March 1996
Pete Evans

Baku & Beyond


Baku in Azerbaijan and Ashgabat in Turkmenistan sound so bizarre and unlikely places to end up, that I have to laugh at the idea of putting modern computer systems in place using local companies. For a while, a certain degree of head scratching went on as I tried to find contacts for local suppliers. As a first step, I always contact Compaq in Munich to find out what suppliers they have locally. They have none in either of these yet but they were able to give me the names of two computer companies.

EBRD have what they call "Mission Advisors" in Baku and Ashgabat, these are local people with an amazing network of contacts throughout the ministries and diplomatic circles. In Baku we have Rufat and in Ashgabat, Gulya. Telephone communication from Prague was nearly impossible, especially to Gulya. But I eventually got word to them, and a specification of my system, asking them to contact as many local computer companies as they could find prior to my arrival.

My departure from Prague was my usual panic, no matter how much time I have to get ready, I always seem to leave everything to the last minute. True to form, I fiddled about on other things all week and tried to pack and remember all those vital bits and bobs at 0630 before I left for the airport, having been out boozing all night and hardly slept a wink. "Here we go again" I groaned, as I finally found my passport between pages of a two week old Financial Times. Dialling the cab company produced a perpetual busy signal so eventually I dashed out and across the square, dragging my suitcase, it's little wheels screaming, over the cobble stones. Found the most expensive cab in Prague but got to the plane on time. The plane was late of course, so I had time for a caffeine injection.

In Frankfurt I had time for my usual sprint over to Terminal "D", to pick up the latest American "Cruising World" magazine and a Paul Theroux novel, "The Pillars of Hercules". Then I dashed over to "B" and gate B14.

The plane to Baku was pretty empty so I had room to stretch out as we flew east for some five hours, landing uneventfully at 2100 local time.

Baku airport has not been refurbished yet, it's a shabby, battered, dirty place, teeming with pushy taxi drivers. To my relief, Rufat was standing at the first gate, holding up his EBRD business card. He handled all the formalities with ease, a true diplomat, he charmed his way politely and respectfully through the red tape, having us outside with suitcase in tow, in no time at all. I expected the hotel to be pretty bad in Baku but the Hyatt Regency is dead posh - so it should be for $240 per night without breakfast. They are raking in as much as they can before the competition moves in. That's capitalism for you, we can't blame them for that. And as a capitalist who doesn't have to pay the bill out of his own pocket, I blame them even less. And besides, we get a special rate of only $216 without breakfast! Rufat joined me for a quick drink in the bar before I turned in at around midnight. We agreed to meet at 0530 to get back out to the airport for my flight to Ashgabat.

With a time difference of three hours from Prague this felt like 0230 so I sprang out of bed before my body had time to complain. Rufat arrived as promised and got me out and on the the plane with no more than the usual senseless hassle - like having to slip the checkin ladies a fiver to get my bags checked.

The plane was a Jak-40, a small twin engined jet with a very bald left tire. I threw my own luggage in the hold as I walked on. As there was only one other westerner on the plane, we gravitated towards one another as we had our tickets checked for the umpteenith time. His name was Les and he reminded me of John Cleese. We squeezed into a pair of delapidated seats together. We soon fell into one of those easy conversations that go a long way towards making travelling alone worthwhile. A lone traveller spends a lot of time thinking, reflecting. Often these lone travellers bump into one another and spend hours in frank and earnest discussion about all kinds of things that one might not always talk so freely about. It is really refreshing and deeply interesting. People have such amazing stories to tell and out here one meets the pick of the bunch, the adventurers, the risk takers, the romantics. And we love to find kindred spirits, tell stories and sometimes discover mutual friends from long ago.

Les is fifty-four and has just started a seven month Tacis contract based in Tbilisi in Georgia. He is to analyse the customs systems in the region and make recommendations for a paper based system that will ultimately be replaced with a region wide computer system to handle all import and export goods by air, rail, truck and sea.

The flight from Baku to Ashgabat was through clear sunny skies and took about an hour and a half. Baku is on a peninsula jutting into the Caspian sea which is, by the way, in fact not a sea at all, but a big lake. The contrasts amazed me. In the space of a quarter of an hour we flew over sea, then desert, then snowy mountains then desert again. I don't recall ever seeing a desert before. Rolling nothingness, scrub and sand. Lots of real estate at bargain prices.

Landing at Ashgabat brought me back to earth with a bump - in more ways than one, for I remembered I had never managed to contact Gulya directly, didn't have a visa, didn't know if I would be met and didn't know where I was staying. "Oh dear, Pete, I admonished myself, one of these days you're going to come unstuck!" "Never mind, I quipped to Les, when you rule out impossibility or failure as viable options, there is always a solution."

