PLANET MOORES: (Mostly) Gripes and Ganja

After a two week odyssey we got TV service. K had to sign a two page contract in Azerbaijani. And she learned a new word, kohne, which means "worn-out"--the state of both the two TVs we have, the second one given after we complained about the first and asked for something "from this century." Unfortunately the replacement we got has only blue for color, and the sound comes and goes. Oh well. The main snafu re installation had to do with our location down the hill from the (er, one of?) the presidential palaces, which required the landlady being here to show her ID to allow access to the roof. It took many phone calls and three trips of the TV technicians to sort that all out. But now we have BBC, CNN, a channel with some US dectective series, a BBC entertainment channel, and a couple of decent sports channels.

So, due to the TV odyssey K met the landlady, presumed decorator of our flat and player of the locked baby grand that takes up a significant piece of real estate in the living room. She spent several hours in the apartment with K, while the TV people did their thing and while she waited for her sister to bring us a small bookcase (so that, no doubt, K would remove the books from the closed piano keyboard, where she had put them in defiance). K thought it was a pleasant visit—the lady played the piano while her sister and K listened. And K thought sure she would leave it unlocked when they left, but no… While here, she visited the bathroom and told K that she needed a maid, and suggested a person. All in Russian with hand gestures but the message got through. Sigh—it does SO not feel like a home. K was even polite when landlady asked if she liked the gold table cloth. Now of course K wishes she had been honest and pointed out the holes in it, or not that, but waved her hand at all the locked storage and expressed annoyance, incredulity. Or just asked if she would please unlock the darn piano.

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I started Azerbaijani class yesterday. I have a private teacher, in a language school used by BP execs. Classes are held a short bus ride away, down the coast, near BP’s aging (40s?) headquarters , up the hill from the world’s tallest flagpole (ah, but I heard that Kazakhstan just bult a taller one…). The course is practical and well organized and the teacher engaging and patient.

Pronunciation challenges are aided by my previous attempts to learn some Arabic (e.g. “gh”, rolled). To Tom, of course my practice seems only more growling and spitting…

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We had a great trip over Eid break to Gangja, Azerbaijan's second largest city--300,000 people.
Here is a photo of the window covering in the first class train compartment. And a tiny one of three of Tom K and one of our two fun traveling companions, Nicole.

The main square of Ganja.

Rasta colored park benches

Nicole, Andrea and Tom in front of section of old city wall--which is all that remains

Nice iron work

Fanciful fountain in front of tea house in a park

Here we are at the tea house, \(traditionally the purview of men only, but this one seemed welcoming)

House decorated with hundreds of bottles, as a memorial to a mssing relative

Bottle house detail

Market!

Costume in shop window--this is what you wear to your circumcision ceremony!!

On a minibus on our way to a village to explore.

View from Xanlar, a picturesque village not far from Ganja. Tom with two of his harem...

These are "buta" symbols. Famous here but T and I can't remember what they mean!

This is a photo we saw in a very modest hotel in Xanlar. It shows President Obama with an Azeri dignitary--the ambassador to the US perhaps?

Andrea and Nicole

Andrea pretending to appreciate Khash, delicacy of Ganja, made from unmentionable bits of some animal--there was actually a hoof floating in it!! And yes, Tom ate it (well, not the hoof). It did have lots of garlic.