An ode to fabulous hospitality in Azerbaijan

Posted on June 16, 2013 by Delia

I know it sounds a bit naff but sometimes I can’t help but think that things really do happen for a reason. Like the last time I was travelling and I didn’t get the job on a newspaper back home, causing me to spend another six months in Australia and meet Matty, or the time that mum wouldn’t let me sit in the front seat once and two minutes later we crashed into a van carrying ladders, which went straight through the windscreen on the passenger side. Or the time at Baku train station when I decided to buy four beers for our overnight journey to Seki, a mountainous village in northwest Azerbaijan.

As I’ve mentioned in every post for the last two months, there are three of us on this trip – me, Matty and the Mongoose. Three beers would have been the normal choice, but as I pulled them out of the fridge, my hand instinctively went back for a fourth. Matty and the Mongoose eyed the fourth beer suspiciously upon my return.

We climbed aboard the beautifully retro train, introduced ourselves to the two others in our little room and then took our beers to that strange no-man’s land of trains, between carriages, that rattles and shakes precariously across the tracks for a night-cap.

It was there we met Elchin. A country lad who now works in the capital Baku, he was returning home to visit his family for the weekend. His English was brilliant and we started chatting about cultural differences between our countries. This might not sound of much significance but few people we’d met spoke good English and we were bursting at the seams with questions, or at least I was. We dashed off to get that fourth beer for Elchin.

As we all clinked bottles, Elchin said: “You must come and visit my family tomorrow, I’ll show you around.” By the end of the bottle we had a plan, we were to spend the next day in Seki as planned, but the following day we would travel to Elchin’s home town of Zaqatala, to spend the day with his family.

Two days later we saw his smiling face again, as he met us off the bus in his home town and loaded our bags into his brother’s car. As we wandered the local market he was continually greeted by old friends and acquaintances. He had not been home for three months, he explained.

Here he is buying what I can only describe as deep fried bread, which incidentally is bloody good.

This is the man responsible for said deep fried bread. Good man.

Then we turned a corner and found ourselves in the live meat section. A couple of chickens had a cross word…

We left the fighting cocks behind (fret not, it was not a real cock fight just a couple of chickens squaring up to each other) to explore the little known city of Zaqatala, which must be pronounced in a mythical spellbinding manner, like a magician crying ‘abracadabra’.

And enjoyed a pot of cey (tea) in a lovely park at the top of the city.

Then it was time to return to his house for a spot of lunch. As we pulled into his lovely farmyard home, we were greeted by grazing cows, clucking chickens and his beaming mother who warmly embraced us as we each stepped out of the car. His father, brother, sister in law and their two little children all greeted us with friendly Salam’s and we were soon settled down in a shady spot under a large hazelnut tree for a bite to eat.

And then just when we thought the day could not improve, Elchin announced he needed to tend to the cows, and somewhat amused by my enthusiasm to help, agreed that yes I could help water them.

My hose holding skills were second to none.

Finally, somewhat overwhelmed by the fabulous hospitality, kindness, good food, and farmyard labour (what do you mean, I was only holding a hose?), we returned to our shady spot for a snooze.

As the cows nudged us awake we realised, with some regret, it was time to get the sleeper train back to Baku. The four of us piled into the car and stopped for a quick beer at a shady little cafe by the river that runs alongside the railway line.

“Four beers please,” Elchin ordered in Azeri. And as we raised our glasses for a second time in 48 hours we toasted to kindness, hospitality and new friends. Because really, there is no finer way to see a country.

Walking in the Debed Canyon, Armenia

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Delia

Does it sound strange if I admit that during my time in Armenia I asked our guesthouse host if she knew anyone with sheep and cows who I could go and hang out with for the day? No, I don’t think so either. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

The thing is, in Armenia you don’t just see the occasional field scattered with a smattering of farmyard animals, you literally find them in their hundreds, being herded down the road like a massive army of floating woolly jumpers by a charismatic looking man carrying a crooked stick. And I just kind of wanted to hang out with him and his animals. And squeal and take pictures.

So it was in this vein that I found myself asking Irina, our wonderful host at Iris guesthouse in Debed Canyon, if she could set me up with a shepherd for the day. She seemed a little confused by the request and as I tried to explain myself, Matty and the Mongoose just sat back in silence, smiling as I dug myself deeper into a crazy-sounding hole.

