warning about the snakes quite justified.  At one point, I was looking at some petroglyphs and there was a small-ish vipery thing sunbathing on the rock above me.  The site well designed, with paved paths leading from rock art to rock art.  The view from the end of the circuit over the scorching plain below was dramatic.  

Bibi-Heybat Mosque

Halfway back, we passed a really bizarre structure – emerald roof, pagodas, very Baba Yaga.  A rich man’s villa, our driver tells us.  Hideous.  Driver just showed us his battered phone – his “war phone” from the Nagorno-Karabakh war (not sure which one)… Stopped briefly at the Bibi-Heybat Mosque to grab some pix. 

Baku's Government House

Out in the afternoon, for a walk along the promenade.  Very windy – feels like an English seaside esplanade.  Lots of people out, strolling.  Air much clearer, thanks to the wind.  Along to the weird Government House, rather spoilt by the Formula 1 stands blocking the view.  Lovely dusk, with a strange feeling of autumn.  Baku really is somewhere else, where the usual rules don’t apply.

In SAHil restaurant.  Upmarket, with a good range of dishes – huge menu felt like a heavy medieval book from some chained library.  Vaguely ethnic music – poppy but local.  Quite quiet at this time.  Wind still very strong, good to be inside.  Had Georgian badrijani rolls, and qutab with pumpkin.  I’ve ordered the Shah pilaf.  Bread particularly good – all five types.  Plov came en croûte – nice idea, but since I had the veggie version – no lamb – it was rather dry.  Ah well…

Swanky Baku

After the meal, walking north past Sahil metro, we entered the swankier part of Baku – designer clothes shops etc.  Lots of money here – oil money, something that neither Armenia nor Georgia has, and it really shows in their capitals.  Here, new buildings are springing up, old ones renovated. In Armenia and Georgia, it’s mostly old stock, and it’s not being repaired properly.  Sad.  Passed through Kaghani Garden – full of people, out for an evening walk – in the by-now rather chilly wind.  Must take a jacket when we go out tomorrow for the mugham concert at 7pm.

16.6.25 Baku

At the top of the Maiden Tower.  Strong glass stops anyone doing anything stupid.  Lots of schoolchildren, taking pix.  Wind quite strong, but less than yesterday.  Overcast, but sun peeking through from time to time.  Warm but pleasantly aerated.  Good view of the Mugham Centre.  Flame Towers prominent.  Three minarets visible in the old town, including by the palace.  TV tower reminds me of Almaty.  From here, you can see how the ground rises from the shore.

A dervish's bag for collecting small things

Before here, in the old city, at the Palace of the Shirvanshahs.  The palace itself largely reconstructed, and a bit thin on contents inside.  The best exhibit had the intriguing caption: “dervish’s bag for collecting small things”.  But there are several other parts to the complex that are worth seeing.  Various tombs, reminding me of those in Samarkand, mosques, some of which look like the buildings in Sarajevo, the palace mausoleum, and the Divankhana.  Good views towards the flame towers.  Wandering from the palace back along some of the streets we followed on Saturday, I had a distinct feeling of Venice, adding to the charm of the place.

 

A mosque and mausoleum inside the palace walls

Before our mugham concert, along to Deniz shopping centre – huge, rather empty inside. Lots of familiar brands, plus something unusual – a pair of slides from the upper floors for children. Now in Vətən restaurant there, with real folk music playing as background (not live, though).  Sounds like a dombra (?).  Decor rather spoilt by the bare concrete roof visible above us.  

In the palace this morning there were parts of a wall pockmarked by bullets.  The explanation was quick to attribute this to Armenians massacring Azeris a century or so ago.  Another part, by the mosques in the palace, did the same.  Not seen it mentioned much, but it’s there in the background.

