Tag Archives: Azerbaijan

The Rich-Mike Hitchhike Insight: Hitchhiking in Azerbaijan, Georgia, Turkey & Greece

Azerbaijan is hard to judge because we didn’t really have to do anything because all our rides were arranged for us. This said, the mere fact that the staff in the service station in Baku went so far out of their way to help us, and then so did Charmin and Rafael, driving us all the way to the Georgian border, demonstrates the kind of altruism that facilitates hitchhiking.

Georgia was a touch more difficult, and there were times when we had to wait a long time to get anywhere. The myrid of roads exiting Tblisi made escape from the capital particularly difficult. The people that did pick us up though, despite appareances, were really helpful –especially Yurgen and Pesk who bartered the price of our hotel room down for us.

Turkey is right up there with the Orient. The people were friendly, accomodating and we were picked up many times –even when getting out of the huge capital city, usually the most arduous of tasks. The Koran states that good people should help wayfarers, and it’s a maxim that had been observed to a sometimes humbling degree throughout the Islamic countries we’d travelled through.

Despite being nextdoor to Turkey, Greece was impossible. We’d found what we deamed to be a great road, with all the traffic heading in our direction. The only people that helped us were foreign: a Russian, the BBC and an Albanian bus company. Someone told us that this aversion to hitchhikers is because they are associated with illegal immigrants trespassing the borders. The economic crisis in Greece has apparently ecacebated an already potent breed of xenopobia. The kebabs are fantastic though.

Azerbaijan Hitchhiking Rating:      af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15 af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15  (7/10)

Georgia Hitchhiking Rating:    af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15 af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15   (6/10)

Turkey Hitchhiking Rating:       af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15 af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15 (8/10)

Greece Hitchhiking Rating: af2e834c1e23ab30f1d672579d61c25a_15 (1/10)

Day 79: “Rich Tea with Mama…” – Baku, Azerbaijan

We were greeted and led upstairs by one of those kind fat old lady types, affectionately known as “Mama” by staff and guests alike. She reminded Michael and I of the woman that owned Tom, the cat, from Tom and Jerry.

Mammytwoshoes

In the morning Michael and I were dismayed to hear that the hot water wasn’t working. I was wandering around the room with my toothbrush hanging out of mouth and my towel draped around my waist, when Mama grabbed me by my arm and guided me to the outside kitchen.

We were on the second floor of a quadrangle which had multiple washing lines draped from opposing balconies. You could smell the artificial freshness of the detergent in the air.

Mama stood me in front of a small sink and pointed at the pan of water warming on the stove.

She then left me outside, so I took the pan from the stove, rested it in the small sink and I gave myself the most thorough wash I could under the circumstances, letting the residue water run off from me, back into the pan, as I leaned over it. Just as I’d put the pan, now half full of the water that had run off my body, back on the stove, Mama came back in with a wide smile and a couple of mugs.

“Oh no, no, no, Mama, I’ve just used this water for washing,” I said, realising that she’d boiled the water for tea and not for me to wash with.

“Niet! No wash,” she instructed, wagging a stern finger, “Chai”[tea]

“But Mama, you don’t understand. I thought you warmed the water so I could wash with it. The pan is half full of the filth that has run off my stinking body. I haven’t washed for a few days. Look, there’s even a few hair-”

“Niet! Chai”

“Is there anything I can say or do to stop you drinking this water?” I said placing my hand on the handle.

“Niet,” she replied, lightly rapping my hand away.

“Fair enough, Mama,” I sighed, with a shrug, “Have it your way”

Having won the argument, her kindly demeanour returned and she offered me a cup of tea.

“Chai?” she asked, pointed at a mug.

“Errrm… I’ll be ok thanks” I replied eying the film that had built up on the simmering water.
How vain would you have to be to drink your own filthy water? I thought to myself.

I turned to Mama, “On second thoughts, yes please, black, no sugar”.

“Hey Michael!” I called into the bedroom

“What?”

“Do you want a cup of tea?!”

“Yes please mate”

As Mama gently dipped the teabags into the water I allowed myself a small chuckle at the image of myself, doing something very similar a few minutes before. A slightly deranged smile stayed on my face as I sat there, supping my tea with Michael and the kindly old woman, picking the odd hair out of my mouth and laughing without a care in the world.

“Ha ha, you`ve got a milk moustache,” Michael said to me, pointed at my top lip.

“You have too mate, and so has Mama!”

“We`re like the three milk musketeers!”

We shared a nice morning chuckle.

I stopped laughing when I realised we were all drinking our tea black.