Azerbaijani History and the Ambassador

After the meeting over the Nargorno-Karabakh dispute, we headed over to a near-by cafe where I ordered a rather displeasing fish salad and this decent chicken soup. Some adventures don't work out.

Afterwards, we went to an old mansion that had been donated as a museum, and were able to see first-hand how gorgeous interior design was in old-fashioned Azerbaijani buildings. The museum gave us these bags to put over our shoes in order to not track anything in to the house, so the twenty-odd group of chattering Americans made their way through a guided tour full of historical facts and wonderful architecture decisions.  

They had some random framed things, such as this traditional rug.

I'm obsessed with the chandeliers in this mansion. Such ornate detail was given to everything, especially the ceilings. 

This is traditional Azerbaijani woman's wear. My friends have dresses like these for special occasions, such as the holiday Novruz.

Again, the ceiling. Hours upon hours must have been spent with this detail. It was absolutely stunning. 

One room had a ceiling entirely of fragmented glass like this. The effect was dazzling. 

Next came the party. I don't believe I've thus far mentioned this invitation that everyone on the program received a few days before departure:

The Ambassador of the United 

States of America

Richard L. Morningstar

requests the pleasure of the

company of 

Ms. Marissa Beseda

at a reception

in honor of the Youth

Leadership Program

Participants

on Friday, July 12, 2013

at 6:30 p.m.

We were all excited. An invitation to the Ambassador's residence? Who else can say they've had that opportunity? We had no idea what to expect. I was thinking something along the lines of a formal, business-y dinner and a quiet meeting with the Ambassador. 

I probably should have just given up on my predictions.

First, we arrived at this old, torn, and grubby-looking painted brick wall. Just dropped off in the middle of this more ghetto area, us students having no clue why we were there. Then slowly we were let through this high gate, having our names checked at the entrance. It felt like I was a part of some exclusive party, and my name was "on the list."

If there was ever a real-life application of the saying "don't judge a book by it's cover," this would be it. The old, mangy wall was hiding this ginormous, extravagant mansion that was bright yellow with white columns and stood in the back of a large courtyard, where people were already gathering. 

We put our personal things inside his front closet and headed out to converse with the other internationally involved students. Then some signal I missed brought everyone into the front room where a dinner of assorted finger foods, both American and Azerbaijani, were being feasted upon. 

So far, pretty chill. Nothing incredibly unexpected. Until a little speech by the Ambassador ended with "Azerbaijani's love to dance" and a DJ came out and started blasting popular music. And before I could fully come to terms with what was happening, we were having a dance party in front of the Ambassador of the United States's residence. Not only that, but he was jamming along with us. This 68 year old man dancing to Nikki Minaj and Lady Gaga. 

That's a sight I never expected to see. 

But it was fun. Occasionally the DJ would play a traditional Azerbaijani song and they would teach us Americans how to dance, which we pretty much failed at but laughed while trying. A conga line, partner dancing, everyone singing the chorus to assorted songs, it was movie-like. 

Myself with two amazing sisters in front of the Ambassador's

Unfortunately, it had to come to an end. My name was called by a security guard, and I said goodbye to all of my new and old friends and headed out the huge gates that separated me from the comfort of familiarity into complete confusion. 

My family wasn't there. Just this strange man and a couple random cars. I looked around awkwardly, wondering what I should do. The man inspected me closely then motioned for me to get in his car. He didn't speak much English. I had the faintest idea he could be the driver that I didn't pay attention to when he drove me and my host mom that morning. So, against all common sense, I got it the car. 

Turned out to be my driver. Whew. But I won't lie, I sent my friend Stephen a "if I don't show up tomorrow I've probably been kidnapped by this strange man please let the adults know" text. 

That situation was amusing in hindsight. 

But what isn't amusing is the confusion I had when I got to my house and this unknown woman ushered me in, with no sign of the rest of my family. 

Yeah, they never came back that night. I didn't figure out until the next day who this lady was. Aunt Leyla, this middle-aged, 100% no English spoken or understood woman who didn't look too comfortable with the situation either. 

But I did figure out from the dinner she motioned me to sit down to that she was an excellent cook. The best food I had on this entire trip was made by her hardworking hands. I really wish I knew the names of these dishes, because then I would recreate them everyday until I could get it to be like how she made it. And then open a restaurant and become super successful. Of course I'd credit her through all my success. 

