One night in Baku (well seven actually)

Smells like Team Spirit: Part 2

Put the kettle on, and enjoy. This is one to take your time over 🫶. Allow yourself to momentarily enter another world…

A cocktail of dreams

If the city of Baku in Azerbaijan were a cocktail, it would be a cross between an Old Fashioned and a Cosmopolitan, with an extra splash of Russian vodka, and a delicate dish of Turkish Delight on the side. Served in a theatrically ornate glass with a welcoming smile, through a haze of mellow tobacco smoke. Baku is a city perfectly primed for descriptors such as ‘juxtaposition’ and ‘fusion’, did they not carry such a faint air of pomp.

Having recently returned from a week there, I would describe Baku as striking, different, colourful, friendly and refreshingly easy on the budget. A city of contrasts, with liquid black gold coursing through its streets whilst somehow retaining a sense of humility within its medieval walled old town. A place where crumbling ancient stone walls are set against (note I did not say juxtaposed) a Dubai-esque skyline. A fusion, if you will, of… ok somebody stop me.

Baku is the capital of Azerbaijan, and is self-styled as the love child of Paris and Dubai, as well as being the lowest lying capital city in the world. Azerbaijan itself is a country no bigger than Wales, that stands proud as ‘The Land of Fire’ (more on this below), with the name ‘Baku’ deriving from the Persian for ‘City of Winds’. Within a country bordering Russia to the north, Iran to the south, Turkey and Armenia to the west and Georgia to the north-west, Baku’s geographical location is reassuringly central, and protected on the east coast by the world’s largest lake - The Caspian Sea. It heritage far belies any clunky ‘east meets west’ comparisons. There is such complexity and richness in its DNA.

I must admit it is not a city I would ever have visited had we not been propelled there by our daughter, Taz’s, gymnastics ‘career’ which I wrote about in the first part in this short series:

All roads lead to Eurovision

The history of Azerbaijan is punctuated with influences from Albania, Mongolia, Persia, the Ottoman Empire and more recently, seven decades of Soviet Union membership. It’s fortunes are underwritten by a sine wave of oil and gas surges, and its historic religious representations span from heathenism to Christianity, from Judaism to the fire-worshipping religion of Zoroastranism. With a current majority religion of Islam, Azerbaijan prides itself as secular, moderate and progressive.

Having grasped independence from the remains of the declining USSR in 1991, Azerbaijan appears to have exploded onto the western cultural consciousness after participating in the Eurovision song contest in 2008. They went on to win it in 2011, and hosted it in 2012. The ‘Berlitz Baku Pocket Guide’ tells me this, so it must be true. Baku has since staged major football tournaments, has become a regular on the Formula 1 circuit, and is putting itself front and centre for a variety of sports and events, including gymnastics.

When Taz was selected for Team GB, it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss - both to watch her and her team compete, but also to visit somewhere that we would likely never have visited otherwise. And so it was that our merry band found ourselves there: myself, my husband, our eldest daughter Fiver - due to turn 18 whilst we were there, and my ever intrepid, parachute-jumping 83 year old mum (Nana), along with a whole host of other gymnast supporting families. Taz was clearly also there, her being the whole point of our trip, but she travelled separately separately with Team GB. We couldn’t really spend any time with her, although I did manage a sneaky hug on the plane. As we passed through customs I said goodbye, and didn’t see her again until the qualifiers in the stadium three days later.

Glorious discombobulation

That first night, we arrived after an outbound delay of 2 hours and 58 minutes - magically just 2 minutes too early to claim the flight delay compensation prize. Having arisen at 5am UK time, we shuttled into Baku not long before midnight, with travel confused bellies not sure if we needed breakfast, dinner or beer. Our hotel receptionist informed us with absolute certainty that there was nowhere to get food at that time of night. Baku did not appear to be a 24-hour city. Having resigned ourselves to a quick leg stretch before taking our sad stomachs to bed, we discovered a 24 hour tea shop and cafe directly outside the hotel. Perhaps the language barrier was more significant than we thought - none of us being particularly well versed in Azeri or Russian.

Within moment a group of about 14 of us had a table full of pots of tea, milkshakes, toasted sandwiches and chips - so far so British - whilst locals smoked cigarettes or puffed on sisha as they cradled cups of strong black coffee. Our waiter was beyond friendly, until the point where we tried to tip him in US dollars. Having arrived so late, we hadn’t yet managed to procure any of the local currency, manat, which proved deeply disappointing to our new friends. One to note for the following day.

Heading to bed with happy stomachs (albeit leaving behind sad waiters), I messaged Taz to check in. She sent me a sorrowful picture of her dinner, and lamented being coeliac in a country that as well as being ‘The Land of Fire’, also apparently doubles as ‘The Land of Bread‘. I did not send her a picture of our dinner.

