Well quite, I hear you cry. Almost in Russia, Qinaliq (pr. Khunalukh) is a world away from Baku. Ladies wear headscarves, bees roam freely in the unkept meadows, villagers burn animal shit for heating, and houses rooves provide pathways and front balconies for those higher up.
If only the food had been edible:
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| Azerbaijan '09 |
Azerbaijan is split.
Stroll down the Caspian waterfront in Baku, shop in Calvin Klein and dine in lavish surrounds. Stop by for a game of nard and slip a little something to the police when you skip the lights. Take a $15 taxi ride in the oil boom capital.
Step away to the mountains where scudding clouds, natural gas vents, shit as fuel and washed away roads are more the spirit, visible when you’re not playing nard and funding the police checkpoints – or shelling out for a duvet for the night
Split, yet united by ripping off the foreigner, nard and bribes; that’s how I see Azerbaijan.
