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Our again, slightly diminished group of famous explorers, having visited Karabakh, is now heading for the Azerbaijani exclave that is Nakhchivan. Plane is the only practical way to get to Nakhchivan, as the Armenian borders are closed. There's a bus, which travels via Iran (!), or you can come overland from the Turkish side. It's not surprising that Nakhchivan has very few visitors from the west. Our domestic flight, across Armenia, is awful. Cloud the whole way and lots of turbulence. Poor Harry holds my hand and tries to distract me.
There's also some trepidation in regards to Nakhchivan Airport. It was hit by a drone in the early stages of Trump's war on Iran, when there was swift and undisciplined retaliation covering countries all around the region. president Ilham Aliyev had words and there have been no further attacks on Azeri territory. The airport terminal is large and modern, with a repair where the drone came through a skylight. Though the buildings around are older style.
The same applies to the diminutive and eponymous city of Nakhchivan. This is no chaotic metropolis; instead, think quiet prestige. It is a carefully curated, boutique capital city. Almost everything - from the banks to the bus stops - is neoclassical, solid, heavy stone buildings, faced with glowing (in the sun) local cream-coloured travertine. The streets are unusually wide and exceptionally well-maintained with large public squares, manicured rose gardens, and a lack of the usual typical urban clutter. There's a high concentration of large, imposing government buildings, which look like they were all built by the same hand.
In short, the impression is sturdy, polished, and calm. It feels like a place that has been very recently - and very thoroughly - swept and polished. And it's very welcoming, despite the rain and the poor visibility.
Back on the bus to explore the historical monuments of Nakhchivan city. The Back of the Coach Mafia are now very well ensconced. They're a bit much for Jala, the very pretty 18 year old assistant guide, who appoints me as her mentor and insists on sitting next to me all the time.
The Nakhchivan Khan Palace dates to 1787, built by Kalbali Khan Kangarli, when the region was divided into Khans. Two storeys high, with eight rooms and a basement, it's unsurprisingly very Persianate, ornate with stained glass windows and a mirror lined chamber. It reminds me of the Shah's Palace in Tehran. The restored building has had several incarnations, most recently, as a carpet museum. There's also an outdoor archaeological museum area.
The Momine Khatun Mausoleum is also right next door to the Khan Palace. This is a twelfth-century (1186) decagonal brick tower, decorated with turquoise tiles and Kufic script, built in honour of the wife of an Ildenizid ruler. It's been restored at the top, it's height reduced form 34 metres to 25, in the process. It's raining too hard to spend much time admiring this gem of eastern architecture and besides, there are more mausoleums to come.
In the south east of the city, Nakhchivan Fortress (or Yezidabad Castle) is an ancient, partially restored seventh-century fortification in the south-eastern part of Nakhchivan City, Azerbaijan. It's mainly restored walls, surrounding a museum of archaeological finds, and local history, making it a prominent historical landmark in the capital. There are tents and stalls scattered around the compound, but it's deserted and we are chased out. It's closed today.
Opposite the fortress is the new Heydar Mosque Complex, inaugurated in 2023. This is suitably impressive, one of the largest mosques in the South Caucasus, capable of accommodating up to 5,000 people. We wait in the drizzle, for someone to open the door, so we can look inside and take pictures of the magnificent dome.
This is the Land of Noah, so the highlight has to be the Tomb of Noah, sandwiched between the fortress and the mosque. Jala, giving her maiden speech is quite happy to acknowledge that Noah's burial place also exists in at least five other countries. He's said to have been deposited at the bottom of a well type structure. Although it's also thought that the Soviets might have moved him. Naturally, no-one is going to look, to check. There are exhibits and a tiny model ark, inside. Outside, great views, out to the Aras River and its floodplain, framed by mountains, would be even better if it wasn't for the clouds, but the rain creates nice reflections, on the tiles.
North to Garabaghlar, almost half way to one of the extremities of this mini republic. Here we have the mausoleum of Koday Hatun, wife of the Khanate ruler Abaka, son of Genghis Khan's grandson. Also partially restored, this one is 30 metres high and has a cylindrical form with twelve semi-circular facets. Ornate and Uzbekistan like, the tomb is dated 1376-1377 and stands with a mosque and a double minareted crown gate. There was once a a large village here, now only these remains survive.
We're staying at what we are assured is the best hotel in town. The Hotel Saatmeydani is certainly opulent enough. Huge colonnaded and lit entertainments area, the Clock Piazza, several restaurants, enormous rooms. There's even a cute cat. It seems churlish to complain that there's no lift. But it gives the Back of the Coach Mafia a chance to show off their muscles, hefting our cases for us.
Our timetable has been rearranged a few times. Yesterday, we were going to the Duzdagh Salt Mines Hospital, but it's full of patients and they can't fit us in. Today, with great sadness, I'm dipping out of the visit to the Machu Picchu of the Caucasus. Twelfth century Alinja Fortress was key in defending the area against sieges by Timur. But it stands up 1500 steps and I'm told you can't see much from the bottom. I've begged a photo (thank you Mette), which hasn't done much to help with the FOMO. It looks like a very worthwhile climb, if you're fit.
Instead, I've joined a smaller party in a car driven by Elmir to head south. We head for the Iranian border (again), navigating an army checkpoint (don't point your cameras this way) to the banks of the Aras River. This restored mausoleum is considered a Seljuk architectural masterpiece, a 12-faceted prism built of polished red stone, set on a stepped pedestal. There's an underground chamber (crypt) and a tower-like structure above it, that is inaccessible. All Islamic mausoleums it seems, are designed for women or dervishes. Again, the area around the tomb was formerly a thriving settlement.
The nearest town now is Julfa, where we stop to see a monument to the World War II dead.
A few kilometres from the city of Julfa, our next stop is Daridag Arsenic Water Treatment Centre, also known as The Daridag Balneological Hospital. There's been a rapid change of landscape - and now we're astonishingly (for such a small place) in semi desert. The striking colourful bands and jagged ridges in The Daridag Mountains, are famous for their candy cane bands, created by alternating layers of sedimentary rocks oxidized into vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges
The centre is billed as a unique spot for health and relaxation, though the strap line isn't very enticing. Arsenic? Bathing in these waters - strictly regulated by the staff is claimed to help the treatment of many diseases: rheumatism and skin conditions (such as scabies, jaundice and pyoderma), nervous disorders and musculoskeletal diseases.
Although the springs themselves were discovered in the fifteenth century, the health resorts did not follow until the mid-twentieth century. The first sanatorium was built here only in 1978, initially comprising just five baths. It's not open at the moment, though we can go inside and make cups of tea. And there's plenty of sulphurous hot water running (It's 52 degrees Celsius.).
Ordubad is the second largest city of Nakhchivan, edging into the most south-easterly point of the enclave. The sights here are the Geysariyya Museum, showcasing local history and culture in an old caravanserai and the Juma Mosque. This is one of the oldest mosques in Azerbaijan.
The return journey to Nakhchivan includes the Ashab-al-Kahf sanctuary, a revered pilgrimage site, in the mountains. It features a natural cave, a mosque, and holy water drops (Damcikhana) and is associated with the 'Seven Sleepers' story in the Quran. But so are sites in Jordan and Ephesus. The site involves a walk up to the cave, offering stunning views of the surrounding landscape, and many more steps.
As the rain clears, we're rewarded with panoramas of the rust coloured and snow capped Lesser Caucasus Mountains. Apricot trees in blossom come into their own against blue skies. Snake Mountain repeatedly raises its lonely head. No-one has ever seen a snake there. Later, from the city, There are glimpses of snow covered Mount Ararat, (Ağrı Dağı), the highest peak in Türkiye. That's where the Bible says that Noah's Ark landed.
Time for a final, late lunch in Nakchivan city. This time it's a restaurant with a garden and photo opportunities. Yesterday, lunch (spiced pumpkin soup and mezze) was a triumph. There was even a delightful toilet to add to my photo collection - with a golden pan, no less. Dinner in a restaurant next to beautifully illuminated bridge.
