The traveler faces three great opposing forces: the body, the weather, and the administration. The first two invite great humility. When the body lets go, there is no point in persisting in a permanent movement. You have to know how to stop, to take a break, to wait for the energy to come back and take you to another place again. Similarly, pouring rain or scorching heat encourages contemplation from a sheltered place while waiting for a more clement environment. Administrative constraint is more pernicious. It forces us to accept a part of absurdity, a very human element, but just as uncontrollable as the vagaries of biology.
We believed in it until the end. At the end of our journey in Central Asia, the calm and gently iodized Caspian Sea opened up new horizons, like a new chapter in our adventure. The Caucasus located just opposite was waiting for us. A ferry connects Aktau, a Kazakh seaside town, and Baku, capital of Azerbaijan. Officially, the country only accepts travelers by air, but discussion forums between travelers make us hope for a possible derogation.
The Web, like a huge window on the world, makes us realize that humanity is divided into two categories: those who travel and those who are settled in resolutely sedentary lives. During the preparations for the journey, a few months ago, I was added to two WhatsApp discussion groups of cyclists traveling through Central Asia and North Asia and others pedaling from Europe to the East.
This little morning break months before leaving already ensured a very digital, but very exotic escape within reach of a cat. We go from the best agencies to obtain an Iranian visa to recommendations for border crossings to pass on two wheels in the Pamir Valley, water advice on makeshift repairs to hold a tire at the end of its journey on Iraqi roads for a few additional tens of kilometers. By comparison, our two-month journey by train and bus seems like a Sunday stroll.
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The Web is a valuable source for obtaining very concrete information on the administrative constraints of travel. The first big test is the exit from China, which raises so many questions on our side. The answer doesn’t help: “You’ll be the first to go through this in three years, let us know if you make it.” ” It’s done.
The second major thorn expected is therefore this arrival in Azerbaijan by sea. Baku’s demands could weigh heavily on our carbon footprint. It is, once again, by WhatsApp that we obtain information. After several days of silence, the office responsible for the shipping line in Aktau finally came forward. “It’s all related to the incident on the Azerbaijani-Armenian border with Nagorno-Karabakh. At this time, you can only arrive in Azerbaijan by plane,” the post reads. The subject is still relevant. In mid-July, the Azeri President and the Armenian Prime Minister met in Brussels for new negotiations concerning Nagorno-Karabakh. This territory, mainly populated by Armenians, is at the heart of a territorial dispute between the two countries.
Sometimes it’s wise to put your stubbornness aside. Especially since the clock is starting to tick. A month before our arrival in Paris and a little less than three weeks before crossing the French border, we are starting to be expected. Part of our carbon footprint is therefore sacrificed on the altar of Caucasian geopolitics and here we are in the air for forty-five minutes above the Caspian Sea.
Azerbaijan offers itself to us as a link between East and West. The veiled silhouettes, the menus where to find the kebabs and pilafs that we have just left in Central Asia, the subtle oriental influences that slip into the architecture of the capital rub shoulders with the massive buildings of the Soviet era, the European-style café terraces, the chess players in the parks and the Western clothing brands, from entry-level to luxury brands. The pedestrian city center is reminiscent of European metropolises. Tourists leave Azeris indifferent as they are part of the landscape.
We leave the western shore of the Caspian Sea behind us to sink into the mountains. The Caucasus range looms on the horizon. The fresh, wooded air of Sheki offers us a last stop before the border with Georgia. Little cold sweat when the manager of the hotel announces, with an assured air, that the border is closed. It is in fact impassable for Azeris, unless waived, but foreigners are allowed to leave the country by land. They are not many. The officers on duty remove the padlocks to open the way for us and close the door behind us. On the other side of the barriers, only large trucks loaded with goods of all kinds circulate. A new stamp welcomes us in Georgia and a few hours later here we are in Tbilisi. Here, Orthodox crosses have replaced the crescents of mosques on city skylines.
We feel Europe closer than ever, with its summer period and high tourist season. Each train and coach reservation is a race against time to obtain places before the vehicle becomes full. The routes are built in disorder according to Internet connections and the availability of transport companies. After many route revisions, here we are in the port of Batumi, on the shores of another body of water: the Black Sea. Istanbul, and Europe, are only a few hours away by bus.