Food here a disaster: half of our order doesn’t turn up, my plate is so cold it chills the slightly warm food, and the chicken on it had clearly died of malnutrition.  Come to think of it, eating chicken before going to the mountains is pushing my luck…

Baku's carpet museum

Anyway, along to the Mugham Centre for tonight’s concert, a celebration of the great Azeri musician and pedagogue, Mahmud Salah, on his 65th birthday.  We passed the unmistakable carpet museum – shaped like a rolled-up carpet – along the way.  The Mugham Centre is a beautiful modern building – barcode scanning of tickets to get in – and famously designed in the shape of the Azeri tar.  The entrance hall has dozens of marble busts of Azeri composers plus a few ethnic instruments, some quite old.  Then through to the body of the architectural tar instrument, where people are milling around before the concert.  The man himself, Mahmud Salah, was there, being interviewed by Baku TV, which I have been watching before coming to the country.  Lots of local worthies around, it would seem.

The Mugham Centre, shaped like a musical instrument

The concert began late, partly because of the interviews.  We filed into a beautiful hall, wood everywhere, plush leather seats, and lots of legroom.  Many people were carrying flowers, obviously for the great man.  Quite a few children too, a good sign for the future of Azeri culture.  The concert had too many speeches for my taste – largely incomprehensible – plus lots of video recordings of mates wishing him well.  Some in Russian, some even in English.

Most of the music making was by his pupils, who took turns to play the daf, a frame drum. The other instruments were a piano, two tars, oud, hammered dulcimer, and the kamancha spiked fiddle.  His pupils sang as well as played, as is customary for the daf player in mugham.  Many very good.  The exception to the rest of the programme was a trio of female singers performing a piece that sounds almost Georgian in its striking harmonies.

Mahmud Salah, showing how its done on the daf

The climax of the evening was of course the man himself doing a spirited solo, plus one with the pianist (his son? Grandson?), and a final one with all his pupils.  His playing was fantastic, and in a different class when it came to virtuosity and variety.  Overall, despite the longueurs, it was a really special and splendid experience to attend.  Nice too to see all the flower and gifts – including a carpet with his image – and various awards.

17.6.25 Baku

In the taxi on the way to Quba, en route to Khinalug.  Taxi driver had trouble finding us – few numbers on buildings here.  Since he doesn’t speak English or Russian, I’ve had to switch my brain to Turkish, which was tricky at first.  On the main road to Quba, people weeding the verges.  Earlier, a man was watering shrubs from a water tank.  This morning, when I went out to more cash, the stones of Fountain Square were wet – washed, it seems.

To our left, low hills, with red rocks (iron, presumably).  Wind turbines at the top.  Road flat, quite good.  Lots of speed cameras, and a few cops.  As we join the motorway north, a road sign indicates 202 km to Derbent...ah, if only.  As we bowl along at 130 km/h, a man on a bicycle rides in the opposite direction in the fast lane by the barrier.  

Turning off the almost deserted motorway onto the local road to Quba, the roadside gas pipes appear – something almost absent in Baku, but omnipresent in Georgia and Armenina.  A few donkeys by the side of the road, but no dogs.  As we drove out of Baku, there was one sad-looking stray, but that was the first I’d seen.  Quite a few stray cats.

A street in Quba, as seen from the Lucky Restaurant

Now in the Lucky Restaurant – the point of rendezvous where our second taxi will pick us up.  The driver is the father of our homestay host – just as in Kyrgyzstan, where our driver for Song-Köl was the dad of our host in Kochkor.  This place is big, open 24 hours, and has a non-smoking section for families.  But it’s not closed off, so smoke naturally drifts.  Striking that here, as in Baku, the toilets all have bidet showers as standard.  Very civilised.  Food not bad; bread good, as ever.  It’s noticeable that there are far more Ladas here.  In Baku by contrast, there are lots of flash jamjars – Chinese ones, and plenty of electric ones too.

Now waiting on the mountain with Bayrum Kulu, our driver, and the dad of our homestay host, Izzet.  In front, a lorry is stuck on the steep road we need to take.  They are currently trying to dig it out, putting gravel under its spinning wheels, unable to get a grip on the muddy road.

