First train ride, friday night, to pick up Lynnsey in Baku. I am frequently blowing my nose because I am ill. Every time I do, the mother and daughter across the bunks giggle insanely. Whether they are simply insensitive to my pathetic condition, or I am being too (culturally) insensitive by blowing my nose in public, I don't know. But I sure as hell am not getting up every minute and teetering my way to the end of the wagon in order to dejam my breathing facilities.
Eating breakfast at the cafe at the train station. I have until midnight-30 to pick up Lynnsey from the airport, all day to kill. Suddenly my phone rings. I see that it's Jeyhun, Peace Corps Safety and Security Coordinator. A man famed among volunteers for being able to tell off any Azeri baddy, through the phone. I pick up. "Kaylee, where are you now?" "Baku," (exactly where I should be). "Kaylee, I just recieved a call from your friend Lynnsey Norris. She's been at the airport waiting for you for 13 hours!"
I knew that once we met up with Rashad everything would be ok. And it was. We got on the right bus, walked down the right streets. The whole night was just right: a homecooked meal, great conversation, music sharing, tea, and dinosaurs.
Standing on the bus to Qobustan, I see that a freakishly tall young man has taken special interest in me and Lynnsey. He seems helpful enough, telling us he's getting off at Qobustan too, and can show us where the taxis are. He's neatly trimmed and nicely dressed in a starched white shirt and matching fedora. He's attractive and he knows it. This boy, I can tell, is a natural born opportunist. He has all the talent to spot an opportunity, take advantage of it, and, with luck, ride it out til the end. He hops in the taxi with us and buys us an orange Fanta. He rides along to the museum with us. He tags along with us through our English tour of the petroglyph mountain. He politely took his leave, though, after I made it clear to him that today wasn't his lucky day; this opportunity is denying you. But thanks for trying.
Second train ride to Tbilisi. Our compartment mates are a friendly Georgian pair of Judo sportsmen. They of course have brought an entire roasted chicken, loaf of bread, and package of fatty smoked ham slices (oh lordy so delectable) and insisted on sharing with us. The man, 30-something and kind like a father, but mischevious and playful like a brother, shared a generous portion of cha cha, Georgia's underground home-brewed liqour, out of his flask with us. The girl was the image of vivacity, and wrote in her journal with those curly Georgian letters; I like to think it was about the two american girls on the train.
Tbilisi, ah! Land of grape vineyards, Christians, cha cha, beautiful people, art gallerys, Churches, mountains and valleys, the Stalin museum! I laugh at myself for wondering how similar it would be to Azerbaijan. Pretty similar, I had thought. In reality, nothing similar. The only evidence of them being neighbors are the Azeris that we ran into: in the sulfur bath house (scrub downs and massages left us pretty), and a random taxi driver (kind old man who helped us find our way home).
We found our way, home, after some expensive setbacks. But we made it in time for Lynnsey to meet my host family, but not time for anything else! Back to the train, back to Baku!
No comments:
Post a Comment