Arrival in the oil capital

We arrived at 4 am, the sprawl of lights below giving a hint of just how big the city was. Interestingly, the lights are scattered like clusters of stars rather than the intersecting lines of spiders webs, which denote advanced road lighting networks. Getting a visa was thankfully not difficult - the official in his little glass-screened box was so diverted by the proffered 40 dollars that he failed to notice that I had handed over a photo of my sister rather than myself!

Perfect weather. I was relieved to have arrived after the summer temperatures of 40 degrees plus had dropped, though it was still warm and sunny and - added bonus - the hot summer had apparently killed off all the mosquitos!

Baku immediately presented itself as a city of contrasts. The oil wealth meant that construction is going full-tilt with multi-storey buildings shooting up everywhere, and foreign investment quickly creating a fledgling boomtown. Yet this coexists with a more traditional way of life that seems remarkably untroubled by this progress - a contrast that is exacerbated when you venture out into the countryside. In an unending stream of traffic through the city centre - a place I would never dare drive myself - the rusty old Ladas fought for space with gleaming new Landcruisers imported from Dubai.

Having lunch in the premises of an old caravanserai, sheltered temporarily from the modern city, I could almost imagine what it must have been like when Baku was a resting place on the old Silk Route, what a relief it musy have been to reach the cool stone courtyard with its water trickling in the centre, to tie up the camels and sit down to a meal not unlike ours. I quickly adapted to the Azeri dining style. It was not difficult with lots of tempting little plates to share, filled with fresh herbs and vegetables, local sheeps cheese, caviar (another local speciality) and 'qutab' - flat pancakes stuffed with meat or greens. We finished with tea in elegant little glasses, accompanied by a mini saucer from which we ate wild cherries in syrup. These 'jams' varied in each place we stopped for tea, but the ritual never changed.