This picture is awful but all I have. It was this brown rice and meat dish, mixed with assorted vegetables and like all Azerbaijani food, super oily. I dream about this. Honestly. There was also this popular cold drink (or soup) called ovdukh that is a liquidy white yogurt mixed with assorted herbs (for a recipe, go here: <http://www.news.az/recipes/24783> ). I did not acquire the taste buds for this. 

Between this entire plate of rice/meat and the dinner at the Ambassador's, I was stuffed. I motioned this to her, and tried to show my thanks and love of her cooking. I hope she got my message. She wouldn't let me help with dishes or anything, so I went into the other room where the gifts I gave to my family were, picked up some postcards of my home town, and took them to her. 

I believe I was able to communicate the meaning behind each photo, either that or she is also a talented actress, and with my attempts to reach out to her she seemed to get a bit more comfortable with me. I wish I knew at that time who she was! She helped me with the shower and lent me a hairdryer when she saw I didn't dry my hair afterwards (that's kind of a big deal in Azerbaijan, going out with your hair wet. Unacceptable.), and I motioned a good night and a thank you. 

I wish she had been able to communicate what my family had in store for me the next day. 

Nagorno-Karabakh and the World

Breakfast of the Day: Lavash (which is essentially a tortilla), with an overwhelming amount of butter and that feta-like cheese I was never found of, spread lovingly by my host mother, peach jam, tea, watermelon, cookies, chocolate, and tea cakes.

I'm liking this whole "tea and dessert all the time" thing.

Although we were an hour away and already running late, my host mom (while waiting for their personal driver) showed me her garden in the front and had me help water it. In return, she gave me a rose from her bush and a little cucumber. I put the rose in my hair and her ecstatic grin assured me that was a smart move.

The roads stress me out. I'm not really used to rush-hour, even in America. And rush hour in Azerbaijan is even more interesting. I was half an hour late (they kind of believe in the whole "island time" concept there, which was hard for my very prompt side to accept), but when I arrived at the Caspian Business Center I was greeted by hugs and cheek kisses. We also discovered a caterpillar in my flower.

The group of Americans, and a couple Azerbaijani YLPers (the program), were boarded onto a bus and shipped off to a professional discussion by the Imagine Dialogue representatives on the Nagorno-Karabakh issue between Azerbaijan and Armenia. Quick overview: This is a section of Azerbaijan, but it is presently occupied by Armenia. In 1994, there was a war over this territory, and although there has been a cease-fire for about 20 years, no conclusions have been met and it still remains to be closed off to Azerbaijanis. In the Organization of Islamic Conference in 2008, Armenia was charged with the "destruction of cultural monuments in the occupied Azerbaijani territories," but no real offense or follow-up actions were taken. The ceasefire continues to this day to be broken, and overall, feelings towards the Armenians in Azerbaijan are extremely negative, since Azerbaijanis cannot go into 20% of their territory.

Photo from: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nagorno-Karabakh#Contemporary_situation_.28since_1994.29>

We were never told the reason we learned about this, but I took away so many thoughts from these meetings. First, it makes me wonder what Armenia's side to it is. Why are they causing such a big deal over this piece of country land? Armenia, as a whole, must have bad feelings towards Azerbaijan too, but what exactly are their reasons? Also, this dispute has ruined so many lives, yet I had never even heard of the country Azerbaijan back home. How closed off from the worldly occurrences are we? What are solutions that can satisfy both countries? How do you break the barrier that present generations are being raised with, this hatred for another country.

To me, it seemed a bit silly that so much dislike for Armenia had been built up, even by people completely unaffected by the war. But then I thought of the Cold War and the Red Scare. The problems with illegal immigration, the Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese internment, general racism, and all these other rather stupid things America has been involved in.

Why are humans so inclined to put up walls against others, just because of cultural background? As the Avenue Q song goes, "everyone's a little bit racist," which, undeniably, is true. We all have our moments where we think prejudice thoughts, and there really isn't anything we can do about these natural tendencies. But to act upon them, to not be able to reason through the ridiculousness of judging based on genetics, that's a serious problem that destroys the potential for any sort of worldly cooperation.

