AZERBAIJAN

Our one-night stay in Tbilisi was a complete tease. I could tell on the way out the next morning that we’d missed out on a splendid city. But ‘tis the nature of the Mongol Rally. Adios, Georgia! Onward ho! 

It was around sixty kilometers from Tbilisi to the border, and after leaving the city we cruised into a barren landscape. Henry and Brad were still following us, and we convoyed east through the desert towards Azerbaijan. The border was backed up, and the bottleneck brought together a caravan of around ten rally cars. 

I took over driving from Johannes once we crossed the border, and soon after that I was pulled over by the cops. It was a lonely stretch of road, and off to the side stood a big police station. At that point in the rally there had been cars driving through Azerbaijan for at least a week, and rumor had it that the police were notorious for their rally car shakedowns. Sure enough, as soon as they saw our car cruising along with a big Mongol Rally sticker across the hood, they waved us down. We were towards the front of a staggered convoy, and watched as they plucked our fellow ralliers from the flow of traffic. 

My approach to interacting with authorities in foreign lands has always been to do so with a smile. Body language is everything. The only thing we understood from the cop was that he wanted 800 Euros. That’s over a thousand bucks. No need to fuss! I kindly smiled, shook my head, and acted confused and oblivious to the gratuitous demand. I was unyielding, yet cheerful. A few other policemen filed out of the station as the line of rally cars grew, and with a number of guiltless drivers to choose from, they eventually let us go. It pays to be nice. How’re you supposed to feel good about swindling someone if they’re jolly and dumb? Being confrontational in situations like that won’t get you anywhere. We heard later that there was an ATM inside the police station, and that a few unfortunate teams were coerced into withdrawing hefty fines.

We drove towards the evening through a bleak and lifeless landscape. The sporadic villages we passed through were dismal - tiny grids of simple brown-concrete structures, dimly lit and seemingly deserted. Traffic was heavy at times, and full of menacing trucks that kicked up dust as they barreled through the desert. For a while we joined a small convoy of rally cars, but eventually broke free from the pack. At some point we lost Henry and Brad, but knew we’d bump into them down the road. Everyone who was in Azerbaijan for the Mongol Rally was heading to Baku to board a cargo ship across the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan. We’d heard the boat schedule was inconsistent, and before boarding we needed to acquire our Turkmen visas. The embassy was only open on Friday and Monday mornings, and it was a Thursday evening, so our hope was to get the visas taken care of the following day so we could jump the next ship to Turkmenistan. We thought we'd find a place to camp outside the city and get an early start in the morning, but I was in the zone, and before we knew it we were cruising into the capital.

Baku glowed. It was a complete contrast from the drab terrain we’d been driving through all day. We breached the city limits around 10:30 and entered an oasis of oil money opulence. The streets wound along the bay past immaculate buildings with brightly lit facades. Three modern skyscrapers called the Flame Towers illuminated the skyline, with LED light shows that wrapped the exteriors and dazzled the night sky with dancing flames. After the monotony of desert driving, Baku was a sensory overload.

We found a small pub with wifi and looked for hostels over beers. We didn’t have a guidebook, but once we got online it was apparent that Baku was not a popular destination for budget travelers. There were only a few cheap hostels, but we managed to nab a few bunks at a place within walking distance. A resurgence in the petroleum industry has added a modern and lavish layer to the capital, but at the heart of Baku, surrounded by towering walls, is the old-city. Our hostel was inside, and once we passed through the gates we quickly lost our way in a maze of narrow alleys and winding streets. We were tired, but it was a beautiful place to be lost, and eventually we found someone to show us the way.

I always imagine foreign embassies to occupy stately buildings, perhaps located along a wide, tree-lined boulevard. The Turkmen embassy was situated in a dusty alleyway off a smoggy road in the further reaches of Baku. It would have been easy to miss had it not been for the growing crowd of Mongol Rally teams waiting outside the gate. Henry and Brad were there; we knew we’d see them again. They’d joined another convoy and had attempted to camp outside of Baku but had been roused by local authorities and chased away in the middle of the night. They were with a large group of young brits, many of whom we’d already met a long the way. I could tell we’d be boarding the cargo ship with a fun and lively bunch. 

Acquiring a Turkmen visa required a letter of invitation, which we took care of before we left home. Brad and Henry didn’t have one and were denied their visas. They would still board a cargo ship, but instead would head north to Kazakhstan. Once we got our visas, we took off to find the port of departure. There was a massive eight-lane street that ran along the bay, and just past a Bentley dealership was a dirt road that took us to the docks. A small assembly of Mongol Rally teams had already started to form, and word had it that the boat wasn’t leaving until the next day.

With some time to kill in Baku, we set out with Brad and Henry to explore. Our stroll revolved around beer and local cuisine. And then vodka and more local cuisine. From park-side cafes, to underground beer halls, to late-night hookah bars, we saw as much as we could. It was a fun day, and it was well after dark by the time we stumbled back to the shipyard to call it a night. 

The next morning we woke up early and stocked up on groceries for the boat. We said farewell to Brad and Henry. It had been almost a week since we’d met them in Batumi, and we had enjoyed their company along the way. We were about to set off on different paths, and it was the last time we’d see them.

People were anxious to set sail, but getting ten cars through customs and loaded onto the ship took a while. It was early afternoon by the time we made it on board, and a couple hours after that when we finally pushed off and set out into the Caspian Sea. The city of Turkmenbashi was less than 200 miles east, and we were expecting to reach our fourteenth country the following day, but little did we know...