Nakchivan has become a self sustaining, self efficient and organically minded republic. As a result of Armenian blockade's during the Nagorno-Karabakh War it has learned to feed itself and feed itself well, with organic food. I've read that the streets' extraordinary cleanliness is due to volunteer work done by the exclave’s public-sector employees, on their days off. That's not all, the people are also encouraged to plant trees, when they’re not working or sweeping up the streets. I've also read that this 'voluntary work' (or subbotnik as it was known in Soviet times) is actually compulsory. It goes with the job. This despite the soaring GDP, a result of Baku's oil money. It's an enigma. Now the rulers of this exclave have had their wings clipped by Baku (is this still an autonomous republic?), perhaps more visitors will get a chance to enjoy this pristine land and decide for themselves.
On the flight back to Baku (which is much smoother) Nakchivan teacher Anna, interrogates me about my trip and feeds me more Nowruz goodies.
Read more about Azerbaijan here.
I wrote, in 2022, that my trip to Nagorno Karabakh was a once in a lifetime experience. It turns out it's not, as I've been asked to go again. My invitation has come again from Harry Mitsidis, (arguably the best travelled person in the world, and founder of NomadMania, the website that serves the most well-travelled folk in the world). Last time it was Harry's fiftieth birthday, this time he's retiring (he says) and this is to celebrate him transitioning to a quieter life (he says). Nagorno Karabakh, now known as just Karabakh, is still a decidedly off limits travel destination. Access is highly restricted and generally advised against by most governments (it's on the FCDO don't go list) due to serious landmine risks and strict Azerbaijani authorization requirements, And there are going to be 80 or so fêted travellers attending NomadMania Shusha 26. How could I say no?
Its not the most auspicious of flights, on Azerbaijan Airways. The stewardesses who don’t speak English, but look polished and lovely, shower me with water droplets and lemon slices. accidentally I hope. There’s a huge queue for the toilet. After 15 minutes a young man emerges with a book.
Immigration is a breeze. I have my e visa and the hotel is supposed to be sending me a a taxi, to take me back to the area near the old city, which I know from past experience is difficult to navigate. Except they don’t. So I take an airport taxi. And, true to form, the driver can't find the De Verneuil Hotel. To be fair, the whole of the new old city, to the north of the walled area, is closed off. They are replanning the roads, laying new blocks, putting in new trees. The works. The whole is builders’ dust, cement piles, plastic sheeting and narrow wobbly wooden walkways. It's no place to bring a wheelie bag. Or two.
To cut a long story short I spend two very fretful hours wandering around, in the dark, with the heroic assistance of a young Azeri couple. The hotel does not answer their phone.
They eventually reply to a message. They are closed! Words fail me. They say they tried to call me today. Just a trifle late, in my opinion. I'm directed to another establishment, which is full. But they take me to yet another. I'm promised a discount for my trouble. The receptionist still tries to charge me full list price – I check on Booking.com. This is is possibly my worst city arrival ever. But my credit card statement says that he has posted the amount in manat (the Azeri currency) rather than US dollars. So he's accidentally given me a half price deal anyway.
Next day isn't promising either. No breakfast here. Or in the hotel round the corner where I'm directed. The receptionist there marches me back and then I'm taken to still another hotel. It's amazing how many there are hidden behind the facades of the grand buildings in this area. Their signs are all inside the doors. I'm surprised anyone can find any of them.
This is my third visit to Baku, but my first opportunity to have a wander alone. None of the hotels have tourist maps. I'm not astonished. I'm directed to the tourist office, but that’s closed. It may open later. Maybe.
So, working off my Google download, it turns out I'm on Nizami Street, a major pedestrian and shopping boulevard in downtown Baku. Named after the classical Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi, it's famous for its grand nineteenth-century architecture, luxury boutiques (one of the most expensive streets in Southeast Europe), and lively atmosphere. Well, there's not much of that in evidence today.
I wander through the rubble, down to Fountain Square, the central area of the city. The fountain isn’t working and there’s a man standing in the water clearing it. The Azeris are not exactly friendly, pragmatic veering to pessimistic. The women generally modestly clothed, in western style outfits; the masculine uniform hasn’t changed. Black leather jackets and jeans are almost mandatory.
Round almond paste buns were distributed liberally on my flight. These are to celebrate Novruz Bayrami, the Iranian New Year festival, also recognized increasingly in other neighbouring countries. In Azerbaijan, the primary Novruz holiday period is usually March 20–24. However, due to several holidays overlapping with weekends this year, including the end of Ramadan, I've arrived to find the country is currently observing an extended 11-day non-working period that runs from March 20 through March 30, 2026. Wow! It's like Christmas.
Around Fountain Square, colourful Nowruz bazaars bedecked with bunting, balloons and flowers. Again, think Christmas, the little market booths that appear then, but with a spring theme. The most common decorations are large 'Semeni' (green sprouts representing spring), traditionally bound with a ribbon. There are also traditional Azerbaijani Novruz sweets like shakarbura (crescent-shaped pastries) and coloured eggs.
South, through the walled gates into the old city proper. Another Nowruz Market. Attractive outdoor cafes beckon. If they don’t, then their owner does. Sitting at a table in the sun quickly lightens my mood.
Time to set off, to join my group. The Boulevard Marriott is a decided improvement. And I have a great view of the bay and the Flames from my room. Old friends from my last trip four years ago are here: Sal, Per, Orest, Daniel, Boris. Mette from the Executive Committee and Harry too. It's good to catch up with old faces.
Fifty or so of us pile onto a coach to make (for me) a return visit to the Zoroastrian Ateshgah Temple. American Harris helps me to recreate the photo that Shane took last time. Then, a city tour which is typically slow, due to the rush hour traffic. Past the fields of nodding donkeys and through The White City reconstructed from the industrial Black City. The F1 monument - there's a Grand Prix here annually. The Zaha Hadid building. It's impossible to take photos that aren't blurred, through the coach windows.
To Mehraj (most famous Azeri traveller and expedition organiser)'s restaurant, Gizil Baligh, where the food keeps flowing. Salads, cheeses, bread and filled pide type flat pasty/ pancakes. Various kebabs made of beef and lamb. I think that must be the end and I'm stuffed. But no, now it's chicken and chips. Followed by a huge and very sweet NomadMania Shusha 26 cake. We’ve also been given goodie bags containing a travel legends booklet, incorporating all our biographies, Shusha 2026 tee shirts, maps of the old city (just what I needed earlier), badges and key rings, all bearing the logo 'I did it in Azerbaijan'. I should be so lucky.
Time for a refresher on the geopolitics of Karabakh. This is reinforced by visits to the open-air War Trophies Museum and the newly opened Victory Museum. The Military Trophy Park opened in April 2021, to showcase over 300 pieces of military equipment, including tanks, armoured vehicles, and weaponry, captured from Armenian forces, during the 2020 Karabakh War. There are even model trenches, cut out of the ground. It's an interesting contrast with the futuristic hotels and business centres, on the skyline.
The Zefer Muzeyi (Victory Museum) is a monument-complex, opened in 2024 also celebrating Azerbaijan’s victory in the 2020 Second Karabakh War. The 44 columns of the towering arch, at the entrance to Victory Park, represent the 44-day war. Inside, teh main museum, there are eight exhibition halls, 'Iron Fist' installations, and 'Talking Photographs' honouring the dead.
Regular readers of this column will know that I am not fond of war museums. Fortunately, we spend most of the time chatting and catching up with old friends and just scanning the exhibits. There are 64 so called UN Masters, here, people who have been to every country in the world, from 40 different sovereign states. I'm told that's a world record. There are 540 people in total, I'm told, who claim to have done this and 440 verified claims. So, I'm in good company. We have our picture taken as a group, wearing our award tee shirts. And without our special tee shirts. and outside a lot of places. I've spared you most of them.
Tonight's dinner reminds us about the background to Karabakh (again) and congratulates Harry on his retirement. We all have to make awkward short speeches about our travels. And there are more group photos.
