How to obtain a Nagorno Karabakh visa

Nagorno Karabakh is internationally recognised as territority of Azerbaijan but today it is occupied by Armenian troops. When Stalin carved up the Soviet Union, despite Nagorno Karabakh being 94% ethnically Armenian, he allocated it to Azerbaijan. During the chaos of the break-up of the Soviet Union Armenia and Azerbaijan entered into an open conflict which was to last for 6 years, eventually resulting in Armenia taking control of not only Nagorno Karabakh but also 7 ethnically Azeri territories. Today Karabakh wishes to be independent, but not even Armenia recognises this. However, as with Abkhazia, Karabakh has a Foriegn Ministry and requires visitors to obtain a visa to enter. Luckily it is quite a simple process. We had heard that it was possible to obtain a visa on arrival in the capital Stepanakert but, as we had some spare time in Yerevan, we decided to get our visas in advance. We took a marshrutka to the Permanent Representative of the Nagorno Karabakh Republic where we managed to charm the women in the visa office to process our visas as we waited. There were no other tourists about (November isn't peak season) and they were happy to do it for us. The rather stern looking woman behind one desk explained that the processing time was usually 24 hours. We were given a form to fill out on which we had to list all the areas we would be visiting. Not having any plans we listed them all. When presenting the finished form at the visa office we were told that one of the areas was not open to tourists and it was tipex-ed out, the rest were fine. The staff were very helpful and offered us advice on where to stay as well as having useful maps for sale. They leafed through our passports making a note of the fact that we had visited Azerbaijan, but they did not question us about it or even delay the issuing the visa. The visa they were actually most interested in was our one for Afghanistan. The woman said, 'in all my years of doing this job,' of which I think there had been many, 'I have never seen a visa for Afghanistan.' This led to many questions about being a tourist in Afghanistan.

We got our 21 day visa for 3000 Drams, considerably cheaper than we were expecting - when does that ever happen? The staff would have stuck it in our passports had we not asked for it to be kept loose. We had heard that the Azeris were quite touchy about anyone who has been to Nagorno Karabakh and if we ever wanted to return to Azerbaijan it would have been hard to deny having been to Karabakh with a the visa stuck in our passport. Instead the visa was attached by a paper clip - easily removable and also saving another precious page in my passport. In addition to the visa, we were give a letter stating where we were planning on going. We had to produce this letter when entering and exiting Karabakh. On entering, the border guards took a cursory glance of it, making a quick note of the details, and when we exited the letter was kept by the immigration officers. During our stay in Karabakh we were only ever asked for any documentation when checking into hostels. There is also now no need to register on arrival in Stepanakert, contrary to what was stated in our guidebook. We were told this by the office in Yerevan and double checked that we had heard correctly. By the fact that we didn't have any problem I can assume that this information is accurate. Once we arrived in Karabakh we had no problems whatsoever visiting the places we wanted to and I found it a lot more relaxed and easy to travel in than I was expecting.

Georgia - first impressions

Everyone we had spoken to who had been to Georgia had raved about it, so we had high expectations when we crossed the border. Our first impressions of Georgia were fantastic. This was the first country we had travelled in that didn't require a visa. A quick glance at our passports, the satisfying sound of a stamp and we were on our way. As we entered Georgia we were surprised to see the EU flag flying. Throughout our journeys across Georgia we never saw a Georgian flag flying without the EU flag next to it. It was a strong signal that the Georgians considered themselves European and, despite the current crisis in the EU, still very much wanted to join. Some small print meant that they were able to fly the EU's flag.

Suddenly we were in a place where we couldn't read anything. The Georgian script (ქართული დამწერლობა in Georgian), as you can see, is totally unique, and completely baffling for a visitor. Catching a marshrutka from the border town to Tbilisi turned out to be equally baffling. Plenty of vehicles were heading for Tbilisi, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the marshrutka driver didn't want to take us, or any of the other passengers, but mainly us (I think it was our bags which he was most offended by). He had a complete meltdown, stamping his feet, gesticulating and then refusing to get in the vehicle. Everyone was left bemused and another driver had to be drafted in to take us.

The drive took us through the vineyards of Eastern Georgia. It was harvest time, and lorry loads of grapes trundled down the road. We arrived in Tbilisi as the clouds blackened overhead. By the time we had emerged from the metro it was pouring with rain. Sheltering in the metro station until it had passed, we then headed out into the dark, sodden streets. The whole area was a building site and we picked our way around shaffolding and muddy puddles, disorientated. A student saw that we were lost and pointed us in the right direction of the hostel we were looking for. We found another lost Brit on our way and together eventually managed to find the hostel. Two motorbikes were parked in the courtyard, one of which was Morten's. We had first met Morten whilst queueing at the Turkmen embassy in Tajikistan. And then again he had been refused a Turkmen visa in Uzbekistan and this had resulted in an epically long ride through Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Russia, Ukraine, and then a ferry across the Black Sea to Georgia, where we met again. The hostel was pretty average, the temperamental white cat sat on the toe of my boot to avoid sitting on the freezing floor. However, it was great to see Morten again and we went out for a good meal and a few beers.