Journey from Quba was amazing, not least because it was in two distinct parts.  For half an hour, we passed 12 to 15 hotels, dozens of restaurants.  Already very developed there, beautiful, but tamed, rather like the landscapes around Lake Garda.  Then suddenly, through a narrow gorge and we are in a wild, beautiful country.  Stone walls rising hundreds of metres, a deep valley.  It’s raining, but that adds to the beauty.  After the narrow gorge, some stunning rock formations.  Beyond, a long road was visible, rising, rather like the one that led to Song-Köl in Kyrgyzstan.

Beyond the gorge, the road to Khinalug

Because of the broken bridge here, we had to drive across the river bed, ford the river, and then drive up a steep bank.  The lorry finally moved, and we were able to descend along the road it had blocked.  The bridge was being rebuilt with two concrete walls, but there a huge gap from the old road, which had been swept away with the bridge by the immense force of the river in spate.

A river to ford, a blocked road to clear, a broken bridge to circumvent

Past Eagle Nest – one of the best views when sunny, but now shrouded in clouds.  Beyond, the air cleared slightly, showing a valley, striking in its greenness, as is everywhere here.  Then a long, long road following the river upstream.  The river bed is a great fractured sheet of black, from the rocks, broken up by rivulets.  This part reminded me of Darial gorge in Georgia, but here was much wider and grander.  The mountains opposite were covered in folds of green, like velvet.  

The river in its broad bed

At the end of this section, Khinalug was visible on the hill to our right.  We drove into the village, then down a vaguely dodgy track to here, Izzet’s Riverside stay.  Our accommodation exceptionally comfortable for the location – it even has a bathroom with toilet and shower.  The view from the window of the adjoining bedroom everything you’d hope it would be: across the river to the high peaks of the Caucasus mountains opposite.  Stunning.

Room with a view

After a short rest, out and down to the river behind our rooms.  Some rain, but also sunshine, which casts long shadows on the rounded mountains behind us.  The faces are not flat, but have a layered effect, like rice paddies, but shallower.  Maybe caused by the constant movement of the grazing cows, visible in the distance.

Welcome to the neighbourhood

Standing on the rocky bed of the stream below our homestay, we meet a group of three donkeys, shaggy, still, surveilling.  On the other bank, a large-ish dog runs – protecting herds, I imagine.  I hope not too savage, like some Caucasian shepherd dogs can be…

Along the path that follows one of the streams running down to the river, before leading up to the village.  A small herd of calves being led here; ditto some newly-shorn sheep, and goats.  The higher mountains behind the village catch the sun, and remind me of the Mont Blanc range.  Amazingly, the sound of jet planes can be heard here: several commercial jet liners have passed overhead, heading eastwards. Et in Arcadia ego…

The view north

To the main building of our hosts for supper.  We took the wrong route, ended up in the cow stall.  Bayrum ate with us, while Izzet and his wife (and Bayrum’s wife) stayed discreetly out of sight, preparing and bringing the food.  This was home-made cheese and yoghurt, provided by the family cows.  A vegetable soup, home-made bread and dolmas, but the Azerbaijani variant, formed with cabbage leaves.  All washed down with black tea.

Bayrum loquacious as ever, asking questions about us – and me returning the favour.  He learnt his Russian in the army, and served in Vladivostok - -30°C in the winter, but they had good clothing and boots, he said.  He has three sons – 36, 34, 32 – of which Izzet is the youngest.  There are six grandchildren, four boys, two girls.  Izzet and his wife have a boy, Altai, named after the mountains, who is now four.

Bayrum’s oldest son lives in Quba, where Bayrum is helping to build his house.  Bayrum says that he (Bayrum) married late at 28, because he wanted to earn money for his marriage first. Usually, men marry when they finish military service, which is for 1.5 years.  Generally, they are 23, 24.  Women marry after secondary school or university.  He married late because his fiance’s father was dead, and couldn’t offer the traditional dowry.  He said fathers typically buy household goods for the new home – TV, cooker, crockery etc.

