As any good holiday should pass, we got a nice fat break from school; bounties of cookies, bars, and pastries; and family gatherings, cross country. Peace Corps also skillfully slipped a TEFL Conference into our time off school, providing the perfect getaway for us teacher-PCVs going stir-crazy with cabin fever from winter and culturally exhausted from the reportedly hardest first 4 months of service.
Early Service Training (EST) for us TEFLs was held in Baku on March 15th and 16th. We ladies in Zaqatala (MaryEllen, Annette, and I) are a 6-8 hour bus ride away, so we opted to take the night train to get there in time. We boarded with excitement, just a bit wary, because you never know what to expect in this country. Although cramped and stifling warm like the bowels of a dragon, the train proved to be a comfortable and convenient way to get to Hogwarts, I mean, Baku. There are four bunked beds to a compartment, and we got lucky with our 4th travel partner, a true Azeri gentleman, an engineer from Zaqatala who bought us all tea and went straight to bed without any fussing around.
The part I was most excited about for the trip was just staying in a hotel. The first thing I did upon arrival was take a piping hot shower, and it felt like I was being born again. Truly orgasmic. I shaved my legs, listened to my music out loud, lounged about the room naked, reconnected with the Kaylee I left behind in Florida. But I felt sharply the part of me that is missing: the yang for my yin, that is, my man. It's easier in the village when I'm living a life so different from my last one, but being in the hotel as if I were on another trip to Miami, I really missed my boo.
The conference passed normally as expected; I learned exactly what I needed in relation to my work, and got stories and perspective from my fellow PCVs.
Saturday was St. Patrick's Day, and we weren't going to let such a good reason to go out and drink pass unacknowledged. A group of us booked a room at a hostel, which was in Inner City, the oldest and coolest part of Baku. We were able to walk to Fountain Square, the funnest part of Baku, complete with English-catering restaurants and bars, including good ol' McDonald's. After mingling with just a few ex-Pats, I called it a night early cause of the deathly cold I had caught earlier, and managed to eat two dönər, the succulent Turkish masterpiece of a sandwich, before crashing.
Although completely exhausted (and completely sick) at this point, our elaborate plans were only half accomplished. Next, Mellen and I headed to my very first Azerbaijani household, that of the Lezgi family in Xirdalan.
Sticking to promises frequently and previously made, we accompanied Rasmiyya to her family's homeland, the rayon called Gusar. It runs along Azerbaijan's northeast border with Russia, is the coldest in the country, and also hosts the largest ethnic minority (the Lezgis, of course).
They have an expression here, "When the sword is drawn, blood is drawn," in reference to the quarrelsome nature of Lezgi interactions. Playful arguement is just how they communicate, how they show their love, and definitely how they express their opinions. Mellen and I's awkward American habits, combined with my obnoxious cold, combined with Rasmiyya's secret love interest meetings (don't judge: this is way more innocent than it may appear. Think high school courting procedures: meeting in the park to talk and maybe hold hands, whispering on the phone late at night in bed, etc. It was really cute, and entertaining to be her support system during this little episode) made for an interesting visit indeed. Plus grandma's foot was broken, so, confined to the couch, she could only bark out orders to anyone around her about what to do at the current moment. The best part, though was when Mellen and I found the kitchen to be full of dirty dishes from supper, and only grandma and grandpa home. Not 30 seconds into running the water, grandma starts yelling at us not to, but we playfully insisted, and she could do nothing to stop us cause she couldn't physically force us away from the sink (as an able-bodied Azerbaiajni woman would probably do in this situation).
We took our leave of Gusar early Wednesday morning, and enjoyed the gorgeous bus ride back to Baku, all rolling hills and spring greening, wheat fields, collosal rocks begging to be explored, charming hamlets colorful and old as Azeri culture itself, the whole nine yards.
After that, in Baku, we managed to get doctor-prescribed medicine for myself, a cup of coffee, salad, a handful of clothes in exchange for a dress, friuts for our train ride, and of course, more dolma, plov, shekabura, baklava, gogal, badambura. Despite the dread I felt having to face the night train with my plegmy lungs, I actually slept like a baby and even had the energy to take some hazy photos out the window in the morning. Once again we got lucky with our cabin mates (this time just M and I): a 40-something sober-humored lady who was a lit professor from Baku, nostalgic for Soviet times, yet a true patriot. And another dude from Baku who's a musician and whose personality reminded me of my uncle. He's the first Azeri guy I've seen with hair not closely cropped, instead he let his curls run free and even further breaking from the mold, he doesn't drink tea. Interesting stuff.
It's more than wonderful being back home in my village. I feel more than ever like I'm settling in for the long haul. Before, the "abyss" of two years was too vast to even concieve. Now I can see myself passing the months by at school and in my community. Please wish me all the inspiration and enthusiasm I need!