Then, we are off to return to Karabakh. Most of the 50 or so of us on this part of the expedition are on a bus, the new Victory Road being deemed to have improved enough to take large vehicles. One coach, one minibus and a handful of cars. And, we still have our police escort, sweeping past cars, as far as possible, on the single lane each side of the road, once we leave the coast. Most of the traffic still Lada cars, square and nostalgia inducing.
It's a cloudy day, so Karabakh is not shown to best effect, the mountains gloomy, with almost no traces of snow, now it's early Spring.
First stop, this visit, is the former ghost town of Agdam, where it is now possible to visit by train, from Baku, and even stay at a new Hilton Garden Inn. Through Yevkhalax, sheep on the roadside verges. Flat fields of rape, just coming into blossom. Steeply angled tin roofs on squat houses. Lada cars still proliferate, out here in the rural areas. These are interspersed with modern complexes, mostly named after the president. And stone built mock manor or castle style hotels and restaurants. Crenellations and turrets are popular.
Agdam, the gateway to Karabakh is very different, now partially reconstructed. The nineteenth-century Juma Mosque is no longer a shell. The new apartment blocks are free to return to, if you can prove your family connection. 1100 people have now returned; there were 50000 originally. But this was one of the most heavily mined areas and warning signs still proliferate, even in the town itself. There is a colourful mosaic on the wall of the ruined Bakery Museum. It's a curious atmosphere, the stark contrast of new flats being built behind the ruins, left as they were. It makes it difficult to shake off the shock of what has happened to this town, a bleak phoenix, with the ashes still remaining.
There's a new road from Agdam to Susa – this is a surprise even to the drivers on our convoy. The new road is a dual carriageway. Well, for a while. but then we are into the construction zone. A plethora (or a rumble?) of JCBs.
En route, we stop at the brand new (still being constructed) Khojaly Monument. The Khojaly Massacre was the largest single massacre of the entire Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. In early 1992, Armenian forces, along with some troops of the 366th CIS (ex Soviet) regiment, took the town, after a blockade and, in the process, committed the mass killing of Azerbaijani civilians. The death toll given by the Azerbaijani authorities is 613 civilians, including 106 women and 63 children. Human Rights Watch say at least 200 Azerbaijanis were killed, though as many as 500–1,000 may have died either from fighting or the aftermath and cold.
Khankendi definitely wasn't on the programme last time. It was in Armenian hands, known as Stepanakert, the capital of the self-proclaimed Republic of Artsakh. In September 2023, the city came under full Azerbaijani control, resulting in the exodus of its Armenian population of around 100,000. There's been more rebuilding, a university and the city is currently being resettled by Azerbaijanis.
We're not allowed to mention the Armenian name. And we're not allowed to take photographs, in case they include any of the many properties over which there are legal issues about disrupted ownership. So, we haven’t been there, or seen the stadium, or the town hall or the Victory Arch, in Victory Park. Just to make sure I've removed anything that looks remotely like a private dwelling from these images. The 'We Are Our Mountains' monument, also known colloquially as 'Tatik-Papik' (Grandma and Grandpa) is also contentious. It's red volcanic tuff and Armenian, originally intended to celebrate peace. There are ongoing calls for it to be removed.
It's the turn of Shusha to be visited as the light fades. The Soviet era mountain is same, but different. The statues, the town hall, the fortress with Shusha in bold red, up top, are still there. The Shusha banners have gone, replaced by a huge welcome sign. The upper mosque has been renovated and there are new apartment blocks. However, it's still a work in progress, a mixture of modern, cleared areas and ruins.
Lachin, along with villages like Aghavno, sat inside the original five-kilometre-wide corridor which linked Armenia with Karabakh. It was monitored by Russian peacekeepers, who escorted us through, on our last visit. In August 2022, Azerbaijan reclaimed control of the town of Lachin, and the old road passing through it was abandoned. The new, wider route bypasses the city, allowing traffic to go to Karabakh without going through the urban area.
The drive to Lachin is long and tortuous, on old roads, or new ones that haven’t been completed. I can't really see, in the dark. It's tough for the driver, especially as the convoy takes the wrong turning (none of us can understand why, as we are following the route on Google ) and the coach has to make a U turn on the narrow highway.
Eventually we arrive and it's time for bed huzzah. Except no, it's a restaurant in town first, for a slightly bizarre supper of soup and dolmades. When it's finally achieved we discover a swanky spa resort, complete with golf buggies. Very much an improvement on the accommodation from last visit, decorated beautifully for the holidays. But it's bathed in mist and in the morning it's full on rain.
I'm told that Lacin is a pretty town. I'll have to accept that piece of information. Running for cover, two art galleries and two ceramics displays. Again. it's a good moment for a chat.
South, to spend the rest of the day meandering along the newly established borders between Azerbaijan and Armenia. No-one crosses here and the original line land borders here have been closed since the 1990s. No matter, it's difficult enough to take decent pictures from a moving bus, but when the windows are covered in water droplets, it's impossible to see anything.
Here, there's a network of new roads and tunnels, along the border with Iran, leading to Armenia. The East Zangezur Corridor. We stop frequently for views across to everyday life in Iran the other side of the river Aras. Photos are forbidden here, on the grounds that army border points are secret and the Iranians of course are skittish, already being at war with the USA and Israel. Though the many journalists not to mention the drivers don't seem to be included in that ban. The main tunnel is closed on one side. And there's no other cover, for a bush toilet. The sign is large enough to duck behind.
At the far end of the tunnel is the tripoint between the three countries. This is where the proposed ‘Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity,’ linking Azerbaijan through Armenia to Nakhchivan and beyond, would begin.
Back to Baku via Fusili, which now has an airport, a few apartment blocks and a supermarket. Again, it must be weird, living in characterless houses identical to everyone else, all modern and very utilitarian, amongst a bleak landscape, dotted with ruins.
The media have tracked our visit again. At most stops we are met with a host of pretty young girls waving microphones. But less energetically than last time. No press conferences, on this occasion. There have been maybe 20 other groups visiting since then. But it's still a novelty to watch ourselves on the television each night. Now it's time to leave Baku and the media behind and venture to the exclave of Nakhchivan. Reza, the photographer we met last time, has not been around on this trip. But he does have an exhibition of his wonderful photographs, at the airport.
Read more about Azerbaijan here.
Read about my train trip here.
I’m Over the Moon (I never thought I would actually utilise this overdone idiom, but in this case it’s almost true), as I’ve been asked to tour Nagorno Karabakh this week. In fact, it’s doubly exciting. My invitation has come from Harry Mitsidis, arguably the best travelled person in the world, and founder of NomadMania, the website that serves the most well-travelled folk in the world. To my mind, this is elite company. And Nagorno Karabakh is, currently, a decidedly off limits travel destination. No-one is allowed in, except the military, supply vehicles and construction workers.
So, I’ve travelled via Istanbul and now I'm back in the plate glass and steel of Baku, the oil backed capital of Azerbaijan. Twenty five travellers (including me), mostly bloggers and You-tubers are converging on the Sunday Hotel in the labyrinthine old town, which my taxi driver can't find, without half an hours' worth of conversations with locals.
They all look so energetic and fit (in both senses of the word). Tall, blond Viking Gustav (@gus1thego), from Denmark has a following of nearly a quarter of a million on You-tube. There are only five women, including me. Very Hungry Nomads, Rach and Marty, who have done one less country (187) and have a following of 20,000, Milana, who manages the NomadMania office from Warsaw, and Hungarian Ildiko, who has visited every country in the world. I’m in awe.
First off, a welcome dinner and trip briefing in a Baku restaurant. The food keeps coming and coming. Mezze with salads and a variety of breads, roast salmon with plaited potatoes, tender liver and succulent kebabs, barbecued lamb. And my favourite, crispy rice pots with apricots and sweet chestnuts.
Perhaps more importantly, it’s Harry’s fiftieth birthday (or it was yesterday). The Nomads have created a video wishing him well. Naturally, some far flung areas of the world are represented. Harry is visibly touched and grateful. But the celebrations don’t end there, or with the sticky chocolate cake decorated with flares and the NomadMania logo. Harry has, aspirationally, requested that Aygun attends to provide the entertainment. And, to his astonishment, she does.
