Only 6km from Astara, the border town, is a roadside water
spring that one of the Azeri border guards told us about once he was satisfied
that we weren’t drug or arms smugglers. He pointed on our map and mimed water
flowing, then using a lighter indicated that the water would explode. We weren’t
exactly sure what he meant but it sounded pretty interesting so we thought we’d
have a look.
By asking directions from several obliging locals, we found
the spring called Yanar Bulaq. As we pulled up next to the small domed shelter
there were locals coming and going filling up large water canisters from the
spring. A little unsure of what we were actually supposed to do here, we sidled
up to the centre of the hub and awkwardly stood around waiting for everyone to
leave so we could figure out what to do. As people left though, more arrived,
but eventually a kind man ushered us over and demonstrated holding a lighter to
the top of the erupting spring and watching it burst into flames. Methane gas
occurs naturally at an exceptionally high rate in this particular source of
water and as a result the gas bubbles that emerge from the flow set alight.
Lighting and re-lighting the water, between others filling up their containers,
kept us occupied for quite some time. A simple but exciting natural delight
that was to be outshone by what we witnessed the following day.
A few kilometres from the main road we took an unmade track
that led to a ferociously muddy path on the side of a small hill. As we drove
towards our destination it began spitting and after not long it was raining
quite heavily. With 4WD on, we made it to the top of the hill and stopped at a
large orange danger sign (we assume – the words were obviously in Azeri, but
danger signs tend to look pretty similar worldwide) at the corner of a plateau.
We decided to sit in the car and wait out the rain a bit, but stupidly I got
out to take a photo. The mud plain that we were parked on was wet and sticky
because of the rain and my shoes became caked to the point where I could barely
lift my feet. Laying a plastic bag on the floor, I wiped the majority of the
mud off and got back in the car. A few minutes later the rain eased off so we
decided to brave the sludge, and tying plastic bags over our shoes (which in my
case were already covered anyway) made our way across the plateau to the volcanos.
The first 50m or so was easy enough to walk on, but then the ground became very
soft and very slippery. We found ourselves amidst a moon-like scape, small volcanos
– mostly a metre or two high – bubbling and erupting mud, rising out of the barren
brown ground. Still heavily overcast and now approaching dusk, the charcoal
gray sky and the rich brown ground made for an eerie picture. We scrambled and
slid our way up and down the sides of the volcanos, doing our very best to
remain on our bagged feet, which to the most part we managed. As the sky moved
from charcoal to navy and our plastic bags began ripping with the weight of the
mud, we made our way back to Trevor who was still waiting for us at the danger
sign.
Away from the incessant towns that are built up along the
main road, we wanted to find a camping spot nearby. Our usual concerns of wind,
flat ground, potential firewood and most importantly onlookers, was outweighed by
the possibility of rain exacerbating the already very soft ground. We found a
nice spot though where we had everything but firewood and thankfully it didn’t
rain overnight.
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