Cultural Collision

I bumped into a different land and was blown away by a cultural collision, which I hope the reader will be too through my now hazy recollections of the past.

Ten years after Black January of 1990, blood was still fresh from Gorbachev. The year was 2000, and I strolled along Baku Boulevard for the first time as British Petroleum drilled for oil in the Caspian Sea.

Money has changed the city landscape, but time did not fail to revolve in conjunction and is a far cry from what I remember.

Still, I endeavour to describe a time forgotten by Baku.

Maiden’s Tower overlooked the Boulevard while we frequented the pubs; Shakespeare’s, Fisherman’s Wharf and Tequila Junction, to name a few, in the heart of the city, otherwise known as Fountain Square.

Fountain Square where Black January, only ten years prior, saw Soviet forces kill all civilians in the name of Anti-Sovietism, simply barbaric.

My mind today recalls the crisp and snowy winter of 2000 when Christmas was fast approaching and fountains ran dry in the Square until the city prospered with oil. There was a McDonald’s in the Waterless Square, and I particularly liked the knock-off CD and DVD shops.

Not to forget the classic clothes shops, where the local men would gawp when I was still slim for the jeans to fit from Mango, just beside - ‘Smelly Alley’.

The ‘Alley’, a car boot sale, or what I considered as the ‘Barrowlands’ of the Capsian. I bartered for Soviet wollen hats as trinkets to take home, but I was not allowed to rescue the tortoises and budgies, as my parents rushed me off home with a flea in my ear.

A small apartment block in the city near the telebashnya, TV Tower, is where we first stayed with its very own caretaker. I waved to my friend every morning in that winter of 2000, across the enclosed drying green in our apartment block.

My friend and I first met in Shakespeare’s, a favourite amongst the ex-pats and oil drillers, at the end of the millennial year and the bells of 2001, but how we missed being home with our friends and normality!

It was a strange time for those so accustomed to the West.

It won't be easy, but I appreciate it, for some to ascertain that I was an immigrant in an Islamic country, where I was met with kindness.

It will be difficult for you to understand the poverty I encountered in 2000, mugged by a nine-year-old for a bottle of Coca-Cola, so I was. Stopped by two male teenagers -

‘Watch out ‘miss’,’ as they pointed to the manats falling from my jeans, a warning to be more careful.

At the dawn of 2001, New Year in Baku, the Eternal Flame glowed in pride as the fireworks lit the sky above Baku Boulevard. The Eternal Flame remains to this day and is a dedication to this reborn country, proud of its independent heritage, but a reminder of the blood lost to regain it.

Azerbaijani heritage?

Wow.

Where do I begin?

It will not surprise many that oil enticed Hitler in World War II, a Nazi invasion of the Caucasus region and the Caspian.

British Petroleum was not the first foreign oil company in Baku. Facts should be told that it was the Nobel Brothers. Twelve percent of the Nobel Prize came from shares in their Petroleum Company, where their capital hit 3 million rubles after only five years, all from Baku and its Caspian.

I am not giving their heritage justice however, I should talk about Azerbaijan.

I bet you have not heard about Yanar Dag!

Where Marco Polo visited in the 13th century and was met with flames lighting the region which brought forth an ancient religion, Zoroastrianism, flame worshippers, centuries before Christianity.

I bet you have not heard about Gobustan!

No less than 6000 prehistoric rock carvings, 40,000 years old.

Intelligent carvings by past humans that we can only imagine in textbooks.

Hunting!

Worship!

Battles!

Rituals!

Astronomy!

Bullfights!

All these rock carvings depict.

While I recite all the wonder, I admittedly spent my summer days in forty-degree heat lazing on Amburan Beach, but take care, the sea snakes!

Most of what I describe has gone, just figments of faint memories in my mind, although I insist it is not my imagination at play.

However, I should remember to mention to my fellow ‘soft-watter’ folks who are intrigued to visit, well, the ‘tap watter' will give you - just pack the immodium!