Wikipedia says that Aygun Kazimova is a well known singer in Azerbaijan, Turkey and Russia. (Actually, I’m told, she is the most famous and successful female singer in Azerbaijan). She’s also an actor and songwriter and has dueted with Snoop Dogg. Whatever, she is a consummate professional, interacting wholeheartedly with her audience. The singing is fabulous and everyone is soon dancing and partying. Harry is, literally, having the time of his life.
Back to the hotel, at midnight.
We convene at 5.45 in the morning. A convoy of 11 land cruisers, headed by a police car, complete with blue flashing warning lights. There’s an accompanying clicking of amber indicators to indicate our importance to bemused motorists, as we stream out of Baku, parallel to the Caspian Sea and through the plain of oil fields to the south. Most of the drivers take no notice, though one or two tuck in between us, sneakily taking advantage of our clear road.
Then west and into Karabakh. President Aliyev has already built a new six-lane 100-kilometre highway, from Fuzuli (where there’s a spanking brand new international airport) part-way to the town of Shusha. Then, we wind up into the mountains. It’s immediately apparent that this a hauntingly beautiful land. Hilltops laced with delicate icing sugar coated trees, giving way to snow blanketed slopes.
That's the background. Emotions are still riding high on both sides. There are ongoing arguments over captives still held and dead bodies not returned. Both parties continue to revisit the horrors of the war, atrocities and devastation via various forms of media. And here I am in Shusha, to see for myself.
Shusha nestles at over 1500 metres, once a soviet mountain resort. Between May 1992 and November 2020, Shusha was under the de facto control of Artsakh and administered as the centre of its Shushi Province. It is now a bleak, almost ghost town. The displaced peoples of the war have left devastation behind. Ruined buildings, poking through the trees, like mini Roman amphitheatres. We are told that, here and elsewhere, ejected Armenians looted the houses, removed the roofs and doors and sold them. In some areas, the buildings have been levelled.
Ownership of the town of Shusha has been hugely significant, as it has religious, cultural and strategic importance for both groups. It is usually considered to be the cradle of Azerbaijani culture - especially music and poetry. The old fortress walls and gate remain, but elsewhere busts are riddled with bullet holes. Bart, from the Netherlands (@offbeattravelling) points out the indentations. The cultural significance of Shusha is reinforced by a visit to the home of Murtuza Bulbul, a famous Azerbaijani and Soviet opera tenor.
Renowned Iranian photographer Reza gives a fascinating presentation, which explains how the main square in Shusha once looked. The Azeris complain bitterly about the destruction of their cultural hall and damage to mosques. These are boarded off, for renovation. However, Shusha also contains several Armenian Apostolic churches, and there are concerns that these, in their turn, have also been desecrated.
It transpires that our convoy is larger than I had imagined. We’re being accompanied by a media bus and journalists, representing all the major Azeri TV channels. We’ve hardly alighted from our 4WDs before being marched off to answer questions about our impressions of Shusha. I repeat my speech three times in front of different microphones. I hardly know what to say. I’ve only been here five minutes and I don’t feel fully informed. The vloggers are more adept. They've leapt out, launching their drones and waving their cell phones. It's Selfie Central.
Back in the land cruisers, we gain further height and the carpets of snow thicken. But it’s already been a long day. Stops by the roadside and more interviews consume the hours. There's a longer halt at Hunot Gorge, where we peer over the edge, alongside camouflaged sentries. It’s dusk when we arrive at Agdam and our city tour has to be abandoned. This one of the world's most famous ghost towns, looted, destroyed and left in ruins for three decades.
We gather at the under renovation mosque, the only building left standing in the town, which was once home to 50,000. Another explanation from Reza. He has horrifying and exceptionally moving images of shocked civilians and the Armenian atrocities.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about Agdam:
'HRW (Human Rights Watch) considered these actions serious violations of the rules of war, but noted that given the tit-for-tat nature of the conflict, it considered the actions of Agdam Armenian forces a revenge for the Azeri destruction of Mardakert, which, according to Thomas Goltz, who was in Mardakert in September 1992, became a "a pile of rubble", noting "more intimate detritus of destroyed private lives: pots and pans, suitcases leaking sullied clothes, crushed baby strollers and even family portraits, still in shattered frames'.
Also:
BBC journalist Roy Parsons reported that "every single Azeri house in the town was blown up to discourage return" as during the war, the Azeris used Agdam as a base from which to shell Karabakh and the Armenians could not trust them not to do it again.
Bed for the night is in a cottage, in the grounds of a hotel, another three hours further on, in Toghana. We arrive for dinner at 10.15. Another update and I’m eventually able to try to sleep, just after midnight. It’s not easy. I don’t think the room has been occupied for many weeks and the bedding is icy cold. Milana and boyfriend Daniel, ensconced in the master bedroom next door, have kindly given me the only fan heater in the building. It’s waging a futile battle against the draughts.
Today, right into Karabakh and the district of Kalbajar. An ongoing procession of ruins. And a mixture of frustration and delight. Long stops whilst vehicles are refuelled - they have to summon a tanker and wait in line, a flat tyre (from shrapnel it’s alleged) and the requirements (and whims) of security. The scenery, however, as we chug up to the top of a pass, is spectacular. We've climbed to a height of 3350 metres, the temperature an eye watering minus 12 and a switchback of hairpin bends down the other side. The Murov Mountains are the highest in the Lesser Caucasus.
Through an automobile tunnel hewn out of the rock. No concessions to artistic merit here. And a military camp stop for tea in the refectory. We queue up to use the bathroom in some poor soldier's room . I don't think he's been asked. The troops are very nervous of the cameras and slide out of sight if they see one. Harry reminds us, firmly, that we must not publish images that enable servicemen to be recognised. It's a shame. They have very impressive Dr Zhivago style fur hats. Some of the drivers oblige by lining up for a picture instead.
And another delight: gurgling hot springs in a river valley at Istisu. This was, historically, a resort town, and during the Soviet period, it attracted people from all over the USSR, to be treated at the mineral-springs baths. There were even plans to bottle the water. It's a welcome steaming fountain ringed by emerald patterned rocks, a flattened dinosaur. (The picture of me here was taken by Boris Kester @boris_traveladventures - he's visited every country in the world. And thank you Boris, for the editing.)
And into the Lachin Corridor where, as agreed in the peace settlement, the Russians preside over a long wide valley. Russian and Azeri flags flutter, there are tanks and personnel carriers under camouflage netting. and we are (even more strongly) forbidden to take photographs. Straight faced and grave, the Russian soldiers search our bags and cars thoroughly. It’s a long interlude. Alongside the road, scarlet signs warn of mines. And I desperately want to go to the toilet. Boris and Max, from Vienna (@maxlayerer, scarf artistically draped round his head), do the honours and bravely check the (too) steep scrub is safe.
There are mixed views on the Russian peace keeping mission. After the 2020 war, the front line has become longer and more volatile than before. Opposing military positions are separated from one another by only 30 -100 metres. So, this is an important job. Russia of course, enjoys this foot hold. However, its justification relies on a well-functioning territory, with a large civilian population. At the moment, what remains of Karabakh in Armenian hands struggles for economic viability, as most of its routes to Armenia have disappeared.
The Lachin Corridor (five kilometres wide) currently provides the only connection between Nagorno-Karabakh and Armenia - we cross the dusty road to Armenia, wiggling away into the distance. It’s an impressive valley drive and there are caves on the further side. My driver politely forbids me, still, from taking any pictures. We are being tailed by a Russian vehicle, flag waving as the convoy moves through their jurisdiction. Every two minutes tense Russian guards at different checkpoints count the number of cars and mark us all present on their forms.
There are unconfirmed reports that Moscow is considering giving the Karabakh Armenians Russian passports, as it has, for example, to the residents of Transnistria, in Moldova.
It's late again, by the time we arrive at our lodging. The lights of Iran are twinkling in the distance. Tonight, it’s a military barracks. It takes half an hour to find it. The police car obviously doesn’t have GPS here and it’s comic watching 11 cars reverse and do U turns several times in unison. Dinner is at 10.45.