Our conversation drifted to wars, and then the wars with Armenia.  Bayrum showed a certain, er, negativity towards Armenia, which he claimed was a country invented by the Soviet government <sigh/>.  He did say that all wars were bad, so there’s that.

Today has been truly remarkable.  Fro the early problems of trying to locate our taxi, who couldn’t find our address. Followed by his rather madcap driving at 150 km/h on the splendidly new and empty motorway.  Then the rather surreal experience of eating in Lucky Restaurant, which was huge and practically empty.  Meeting Bayrum, with his battered Niva 4x4, a fetching scarlet colour.  Not only did this not have seat belts in the back – and neither did our first taxi – but the ones in the front didn’t click into place.  We wore them wrapped around ourselves to keep the police happy if they took a look as we passed.

Bayrum's trusty Niva 4x4

Then we had Bayrum’s driving up to here.  This included going pretty fast on all roads, and culminated in a drive across a river where the bridge had been washed away – leading to a muddy road where the lorry was stuck on what Bayrum helpfully called the “road of death”.  But he was quite happy to stop repeatedly so that we could take pix of the utterly stunning views, wonderful even under intermittent rain.

And what unforgettable sights they were.  They reminded me of my journey to the Yaghnob valley, but were arguably even more impressive, because on a much larger scale.  These mountains were, after all, the Caucasus.  As in the Caucasus.  It’s hard to grasp that we are really here, a mere few days after arriving from London.  Indeed, Bayrum’s wife did ask what people from London were doing here.  We’ve not yet seen Khinalug village itself, but the “outskirts” are glorious.  And even though the modern world is creeping along the road to here in the form of mass tourism, Khinalug is still a unique glimpse of an ancient and timeless way of life.  We are privileged to catch it before it vanishes.

18.6.25 Khinalug

Had a great night’s sleep, despite the braying donkey outside our window.  Woke to low cloud, which is now lifting, as the sun breaks through, making the rich grass glow green.  Last night, when we went to bed, Bayrum asked us if we wanted some water.  He took a pitcher, and filled it from a hose outside the main house.  He said the pipe went 2 km up into the mountains to provide the purest water.

Our ex-Soviet transport to the waterfall

Standing now by the Khinalug waterfall, the water roaring beside us. Insane journey in a big Soviet army truck to get here – metre high wheels, needed to cross the river 10-15 times – sinking worryingly deep every time.  Thrown around madly on the way – my back bruised, my kidneys none too happy.  Valley totally unspoilt, beautiful.  Dotted with wild flowers – my favourite the orange poppies.  Also lots of what looks like poisonous hogweed.  We left the truck about two kilometres from the waterfall, and walked the last part.  Slightly slippery, but worth it.  Air so pure here – like the water.

The view down the valley towards Khinalug

Rock formations wild – vertical strata, where it has been twisted through time.  Our host/guide Izzet pointed out one of the old silk roads, used by Albanian merchants (the other Albania, obviously).  Tough journey…  

(How can I remember this day and its experiences?  Pix, yes, this book, yes, memories...but still incommensurate.  This is what we came for…)

Sliding and falling – we walk back to the truck.  Izzet tells me about the bears and wolves.  The latter not only carry off sheep around here, but sheep dogs too.  In winter, they hunt in packs of 20…  Now drinking tea prepared with a samovar, sitting in the lee of the wind by one of the valley’s rock cliffs.  The river, a muddy olive colour, runs fast below us.

Izzet's museum occupies the left side of the white building

Sitting at the top of Khinalug itself, by the Jami Masjid.  Before I climbed up here, we walked to the village, to visit Izzet’s museum.  On the wall by the door, a chart of the sounds of the local Ketsh language – all 49 of them.  Many like the weirder ones of Georgian.  

The crazy, wonderful Ketsh language

Opposite, a map of the traditional “Köç Yolu” transhumance route from Khinalug to a village at a lower altitude (Khinalug lies at about 2200 metres), some 200 km away.  In the small museum – an extreme depth of time on display – from 5000 BC through Bronze Age, Persian empire, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs.  I never knew that Khinalug was so old.  You can see why it has been inhabited for so long: a hilltop village, easy to defend, hard to take.