A glimmer of hope appeared when she started dialling a number, explaining she had some friends with sheep, but then the whole thing was suddenly forgotten about and people started talking about monasteries or something.

So, instead of spending our last day in Armenia with a shepherd or cow herder, we opted to do a 7km walk from Haghpat Monastery to Sanahin Monastery in the Debed Canyon instead. And it wasn’t that I was disappointed with this decision as such, it’s just that we had already seen our fair share of religious sites and I just fancied hanging out with the locals, and their animals.

But as we approached the monastery even the voice in my head, that had been threatening to just get out of the taxi if I saw a cow herder and insist on spending the day with him, fell silent. Because it was very pretty indeed.

And after a quick look around, we left the monastery behind us and clambered down the hill to begin the walk.

We had scant details of the route but with an air of boy scoutishness about us, we crossed a gurgling river, climbed up a huge hill, found an ancient, neglected fortress and clambered over huge rocks that made me feel like Tarzan.

And then finally, after crossing an entire gorge and climbing up the other side, we reached what can only be described as a riot of flowers. A wild meadow of flowers, right up to our knees…

The flowers seemed to go on for miles and miles, as if multiplying in front of our eyes as they swayed in the wind. At first we tried to be careful not to tread on them but as they got thicker across the fields it became impossible not to.

After having a hearty skip through the daisies (well, Matty and the Mongoose that is) we reached a small village that had that reassuring smell of cow pat. What is it about cow pat and horse manure that instead of screwing up your nose in disgust as you do on train toilets, you simply fill your lungs with the stuff and sigh contently?

But it wasn’t just the smell, there was something else… a sound. A sound not dissimilar to that of the Mongoose tucking into a medium rare steak, I might add. As the boys walked on ahead I peered over a fence on my tip toes, to find something that made me positively squeal with delight.

And this:

And then, just when I thought my discovery couldn’t get any better, I looked to my right and chanced upon two baby calves. Just sitting there all doe eyed with their gangly little legs tucked under them.

By now the squealing and frantic photography had reached a great crescendo and a bemused woman stepped out of her house, confused to see an excitable blonde girl cooing over her calves.

“Awwww, look at the little runt,” I cried in sympathy, pointing at the little brown piglet that attached himself to his mum too late for a decent position, still trying to get some milk from here teats after the others had long sucked her dry.

The woman smiled at me, she understood. She opened the pen gate and the little runt came flying out, oinking squeakily as he scattered across the road as if still a little uncertain on his legs. The woman ushered me into the driveway of her home and starting filling a little saucer of milk, which the little piglet scampered up to and started lapping up.

I wanted to stroke him, but I’m not sure if it’s socially acceptable to stroke pigs in rural Armenia so instead I just continued to coo in excitement. The woman, by now probably thinking she had stumbled across some mad city folk that did not get out much, asked us if we would like a coffee.

I jumped at the opportunity (it had got to the point where I probably couldn’t hang out with the animals for much longer without getting to know their owner) and the Mongoose had that caffeine haunted look in his eyes.

She led us through a door into a small room that seemed to be the living room, bedroom and kitchen in one. She pointed on the bed for us to sit on, while she poured ground coffee and water into a small pan, which she then placed on a single gas ring in the middle of the room.

Sweet, soft bread was torn into pieces and placed on a plate on the table pushed against the back wall, which we ate with strong, soft sheep’s cheese, which was probably produced by a neighbour down the road. (I made a mental note to find the sheep before we left.)

She spoke no English but we communicated in pidgin Russian, body language and smiles. We did not need a common language to understand that she was kind, had nothing but offered us everything, and for her to understand that we were very, very grateful. As we bid our farewells, she pulled me in, held me tightly and gave me a big kiss on the cheek.

It was splendid. One of those rare days that grabs all your wishes in one big bag, as crazy as they may seem, and just dumps it on you. But as we started walking home, just when I thought they’d all come true, we heard the unmistakable sound of hooves on a stony path and saw the crooked stick of a smiling cow herder…

Amoo-zing.

Travel Tips

Where to stay in Debed Canyon?
We stayed at Iris guesthouse, run by the lovely Irina Israyelyan and her husband. The accommodation is exceptional – the three of us were given two bedrooms and a huge adjoining lounge with two balconies overlooking the lush, green valley.

The couple were extremely attentive, cooked delicious meals for us each evening and on our last morning with them, Irina even baked us a beautiful cake that was deliciously syrupy. We were quite spoilt.

BREAKFAST.

