What is it good for?

Not long after leaving the centre of Baku you are quickly reminded that Azerbaijan is still a country teetering on the precipice of war. I could feel the country's sense of nationalism when I visited Baku, by chance, on Victory Day. The holiday celebrated a war against Armenia in 2020, four years ago. But even then, I felt that celebrations were toned down because of the onset of COP29. With international attention casting a light on the city, there was a sense that some aspects of Azerbaijan's story wanted to be left untold for now.

By contrast, the town of Sheki in the country's far west was geographically about as far away as you could get from Baku. Far away from the shiny cosmopolis and the international spotlight, I could see how other parts of the country operated.

On bus rides travelling around the country, I was more aware of the years of military action in the country's south. Each town I passed was bookended by memorials of soldiers who died, often in the last four years and usually at an age younger than me. Military portraits were emblazoned over Azerbaijani national colours and surrounded by national and Turkish flags. It was a way of remembering the fallen dead, the sons who had died for the sake of securing a line in the ground and saying that this dirt is mine and not yours.

As a tourist I can stand outside the conflict, looking on with judgmental eyes, realising the futility of it all. It's not to trivialise the hardships and deaths but to look at everything without the burden of an adherence to ideology.

It's a privilege not afforded to those fully engrossed in conflict, fully absorbed by nationalist ideas since birth and fully dedicated to the nation state. It's a privilege that I can look in from the outside and not deride the people who died but the regime that convinced them that shooting bullets at neighbours was the right thing for a teenager to do.

Azerbaijan is an independent nation state but each roadside memorial of the war dead was surrounded by Turkish flags. Turkish nationalism is just as strong in Azerbaijan, with the population feeling a close, fraternal bond to the country. Some would even think of themselves as an extension of Turkey only split, at least for now, by Georgia and Armenia. Turkey's influence is felt in the language, in the hyper-masculine culture and in the food.

Whilst as a tourist I am lucky to observe all of the politics from a safe distance, it does have very minor repercussions on travel too. Leaving Sheki and heading into Georgia was made more difficult by Azerbaijan's border situation. Azerbaijan has good relations with Georgia, and needs to as it provides a bridge into Turkey.

However Azerbaijan land borders were closed during the pandemic and have not yet reopened. It's a safe bet that the reason the closure has been maintained is political given that no other 'health' measures still remain in Azerbaijan, four years after the pandemic started. Needless to say, 'closed' land borders meant that I was allowed to leave the country overland (or by the Caspian sea), but I had to take a plane flight to enter.

As such, leaving overland is a little uncommon at the moment. To do so, I first took a bus to the town nearest to the border. I was next planning to negotiate with a taxi to take me to the border. I expected this would be difficult as the driver wouldn't get a return journey back into town. However, instead, I managed to get the bus driver to keep driving all the way to the border for an extra fee.

The border itself is still managed by border officials but they aren't particularly busy. So to leave the country I had to knock on the door to the immigration office at the border for a few minutes before someone realised I was there. I then had to wait while they fired up the x-ray machine to scan my bag and stamp me out of the country. At that point, If I had left my wallet on the other side of the border, I would have to get a new visa and get on a plane to get it.

Photos from Sheki and Kish