The following day, having changed all our US dollars for manat, somewhat perplexed as to why we had been advised to bring US dollars at all, we set about exploring.

Ambling through the streets of Baku is gloriously discombobulating. In one direction we were surrounded by low rise 12th century caravanserai, market stalls and tea shops. Admiring carpets adorning the walls of the cobbled streets that are not suitable for cars, pausing to stroke cats…everywhere…cats (clean, groomed and well fed cats). In a different direction we found designer stores towering over a modern urban landscape. Bulgari, Gucci and Tiffany overlooking a 12 lane super-highway that cannot be crossed on foot. Across that road we could see views of gardens and fountains, a shopping mall in the shape of the Sydney Opera House, ‘Little Venice’ and the backdrop of the Caspian Sea. Back in the old town we passed a Costa Coffee incongruously sandwiched between the ramparts of the historic Maiden Tower as we continued along its tiny streets, with thousands of steps, and more cats.

A short walk inland took us to the ‘Fountain Square’, an enormous plaza decorated with sculptures ranging from towers of books to giant silver balls to…oh…fountains. Doughnut vans and McDonalds sit alongside the stunning Azerbaijan Museum of Literature. The streets are wide and tree-lined, there is indeed a Parisian feel. We settled in for coffee and a pastry(well, black tea for me), Fiver unable to contain her delight at being able to order a Nutella croissant. She immediately determined that this would be where we have breakfast on her 18th birthday at the end of the week. French music wafted gently from the speakers as we sat languorously outside in the October sunshine, watching this eclectic world go by. The only thing really demarcating this from an actual city in France being the visible hijabs.

The afternoon took us back through the old town for a spot of pomegranate wine and the ‘opportunity’ to cuddle some cats, before heading to the 15th century Palace of the Shirvanshahs. A stunning historical construct containing a mosque, gates, bath houses and burial rooms overlooking a beautiful garden (full of cats) and the fabulously random Museum of Miniature Books. We watched the sun set, from within the ancient palace walls, behind the defining set of sky scrapers that emerge from the surrounding Soviet-era blockwork - the Flame Towers. A tribute to the Land of Fire, they light up with thousands of LEDs at dusk each evening, showering rolling images of the Azeri flag, and flames across the capital. No chips and toasties that night as we experienced the local cuisine - delicious platters of mezze, similar to Turkish food but with a unique twist, and oh…the bread…warm, light, salty, fluffy…just sublime.

Around the world in 80 minutes

The following day we explored 17th century underground baths, noticed the beautiful and intricate metalwork on balustrades and paintings on the old town walls. We then decided to face up to our first real challenge - how to cross the mammoth road. There are no crossing points at surface level, however ther are subways scattered sparingly to grant access to ‘the other side’. These are not the grey, piss-soaked, graffiti covered subways of London. Oh no, these are palatial, wide, tall, marbled and brightly lit through pseudo-chandeliers. They have the feel of the entrance to a grand hotel.

Popping out the other side through a network of pavements and little bridges adorned with lawns and fountains (and a few cats), we found ourselves in ‘Little Venice’. A bizarre, almost Vegas-like construction of waterways complete with gondolas and gondoliers in stripy T-shirts, punting tourists around what is essentially a small boating lake. We paused for a drink in the principal hostelry, dazzled by its ostentation. Tables covered in rich materials, walls adorned with tapestries, intricate silver tea pots and candelabras. We settled in as the only group there and waited 40 minutes for a glass of wine as the gondolas passed back and forth, and back and forth, and back again.

Oh yes…the gymnastics

On Wednesday, 3 days in, we remembered why we were in fact in Baku, and trundled off to the gymnastics arena to see Taz in action. As we started to travel and enter buildings, the level of security everywhere became apparent. Bags are scanned at the entrance to the metro, everything is scanned on entrance to the gymnastics arena. I met the parents of a Swedish gymnast on the metro. Whilst we were wearing our navy GB supporters tops with Union Jack flags (even Nana who is Irish), the Swedes had been advised to hide their yellow supporters shirts until inside the arena. The shooting of Swedish football fans in Brussels last year in an act claimed by the Islamic State remains raw. Despite proudly carrying our flags, that didn’t prevent us from posing from a photo holding it upside down. Oops.

Fiver had her battery pack confiscated on the way into the venue, much to her chagrin, as it was believed to be a vape. It was thrown straight in the bin. I sense there is no messing about with the security here. That said, I do ask the diabetic in the group to smuggle in a bag of wine gums for me, we’re going to be in there a long time and there is a strict ‘no food from outside’ policy.