The next day we invested a bit of time in finding a better hostel. We got up early and wandered the deserted streets. We tried to find a coffee but nowhere was open - it was 1030 amd we wondered whether we'd missed changing our watches. Walking around the city we couldn't find any pedestrian crossings and nearly got run over several times trying to negotiate the roads. When we tried to use the metro there were queues out of the door to buy tickets. And then there was the dog poo - dog poo everywhere. But worse was to come. At lunch time James headed into an Internet cafe only to emerge an hour later to find police tape everywhere and a forensic team. A man had been shot dead in the street after being pursued down the road by two other men. This was our second day in Georgia and was not only no improvement on the first but it was worse. We were disappointed (and a little bit concerned that people got shot on the main road in the middle of the day).

That day we did, however, find a better hostel. Dima was slouched on a comfy sofa surfing the net as he read out a review of the hostel, 'This is the best hostel I have ever stayed in. The guy who runs this place is amazing. He is really the best guy EVER,' he read. 'Who would write this shit,' he continued, and then shouted over his shoulder, 'Misha did you write this yourself?'

Misha was a 6ft 6 Pole who had a relaxed attitude to hostel running and was helped by a German, Benjamen, and Dima, a Russian. Misha was incredibly knowledgeable about the area and passionate about Georgia. He explained a few things to us. Firstly, Georgians don't get up early, nothing happens before 10am and cafes only start to fill up after midday. Secondly, there were underpasses, just they are not well signposted, so there was no need to risk our lives every time we crossed the road. Next, shootings were unusual. And finally, the queues at the metro were due to the President trying to woo voters by giving out free credit on their metro cards. And as for the dog poo, you just had to watch where you were walking. After we understood this and had moved to Why Not? hostel, life in Tbilisi became a whole lot more enjoyable.

Flowers at the market

Looking over the baths in old town of Tbilisi

Pick your own pomegranates - Şəki, Azerbaijan

Needing to continue west to Georgia, we had time for one sight seeing trip in Azerbaijan, so we headed to Azerbaijan's top tourist town of Şəki. Jo offered to drive the 'work car', so we loaded our bags into a Red Cross Land Cruiser and hit the road. Driving along the back roads James suddenly shouted 'POMEGRANATES'. Jo pulled over and James jumped out and disappeared into the bushes. For the last couple of years James has become obsessed with pomegranates; there are worse vices but it did nearly jeopardise the trip. Feeding the habit in the UK virtually bankrupt us. Here in Azerbaijan, however, pomegranates are plentiful and the spiny bushes grow everywhere. This was the first pomegranate forest that James had seen and we lost him for a good half an hour as he picked the fruit.

Out of Baku, Azerbaijan is a completely different country. The roads are bad and villages ramshackled. There are very few women seen in public; this was noticeable even after spending so many months in Central Asia. Jo and I were often the only women in the Chaicanas, but the men who served us were very polite and helpful, and I found Azerbaijan to be a warm and friendly place.

The main attraction in Şəki is the Khan's Palace, an attractive, modest sized wooden building. Its unique beauty is only revealed once inside. The light streams through the most intricate and colourful stained-glassed windows, casting multi-coloured reflections around the room. We stayed in the caravanseri just down the road from the palace. A traditional caravanseri building and, although the rooms were not luxuriously furnished, the setting, a construction of sweeping arches around a lushly vegetated courtyard garden, was stunning.

We went out for dinner that evening to an obscure restaurant where we were seated inside a bizarre Swiss-style wendy house, which itself was inside the restaurant. That night in the caravanseri our sleep was disturbed when the room above us had major plumbing issues. Water poured through the ceiling of our bathroom. I was too tired to get up and do anything about it, and it eventually stopped.

