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| A view of Xinaliq- amidst the Caucasus |
Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan is an all-embracing city. It’s an everyday thing. It’s in the shrug the Azeri grocer gives you, the casual colloquialisms at the Turkish restaurants, the joking comment made by the Georgian guy at the chai khana (tea shop). For someone who grew up in a Bengali household, fitting in Baku could be easy and joyful experience. I could identify myself in the air, in the streets and in the fabric of the city.
Oil Industry was booming between 2003-2006. Numerous workers
from every corner of the world made Baku their home, and each contributed
something indelible to its landscape. I used to drive a Hyundai Galloper at
that time. Mahinder, Aslam, Arnab and I had been to a lot of places, where an
average tourist shouldn’t be and many others that an average tourist would not
know that they even existed. We had become a part of the world where it was
commonplace to sleep in abandoned Soviet relics, village community halls,
rather than hotels or the regular bed and breakfasts.
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| Lunch break |
During this time, I had met and later on befriended the then
Indian ambassador, His Excellency Mr. Jyoti Pande who introduced me to his
friend – Mr Benjamin Paine, a corporate lawyer. One summer evening, they were
sitting at a bar, drinking glasses of red wine with a posture that indicated
that they would be more comfortable discussing Marx and Adam Smith rather than
crawling through catacombs or scaling medieval stonework. It turned out that I
was wrong. No daredevil adventurers really look the part. Benjamin was turning
the pages of “Lonely Planet” and they were planning to drive to Xinaliq. Arnab
and I followed the discussion and we were in. We agreed to head out to see where
the adventure trail would lead us to, the following weekend.
Xinaliq is an isolated village located in the middle of
Caucasus Mountains that divide Russia and South Caucasus. Xinaliq survived many
invasions due to its location on high grounds which created a natural defense.
After an incredible off road drive through the vales with
Arnab and our 1 year old daughter, rock hopping over river crossings, we
stopped for a quick water break and admired the elegant mountain scenery and
crisp clean air. We had driven a fair way
down, but there were hundreds of feet to descend before we climbed again.
The surface of the road gradually disappeared and the path
narrowed to half its width. Time and again spring-fed rivulets crossed our way.
The road was uneven and my jeep bounced like a seismographic needle, agitating
the engine of the car. Hands tight on the steering wheel, suddenly I noticed
steam coming through my bonnet. The car engine was overheated and we had to
stop. After a while when I removed the radiator cap, the water was still boiling
in the radiator. Was I nervous about it? Yes, I was!
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| The bee under the bonnet |
We broke for lunch and hung around for some more time before
the final ascent to Xinaliq. It was a beautiful afternoon. We were stoked once
we realized that we were the only ones there amidst the wilderness. In the anvil the
car had cooled down. The rough road went on for over an hour. I couldn’t steady
myself even to read my watch. I turned to see a rock face torn wide open, and
the ground falling away. The valley was vast and the view was spectacular.
Squeezed on a narrow ledge chiseled into a featureless expanse of rock, the
jeeps crept along.
The gas gauge arrow on dashboard was shifting to red and
there were no gas stations around. We were not smart enough to carry a fuel
jerry can! After a while, the road widened slightly and I stepped on the brake,
turned off the engine. We stood delivered into the midst of frozen silence. Below
us a slender ribbon of silver river wound its way through the valley. Across
the valley broke waves of low and high hills and a flatland with wall to wall houses
nested in between. Thin columns of smoke rose from this remote village. A breath-taking
panorama!
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| Streets of Xinaliq |
We encountered no problems for rest of the way. The roads
flattened out and the mountains lost their sharp ridges. Gradually we arrived
amongst a tranquil highland habitat- Xinaliq; a 5000 years old ancient village.
The cobbled stone made houses shared their courtyards. The Kettids still call
their village Ketsh and follow their ancient traditions. Legends say the colour
of Henna of the surrounding rocks or the name of the Hun tribe lead to change
of the name of the village to Xinaliq.
As I stood in the middle of the plateau surrounded by
mountains that resembled cut-outs, I asked myself- Is Utopia a blessed past
never to be recovered?
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| Our group of explorers |