Khinalug viewed from its highest point, looking south

Walked up to here, through a real maze of alleys.  There are no roads inside the village, just mud tracks.  Houses small and quite poor.  Lots of cows, chickens, turkeys, goats.  Big piles of stacked dried dung bricks, ready for burning.  Also one optimistic girl trying to sell something to us – hats, tea.  Sitting here, feeling the earth move (no, literally – is it possible with the strong wind?), I begin to feel that maybe this place knocks Ushguli into a cocked hat, at least in terms of everything that I have read about Georgia’s highest inhabited hamlet.  This village's history is longer and more varied, and the scenery more spectacular, because it’s amazing in every one of the several valleys around here.  We only saw one close up today, but there are many others, plus some high mountains.  Smell of smoke rises up to me as the sun sinks towards the mountains opposite.  I had better be going, before this bit I am sitting on gets blown away… 

The top of Khinalug, seen from lower down, looking north

Walking down the other side of the village (to the south), lanes noticeably more dusty, fewer bits of greenery than to the north.  The poor part of town?  Good views of the houses from lower down.  They have a Himalayan feel to them.  On the way to the village, two huge Caucasian eagles swooped above us – really wide wingspan.  I managed to take a pic with one eagle and a jetliner, the modern techno-eagle.

After supper, waiting, then out to see the stars.  We are blessed with a clear sky.  Myriad stars visible – far more than in UK or most other places.  A few planes and satellites visible.  Would be a great location for a telescope here…

19.6.25 Khinalug

Awoke to stunningly sunny morning.  Deep shadows on the mountains.  Yesterday, I asked Bayrum whether he spoke Ketsh, and he said everyone in the village did, but he lamented that many young people preferred to speak in Azeri.  And I stupidly realised only then that the reason I had been unable to understand his shouts to his daughter-in-law and wife in the nearby kitchen was because he was talking in Ketsh.

We hope to go horseriding today, and I also need to organise our taxis for tomorrow, which will see a reversed takeover in Quba.  With luck, we will have better weather for the trip back than when we came, and will thus be able to take pix of the dramatic scenery along the way.

Have horse, will travel

Out for a short ride.  Nothing adventurous – essentially, along the first part of yesterday’s route to the waterfall, but made more interesting by the fact that we rode without stirrups.  The saddles were also much softer and broader than European one, much more comfortable.  Things were also improved by having an obedient horse – unlike the one I rode in Kyrgyzstan, which was lazy.  A good deal at 80 manat for an hour.  Our truck driver yesterday cost 70 manat.

Fresh bread from the family təndir

As we went to lunch, our host called us to follow him.  He took us into a small outbuilding, which turned out to be the household bakery.  In one corner was a təndir, with Izzet’s mother slapping the bread dough onto its hot walls, and taking out the cooked bread.  A few minutes later, we were eating it, still warm.  Similarly, we have been drinking milk from the family cow, and eating yogurt and cheese made from it.  You don’t get fresher than that.  Everything delicious.

Lower Khinalug village, with beehives, and fleece out to dry

After lunch, a rest, then out for a walk.  We take the lower road to the village, then cross the stream on a short bridge.  Climbing up the hill gives a fab view of Khinalug and its valley.  The mountains behind in the clouds, but the village clear.  I can see the Jami Mosque whose roof I stood on to take a view across the valley to here.  Two rows of beehives by the stream, but honey won’t be good until autumn because bees need flowers for a while.  A house opposite has a couple of dozen fleece out to dry.  To the right, our homestay is visible, more mountains behind, clouds tumbling in a valley.  Glorious.

One of the amazing things about Khinalug is how different it is from my poor imaginings.  I thought there would be a couple of roads, as in a small Italian villages.  I also visualised it as much flatter.  Instead, it was a spider’s web of muddy tracks weaving in an out of small houses and gardens.  And the way up is steep: it’s a serious hill.  Doubtless those in Dagestan used by Imam Shamil as his strongholds were the same.  Khinalug changes my perspective, and in a good way.