The airport caught us by surprise - it's brand new, clean, modern and complete with all the bells and whistles. It looked like it had been ordered from a catalogue, shipped out, taken out of the boxes and assembled. One modern airport, from Argos or Sears, perhaps made by Lego. I wonder if they kept the empty boxes in case they need to return it? Getting through customs was pretty easy, the visa man spoke English and was helpful and polite. Seeing a nice Lego loo we both popped in for a pee (Didn't know when the next clean loo might come along!) It was clean and tidy - you could be anywhere. Reminded me of Warsaw airport. We had to laugh when the tap spat brown water, there were no paper towels in the perfect dispenser and the electric hand blower looked nice but didn't work. The illusion crumbled and we made our way to the next passport check. The same customs declaration is used throughout the former Soviet Union - not to be taken too seriously, it asks for money and valuables to be declared so they know what you bring in and out of the country. I always put only the minimum information down - a rough guess of my currency and no valuable goods declared if I can get away with that. Sometimes I am made to declare my ring, my watch and my computer. This time I had something to hide, I was bringing a laptop to leave with Gulya so I didn't want to declare it on the way in. So I declared one camara, one computer and one alarm clock. Just to keep him happy. He wasn't happy, he pointed to my cases and indicated I should open them. "Shit!, I thought, I've declared only one computer and now he wants to see them." He rumaged under my underpants ( In my case!). "What's this?, he asked. "A camara." What's this? "An alarm clock." "Whats this?" "Computer." "And this?" "Computer." "Two computer!?" "Er .... no, one computer!" "What?" His frown deepened, he was on to something. "What's this?", he said. "Computer." "What's this?" "Computer." "What!!" I searched desparately for a way out. "This, word computer (I made typing with my hands), and this technical computer (I waved my hands, held up a yellow cable to link them together)" "What?!", he said. " Parallel processing!" I offered, hopefully. "Aaaaagh!" "OK", he said, and scribbled his agreement on the form, "one computer."

Through with the formalities, I spotted a lady holding a "Pete Evans" sign. She was here to meet me, thank goodness. Les was not so lucky so we offered him a left to town, we were booked into the same hotel anyway. The lady was Gulya, another Gulya, she was an interpreter, more than an interpreter, another Mrs. Fixit. She knew everybody and seemed to remember everything. We met the mission advisor, a much smaller Gulya, at the hotel. "They call us Little Gulya and Big Gulya."said Big Gulya, indicating her ample figure.

Again, the hotel was grand, again I was surprised. I think that when I go into a new country to start putting a system in, I expect the conditions I had when I started in 1992. Hotel hadn't been built then, it was still squalid Soviet Intourist hotels then, but now most capitals have had time to have these grand western hotels come in and get started.

By this time it was mid day, as I had only the afternoon and the next day, Friday, to do business, we decided to get the modem link setup and the laptop tuned up as a first priority. EBRD has no office yet but Gulya is using an apartment belonging to her family, as a temporary office. I got my computer bits together and we drove over there. To my intense amusement, as we entered the apartment, a boy and his girl leapt off the sofa, frantically rearranging clothing as we entered. Gulya sent them packing. "That's my son, I don't want him to be here alone with his girl!", she wailed. "I don't know what they're doing!" "I have a pretty good idea, I quipped, would you like me to explain a few things in words of few sylables?" "I don't want them to marry so young." "How old are they?" "Twenty-two", she said. "Tell you what, buy them a pack of three and leave them alone.", I suggested.

In Ashgabat I met local suppliers selected one I found tucked away in an unlikely residential area, they passed my scrutiny for competence, cost, reliability and enthusiasm. I placed an order with them and took delivery of temporary equipment the same afternoon. I set it up in the local office and flew back to Baku the next day. Little Gulya presented me with a lovely little traditional sketch by her artist husband. Little gifts I treasure most. Sinfullly, I have scanned it in and used it in miniature form as a tiled background - though not seen if this document is printed out.

So back across the desert and over the Caspian sea to Baku where I also met and selected a supplier, borrowed kit and set it up with an email link to London. Unlike most trips, due to infrequent flights, I had more than enough time to complete my work so I spent my spare time split between the free gym and the bar. I especially enjoyed the bar, as I enjoyed their English beer and met some surprising people.

More of a pub really, this bar was one with a friendly and social atmosphere with a lots of people gather at the bar itself, rather than at tables. It was easy to strike up a conversation and within a day or three and many pints, I was a regular. First I met a cotton trader from Bremen who shared my zest for philosophical conversation and dreams of adventure and something more from life. We had great beer fortified discussions. He seemed a little unhappy with his lot in life and enjoyed hearing my tales as much as I enjoy telling them.

Then I met three people with whom I had some old friend in common or knew someone I had met in my travels.

Mike looked like Tristan Jones, the old sea dog. What the heck was this old bearded sailor doing in a flash hotel in Baku? I had to find out so I stuck up a conversation with him. He was indeed a sailor, in fact he owned a little gaff cutter called "Sixpence" in Falmouth. He was currently living in Bahrain, having setup a marine parts company catering to big ships. Hence he was in Baku to try for contracts to repair some of the Caspian Sea oil tankers.

Mike was the 140th person to be born on Ascension, a tiny island in the South Atlantic. He had met Tim and Pauline Carr in his travels so we know someone in common! He grew up doing the only thing Ascension people do, working on ships. It was a pleasure to meet a cruising sailor type in this unlikely place.

Then I met a chap from Venezuela, in Baku on some business or other. I told him I only knew one person from Caracas by name and you know what? He knew him! It was a wealthy chap my father skippered a yacht for back in the '70's.

Lastly I met another seasoned Eastern Bloc Traveller who covered pretty much the same countries as I do and he knew I guy I know in Bucharest. Yep, I enjoyed that trip to Baku - and yes, I got the job done too! A few months later I returned to Baku to install the equipment I had ordered on the first trip. Middle of summer, it was hot, hot hot. On Saturday Rufat took me to the Caspian seaside. The Caspian Sea - I never would have imagined I would be body surfing in the Caspian Sea - it is actually a very salty lake, not a sea at all. Friends of Rufat's invited us for a BBQ of shaslik and other local delicacies. A wonderful day!

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