Limbo land

Same old same old in Baku. (How blasé I must sound to those in more settled lives in the US!). Take my daily commute. Down four flights of mostly unlit steps and across the rough entry way (someone next door had dug up the pavement to install some kind of pipe, and never replaced the pavers at our building's entrance).  Down the street, through vehicles filled with children and their drivers pulling up to a school, then past the school walking against a throng of children arriving on foot.

Then the first test of the day: crossing the main street. There used to be a crosswalk, but it was removed when the street was repaved. Not that it helped, really, but did give a welcome psychological boost at least.  BMW police cars whiz by, as other vehicles, heedless of pedestrians. Once in a while a car will stop and wait for me, their kindness almost bringing me to tears because it is lovely and rare and welcome.  Usually I dart halfway, holding my breath. On lucky days there is another person crossing at the same time. Safety in numbers.  What chances people take. What are the traffic death statistics here, morbid curiosity wonders.

On through the manicured park with its mature trees brought from Europe many decades ago. . The park is extra-atmospheric as it lies adjacent to the ancient city walls. One day, the muzak piped into an ornate fountain plaza has been inadvertently left on all night. A bit bizarre at 7:30 a.m. One is tempted to sort of waltz along.  It is loud!

There are several pairs of parakeets (?) , no doubt descendants of one that must have been set free sometime in the past and have miraculously survived Baku winters. When the weather starts to warm they venture out, and may even splash about in the upper tier of the fountain.  Not today--maybe they don't like the Muzak.

On to the Metro through its dramatic Louvre-like glass pyramid entrance building. A full four minutes of my/everyone's commute devoted to descending the escalator into the bowels of the Old City., entertained by LED lights along the sides that change color every few seconds.

The Metro is efficient. Cars are old Soviet bare bones hulks. I love that a different tune is played arriving at each station, hear your tune and come to--time to get off.  Three stops for me, then a bus.

I have a choice of three buses. My favorite is the least frequent, so it's a treat should it come. It takes me across a street nearest to the school where I work.  One more crossing adventure…  The second drops me on a main street--I have to ask for the bus to stop there, which they are fine to do if they understand what you want :-)--which I walk down weaving through a bunch of parked cars and uneven pavement but only a few puddles if it has rained.  The third, most frequent, bus drops me at the end of a formerly paved street rife with muddy potholes,  wandering chickens, and sometimes bleating sheep in pens or trucks alongside.  I think there is a butchery.  If it has rained it is really unpleasant. In this area live refugees from Nagorno-Karabagh.

The school has no sign. Although a major and well known international school, it is not registered with the government.

Looking forward to life in the tropics in well-ordered Malaysia, though that is not yet 100% for sure. The school in Penang clearly wants T for the job, has sent a welcome packet and is asking to arrange air tickets, but we still don't have a contract in hand. Their board was reviewing salaries for next year, and now the contracts are with a lawyer for review.  Hopefully soon it will be settled.