One thing that Izzet told us at the museum is that the traditional houses here are built from stones taken from the nearby stream.  When a couple is married, the whole village forms a human chain from the water to the village, and passes suitable rocks up one by one along the chain.  That must be quite a sight… and a wonderful symbol of what makes this place special – and what we have lost elsewhere.

The remains of a Roman fort, apparently

Opposite us, on our right, above the main river, there are a few ruined walls on a hummock.  Izzet (the historian) tells us this is – unbelievably – the remains of a Roman fort.  Imagine the thoughts of the legionaries stationed here, in winter.  Reminds me of the similar thoughts that I had when I drove up Hardknott Pass with its 1 in 3 road to the Roman fort there.  Forts at opposite ends of a huge empire, now just piles of stones for us to wonder at…

Walking across the dry river bed behind our accommodation, the wind blowing quite strongly, I pick my way among the stones.  It feels like a Cornwall beach.

For our final supper, we were given kebab – in this case, barbecued chicken. And then, as I feared, the alcohol was brought out – which turned out to be Azerbaijan’s finest 7-year old whisky.  Bayrum did not approve of me sipping this, but hey… Then a long conversation about grandchildren (again), and the duties of parents and children – all very traditionalist.  Pretty much as you would expect in this rural community.  Afterwards, as I filled my jug with water from the mountain I encountered him again, leading a lamb which he was feeding with a bottle of cow’s milk.  Its mother had died apparently.  And the work of looking after the animals never stops…

20.6.25 Khinalug

Woken this morning by the light and the lowing cattle as they were driven out to the fields on the mountains.  One doing so is Bayrum, up early, as usual, working, as usual. The other day he showed his room in the main house.  It was sparsely furnished: a mattress on the floor, carpets, a religious text on the wall (in Arabic, of course).   The dining room is similarly bare: just a large rubber plant, plus a TV screen, hooked up to the satellite dish outside.  Satellite seems to be big here – literally and metaphorically.  In Baku, the view from our apartment over the old quarter showed hundreds of these mushrooms, mostly rusty, pointing in one of two directions.

The main house here has an outside squat toilet, between the bakery and the chicken roost.  It was following visitors’ complaints about the rudimentary toilet facilities that the bathroom was added to the room we are in.  With a hot shower and Western-style toilet, it rates as luxurious now.  Although worryingly, using the shower just now, I was getting electric shocks from part of the shower head – rather worrying when you are wet…

Today we end our idyllic sojourn in paradise, and head back to Baku (sic) via Quba.  It has certainly been a wonderful experience here, but I fear this place may not survive in its uniqueness for long.  Yesterday, a group of Poles bowled up in two big cars, rented presumably, and asked to park in this property while they went for a walk.  For some reason, Khinalug is popular with Poles, who form the majority of tourists staying in this homestay, apparently.  Word is getting out, and with the decent road all the way from Quba, it’s pretty easy to get here now (at least in summer). We already saw dozens of hotels on the first stretch of the road from Quba, and it’s not hard to imagine Swiss-style chalets and hotels being built here in Khinalug.  You can’t begrudge the local population the chance to have a better life through tourism, but something valuable will be lost. Let’s hope at least Ketsh is preserved.

The air is preternaturally clear this morning.  The peaks of the mountains outside our window are of an unbelievable sharpness, especially the higher sections that are bare rock.  We left around 10.30 am, back in Bayrum’s battered maroon Niva, with its constant smell of fuel and exhaust fumes.  The journey back was tinged with melancholy, because we were leaving, but redeemed by the weather.  On the way in here, low clouds and rain had obscured most of the views.  Now the sky was a brilliant blue, and the air without a hint of haze.

We passed back along the road that followed the river and its huge, grey bed, with only a few channels full of water.  The mountains opposite seemed empty of non-natural features.  At the end of this valley, the road rose quite steeply, and came to Eagle Top, marked by a stone eagle bedaubed with graffiti.  The view south west showed the road we had passed along.  The valley below extremely deep, as was the north east side, where the road we were about to take snaked away over a hill.

