Raising a Different Glass in Roads and Kingdoms: It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere

The scene of the crime

I had narrowly avoided massacring a dozen newly hatched chicks in a box, whose chirping had accompanied us up from Qax. Stumbling backwards as the rusted-out Soviet-era bus corkscrewed us deeper into the Caucasus, I instead tumbled into the lap of heavily mustached Georgian-speaking shepherd. He didn’t smile…

Writing in Roads and Kingdoms 5 O’Clock Somewhere series…drinks around the world.

The first time we went up in the summer, wild camping below the range that leads to Daghastan, Russia and beyond. Few tourists leave the folds of Baku in Azerbaijan and those that do escape, even fewer go beyond Shaki. Up here the stiff divisions drawn by the Soviets in Moscow blur and the frontiers that the locals carry in the hearts blend into each other.

We stopped in Qax on the way up and then up to Ilisu. Georgian churches mix with Azeri mosques up here. The world of Ali and Nino, a place where divisions are less defined. 

The valley was alive with the fruits of the waning summer and the honey we found, delicious. Lamb is king in these valleys and simple chick pea stews with lamb fill the few menus you can find. 

Vowing to return after the snows had cleared we returned. A welcome party was waiting until the rising sun killed off the morning chill. Tea is served…and once again. 

The winter snows were still high up but the valley was green. Parts of the river surged with snowmelt and some of the bridges bore the scars of the brunt.

The editor prefered a trimmed ending to the original version which read like this.

Our tea glasses
were filled to the brim and a toast raised. “To Allah”, my host exclaimed as he
motioned to me to drain my glass. By the fourth or fifth toast, I had lost both
my balance and my inhibitions and cautiously asked my host about raising a
cheers to Allah. The answer was easy he claimed. Mohammed only forbade drinks
made of fermented grapes or grains and what we were drinking came from his own
honey and potatoes so there was nothing taboo.

As the toasts
continued, I was happy that the Iranian and Saudi battle for the Azeri soul remained
in their elaborately financed mosques in the bigger centers and that the
biggest concerns up along this lost frontier between Azerbaijan and Russia,
between Europe and Asia, between East and West was how could I leave home
without a photograph of my family and how was it possible that I couldn’t speak
Russian.