Gala Kend and Family

Another day of Social Entrepreneurship training- and I have a comment on why I haven't said much about it. You see, this training was incredible. Not only was our speaker, Mr. Togrul Alakbar, captivating and intuitive, but everything he spoke about was so inspiring and his presentations alone are the main reason to why I've decided to go down the track of social work. And as much as I would love to pass along all the insight he gave our little group, I would never be able to accurately capture all that he taught, and he deserves more credit than I can give. 

I woke up super early this morning to get to said training- although we still arrived late- after this lovely breakfast my host mother made for me. 

Jam, always jam. 

An omelette with "greens"- more on this later.

*Side note- In Azerbaijan, it's super rare to have pets, especially in the city. There just isn't enough room. But I saw so many stray animals, some in good condition and others not so much. Kittens were more taken care of, but dogs suffered more. While no locals seemed to even notice the stray animals due to it being a normality, my heart was in pain every time I saw one. However, my family did have a dog. He lived outside, which he had plenty of room to run around it, but wasn't incredibly groomed. I felt kind of bad for the guy, but he was sweet.

Georgie

After a lunch at the nearby cafe, we headed to the Gala Kend Preserve for a three-hour tour. First was the section made to look like an old-fashioned village, with peaks to how life was like in Azerbaijan before modern-day technologies.

First, there were maybe two rooms in a house, so the family slept together in a room such as the one below. Notice the rugs- they've been tradition for a long time.

An entryway. I can't tell you why it was like this, for what, or when, but I still think it's cool. 

 The tree below was a wishing tree. The guide had us all grab hands around this tree, close our eyes, and make a wish. It was a rather spiritual experience, and hey, why not take an opportunity to make a wish?

Those wood tables are for bread making.

We were taught quite a bit about the everyday home life back in the day. It wasn't much different from any other old-fashioned society, other than the Azerbaijanis had gorgeous, hand-woven rugs to spruce up the house. 

The main part of the museum

This statue was outside of this walled-off tower. We never learned if he had a certain historical influence, but we did have fun posing with him.

Camels- why not? These guys were friendly. 

 To the right here is what the magi lived in. It was an extremely modest hut, with practically no processions. We weren't let it, but it looked cool in there!

After the inside portion of the museum (pottery and tea kettles), we went to the third section, this tower. We were old this was a strategic battle tower, residents could see their incomers from miles around. 

There was a gorgeous view. 

This was under the tower- it was used as a passage way for soldiers, and had secret tunnels all around. Photo credit in this to Natasha Palmer. 

The view looking up.

 After exploring the tower, we were led to the final section of the tour- tea time!! But for this tea time, we had to work. We split into groups- one group went to make friendship bracelets and learn how to weave a rug (give those who can actually accomplish this credit. They deserve so much.)- which none of us came close to succeeding at.

Then then groups switched and the next task was to make lavash- basically, a tortilla. Except we were able to do it in the traditional way. We entered this long room and each knelt down to a circular board and kneaded a dough made of simply flour, water, and a little salt. Then we stretched the dough so it was as thin and circular (*snorts*) as we could manage, then we took our turns at this... floor pan? It was about two feet in diameter, completely flat and was heated from coals in the ground. Floor pan is the only way I can describe it.

The floor pan cooked this tortilla in about ten seconds flat. Impressive. We were told that when these are traditionally made, the hot lavash is put on top of this hat (called a taqiyah, it's a traditional Muslim cap) and let it cool. So whether that was true or not (as far as I know, we were never told anything incorrect. Thanks for not taking advantage of our ignorance, guys! I hope no one in America did that when you came!), we walked around with homemade bread on top of our hats for a while.

We had tea, of course, with our lavash. And the customary tea-time snacks. Yay. 

All of us in our taqiyahs, full from tea and tired from the day.

Gobustan, Mud Volcanoes, and Clubbing

Gobustan. Basically history in it's most preserved form. This wasn't just Azerbaijan history anymore, this trip was all about the origins of humankind. Driving out to this barren, desert wasteland, us Arizonians were feeling quite at home. Then the van tilted up, and those of us formerly playing card games and singing in the back became focused on the views that were flying by at 50 miles per hour. 

It was like taking a trip back in time. Besides the building at the top that served as the little museum for this nationally reserved park, no buildings. No signs of life. 

We got out, ruining the eerie silence with our noisy rambling, and trotted towards this museum that gave us a small tour that was probably super informative and interesting. I wasn't really into the whole "walk along and earnestly pay attention and memorize every detail" mood so... I honestly can't tell you a thing I learned in that museum. I do remember it was pretty interactive and had some cool computers that were supposedly intended to virtually color pictures of cavemen, but ain't nobody got time for that. 

There was this cool fish though. 

There was this room with the hieroglyphics deciphered in possible ways 

When I say Gobustan was history, I mean that for miles and miles there are well-preserved mountainous cave drawings. Carvings, scratches, imprints, fossils- this is the place to go if you want ancient history. And although I've never really cared for that ancient of history, this was fascinating seeing in person. With the quiet, the view of the Caspian Sea in the background, and the breeze that made the sun quite tolerable, who wouldn't enjoy this outing? 

After a break to check out the view, take pictures of nearby carvings, and pose off the ledge of this cliff dramatically, we boarded the bus and headed a couple miles to the mud volcanoes. This is what we really wanted to see.

We didn't know what to expect. But then we climbed up this strenuous hill and saw what they meant by "mud volcanoes." You see, these were active.

So, these mini volcanoes were bubbling along with this gray, smooth, and so tempting to touch mud. The strangest part was that when you expected it to be hot, it was quite cool. Apparently, there are spas around Azerbaijan that take this kind of mixture and put it on your skin. When we heard that, we were all over it.

Well... TInley fell in. While trying to clean herself. Half a leg, covered in wet mud. Funny!

Free spa? All over it! Or... its all over me... 

It was leadership training in itself helping one another go up and down these rocky and incredibly unstable hills. We all got super dirty. But it was fun playing with the dried mud chips and splashing with weird textured mud.

Mud covered, tired, and laughing, we had to go back eventually. Except it kind of slipped our minds that we were going to a party tonight. Like, right then. Oops. Worth it!

We made it back to the Caspian Business Center and immediately walked over to this party a couple blocks down the road. We knew there was quite a few other kids from some other program, and they were all waiting for us to arrive. What we didn't know that this was basically a club but without alcohol.

We walked in, cheers erupted, and the well-lit room turned into the classic night-club scene. Neon swirls dancing across our faces, heavy beats of the bass drum vibrating our bones, bodies everywhere- dancing, laughing, singing. Sweating, throbbing, disorientation, this sick feeling creeping up, the Americans slowly dropping out and the Azerbaijanis jamming on.

I had a blast, honestly. But I seemed to be one of the few. Many people were found outside, trying to get fresh air after only half an hour. I really just wanted to continue dancing.

Unfortunately, I had to leave soon. That was a funny story in itself. My family attempted to call me several times, but I could never really hear them no matter where I went, and understanding was a whole different story.

Thank my lucky stars my friend Kamran was willing to take the time to talk to my host sister to give directions to where I was, stayed outside with me until my dad got there, and went to talk to my dad and translated to me that he said "We miss her at home, we love having her."

As the lit-up Baku sped by the quiet car containing myself and my host dad, I really just wanted to keep dancing.

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.