Leaving Baku we headed towards Yanar Dagh (Flaming
Mountain). Like with Darvaza, the gas crater in Turkmenistan (Blog Day 182 – The BurningGates of Hell), a supply of natural gas is seeping out of the ground and having
been set alight, is now continuously burning. We’ve heard a couple of stories
as to how it was set alight: one is that it was lit 1,000 or 2,000 years ago;
the other story involves a shepherd in the 1950’s dropping his cigarette on the
ground and getting a surprise when it exploded. Our problem is that having seen
the 70m gas crater in Turkmenistan, probably nothing in our lives will ever
live up to it, so this 10m of flaming hillside was a bit of a let-down. This is
much more an indictment on how amazing Darvaza was and how ridiculously high
our standards are now set. Any piece of rock that has been on fire for either
60 or thousands of years is pretty special.
We’ve seen a few relics of the almost extinct first
monotheistic religion of Zoroastrianism. Our first experience was a very
friendly group of them from Shiraz, visiting Gonbad e Kavus and using an
ancient tower as a haven where they could remove their headscarves and sing
traditional songs. Throughout Iran we came across various fire temples and
visited a couple of ruined ones. Not far from Baku we visited Atashgah, a fire
temple which is in the process of renovation. Some of the fires have been relit
by connecting gas mains, which although not true to history, seems the only way
to maintain the essence of the temple. Around the walls are small rooms that
would have been used as sleeping quarters, or in fact torture chambers. Now
they are inhabited by manikins depicting examples of self torture, and an
amusing array of workmen’s gear and food supplies. The men rebuilding the walls
have quite clearly moved in for the duration of their contract, and claiming
the place as their own did not adjust their work just because they had a few
tourists. Rocks were being thrown off 5m walls with complete disregard of
whether anyone was below, and we had some cement scraped off right on top of
our heads.
Covered in dust from being amidst a construction site, we
headed towards the town of Shaki, taking a small detour off the main road to
visit the mountain village of Lahic. Aside from the spectacular drive and the
quaint town, the detour was well worth it for cheaper saffron than we can
comprehend. Not usually in the market for such a product, I am led to believe
that in Australia it is horribly expensive, costing over $5 per gram (this
figure may be inaccurate). In Iran we were told about how cheap it was compared
to the world market. The family who kindly invited us into their home in Shiraz
gifted us with a small box with a couple of grams in it, which they had bought
for a couple of dollars. In Lahic however, we were able to buy a bag weighing
probably over an ounce for only 2 Manat ($2.50).
Shaki is a rural town with a renovated old town. There were
a few things we were interested in visiting there – a couple of museums, a Shar’s
Palace and examples of the local unique style of making stained glass windows.
The thing that really drew us though was the opportunity to stay at a
beautifully converted karavan saray. Sure enough the place was charming with a
lovely garden courtyard surrounded by two-storey walls of arched entrance ways
leading to the renovated sleeping quarters. The entrance to a cafe offering
shisha, tea and traditional Azeri sweets lay at one end of the courtyard,
whilst the large brick entrance hall, lit by brass chandeliers and fitted with
a small pond, lay at the other. With soft beds, couches, bathrooms and a
television in each room, it’s the best accommodation we’ve stayed at in a very
long time.
As with most old towns, it was a bit deserted so we headed
towards the real town for a bite to eat for lunch. Before we got there though,
a fast food place caught our attention and we decided to give that a go. The
building was new, but done in the traditional naked brick with arched windows
and doors. Inside was fitted with brand new Ikea style wooden tables and round
light fittings, and decorated with Grill’d style “trendy” posters and wall
hangings. Apart from a lady stroking a sleeping baby who was laid out on four
chairs, the restaurant was empty. We approached the spotless, brand new
counter, and feasted our eyes on the extensive overhead menu of chicken,
burgers, fries, ice cream and soft drink. When nobody appeared from behind the
shiny silver kitchen fittings, we got the attention from the lady with a baby
and tried to order. She apparently did work there after all, and informed us
that actually that menu wasn’t available and slid a laminated doner, soup and
salad menu towards us. We made our choices, ordered and sat down at a table.
She walked past the unused post mix machine, switched the extractor fan on and
exited the kitchen through a back door.
A few minutes later she returned and pulled cold sausages
and bread from a cupboard in the kitchen, which she then fed to her baby and
ate herself while we waited for our lunch. After 10 minutes or so we were
seriously considering whether there was anyone cooking our food. We could see
an empty doner meat rotator, none of the bain maries were switched on and no
one other than this lady had appeared from anywhere – and she certainly wasn’t
cooking our food. She had switched on the fan, but was that just for show? Had
we found ourselves at an exhibition-only fast food joint?
When her and her baby had finished their lunch, we asked how
much longer we’d be waiting. She indicated 5 minutes, and rushed on out back
again. Was there really someone there that she was talking to about our food? Then
a few minutes later, we watched in bemusement as a man carried a plastic bag
from his car to the front door of the restaurant, and our “waitress” rushed to
meet him. Obviously embarrassed, she grabbed the bag from him, and briskly
walked straight past us to the kitchen. He was obviously supposed to deliver it
to the back door, but had made a heinous mistake. Our food had actually been
ordered from elsewhere and delivered! We were right – there really wasn’t
anyone in the kitchen cooking for us. She returned from the kitchen a few
minutes later with our food emptied from the plastic carry bags and laid on a
selection of mismatched side plates and paper bowls.
According to all the leaflets lying around, this place was
open 24/7, and when we passed at 11pm or so that night, all the lights were
off, but the sign still said “open”. I guess she and her baby just sleep there
on the off-chance that a customer will show up at any hour. We considered how
amusing it would be to go in at 3am and just order a bread or a serving of
chips.
This wasn’t our only ridiculous meal experience during our
one day stay in Shaki. That evening we made our way into the real town centre.
After we stopped for a drink in a cafe/bar where I was the only woman, we were
the only group under the age of 60, and the only customers not drinking tea, we
sat down for a meal at the only restaurant we could find. The interior was adorned
with stuffed animals and birds, brass chandeliers, antique bottles and
ornaments, and a huge group of Asian tourists. The seats we were guided to were
up a narrow staircase, along a thin landing and through a wooden door which even
I had to duck to get through. Behind this door was a room that can only be
described as a large barrel (large for a barrel, not for a room), in which our
table was waiting for us. The waiter adamantly closed the door on us, not understanding
that we weren’t particularly keen on absolute privacy, and would prefer not to
be cooped up in a 2m x 2m barrel. Unlike lunch this was certainly a real
restaurant with a functioning kitchen, but we ate our meal inside a barrel.
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