I’ve done well with room allocations; the barracks is surprisingly modern and warm. (There's a rumour the poor soldiers have had to sleep outside so we can be accommodated). I’m sharing with just one Azeri lady, a travel agent. Though she does set her alarm for five a.m.
As dawn breaks, we’re being interviewed by journalists once again. Parked above a newly built 'smart city' we were supposed to see yesterday. Smart villages are intended to introduce agriculture based on 'modern technologies and joint management and control,' but, the concept goes beyond simply farming methods. It also includes ‘smart’ street lighting, cold- and heat-resistant homes, management of household waste, the installation of hydro and solar power stations and biogas energy. The idea has had a mixed reaction. There are concerns around ownership and corruption. And these urban-type settlements, may not be popular with returnees who hanker for their old houses.
Down here, in the south, east of the Zangezur mountains, the Azeris and Turks are most excited about the opening of the so called Zangezur Corridor. Road and rail links will establish a direct link between Azerbaijan and the Azeri exclave of Nakchivan, currently divided by Armenian land. The possibilities of enhanced links with Turkey and with Europe beckon.
We stop on the newly built railway line for a final exposition from Reza, who is pursued along the track by his drone.
Exiting Karabakh, finally, we halt at Bilasuvar, a small Azeri town. There’s a square, with a monument to Heydar Aliyev, who’s often known as the 'father of the Azeri nation’. He’s also the father of the current president, Ilham Aliyev.
This is what it’s like to be a celebrity. I’ve been doing some royal family style waving as we have proceeded and Azeri guards have all saluted to acknowledge us, as we speed past. Here, most of the town comes to halt. Small boys giggle excitedly and stare as they pose with Gustav. The mayor emerges from the municipal buildings to greet us, his eyes widening, as he realises that we are those people who have been on the TV news this week. We’re all invited to welcome refreshments, in a café, on the edge of the square.
Back in Baku. In the late afternoon, a meeting with Hikmat Hajiyev, the high profile Assistant of the President of the Republic of Azerbaijan and Head of the Foreign Policy Affairs Department of the Presidential Administration. This is what appears on Twitter:
'Very pleased to meet with NomadMania travellers and bloggers group who visited the all liberated territories within 3 days long intense schedule. We talked about post-conflict developments in the South Caucasus, Azerbaijan's agenda of peace and prospects of normalization with Armenia'
For my part, I’m happy to hear talk about ways forward, rather than dwelling on the past. Mr. Hajiyev brings up the challenges of reconstruction and returning Azeris comfortably and safely, 'in a dignified manner'. The government are building on a previous official seventy-two-page programme from 2008, entitled “Big Recovery” which makes it clear how large the challenge is. It documents plans to rebuild 751 settlements over 11,500 square kilometres and resettle up to 570,000 people. Extensive refurbishment of utilities, and reconstruction is needed before former residents can return, something that could take several years. Mr Hajiyev mentions employment, education and universities which provide courses that focus on the needs of the area. (Like oil studies in Texas.). There is mineral wealth in Karabakh and opportunities for green energy. Plans also include the building of more smart cities.
Mines are a huge issue. There are millions of them and maps are unreliable. Energy and other resources are problematic. The capital of Artsakh, Stepanakert (which Azerbaijanis call Khankendi) and Shusha, which used to rely on one another for water and electricity, are now in rival hands. The biggest challenge, however, is probably finance. Azerbaijan is in a difficult economic climate, with falling oil production and the global pandemic. The conflict has also weakened Nagorno Karabakh’s economy.
Nevertheless, Mr Hajiyev is upbeat, as he addresses concerns that Azeris may not wish to return to Karabakh. Displaced peoples have, for nearly thirty years carved out a new urban style existence, which might be comfortable and habituated. Mr Hajiyev believes that the peoples remain attached to their land, even if they have been away some time. Reza joins in: ‘They were displaced against their will and without their possessions, but they took their key’.
These points are reiterated at a press conference in the Trend News Agency building – we are described as ‘famous travellers’ in the ensuing news bulletins. I’m very grateful and feel privileged to have been included in such a trip. We fervently hope that both sides can put the horrors of the war behind them and move on. There are challenging, but huge possibilities and opening up, internationally, both physically and diplomatically, will hopefully lead to the necessary support required.
'When we visit these regions in 10 years, we hope to see big hotels, smart villages, and developed economic spaces. I expect Karabakh to become a new bridge between Azerbaijan and Europe. More people should visit and discover Azerbaijan,' says Harry.
Read more about Azerbaijan here.
Malta became a member country of the EU on May 1, 2004. It's currency is the Euro. Malta is the most densely populated country in the EU and one of the most densely populated countries in the world. It has about 1,265 inhabitants per square kilometre (3,000 per square mile.)
Malta is expensive compared to other southern European destinations. There is relatively little agriculture ( only about 4 square miles of land is under irrigation) and much food has to be imported. Most of the farms that do exist are small and privately owned. The main livestock export is fish.
However, I discovered it's possible to have a relatively cheap holiday there. Malta - A Sizzling Budget Holiday
Malta is considered to be very safe to visit - amongst the safest countries in the EU to travel to. The most common type of crime is petty theft.
Perhaps surprisingly, Malta is more of a sightseeing destination, than a beach holiday. Because of its complex history there is plenty to see, from Neolithic temples to amazing baroque cities. There are a few sandy beaches, but most swimming is in rocky pools. The sea is gorgeously blue and warm - and in summer it can be very, very hot!
Read Malta - A Sizzling Budget Holiday to see where I went.
From the air, Malta is a sea of white cubes on a cocoa coloured background. The green of winter has been scorched away. It hasn’t rained for months. This is one of the most densely populated countries in the world. The coast is a series of peninsulas lined with buildings. Cities spill into each other. Some of them are grand and baroque. Competition for Venice – or Sicily. There are few sandy beaches and these are covered in lines of towels and prone bodies. otherwise, the tourists laze on limestone pavements or concrete ramps with staircases set into them. Swimming access is essential. It’s roasting hot and the sea is a clear, warm bath. The bays are crammed with bobbing boats. I'm told that there are more boats than people.
I'm visiting as I'm desperate for some travel abroad and Malta is on the green Covid list. It's also on my I Must Revisit As I Don't Have Any Photos list. My last trip here, with my husband Don, was grim. We didn't have any money and were on a very cheap package trip. It was August, baking hot and Don refused to go anywhere. I decided I hated Malta.
I'm also on a budget this time - Covid has wiped me out. And the forecast is for 35 degree plus heat. Perhaps I'm doomed. But I am on my own...And the Easyjet flights were only £100 return.
My accommodation is in a charmingly unspoilt area of St Julian’s. Steep streets, old town houses, covered jutting balconies, and faded paint leading down to the waterfront and Balluta Bay. There is a teeny squidge of sand overlooked by a huge cathedral and some overwater restaurants. It’s buzzing. St Julian’s is more vibrant than neighbouring Sliema. There are more interesting looking bistros and bars, as well as the smart cafes that line the rectangle that is Spinola Bay ( still more bobbing boats ) on the edge of Paceville the upmarket nightclub area. This is a (relatively) tasteful blend of English/British signboards and shopping chains (there’s even an area called Pembroke) and European style. There are supermarkets and fruit stalls to buy food (my accommodation has a kitchen) and some of the smaller restaurants aren't too expensive. There's McDonalds and KFC, if I get desperate.
I can’t fault my lodging, called Giljana. For fifty euros a night I have a big air conditioned room with a balcony decorated as ‘The Music Room’ with drums for shelves and a saxophone on the wall. It's ultra clean and the owner Josie is superbly helpful, WhatsApping me bus numbers and routes and advising me on what to see. She’s even washed my own towels for me, without being asked. It’s in an apartment in the quiet part of town, just behind the waterfront. My only complaint is that it is up a steep hill. But then everywhere in Malta is up a steep hill.
I follow the waterfront pavement with ever changing views of a sapphire sea dotted with turquoise, round to Sliema, the other main tourist hub. More hotels and restaurants and plenty of rockpools. There’s even an old fort that has become an eating place.
