The people make the place
I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to say about our time in Azerbaijan. Though a beautiful country with I’m sure plenty to entice a traveller to visit, for me it felt a little like a more built up and fenced off version of my beloved Georgia. Or at least it did until I started meeting its people. We didn’t stay too long in Azerbaijan, but we were there long enough for me to have experienced two very different but equally wonderful encounters.
The first was with a family who spoke almost no English, had no warning we were coming, yet took us in and treated us like their own unquestioningly. We arrived in a town exhausted after a full day of cycling. With nowhere to camp and some threatening clouds moving towards us, we turned onto a dirt road and knocked on a door. Out came our magical Russian letter explaining our situation, and the village put together their heads and discussed. Just as we were making contingency plans, it happened. We were waved into a yard surrounded by fences, and in the doorway stood three generations of smiling faces. Somehow we had inserted ourselves into a family who had come together for the funeral of a grandfather, but instead of sadness they were filled with love for each other. To be welcomed in to a home at such a trying time, and to see the joy when you entertain the grandchildren, or the smiles when you are shown photo albums, forces one to reexamine how we back home would react. Would we take in two strangers and feed them, laugh with them, fuss over them, share with them ever, especially so soon after our own losses? But this family didn’t think twice. They didn’t ask for anything in return. They only wanted more love to be in the world. As I slept in a room with three generations of women, listening as a new mother sleepily comforted her daughter, enjoying the warmth of the wood stove, I could be nothing but grateful. This is why I pedal.
But it is not only to those upon whom we foist ourselves unexpectedly that I feel such warmth and gratitude. It is to those who knowingly invite strangers into their homes as well. In Mingacevir we stayed with a host named Yashar, though he also goes by Josh Africa. He is a fellow cyclist who happens also to be the first Azeri to cycle the length of Africa. His stories are unbelievable, his knowledge vast, and his photos beautiful. He also happens to have the undeniable soul of a traveller and generosity beyond belief. We stayed in his home, ate with him, cooked with him, talked with him, drank with him, laughed with him, and danced with him. He showed us his city, and took a place that we could have easily written off as just another city and moulded it through words and enthusiasm into something beautiful. His optimism and positivity are infectious, and when we got back on our heavy bikes, I somehow felt renewed. I had been infused with a dose of Josh’s love of people and exploration, of his drive and determination. Once again we said goodbye to a new friend, tore ourselves away, and pedalled off, this time with a little extra rotation in our cadence.
So in the end it was the people that made the country great for us. Sometimes on a bicycle you have to sacrifice going to see sights for time and distance. So we may not have seen every vista that Azerbaijan has to offer, but the country gave us something different, and something that will colour the way I think about our world. It gave us perspective.