The following day Jo drove us up the road, via a pretty Albanian church, so we could catch a bus to Georgia. We established at the bus station that there was a direct bus to Tbilisi but, after we had waved Jo off, the cashier decided that there wasn't one. We ended up getting a series of dilapidated buses to the closest town to the border from where we got a taxi. Driving up to the the border, the taxi slowly filling with fumes as it struggled on the gentle incline, the countryside rolling passed looked remarkably familiar. I told the taxi driver that it looked like England. This, he thought, was the funniest thing he had ever heard. He dropped us outside the border post still chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

Beautiful stain glassed windows at the Khan's Palace, Şəki

The exterior of the Khan's Palace

Our our room for the night at the caravanseri

Nowhere in particular in Azerbaijan

Settling into our allocated beds on the scruffy sleeper train from Baku to Barda, I was given the baby. It immediately started crying, so I passed it on to James, where it seemed much happier. We were attracting a lot of attention on the train. Our carriage attendant, a young petite woman with 80s curls, an untucked shirt, her top button undone and tie loosened, was firmly in charge and concerned that we had a comfortable journey. We eventually managed to give the baby back to its owners and went to bed.

After saying our goodbyes we got off the train into the crisp, dark morning and headed to the station waiting room. We had come to Barda (say with a Liverpudlian accent for the correct pronunciation) to see a friend, Jo, who James had studied with in Moscow many moons ago. Jo had been working for the International Red Cross in Barda for the last 2 years. This town is located close to the disputed border with Armenia and has a large population of Internally Displaced People (IDP). The unresolved situation with Armenia means Barda is a sensitive area, combined with the fact that there is really nothing for tourists to see, any outsiders raise suspicions. Whilst we waited for Jo to pick us up a constant stream of taxi drivers popped their heads around the door to enquire if we needed a ride. Then three men in suits entered the deserted room and, instead of sitting in the empty row of seats across the room, they chose to occupy the sits either side and opposite James. After a long silence they struck up some small talk. After appearing to get the information they were looking for they got up and left abruptly.

At Jo's house we had all the home comforts we had been craving and had been denied since our stay with Phil and Alison in Tashkent. We completely indulged, having a great shower and devouring Jo's DVD collection. The sights of Barda were left for another visit.

At the scrapyard we met someone familiar.

Jo and James pose next to Jo's work car.

Old meets new in Baku

I didn't know much about the capital of Azerbaijan before visiting. I didn't have high expectations, imagining an ostentatious city built on oil wealth (BP has its biggest operations here). And yes there are some flashy buildings but there is also an old town which is an UNESCO world heritage site and a pleasant pedestrianised centre. After the empty streets of Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan it was wonderful to see some life. People were sitting outside cafes enjoying a coffee, the shops were teeming and couples walked along the sea front. It felt very western compared to Central Asia, with many familiar brands. I hadn't realised how worn down I'd become over the past month. The food had become monotonous, constantly negotiating shared taxi fares tedious, visa paperwork onerous and some of the police tactics just plain ridiculous. Now, that was all behind us and there were no obstacles in our way to prevent us completing over overland trip I felt re-energised.

There were pastry shops everywhere and the Azerbaijanis had waistlines which attested to the fact that they were often tempted. We happily indulged too. Despite having a pleasant day wandering around the compact city centre and old town we were not going to pay the inflated hotel room prices to stay another day. With a ticket on the night train costing just a couple of dollars, it was the cheapest bed in town, so that night we were trundling westward again.

Friendly locals on the seafront

Voyage across the Caspian Sea

The Caspian Sea is the largest enclosed body of water on earth accounting for 40-44% of the world's  waters which can be classified as lakes. To cross from Turkmenistan it is necessary to get a passenger place on a cargo ship. There was the usual incomprehensible queueing system involving lists of names. But it wasn't busy so we didn't have any problems getting a place. The half a dozen or so passengers boarded the ship as the crew supervised the rail cargo being loaded via tracks on the gangway into the hold. We sailed out of Turkmenbashi on a sea as still as a mill pond and the rest of the overnight journey was just as smooth, which was fortunate given the modus operandi the crew had chosen for our voyage. Luckily we didn't discover this until we docked in Baku, Azerbaijan. If we had before going to bed we would probably have found it difficult to sleep that night.

As we slid out of the harbour, past the docks, dusty town and desert, we were shown to our cabin. The cabin cost an extra $10 on top of the $90 we had paid each for the ticket and it was exceptionally dilapidated. The holes in the wall had long ago stopped being patched up and the en suite bathroom was not anywhere near functioning. A draw in the cupboards was labelled 'life jackets'. Investigating this we found it to be empty. Taking a walk on deck the life boats didn't seem any more serviceable than our bathroom. Despite all of this I didn't have a bad nights sleep.

In the morning we packed up the bags and took a walk on deck to watch our docking in Azerbaijan. Walking to the rear of the ship we noticed that the hold doors were open. It appeared that we had sailed with the doors open throughout the night because the crew hadn't quite managed to fit one of the containers into the hold, instead it hang over the end of the boat, preventing the doors from being shut.

Bye Bye Turkmenistan

Last views of Central Asia