The view from Eagle Top, back along the road to Khinalug

Following the road over that hill took us into the next valley, where there lay the village of Cek (pronouned “Jek”).  Descending past it took us to another river – the one that had recently destroyed the main bridge over it.  On the way in to Khinalug, we had witnessed a lorry struggling to ascend the road made muddy by rain.  No problem for us on the way out now that the sun had turned the mud to dust.

Cek village

We crossed the river, and began another ascent.  The rock formations around here are incredible: bare mountains jutting out impossibly, steep streams and their beds flowing down, a great crumbling wall of rock, and beyond, a small level area leading to the gorge that acts as an entrance to Khinalug and its wondrous lands.

The mysterious temple

Just before the narrowing of the gorge, there is one of my favourite sights on this journey: what to my eyes seems an impossibly large temple, with thousands of pillars supporting dozens of platforms.  In reality, the rock here had been eroded horizontally and vertically, creating column-like structures that reminded me of Fatehpur Sikri, but on a colossal scale.  At the right-hand end, there was what seemed to be a huge tower, as in a medieval castle, and smaller turrets along the top of the “temple”.  Just awe-inspiring, especially when you think of the millions of years of geological processes required to carve out these shapes.

The gorge and its waterfall

The “temple”, formed of red rock of the kind found in northern India, leads to granite walls that drop precipitously from the top to the bottom.  This is the gorge, through which runs the river.  There is also a small waterfall, emerging from lower rocks covered in rich greenery.  The gorge narrows to a tiny V-shaped cleft, through which blue sky and a few high clouds were visible.  Inevitably, this form reminded me of another narrow and forbidding entrance into another world – that at the head of the Yaghnob Valley, which is even more isolated than Khinalug, but not as varied in its geography – or history.

Passing through this protective gorge to the north west cast us rudely out of paradise, and back into a world of hotels and commercial exploitation.  The scenery was less interesting here, even though nicely wooded.  Passing through place with splendid names like Qırızdəhnə, Küsnətqazma, Qımılqazma and Qəçrəş, we were soon in the outskirts of Quba.  When we got back to Lucky Restaurant, where we planned to eat lunch before meeting another taxi, arranged by Izzet, to take us to Baku, we found it already waiting for us.  Rather than asking the driver to wait for us while we ate, we said goodbye to Bayrum, thanking him for getting us here safely, despite the fact he had driven his plucky Niva like a F1 pilot, bought some snacks and started off for Baku.

By now, the sun was thundering down, and we passed through the parched landscapes that led to the Caspian, then followed its coast south.  Traffic into Baku was busy, and it took a while to explain to the driver where exactly he was taking us.  Much of the explanation was conducted through WhatsApp (of course), which he consulted as he drove.  Despite this, their were no accidents as we came up to the ring of blocks of flats sitting high on the hills above Baku.  The contrast with the modest single-storey buildings in Khinalug was extreme.  It reminded us that going from Khinalug to Baku we had not only just travelled 160 km in space, we had also traversed thousands of years of human history, from ancient hilltop village to modern metropolis.  Good to be back in Baku, which feels familiar, despite the few days we spent here before Khinalug.  Coming back provides a context for what we saw in Khinalug, and a kind of setting for it.

The balconies of old Baku

After resting briefly, I went out again to look at the nearby streets behind our apartment.  Most of them have balconies of the kind I’ve seen in many nearby places – Turkey, Georgia, Bosnia.  Although from up here on the ninth floor the dwellings look rather shabby, rundown even, on the ground they are quite picturesque – maybe evidence they have been prettied up.  Nonetheless, they do give a feel for what here and elsewhere must have looked like in the past.

21.6.25 Baku

Up quite early, preparing the body for tomorrow, when we must rise at 3am.  Already hot and humid.  Outside the swifts are going mad as they swoop for breakfast in the thick air.  I feel a strange calm, born of the fact that Baku has become my temporary home, safe and known, and equally of the fact that we go back to London tomorrow.