As we settle into uncomfortable seats in an arena, not for the first time, we steel ourselves for the opening ceremony. There is form here - they are normally fucking dreadful, but before we know it, Elvis is on stage and Nana is absolutely delighted. A mini Michael Jackson follows in what is without doubt the best opening ceremony I’ve been to. It was genuinely quite a joy, and then the team are up. Qualfiers - they need to come in the top 5 to be in Friday’s final. All the GB teams absolutely smash it - men/women/mixed, juniors and seniors. It’s gonna be a full house on Friday. Taz’s junior mixed team come second behind Iceland (it’s a very Scandi-dominated sport, see Part 1).

Qualifiers aren’t too stressful, it’s the finals that are almost unbearable. On the way back from the arena to where we are staying, I have a literal sliding doors moment on the metro and miss the train that everyone else gets on, so I take the chance to run back to the stadium, hug Taz extra hard and get her some chips from McDonalds.

Navigating the Baku metro alone takes me back fondly to my days of solo travel, and reminds me briefly of a former version of myself. My reverie swept aside as I rejoin the group, we joyfully gather for dinner and decompress over dishes of rustic chicken, lamb with tomato and pomegranate, tapas-esque ‘dolma’ stuffed with meat and spiced rice, and plates of local cheese. All served with delicious, slightly salty warm bread that oozes freshness and comfort.

The Land of Fire (and Bread)

On our fifth day, we take a tour out of the city to get a flavour of Azerbaijan, and learn more about this ‘Land of Fire’.

Our tour guide for the day was great, really engaging, and very keen to promote the secular and moderate nature of the country to us. I visited a mosque for the first time, which I found both profound and humbling. It felt like an honour to wear a headscarf and be welcomed in to such a holy place. Having been brought up a Catholic I am well used to the ignominy of overtly ostentatious surroundings within a house of prayer, however the beauty of the mosque felt somehow much more relatable, the rich green and blue walls and intricate carvings an homage to the shared history of its occupants. Gazing onto oil wells through the carved window frames of the women’s prayer room felt simultaneously contradictory and fitting.

Our guide explained to us very simplistically how in Azerbaijan there is no conflict between Sunni and Shi’a muslims because ‘that’s ridiculous’ (not my words!), and that they all get along very peacefully. He emphasised how other religions are not just tolerated, but welcomed, and was very keen to emphasise how women are treated with absolute equality… before going on to explain that men did all the heavy physical jobs because only they could, and that women were predominantly involved in education and childcare because everyone knows that women have more patience. I had to almost physically restrain my super fit and athletic friend in the seat in front of me, whilst noting her husband’s silent whole body guffaws from the seat next to her.

Our next stop took us to visit the quite remarkable prehistoric rock carvings of Gobustan National Park - a UNESCO World Heritage Site located on the south east part of the Great Caucusus mountain range. From there, we piled back into the bus to be expelled a short while later into a selection of beat-up Ladas to drive us out into the mud plains to visit ‘Da da da!! THE MUD VOLCANOES’. The highlight of this was the drive in itself. Careering across the mud at break-neck speed, watching the other cars through the heavily cracked windscreen (and not through the rear view where the broken glass was too heavily taped up to permit visibility). Feeling like we were in wacky races as we drove past an exhaust that must have fallen off a car in front as our driver opened his door to look behind him without easing off the gas in the slightest.

The mud volcanoes in themselves were somewhat underwhelming. Being about the size of a mole hill, the term ‘volcano’ felt a little bit of a stretch, yet it was strangely captivating to watch the grey liquid gurgle and bubble away, and to reach our hands in and paste the mud on our faces. We didn’t think that through, however, realising that there was nowhere to wash our hands before getting back in the car, and clinging on for our lives on the way back.

Our penultimate visit of the day was to the eponymous ‘Yanar Dag’, or Fire Mountain. This is why Azerbaijan is ‘The Land of Fire’. The fire at Yanar Dag is fed by natural gas seeping through the ground. The gas has no smell - apparently the ‘smell’ that we associate with gas in our homes is artificial to alert us to its presence - who knew?! Yanar Dag has apparently been burning for 3000 years, and although it’s not particularly vast, it’s quite extraordinary to behold. By the time we got to our final destination, the Fire Temple, on the way back, my fatigue had unsurprisingly taken hold. It was one stop too many for me, in what was otherwise an absolutely brilliant day. I limped back to my room for a shower before dinner, and instead feel asleep for the entire evening. Much needed.

The finals

And then, to the gymnastics finals. The excitement and nerves of watching your child compete at this level are hard to convey. When Taz is out there, I can barely breathe, let alone eat. I don’t record or take photos of any of the finals, I just need to watch, to be in the moment. The tension watching as each and every one of the gymnasts fly into the air is truly palpable - will they land? Will they make their skill? Will they get hurt? It is utterly nail biting. An integral member of our team is injured and cannot compete which is heartbreaking, yet he is there, shouting and cheering the loudest for his team mates like a true champion.

