I stop people on the street asking to use their cell phones, but have no luck. Perhaps they do not understand my theatrical sign language. Or perhaps, seen as most the people I stop are elderly, they do not have cell phones. Finally, though, I spot a man about 20 years old talking on one, so when his conversation rounds off I accost him to use it, and he kindly agrees.
I get through to Illgar, and he tells me he is currently at work but I am to remain where I am and in five minutes a car will pick me up and take me to his family’s house. The mystery car does indeed pull up, and I jump in. I am driven up tracks which were definitely not designed for motor vehicles, let alone a Lada, Somehow, though, the driver manages to wind along them, and drops me off next to a gate.
I step out of the car and ring what I think must be a doorbell. The door opens and I am greeted by Illgar’s mother, who is sporting a full set of gold teeth. She does not move or speak, instead she just stays stationary, beaming at me. I say hello and attempt to beam back. She signals for me to follow her along the garden and into the house.
The family also consists of Illgar’s wife, 14 year old son and 12 year old daughter. They, like many Azeris, are Shia Muslims. The two children can speak a moderate amount of English. They tell me that whilst the older generation were taught Russian as a second language, it is now more common for English to be taught instead.
After some wonderful food, they take me down to meet Illgar at his place of work. He runs a small leisure facility - a little warehouse with table football, table tennis, and a wall for practicing rock climbing. He has only been open a month, but says that so far it is going well. We sit and talk whilst various people come and go. A couple of times in the evening he goes off to pray to Allah.
He closes at 10 o’clock at night, and we walk and talk the way home. We stop en route at a grocery shop and he pulls out a small shopping list. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and says “Sorry but we have to go in here and buy these things. If I do not get them my wife won’t let us into the house, so we would be forced to sleep outside on the grass!” Thankfully when we arrive back not only does she let us in, but she has prepared a feast. Illgar goes off to pray again, and on returning we say our goodnights.
The next morning, after some exploration of historic sights, I return for a farewell lunch at the house. Upon leaving, Illgar’s mother beams at me for the last time - I attempt to beam back, before wandering down to the bus station.
The minibus drops off at a town called Balaken, situated near the border with Georgia. A taxi driver offers to drive me to the border cheaply, so I jump in. He starts driving but I ask him to stop and turn back as I suddenly realise that these are my last few minutes in Azerbaijan, and whilst it is time I leave, I do not feel quite ready. I ask him to take us to his favourite place to eat, and treat him to some dinner. It is a wonderful final experience of Azerbaijan. The place is empty, except for a mother and daughter, who say I am the first Englishman they have met. We talk, laugh, and yes, flirt. Meanwhile the taxi driver keeps thanking me for the food, scoffing it down like there is no tomorrow.