I think that the root of racism is ignorance. Ignorant parents teaching their children opinions on a race they don't know hardly anything about. But if we could educate these kids (I'd say their parents too, but kids generally have more open minds) on the struggles other parts of the world are having, have them correspond with foreign schools, educating students on what is actually happening in the world, eliminating these ideas that one way of thinking is better than another, that any religion outside of their own is stupid, that some people are above others- simple steps, really. It's so easy to open the eyes of kids who just haven't been given the chance to see the world for what it is. And who doesn't want increased understanding?

I

My Azerbaijani Host Family

So, I'm sitting there in the business center, day one in this new country, waiting for my new temporary family to pick me up.

If you haven't experienced being a host student, let me tell you what goes on in our minds: What if they hate me? What if they can't understand anything I'm trying to say? What if they completely neglect my entire existence? What do I talk to them about? What's dinner going to be like? What if I accidentally do something to offend them? What if they are terrible cooks? WHAT IF THEY ONLY HAVE A TURKISH TOILET? 

I heard my name, and the coordinator was standing next to these two ladies, seemingly the same age. Maybe sisters? Somewhere in their twenties? They were smiling, what could go wrong?

... Turns out one of them was my age, Ula. And her mother, standing next to her, I could never actually figure out what her name was. I had no idea what in the world to call her that entire trip. They never really introduced themselves, and if they did my mind was overwhelmed by so many other things I never stored a name in my mind. Soooo, I just avoided any situation I'd have to address her.

My Host sister

One thing about Azerbaijanis: They are way more stylish than anyone I've seen in America. All the time. The other day I went with bare feet and my bathing suit into the gas station, and that would sound so crazy there. No matter where we were going throughout the course of the trip, be it down the road to the little tendir (a special bread) vendor or to drop me off somewhere, there was a long process of make up application and hair styling. But man, did they look awesome. Plus, my host mother and sister were both gorgeous to begin with, so I always felt less impressive next to them, but that was okay. It was like being with models. 

When you first meet these people you've never spoken to who you're going to live with for the next while, amusingly enough no words come to mind. So I just stood there, still trying to figure out if they were sisters, while my host mom kissed me on both cheeks and spewed random exclamations of enthusiasm, which I reciprocated after coming back to the real world. 

We walked down to the car, which my host dad was waiting in, and were on our way. 

Another thing about driving in Azerbaijan: It's common to not use your seat belt. In fact, all the cars I was in had these little seat belt end attachments that plugged into where your seat belt buckle should go, so the sound didn't go off. No seat belts on, just the attachment. I found that amusing. But not when I wanted to be buckled and there was this fancy seat cover in the back, preventing any access to what I have been taught was a lifeline my whole upbringing. 

Well, when in Rome...

Then I got a big surprise. My mom, who took two months of an English class just to be able to talk to me (which still touches me. That was so sweet.) tried to explain where we were going. "Have you heard of the singer Emin?" No. "Would you like to go to a concert?" ... Now? Sure!

So with that, my sister would be accompanying me to my first concert. 

But this was not anything like an American concert. Which is why I didn't see any concern in my tee shirt, jean shorts, and crazy ponytail get up. I mean, I've been to American concerts now and that's completely normal to wear. 

It turns out ball gowns were actually quite acceptable at this here concert. Actually, everyone besides the fan club at the front of this open-air stadium filled with chairs and balloons looked like they belonged on the red carpet. And then there was me. The only white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and so obviously American female there. 

Azerbaijan doesn't have many foreigners visit. As in, by the end of the trip if we ever saw foreigners, we could easily pick them out and got excited over their presence. Also, Azerbaijanis have a habit of staring. Hardcore staring. In pre-orientation, we were warned of this, and to just look away. Their heads will follow you, and they didn't seem to make any effort to hide their staring. It was amusing after I was used to it, but the first night already self-conscious, I wasn't ready to be laughing at that situation. 

But it turned out to be quite a bit of fun. Concerts, at least this one, are more formal there, everyone stayed in their chairs until the end, except for between songs when fans with gifts were allowed onstage with Emin to give him their flowers or whatever, and receive a hug and a smile. It was quite charming, actually. It was more personal and touching than the more closed-off concerts here.  

After the concert, our parents picked us up and we went on a walk around the gorgeous city of Baku. This was my favorite time in the city, just walking around at night, seeing everything lit up. Because, really, everything was lit up. Blues, reds, greens, pinks, oranges, neons- it reminded me of Las Vegas but incredibly more classy. It was magical, and really can't be properly described, as hard as I may try. 