Just read an incredible piece in Nautilus called “Finding Peter Putnam: the forgotten janitor who discovered the logic of the mind”.  It’s a great piece of journalism about someone who is looks one of the most interesting philosophers of the 20th century.  And yet unknown for reasons the Nautilus article makes clear.  From the explanation there, his theory is pretty plausible.  I hope it gets more attention.

It’s strange: I don’t feel that I have to do anything today, just to be here.  That said, we aim to visit the Azerbaijan State Museum of Art, the main collection here.  Unfortunately, I don’t think that we will get to the Museum of Modern Art, which is in the eastern part of Baku.  The metro system is pretty feeble here, and doesn’t really help visit these places.  Something for the Azeri government to work on if it wants Baku to become a tourist destination.

Azerbaijan State Museum of Art

A hot walk across the outside of the old city walls to the Art Museum.  Nice carpets.  Indian miniatures.  Egyptian papyrus.  Turkish carpets (again) and tables.  Unusual silk panels from Japan and China – like scrolls.  One very strange.  Allegedly showing a “wise man”, it looks more like a huge maggot… Nearby, a drum, and a nice couple of plates.  Three garden stools, but made of ceramic.  A gallery of art from the early 20th century, mostly quite imitative – of Cezanne, Matisse, Kandinsky.  Also three real Kandinsky pix – two by Wassily, and one by his wife Nina.  A room of Italian renaissance pix – including Raphael’s “Madonna of the goldfinch” – which strangely is also in the Uffizi… Astonishing pic of a “man in black (Ferdinand de’ Medici), with what looks like a small spaniel on his head, and a caterpillar on his upper lip.  

A vew of Old Baku

At the heart of the museum, a nice little courtyard, covered with glass as with the British Museum.  Hot thanks to the greenhouse effect.  A fountain burbles pleasantly.  Upstairs, two impressive statues of falconers on horseback.  As backdrop to them, the flame towers rear up in a hard blue sky.  Further on, two really good pix.  One of Baku from the sea, painted in 1872 by Pyotr Vereshchagin.  The old city stands out, not least because there wasn’t much else.  The other, of the Volga, taken from a rock on the shore.  Very atmospheric, with great sense of space.  By Arkhip Kuindzhi.  In the last room, a rosy pic of Mount Kazbeg by Ilya Zankovsky.  Not sure about that church though…  A good one to end on.  (Yes, I know there is an Azeri section still to be explored, but that is enough for now.  Next time.)

Back in Fisincan Restoran where we ate well a week ago. It took us an insanely long time to get here, because of Baku’s greatest flaw as an urban space: the absence of street crossings.  Cars rule here, and to cross the main road you have to walk hundreds of metres to find a pedestrian underpass.  The one we used, at Azneft Square, was long, wide and very grand.  We then cut through the old city to arrive here for our 1pm reservation (well, it’s Saturday).  Took a selection of qutab with various fillings.  Very good.

When I was at the Art Gallery, I noticed some booklets on the ticket desk.  They indicated that a festival of mugham was taking place this very week, here in Baku.  I had actually searched for this before we left, but found nothing – which doesn’t say much for their marketing.  It turned out that my favourite mugham singer – Nəzakət Teymurova – performed last night at the Mugam Centre.  To be honest, we were all too shattered yesterday after our exertions in Khinalug and the drive back, so we probably wouldn’t have gone.  But a tantalising possibility nonetheless.

Out for a last stroll along the promenade.  Wind still strong, sun losing its force.  Glad to see that the huge Azeri flag, the largest and heaviest ever flown, is back – they’d taken it down for repairs or something before.  As we sat beside the Caspian Sea, a woman started playing her tar, accompanied by a soundtrack on a portable player, and with a man videoing her for some reason.  A nice way to say goodbye to Baku.

More destinations:

2015 Tbilisi

2017 Georgia

2018 Armenia

2024 Georgia - with photos

Moody's Black Notebook Travels