Then I cut through the inland shopping areas. I’m glad of the shade. Its slow going in the thirty degree heat. Now it’s mostly downhill. And there are numerous familiar names. Next, Boots, Monsoon, Accessorize. All the chains we used to have in England before Covid and online shopping closed them. Now I’m on the other side of the Sliema peninsula and on the quay. There are lines of booths, with men loudly selling boat trips. But I’m after the ferry across to Valletta. That’s only one and half euros.
I’m already losing count of all the harbours and marinas in Malta. I'm crossing Marsamxett Harbour now, one of the most important and there are views across to a citadel - Fort Manoel on Manoel Island - and to the centre of Valletta, marked by a domed church. This is the Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
Valletta, is the smallest national capital in the European Union by area. It rises steeply from the ferry port, ending in a lofty sheer drop, at the edge of what is now Grand Harbour. This magnificent hill top city was the result of the Great Siege of Malta by the Ottomans, in 1565. The Knights of Malta, led by Frenchman Jean Parisot de Valette, Grand Master of the Order, (with the help of Spanish and Maltese forces), were victorious and repelled the attack.
After the siege, they felt it prudent to increase Malta's fortifications, particularly in the inner-harbour area, where the new city of Valletta, named in honour of Valette, was built. I've never seen so many castles, batteries and fortifications bundled together like this, within enormous city walls with huge gates and watchtowers. Malta is indeed supremely well defended. The new main city gate is the fifth to be constructed. It is an elaborate affair, which integrates Greek style pillars, open air stands and a parliament building designed by Renzo Piano, reached by a bridge, over a massive trench.
The knights also constructed watchtowers along the coasts – the Wignacourt, Lascaris and De Redin towers – and named them after the Grand Masters who ordered the work. Situated at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, Malta has needed its fortifications. Most notably in the Second World War, when it was the base for the British Navy. Today, war room exhibits and war museums proliferate.
Over time, however, the population has decreased to only 6000 and the parts of Valletta that aren't citadels or churches have been given over to boutique hotels, restaurants and other tourist attractions. A five euro train ride is a welcome way to escape the climb from the ferry and see a few of the sights.
My tour takes me past the narrow winding streets, festooned with balconies, a few of the churches, (including the Anglican Cathedral of St Paul), past St Elmo’s Fort, defending the Grand Harbour entrance, and alongside the Grand Harbour itself, with views across to the so called Three Cities of Malta. The opposite side to St Elmo’s defending the harbour entrance is Fort Ricasoli, built by the Order of Saint John in the late seventeenth century. The fort occupies a promontory, known as Gallows' Point and is not only the largest fort in Malta, but also the largest in Europe.
The centre of Valletta overflows with majestic buildings, the presidential palace, museums, fountains, towers and aqueducts, the pillars of the Law Courts and St John’s Co Cathedral, with its Caravaggio Wing. Perhaps the most impressive building is The Auberge de Castille, originally built to house the Knights of St John and now, suitably remodelled, the home of the Prime Minister. The city is bustling and the cafes full, though I’m told that Valletta is very quiet at the moment, because of Covid. It must be horribly crowded normally then. Now I’m exhausted and over heated. Ice cream and the bus back. I’ve bought a 21 Euro bus pass, which will last me a week.
This isn't Japan and the bus timetable is a work of fiction. I thought I would beat the heat, get up early and catch a bus into Valletta to continue with my exploration of the Three Cities from the capital. But two buses sweep past me as I race to the stop and there isn't another one for an aeon. When I'm finally on it's crowded, but a teenager immediately vacates her seat for me. This is new and welcome. If seats are not available elderly passengers demand one and the younger occupants oblige instantly.
Back into Floriana, at Valletta, and across the Barakka Gardens, to a lift that plummets in parallel with the huge fortifications. The views across to the Three Cities are enticing. I have a long time to enjoy them. The ferry only goes every half an hour.
There are no signs or maps, like in Valletta when I arrive so I’m struggling to orientate myself. The Three Cities of Malta are separately known as Vittoriosa, Senglea and Cospicua, or Il Birgu, L-Isla and Bormla respectively. You can see why I might be confused.
Finally, I deduce that I'm in Cospicua at the bottom of this finger of harbour with Vittoriosa to the right and Senglea to the right. The cities date back to Phoenician times and are far older than Valetta, the first home of the Knights Hospitallers. Hence, more, generally older fortifications and churches. A feast of domes scarlet, white and yellow flags and baroque architecture. And infinitely quieter than Valletta. It’s mostly locals sitting on benches in the shade.
Most of the main sights appear to be in Vittorioso, so I head that way. The view back to the bastions of Valetta is glorious. Thousands of expensive motor boats are moored on the newly renovated waterfronts and in rows on the shimmering sea. They are interspersed with the small wooden craft used by the locals - mainly for tourist trips nowadays. They mask chic cafes on the newly renovated quayside. There are definitely more church towers in Vittorioso. Their bells all peal in unison on the hour.
The largest of the citadels here, St Angelo’s Fort, guards the entrance to this inlet, the couvre port. It was originally built in the Middle Ages and was rebuilt as the headquarters of the Order of Saint John between the 1530s and the 1560s. It's famous for withstanding the Ottoman Great Siege of Malta, of 1565. The fort was garrisoned by the British from 1800 to 1979. It was even classified as a stone frigate (known as HMS Egmont or later HMS St Angelo). The fort suffered considerable damage during World War II, but it was later restored. In 1998, the upper part of the fort was handed to the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, so it's technically, sort of, part of another sovereign state (with no territory). The fort today acts as a formidable back up to Fort Risouli.
There's yet another war museum with advertising boards artfully arranged so as to almost force you to enter. I slip round them. One of the last things I spot is the tourist information office. It seems to be closed, but a tousle haired woman pops her head out. It is closed, she confirms. Covid. Where can I get a map? I ask. So she brings me one. And explains with a huge smile that there isn't much to see except churches and those are all closed. Nevertheless, IMHO, the views in every direction are amazing. Especially the scenes across various harbours from near the fort.
I ask some roadworkers to take my photo. The young Albanian pursues me up the street. 'Facebook address please', he begs.' I don’t use Facebook or WhatsApp' I lie. 'Coffee then', he pleads. I'm walking on, fast. Virtually the very last place I pass in Vittorioso is the starting point for all the sightseeing tours - bus and boat. Ah!
Back through Cospicua and into Senglea. Another huge domed church. Another citadel and a raised garden with more of those astonishing views. And no shade over this side of the marina either. Time to head back.
A bus to Valletta again and this time changing to the 74 out and south. The bus only goes once an hour so there's a long queue. The outlook is still dry and dusty. Much of this journey involves navigating round the airport runway and numerous hangars. I have to disembark at Hagar. I was going to do the Blue Grotto first, but it’s down a steep hill and I may have to walk. Better up than down….
There are two 'temples' here, one known as Hagar Quim, on top of a ridge and, 500 metres down the slope, are the three buildings that constitute the Mnajdra Temples. are either a heap of limestone or a fascinating insight into Neolithic life, depending on your viewpoint. Whatever they are ancient dated to 5000 BC and contemporaries of the henges of the UK. They seem larger and more elaborate but have circular chambers and stone lintels (in this case megalithic ones) and have been modified and enlarged over time, like the ruins at Skara Brae. The oldest chamber at Mnajdra was constructed around 3600 years BC. And so, is one of the world's oldest free-standing structure. As with its twin in Gozo, it’s called the Gganytija Temple, because the stones are so big they could only have been moved by giants.
Like Stonehenge, there are associations with the solstice at both sites. The south temple at Mnajdra is built so that its main doorway aligns with the sun during the spring and autumn equinoxes. During the winter and summer solstices, the beams of the rising sun alight on two decorated slabs in the first chamber. There’s some suggestion they were constructed by the Phoenicians who were great navigators. It’s also a superb choice of location. There are incredible views from their lofty sites, facing out to the southern Mediterranean.