We walked along the bay of the Caspian Sea, the Flame Towers in the background lit up sometimes like flames, and sometimes like the Azerbaijani flag waving majestically to imagined wind. The breeze was blowing off the water, and my family pointed to various things and spoke in broken, but understandable, English (except my dad, who only knew a couple words) what they were, and the history behind everything. 

I noticed that you could ask almost anyone, and they knew the stories behind the city's wonders. The myth behind the Maiden's Tower, the purpose of the Flame Towers, the legend behind the window with the cat statue in Old Baku- everyone knew them. And, these things had stories to begin with. In America, there doesn't seem to be as much appreciation and interest in the little things. I mean, sure, there's always those statues you see around that may have some history, but how much does anyone care? Unless they're major historical figures, chances are few people actually know who that person is, and what they did. Without plaques, the citizens of Baku all seemed to know the stories of even the littlest details of their city. And it showed so much well-deserved pride in their country. 

I learned about my family, as well. My sister was in the equivalent of junior year in America (they only have 11 years of school), and was the translator whenever my parent's decided attempting English is a waste of time for all they wanted to say. She knew she was pretty, and every opportunity presented fixed herself in a reflection. But heck, if I looked like her, I would too. Although there was never anything wrong in her reflection. 

My mother, she tried her best to use English at all times with me. From what I understood, she was pretty high up in her business, which I think was a... Soda company? It may have been a car company. But she got free soda from her work... I don't know, she was in an office building and in meetings all day. She loved taking selfies. Like, loved it. Several times we stopped so she could take selfies with her husband. It was kind of cute, really, their poses. 

My host dad, I loved him so much. He spoke little to no English, but he didn't need to for me to understand him. He mainly stayed to himself, but once he showed me this card trick. Basically, I rearranged cards like he showed me to by demonstration, until there were four piles. My sister translated that the top cards would read my thoughts, and I flipped them over one by one. They were all Jacks. "Boys, boys, boys, boys!" my dad exclaimed, and I burst into laughter. The one word he knew was "boys." They all laughed along with me, and I still look back on this as one of the most bonding moments we had. 

Still walking around the night, sipping on the fresh-squeezed lemon-orange juice my dad bought for me from this orange-shaped juice stand, we headed back to the car around 12 am. Through the empty marble walkways, past the disco clubs pounding with heavy beats, under the dim street lights loyally showing us the way, the beauty of the city never ceases to amaze. 

My Host Parents

But the amazement flickered when the car ride came to be over 30 minutes... 40... 50... Where are we going.... You know I have to come back here by 10 am tomorrow, right? Oh, twisty dirt roads, great. Absence of buildings? I feel safe. Will someone please tell me where we're going? I started to get nervous. 

Their summer house turned out to be over and hour away from the city. The traffic from the morning crossed my mind, but I figured they knew what they signed up for. So, we ate this marvelous late dinner (they don't seem to believe in early bed times. 2/3 A.M? No problem. It was hard to keep up with.) and they showed me my room, which was so roomy and way nicer than I had dreamed of. I just, I really appreciate everything they did for me. I need to get that out there. 

Oh, they don't wear shoes in the house. I was never informed of this. I didn't notice everyone take off their shoes and exchange them for house shoes, they did it so smoothly. So when I walked in, I didn't understand the reaction from my host dad, who jumped and started exclaiming something, and my host mom gently pulled me back into the entry way and handed me some slippers. Oh. 

CULTURE TIME!

Toilet paper. Well, that wasn't a thing everywhere. Including this house. We had been warned about it, but in public places they did have toilet paper, so it didn't seem to be a big deal. I was not prepared for actually having to deal with it. 

Instead, they have this spray-hose next to the toilet. 

I'll leave you to figure the rest out. I never fully did.

*********************************************************************************

They had a shower room. Not just a shower in a bathtub in a separate room, but like, you walked in to this little closet-sized tiled walkway, shut the door, and through another door was the entire shower room, the size of a large walk-in closet. 

It took AGES to figure out how in the world to work it. And how to get it hot. And when it got super hot, how to get it cold. But it was interesting. 

The thing is, my family didn't have any reservations with me being there. I was a bit surprised when my shirtless mother walked into my room to make sure everything went fine with my shower, if I needed anything, goodnight! It definitely made me feel as part of the family, but I don't know if I needed to be that part of the family. Oh well. 

Sometimes in books, the character says "I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow." I never understood this until I got into bed that night.