A room costs 8,000 Dram per night including breakfast, plus 3,000 (a total of about £17). You can call Irina on +374 (253)23839 or email her at irinaisrayelyan@gmail.com

The Weird and Wonderful things about Georgia

Posted on May 24, 2013 by Delia

With its fabulous food, stunning scenery and charming ways, Georgia is without a doubt a great place to visit. It’s cheap, very cheap, and – just to top it all off – it has some weird and wonderful oddities, that I thought only right to share.

1) Wine: The Georgians make plenty of their own vino… A lot of it tends to be sweet (even the red wine) but perhaps more surprising than that, is the ingenious lengths they go to when bottling the stuff. It is commonly found in huge vats resembling vegetable oil and in strange little goblin bodies. The Mongoose was determined to drink all the goblins under the table.

2) Cheese: Any country where the ‘weird and wonderful’ list begins with cheese and wine is a wonderful one in my book. But nevertheless, the Georgians deserve a special mention here for the sheer amount of cheese they eat. This dish was served, bubbling and sizzling in its deep pan and as it was placed on the table our waitress declared it loudly and proudly: ‘Cheeeeeeeese!’

Huge quantities of cheese are seved with almost everything… Their national staple is Khachapuri, which is basically a cheese pie in a deep crust, served with half a block of butter and two fried eggs on top. I kid you not.

3) COWS!!! Yes, this list gets better, I hear you cry. Georgia literally has hundreds of cows – and sheep – roaming its streets, causing traffic to stop. They are beautiful and should be worshipped.

4) Hygiene: Georgia gets a special mention for its cleaning products sounding downright dirty. Especially its barf cleaner.

5) Loo roll: Confession – on my first day in Georgia I went without using any toilet paper at all as I just couldn’t find any in our hostel bathroom. It later transpired that this bandage-like object is actually the bog roll. Yes, it’s a tad scratchy.

6) Statues: Georgia has weird and wonderful statues all over the place. They are not shy of a bit of gold and elaborate statues of the golden fleece and whatnot often look fairly incongruous to their surroundings, just like the one at the top of this post which was taken in the coastal town of Batumi. Here’s a few more:

7) Ferris wheels: From the highest point in the crumbling, old town of Tbilisi to the sea level of Batumi, it costs less than a £1 to ride the Georgian ferris wheels which, we concluded, is a delightful way of seeing the surroundings.

8) Toasting: Georgian toasts are incredibly long and will leave you holding your glass in the air for long enough to wonder if you should put it down again. But at the same time they are often wonderfully thoughtful and poignant. The traditional feast is called a Supra, and each Supra will have a Tamada, a toastmaker, who will lead the toasts throughout the meal. It starts with a toast to God and peace and then moves onto everything from plans and dreams to absent friends. Oh, and did I mention that you have to down your drink at every toast? One person is always given the role of ‘merrykeeper’ whose job it is to keep everybody’s glasses full at all times. I think it was appropriate to scream: ‘Keep me merry!’ at him throughout the evening.

Weekend Cottage with a Hot Tub in Suffolk: Perfect for Four Little Piggies

Posted on February 10, 2013 by Delia

Everybody has a little piglet in them. Whether it’s behaving like hogs at the trough, indulging in a little dirt and mud every now and then, or perhaps thinking you’re a little bit cleverer then your pen mates sometimes, we’re not as different to our curly-tailed friends as you may think.

So it was quite appropriate after a two and a half hour journey from Nottingham to Suffolk (pigging out on pretzels and banana cake) that four little piggies arrived at Piglet’s Place, in a little village called Culford in Suffolk.

Matty and I are desperately trying to make sure we spend lots of time with our loved ones before we depart on our trip across Central Asia, and that is exactly what brought us to Culford with our good friends Gemma and Marco. We had a boot full of booze and grub, and a new, shiny pen to play in for the weekend.

Formerly a pig barn, Piglet’s Place has been somewhat spruced up in recent years.

We walked in, bagsied bedrooms and furiously filled up the fridge for the weekend.

But Piglet’s Place is more than just a posh pigs pen, it is a posh pigs pen with a hot tub. I have decided that cottages with hot tubs in the UK are the perfect answer to dealing with the uncertainties of British weather. I don’t mind battling the horizontal rains on a walks that leave you exposed to the elements for hours on end, but I do want to warm up afterwards. And hot tubs are the perfect way to soothe those aching trotters after such countryside adventures. It’s one of the few British outdoor activities where it doesn’t matter if its raining – in fact it is almost better if it is, just take a shower cap instead of an umbrella.