The sea breeze takes the edge off the searing heat, but it’s still arduous clambering around and then making my way down the hairpin roads to the quay for the Blue Grotto.
Here the local fishermen relieve you of eight euros to take you along the coast to the limestone caverns. They are worth the trip. There is an arch. several caves, a little window that kayaks now float through ( it used to be a proper window) purple quartz formations and plenty of gleaming sapphire and jade swirls, where the light hits the water. Its not as blue as the Blue Lagoon though.
Then the bus again to Rabat. This is as rural as Malta gets, with high stone walls enclosing narrow roads. But there are still plenty of buildings. And even the smallest of towns has a magnificent church at the centre. We wobble along a cliff top road past the viewpoints at Dingli - the highest coastal area in Malta.
Rabat sits on a hill and has more churches and winding streets and a view across to the north coast. But the main attraction here is the old capital, Mdina.
Mdina is a fortified city in the Northern Region of Malta, which served as the island's capital from antiquity until 1530. The city, confined within its formidable walls, has a population of just under 300 (mainly affluent) people, merging into Rabat, which takes its name from the Arabic word for suburb, and has a population of over 11,000.
Mdina is beautifully restored, with a cathedral (dedicated to St Paul, the patron saint of Malta) and some surprisingly delicate tracery on other buildings close by - much of the important architecture in Malta is heavy baroque. The streets are quiet and not too oppressive. They cleverly funnel a breeze around. The nobility still own most of the houses here, passed on through inheritance, but it is no longer of any importance and is known by the Maltese as ‘the Silent City’.
Perhaps the most impressive sight is the citadel gate -it doubled as the entrance to Kings Landing in Game of Thrones - one of several sites around Malta to be used in the series when southern climes were required. Fort St Angelo also featured. Malta has provided backdrops to many other movies as well, most notably Count of Monte Cristo and Gladiator. Oliver Reed actually died in a pub in Valletta (called The Pub), whilst filming Gladiator, there’s a plaque on the wall.
The small, but densely populated city of Mosta has yet another basilica. The Rotunda has a huge dome, that I saw as we came into land. It was built by volunteer labour. This is one of the world's largest unsupported domes. Also on display is a replica of the World War II bombshell that famously crashed through the dome but did not detonate upon impact.
Marsaslokk is a huge disappointment. It’s billed as a charming fishing village with a harbour full of traditional fishing boats called luzzu. What they don't tell you is that the far side of the harbour is given over to a power station. And to the southern side is a huge commercial quay - the container ship free port lined with derricks. Apparently it’s called Pretty Bay.
You can see plenty of the traditional boats as long as you look steadfastly in the other direction. You can only do that from the tourist market which occupies the whole of the town side of the quay. The north side is bring torn up for renovation work. All the guides exhort you to visit on a Sunday as that's when they have the fish market. There are a few crowded fish stalls in the centre selling nothing out of the ordinary. The only other sight is another ornate church with a small dome. It’s dedicated to the Madonna of Pompeii and there are banners erected for annual religious celebrated on the first Sunday in August, which is today. The uplifting sounds of sung mass waft out of the door.
It’s even hotter today, positively sizzling. And its nine o'clock in the morning. They are offering harbour cruises - I don’t think so - or boat trips to St Peter’s Pool, which is a natural pool in the rock further up the coast. The guidebooks tell me that it's popular with young people who spend their time jumping into the water. It's not tempting.
To add insult to injury I can’t get a 3G signal here so I can't find the bus stop back to Valletta. I'm directed up a very steep hill and find I have to wait 20 minutes with no shade. It’s not my best outing.
Today, Comino on the 222 bus. It takes over an hour to get to the very northern tip of Malta island. The journey passes quickly as I'm entertained by a Danish guy who lives in Luxembourg at the moment. Most of the vegetation is succulents or cacti - prickly pears and rows of gently waving aloes. We wend over some parched hills, terraced with dry stone walls and through the various coastal conurbations. St Paul's Bay. Bugibba.
This is where I stayed on my last visit. We found out that our cheap deal was indeed too good to be true. The apartment was tiny, concrete (painted white a long time ago), looked to be in need of a good clean and the cooker didn't work. Maybe the location would compensate? Well no, it seemed we were in the middle of a giant building site. There was no beach, just rocks and very little shade. The August sun was blistering.
I suggested we request to move to another hotel, but Don didn’t want the hassle. He was training for the marathon and he declared it was much too hot to run during the day (he was not wrong). So, we spent nearly all our time sitting round a tiny crammed pool in another ugly and decrepit complex that was called the sister hotel. He went out to run when it was a little cooler, about seven. Then, off in search of dinner, when he returned, which was usually about nine.
I realised that the guy I’d been chatting to, on the sunbed next to me, was Eric Richard, who played the desk sergeant on The Bill. (He can't have been paid much). And that was the highlight of that trip.
More inlets chock full of bobbing boats. Il Mellieha has the largest sandy beach on Malta. Or so I’m told. I can't see any sand for the sea of umbrellas.
Malta is shaped like an upside down fish. Journey's end is at the tail, where there's a large modern ferry terminal with a large modern Gozo ferry alongside it. But I'm taking the much smaller sister ferry to the island of Comino. The boat is run by an enterprising cooperative who get away with overcharging for the half hour trip - 13 euros return - by throwing in a close up of the rock pillars and caves guarding the island en route.
The main attraction is the gorgeously turquoise Blue Lagoon. I've already seen it from the air - when I couldn't get my camera out quickly enough - and its just as fabulous close up. Perfectly scenic surrounded by artistically placed diminutive cliffs, etched with nooks and crannies, complemented by an azure sky.
The problem is that half the tourists on Malta think so too. I've attempted to get here early, but it’s ten o'clock when I finally arrive and several large tour boats have already beaten me to it. The iridescent lagoon is soon nose to tail with an assortment of craft and the bay dotted with swimmers and snorkellers. At least there's an area sectioned off for bathing.
Deckchairs and umbrellas are crammed into every last square inch of rock and too loud music blares from the bars and kiosks above. Vendors tout vociferously for these and various water sports. Though I'm not sure where there is space for all these jet ski and paragliding trips. The cocktail of choice seems to be a mojito served in a pineapple. I’m not sure why. I'm pretty certain they don't grow pineapples in Malta.
More and more tourists are decanted onto the minuscule quay. The two 'sandy beaches' are tinier than a smidge. But its still worth the trip. The sea is super clear over the shimmering sand and there's just enough room to navigate round the bodies in the water, so swimming is delightful.
Josie, my landlady, and her husband Mark are travelling to Gozo for a couple of days so, they give me a lift back to the ferry port, take me on the ferry in their car, and ( well beyond the call of duty) deliver me to Marsalforn in the North. Gozo is the second-largest island in the Maltese archipelago and is depicted as a rural counterpart to its big sister island. It’s not quite what I expect a rural idyll to be. It is slightly greener, (but it hasn't rained here for ages either) and is slightly less urbanised. I can see signs of agriculture. There are rows of vines. But there is still a great deal of building and plenty of huge churches , again in the smallest of villages.
Josie tells me that the Gozitans (say it Goz -i- tans) are very friendly and helpful in the event that I get lost. But they tend to disappear into their homes in the afternoons. Let’s hope I don’t need any assistance on my adventures.
Here at Xwejni Bay there are salt pans dug out of the limestone. The saltwater is left to evaporate all summer and then dug out to be sold. It’s also a scenic spot with little bays and rock formations. Wandering along the promenade into Marsalforn proper is a rewarding, if perspiration inducing, endeavour. Marsalforn is one of the most popular resorts on Gozo and the bay here is lined with hotels, guest houses, restaurants and bars. There is one teeny sandy beach in Marsalforn. However, all along the rocky coastline there are pools in a variety of gorgeous hues. The thermometer is touching 40 degrees today. A swim in one of the pool areas is a necessity to cool down.
Then it’s a bus to Gozo’s Rabat ( also known as Victoria from British times ) which is the capital of Gozo and home to Gozo’s Cittadella. The hill top fort here was re-constructed under the Knights of St. John, after the Ottomans invaded the city in 1551. The massive stone walls of the fortifications were a defence to protect against pirates attempting to take slaves, as well as against any Moslem invasion.