As we watched, Nana had forgotten her GB supporters top (accidentally on purpose?) and was resplendent in her Irish green t-shirt - which made it much easier for family watching at home to spot us in the crowd! To be fair she did join us with a Union Jack tattoo on her cheek - God only knows what my Dad would have made of that. As Denmark took their trademark gold in practically every category, our mens team romped home into a hugely proud fifth place, Taz’s mixed team were up next. Due to a glitch in the scoring system, the scores stopped being announced after round one.

Junior Mixed Team GB had been in second, but we felt that was possibly slipping away without being sure. In the third and final round, the scores came back up. Iceland were in first, Sweden in second, GB in third, and Denmark’s score still to come in which would clearly push us back to 4th. We had been so close. I started to prepare for Taz’s disappointment in not ‘medalling’, there had been such high hopes. I was so distracted thinking about how to handle this, that I barely registered Denmark’s score. It was lower than ours. LOWER!!!! How?!?!? They win EVERYTHING!! But not this time.

Taz’s mixed team secured bronze. As they took to the podium, and the Union Jack was raised (to the tune of the Icelandic gold medal winning anthem), emotions overtook me. I am not one for crying, but this was a truly wonderful moment. Having figured out that the arena security scan was a lot of style over substance, I popped out to get Taz and her teammates a McDonalds (well chips and a milkshake for her) from across the road. I knew she wouldn’t have eaten, and security didn’t bat an eyelid as I put the entire brown paper bag bulging with contraband through the scanner. Our GB women’s team took a proud 5th place, and then… we left. We’d next see Taz at the airport. (Spot Nana’s t-shirt - our new version of ‘Where’s Wally’).

Coming of age

The remaining time there turned to Fiver’s 18th birthday. At midnight on the night of the competition, she came of age. We celebrated with strawberry vodka shots and warm white wine in a bar in Fountain Square. The next morning she got her Nutella croissant in the French cafe, and then after a long pause to stroke cats, we visited the Museum of Miniature Books. A delightful folly of a place stacked floor to ceiling with tiny books from across the world. The smallest one was displayed in a case next to a pin head for reference. The pin head was about 20 times larger than the book. The whole miniature book experience did beg the question ‘why?’, but none of us could answer as all the explanations were written in Azeri.

For her birthday afternoon, instead of frantically trying to visit the places we hadn’t managed to get to, Fiver chose to ‘chill’. We met with friends, drank tea, and by Fiver’s request, ordered a shisha. She chose pineapple flavour much to my disgust, and as none of us are smokers or vapers in the family, requested it be of the weakest strength tobacco. She enjoyed it very much, and as an ex-smoker I could tell she has smoked more than I know. None of our group smoked (and only one vaped), and so initially no one else wanted to try the shisha, but that strange group mentality took hold…and suddenly everyone was at it. Even Nana. But then Nana doesn’t say no to much.

We finished off the week in the wonderful restaurant we had dined in on Wednesday. A cat came in and snuggled up in Fiver’s skirt as if he knew it was her birthday. We celebrated in a low key, exhausted yet delighted way, with soul food, piping hot bread and cold drinks, and then to bed.

Reflections

As we reunited with Taz at the airport, she wanted to hear how our week was, what Baku was like, what we’d experienced. I gave her a very abridged version, conscious of how much she wouldn’t have seen. I asked her if she had had the opportunity to visit places at all. ‘Oh just the arena, the supermarket, McDonalds, back to the arena, then the supermarket’. She had seen none of the city, and could just as well have been in Croydon. We were there because of her, and had the experience of a lifetime, as did she, but in such a significantly different way.

I felt sad for her, but she wasn’t sad. Whilst we had an extraordinary experience in a place we would never otherwise have visited, with the most incredible bunch of people (more on that next time), she also had an extraordinary experience with a group of young people who she is now connected to for life. And being a coeliac in the Land of Bread, who also has a cat allergy, maybe her and the Baku we experienced just wasn’t meant to be.

---

I hope you enjoyed this, a long read, and with so much to convey! I’d love to hear your thoughts.

As always,

Love & lemons 💕🍋

Em xx

My first book, Breaking Waves, is coming out March 2025 and is currently available for pre-order. If you want to learn more about the book publication process (what it’s REALLY like) then you can read all about that on my dedicated Book Deal Diaries series. This includes the ultimate VIDEO MASTERCLASS ‘From Book Inception to Book Deal Moment’. Paid subscribers have access to all of it.

You can pre-order BREAKING WAVES here: