Atəşgah and Xınalıq, Azerbaijan.

6th Aug 2009. Atəşgah and Xınalıq, Azerbaijan.

We started the day with breakfast and the usual tea ritual, then got ready for a hike to Atəşgah. Fa'ik led the way out of the village up to the checkpoint about twenty minutes to the West. A couple of soldiers held us back, checked over our passports and radioed our details up to the base station a mile or so up the hill. The walk took us along the river for a further twenty minutes at which point we left the track and hiked North. We continued to pass people who were busy cutting the grass and raking it into stacks. The walk got harder as we started to ascend a steep grassy incline, eventually meeting with a sharp rocky ridge, which led us on to a further climb over silty shale scree. With the Kyzylkaya mountain straight ahead we followed the Eastern contours of a final peak until the valley opened up to our right. Below us was a small circular pile of stones from which the mysterious natural flames were burning. We went down and watched for a while. I was getting slightly annoyed by some French dude who had followed us. he had a whole catalogue of issues with transport and accommodation. I tactfully suggested that he should head back to Quba and that I could arrange transport. He took up the offer and later that afternoon I called Ramazan and negotiated a price for him to come and collect a passenger.

Matthew was sick in the afternoon. he had diarrhoea and nausea, so it seemed best to keep him hydrated and let him sleep. Meanwhile, I went out and spent time with Fa'ik. I asked him about his work and the haymaking. He told me that by the end of August, all the cut grass will have been dried, stacked and then carried back to people' homes in time for the start of Winter in early September. Fa'ik asked me if I had a horse back in London. I told him that London is a bit like Baku - we just use buses and the underground. He let me have a try at scything a patch of grass. It was not easy. I had three feeble attempts, but found it hard to get the right combination of speed, height and orientation of the blade.

I left Fa'ik in the field and walked back up the hillside to the village to get some basic supplies from the shop. Coming back through the village from the main shop, I stopped to look at a wooden house, which on closer inspection turned out to be another shop - much smaller and much more interesting. I climbed the wooden staircase to the entrance and greeted the old man inside. We chatted for a while. His name is Taptuk and his shop is something to behold. Selling everything from vodka and fish to childrens' toys and clothing, the whole area occupies perhaps 10m2. Taptuk has to climb over the counter in order to open cupboards and present the best of his wares. He even has a little note book for guests to jot some memos. I added some sentiments, then bought some fruit juice before thanking Taptuk and leaving.

Further through the village I encountered a lady cleaning large quantities of wool. She filled one of the water troughs full with wool and let the water flow in to fully soak it. She then coimbed up and started mashing the wool with her feet, as if crushing frapes to make wine. She wore blue wellies and carefully liftered the bottom of her skirt to keep it dry. I watched for a short while, concious of the protocols of the region which prevent contact between women and men outside of their own family.

Back at the guest house, I watched Fa'ik working. His wife and sister passed occasionally and squawked at him down the hillside. The language of Xınalıq is unique, with no resemblance to anything I have heard elsewhere. They have hard clucking sounds which they emit from their throats. It isn't something I can reproduce and nor do i have a recording.

Matt woke up and we went for a hike to the caves North of Xınalıq. Dropping downhill from the northern tip of the village, we passed a further small-holding, with hens and donkeys. A woman was making fuels bricks by the stream - taking dung from the animals, moistening it in water, rolling it into balls and then flattening them against the rocks to dry in the sun. We walked up steep inclines, gradually picking our way over to the caves, which ultimately turned out to be fairly uninteresting, but the route offered stunning views back on the village, presenting it as a complex jumble of dark stone houses, almost floating between soaring mountains. As the sun started to drop behind the Western peaks, we made our way back down, followed by several cows, which somehow instinctively knew that it was time to go home. Back in the village, women milked them and tethered them up for the night. Meanwhile shepherds returned with their sheep. In all directions, sheep and cattle were coming home - accompanied by women, children, men, or even on their own. Our day ended with more encounters with tiny kids, who played with our cameras. I gave them Smarties and they ran away.

We slept to the sound of the river at the bottom of the field and a dog barking in the distance.