Celebrating the New Year..
2012 is here, and I’m back in Sirvan after ringing in the New Year in
Baku. At first the trip didn’t seem as if it were going to happen, all the places we could afford were booked. Then my site mate Malaika’s host mom found us an apartment and the weekend was on.
Baku. At first the trip didn’t seem as if it were going to happen, all the places we could afford were booked. Then my site mate Malaika’s host mom found us an apartment and the weekend was on.
New Year’s Eve we headed to the Fountain Square area, roughly Baku’s equivalent to Times Square, where a crowd gathers to welcome the New Year. Even early in the evening, firecrackers were going off around us. It was deafening and terrifying since there are no prohibitions against throwing them into the crowd of spectators. We took refuge in a restaurant for dinner, followed by a walk down to the Boulvar, a nice park above the seaside that was also packed with thousands of people, out to see the “Yeni Il” decorations which look remarkably like our Christmas trees.
Although there were families in the crowd, it seemed to consist mostly of young men who didn’t care if anyone got hurt . Everywhere I looked there were legions of black jackets and black overcoats. Some of the locals were harassing us, so we headed to a well known ex-pat bar.
Sure enough, there was a trio of fellow PCV’s outside, and more inside. We had drinks, and a chance to catch up.. and moved on to a smaller less smoky place to welcome 2012. It was great to experience a Baku New Year, and all the craziness outside.
New Years’ Day I headed to Xirdalan to see my old host family. It was a quick bus ride, and a good chance to catch up with them. I was welcomed “home” and told not to bother calling when I wanted to come because it was after all my home too any time I wanted to be there.
The next day I jumped on a bus back to a major bazaar on the outskirts of
Baku. From the highway it looks like a sprawling outlet mall. Somewhere around the bazaar, I could find my next bus to Sirvan. Gunya, my Xirdalan host mom who was worried about me getting lost called to tell the driver where I was going. When I told her I couldn’t get my cell phone to him, she settled for telling another passenger what I needed. That person didn’t know where I should transfer, so my route soon became a topic of conversation in the back of the bus. When I tried to get off at one point, another passenger restrained me. At the next stop, he shooed me off and pointed to a collection of minibuses waiting across the parking lot. I climbed into a Sirvan bus, and waited for it to fill up. Marshrutkas don’t leave until they are full. When enough people were herded in, and all seats taken we headed south.
Baku. From the highway it looks like a sprawling outlet mall. Somewhere around the bazaar, I could find my next bus to Sirvan. Gunya, my Xirdalan host mom who was worried about me getting lost called to tell the driver where I was going. When I told her I couldn’t get my cell phone to him, she settled for telling another passenger what I needed. That person didn’t know where I should transfer, so my route soon became a topic of conversation in the back of the bus. When I tried to get off at one point, another passenger restrained me. At the next stop, he shooed me off and pointed to a collection of minibuses waiting across the parking lot. I climbed into a Sirvan bus, and waited for it to fill up. Marshrutkas don’t leave until they are full. When enough people were herded in, and all seats taken we headed south.