To be fair, the hot tub is more like a nightclub under the stars… It has flashing disco lights (I know, amazing), you can be in it until 3am – and you don’t wear many clothes. It might just be my new favourite club.

But it was the little touches that made this cottage stand out from the rest. Sitting on the work surface of the kitchen, in a cute little blue tin, sat a homemade cake, freshly baked for us.

Let me repeat that – they had baked us a cake! It was delicious and we ate it for breakfast.

So aside from eating, drinking and hot tub dancing, there is plenty to do in this corner of the world. Surrounded by acres upon acres of beautiful countryside there are plenty of walks to enjoy – and it is also near the quaint town of Bury St Edmunds, which is home to the Greene King brewery and has lots of lovely pubs and restaurants scattered across its cobbled streets. Oh, sorry that’s eating and drinking again, isn’t it?

We went for a lovely 6.5 mile walk across Thetford Forest, filled with tall, skinny trees as high a the sun and was quite delightful.

Me (on the left) with Gemma and Marco being naughty piglets. Do not try this at home folks.

A pretty river runs through the forest.

Sun worshipping.

This little piggy got numb fingers (me).

This little piggy led the way (Gemma).

This little piggy walked in the road (Marco).

And this little piggy went (for a) ‘wee, wee, wee’ all over the forest (Matty).

Then it was over to Bury St Edmunds for an ale or two. The pretty town boasts a wonderful old abbey that dates back to 633 and was over-run by the town’s people in 1327 who destroyed the Abbey Gate and killed several monks, as well as decapitating the abbot as he tried to flee. The placard, telling the story of the abbey, read like it had almost been written by the town’s people themselves – clearly quite proud of their rebellious history.

Abstract shot of the old abbey.

The Abbey Gates as they stand today.

All in, it was the perfect retreat for four little piggies… who did not want to drive ‘all the way home’ on Sunday afternoon.

Traveller’s Tips

Piglet’s Place is run by the lovely Steve Flack of Home Farm. He has about three properties on the farm and they also share a swimming pool, which opens in the summer. At least two of the properties have private hot tubs – we originally intended to book The Dairy, which is a smaller two-bed cottage with a hot tub. There was some confusion with our booking but Steve ended up offering us five star Piglet’s Place (which has three bedrooms) for £182 for two nights, which was the price of The Dairy at this time of year.

To make a booking or find out more click here.

There are some fab pubs within a one to three mile radius of the cottage including the Cadogan Arms at Ingham, the Woolpack at Fornham St Martin and the Three Kings at Fornham All Saints. We ate at the Cadogan Arms, which is more like a gastropub restaurant than your average spit and sawdust style ale house. The food was exceptional – we enjoyed perfectly cooked medium rare steaks and beautiful tempura squid. The wine list is very good and a two course meal with plenty of wine cost about £40 per head.

PS And I can’t believe its taken me this long to mention this – Piglet’s Place is a working farm and they have an amazing shed of cows that you can go and hang out with. Amoozing!

Where to eat in Denpasar? Everywhere.

Posted on September 28, 2012 by Delia

I often wish I was a cow. More specifically, a cow with four stomachs. Can you imagine going off to have lunch somewhere and filling one stomach, while deliberating over your next few restaurants for the remaining three stomachs? In fact, by the time the fourth one was full, the first stomach would probably be ready for its next fill. You could literally eat all day.

The irony, of course, is that while we have so many different flavours and cuisines with which to fill our one stomach, cows only have grass. Life’s a bitch.

Denpasar, the capital of Bali, is definitely a cow’s haven. If I could be a cow for one day, I think I would be one in Denpasar. Admittedly, the city’s busy, traffic-choked streets are a bit of a shock to the system after so much horizontal time around the island’s coastline, but it has hundreds of little warungs, in which to seek refuge.

We travelled to Denpasar from Bali’s infamous town Kuta, purely for lunch. We had a wonderful taxi driver who regaled tales of life in his village and was seemingly bemused by our desire to travel to Denpasar (more than an hour in hideous traffic) just for lunch. We explained we had heard the food was very good and very cheap.

‘But after the taxi price, it is the same price in Kuta,’ he said, chuckling to himself. He had a point there, but Kuta is where food goes to die (there will be a blog on this to follow).

With dozens and dozens of shack-like warungs, lining the city’s roads, heaving with locals, it was tricky to know which one to go for. We had been recommended a little place called Cak Asm and as we only had one chance to get it right, unlike cows, we headed straight there.

I was delighted to find we were the only tourists there, always a good sign.

There’s Matty sticking out like a sore thumb.

Nevertheless, the menu was largely translated into English and we were given our own little waitress’ notepad to jot down our order. The food was seriously cheap. The Indonesian classic dish of Nasi Goreng (delicious fried rice with an egg on top) was a mere 9,000 Rupiahs (50p), about three times cheaper than we’d found it elsewhere. And the calamari was a mere 21,000 Rupiahs (£1.40). They were basically giving it away. We ordered more dishes than two people really should.

Our food arrived and adequately covered the table. We’d ordered a chicken in chilli sauce, which was served in a tasty chilli infused oyster sauce, providing a delightful spice kick and tasty contrast to the other dishes. The vegetable stir fry was light and crunchy and the Nasi Goreng tasted more like a Chinese stir fried rice than the Balinese dish, but was good nevertheless.

However, it was the calamari that really stole the show.

I’m quite fussy when it comes to fried calamari. I like the squid to be soft and not rubbery, and I like the batter to be crispy – not wet – a nice, firm crispy crust, thank you very much. But not too thick or heavy. Oh, and ideally some fresh lemon to squeeze and coarse black pepper to grind, while it’s all still hot from the fryer.

This was better than any of that. The crisp, firm batter, which we were told is a mix of eggs and garlic, was so heavenly it needed no accompaniment. The calamari alone was worth the taxi ride. It was beautiful.

To complete our food odyssey, we headed to the local market. We’d read that it was worth exploring and were not disappointed. Almost like an old multi-storey car park, the market is absolutely rammed full of every fruit, vegetable and spice that you can think of. Few tourists seem to make it to Denpasar so as we weaved our way through the gritty, warehouse-like nooks and crannies of the market, we were very much a spectacle. There was a lot of oohing, ahhhhing and shrieking from old woman. One asked for a kiss from me, while another shoved flowers up Matt’s nose. We think they were all gestures of love.

Balangan Beach, Bali: Ice Cream You Scream

Posted on September 12, 2012 by Delia

I’m trying to act just like a surfer… Just doing the tanned, nonchalant thing, looking cool. The only problem is I’m not yet tanned (day two in Bali and I have a red chest and white legs), I’m not really pulling off the cool thing (I keep getting over excited by bits in my book and squealing) and I don’t have a surf board – I have never surfed in my life.

I think I am the only person on Balangan Beach that can make such a claim. This beautiful, white sandy cove is scattered with tanned and toned beach bods who, when they are not out in the ocean riding the waves, are sitting in the sand hugging their surf boards, waiting for the right moment to get back in the water.

It means the sun beds are free for the likes of me. The beach has an ‘undiscovered’ feel to it, there are a handful of palm-thatched shacks that line the shore, providing some much needed shade, snacks and drinks, while also contributing to the rustic charm of the beach.

That’s the look I’m working on…

There’s not too much hassle and hardly any hawkers, but there is a lovely little man who wonders down the beach with his ice cream box crying, ‘Ice cream, you scream!’ That’s quite hard to say no to. Another bonus to this little cove, which is on the western coast of the very southern tip of Bali, is its beautiful sunsets. It is the perfect place to watch the day turn into the evening while digging your feet into the sand, which is scattered with corals and shells, and drinking a Bintang or two. (Bintang is the local beer and I thoroughly recommend it.)

We are staying at Flowerbud Bungalows, which sits on the cliff above the cove, just a few minutes walk away. The pretty little winding path down to the beach takes you past a few Balinese cows (I love cows!) that actually wear cow bells. This is brilliant, I thought they only wore these in Scandinavian films and songs.

Our bungalow is beautiful. Thatched with a palm front, it is made from bamboo and has a lovely spacious porch area at the front with chairs and a chaise longue style day-bed for cheeky mid-day siestas. The room itself has a large four poster bed with a mosquito net draped over it but my favourite bit is the outdoor bathroom where the shower spout just chucks sun-heated water over you.

But we shall bid farewell to it tomorrow for we are off to Ubud, the ‘spiritual heart’ of Bali according to the Lonely Planet. So by this time tomorrow I will probably be a Buddhist surfer.

World in Words

By a girl who loves to write, eat and explore…

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