Like at Mdina, there is a cathedral, The Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin (with the same architect as the one at Mdina), several churches and narrow streets. But here you can walk nearly all the way round the walls. And you can see almost the whole of Gozo in the process. There's a café on the ramparts selling what it calls Maltese delicacies. I sample the Maltese drink kinnie, which is like a bitter orange tonic. It’s delicious. Sadly, I can't say the same for the calamari stuffed with tuna that the owner persuades me to try. It’s stewed in tomato and is disgusting; the squid is like rubber. Fortunately, he throws in a huge basket of chips.
Josie and I have worked out that I can get the required Fit to Fly test at St James Hospital in Sliema, where they have a walk in swabbing tent. It’s almost impossible to cut through the jargon and work out which test is required for re-entry to the UK but we think that the rapid antigen test at 35 euros will be ok. The PCR costs 140 euros in comparison. They're running an early morning Sunday service at 7.30 a.m. What they don't tell you in advance is that it's 60 euros - almost double - as it’s 'a special day'.
Booking in is chaotic. You have to scan a form, fill it in online, submit it and wait for your name to be called. Simple. Except that most of the folk who have turned up don't understand the system. certainly don't understand how to fill in the form, don't know their passport numbers and crowd the entrance, thinking they will get seen sooner if they just push in. The medic on duty is spending more time filling in forms for angry frustrated tourists than he is administering tests. My test is exactly the same as the free lateral flow tests we get at home. And he only does one nostril.
I'm glad to report that my second visit to Malta was a much happier experience. There's loads to see and the Maltese are very friendly. It's definitely worth a trip. For more information on Malta see Malta - In A Nutshell.
Gaelic Ireland had emerged by the 1st century AD. The island was Christianised from the fifth century onwards. Following the 12th century Anglo-Norman invasion, England claimed sovereignty. From then on, the politics of Ireland are extremely complex and I'm not even going to attempt to explain them. Read Wikipedia - which may or may not give accurate information.
Ireland was partitioned by the Government of Ireland Act 1920, creating the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland (the six northeastern counties), which became part of the United Kingdom with a devolved government.
Ireland is all gorgeous. The first time I went, I was on a circular tour with Don:
My last trip to Ireland was to Dublin.
I'm back in Dublin. after many years, with a companion. Last time, it was the start of my circular tour. It's the capital of Ireland, on the mouth of the River Liffey. The Dublin Bay area has been inhabited since prehistoric time. There was first an early Christian ecclesiastical settlement, succeeded by a ninth century Viking town. The town remained prosperous but relatively small, making money mostly through the export of wool and linen. until the Georgian era, when, for a short while it was the second largest city in the British Empire.
The city's importance declined during the years of Union with the British. Dublin was not an industrial hub, like Belfast. Once again the capital of Ireland, it has increased in size and prominence. The name Dublin comes from early Irish for 'black pool.', but all the Irish counties have nicknames and this one is often called The Pale, after the fence and ditch that surrounded the area.
Our first stop in Dublin sets the tone for the remainder of the visit; we have lunch in a beautifully authentic Victorian pub. Ryan’s is replete with wood panelling, carriage clocks, globe lights, framed prints and mirrors. There are delightful nooks and crannies and the friendly barman serves us in our own tiny snug. Companion, of course, samples the Guinness, The vast and sprawling brewery is just across the river. It was founded in 1759, and grew to become the largest brewery in the world. It's also the largest employer in Dublin. The pub food is good too. It's an excellent way to begin.
Phoenix Park is just a little further up the road, the entrance tucked in behind the law courts. Once a hunting park, it’s claimed by some sources as the largest walled city park in Europe. It certainly stretches prettily away into the distance, dipping down to lakes and streams, autumn colours gleaming in the sunshine. There's even a zoo.
The park has more than its fair share of impressive memorials, but we can’t find the more ignominious shabby cross on the ground that I’ve read commemorates the murders of Cavendish and Burke in 1882. Lord Frederick Cavendish was The Chief Secretary for Ireland and Thomas Henry Burke was the Under-Secretary. They were stabbed to death with surgical knives while walking from Dublin Castle. A small insurgent group called the Irish National Invincibles were responsible.
We wander along the Liffey, towards the city centre and the castle. It’s not the prettiest part of town, but the reflections of the red brick buildings and stone steeples in the water are lovely and we’re pleased in any case, to be enjoying sunshine. This is Ireland, after all. It's green for a reason.
A charmingly garrulous clergyman gives us a special guided tour in St Audoen’s, the oldest church in Dublin. The tour threatens to take up rather too much of the afternoon, however, so after stroking the Lucky Stone, (it’s not quite the Blarney), we escape to find the street closed and the garda whizzing around in blue flashing cars. There’s a bomb disposal squad out in front of Christchurch Cathedral (there are a lot of churches round here). It turns out to be a storm in a tea cup - or rather a firework in a rubbish bin incident.
Next, Dublin Castle, with round towers and early English style turrets and a memorial garden on the site of the black lake that gave its name to the whole city.
The Molly Malone statue is a must. I’m all geared up to sing the song, much to Companion’s consternation, but I am diverted as she is being assaulted by a group of uncouth Italians who insist on being photographed fondling her amply displayed bosom. She is ignominiously referred to as 'the tart with the cart' by the locals.
Stephen Green Park has a huge plate glass mall close by, another lake and an arch. There are hosts of other grand neoclassical civic buildings, especially the Leinster Building, where the Irish parliament, the Dail meets, the Irish Bank and a plethora of galleries and museums. The largest dome belongs to Government Buildings, the home of the Department of the Taoiseach. Companion insists on referring to it as the Teashop. I’m hushing and looking round in the hope that no-one has overheard.
Trinity College Dublin is by far the most important university in Ireland, a sister college to St John's College, Cambridge and Oriel College, Oxford. A graduate of Dublin, Oxford or Cambridge can be conferred the equivalent degree at either of the other two without further examination. The ninthth-century Book of Kells and other illustrated manuscripts are on show in the College Library. And the list of notable alumni is exhaustive. I'm pondering it as I wander the quadrangle.
There are more pubs than any other type of building in Dublin and they all sell Guinness. We eat a very good Irish steak dinner, the meat supplied by a butcher referred to in James Joyce’s Ulysses.
There’s a glorious sunrise over the Guinness brewery, heralding a cloudy day.
West, to the most recently developed area of Dublin, the docklands. The award winning EPIC Museum of Irish emigration here is mainly videos of a lot of people who have decided that they don’t want to live in Ireland, whining about their tough lives when they leave. The rest of it is devoted to videos of famous people who are claimed as being of national importance, as they have obscure Irish roots, such as one great grandfather who was born in Sligo. In the tennis section of the sports department, for example, John McEnroe and Pat Cash are both claimed as Irish. There are notably several US presidents claimed too. Kennedy is an obvious one, but Ulysses Grant is a more surprising addition. Ditto Margaret Mitchell whose maternal great grandfather came from Ireland.
It’s a little astonishing - these many tenuous claims to fame and (as far as we can see) numerous omissions of genuinely Irish celebrities. Maybe these are only well known in the UK? We opt for laughter, instead of succumbing to bewilderment. We decide that everyone must be Irish if you look hard enough. A statue of Batman has been placed above a door to a bar by the river. We assume he must be Irish too.
A last wander past Abbey Street, the statues (each resplendent with seagull on his head) and needle spire of Connell Street, across the white arched Halfpenny Bridge, through the fake and real traditional pubs of Temple Bar. They both charge exorbitant prices in this most touristy part of town. Up to 30 euros for Irish stew, beef and Guinness pie or Dublin Bay prawns. We finish our visit with a meal in the genuine article, just off the main drag.
Read some quirky facts about Ireland here
Slovakia has been a member of the European Union since May 1, 2004. It's part of the Eurozone (the currency is the Euro) and the Schengen Visa region. It also belongs to NATO.
Slovakia is ranked as a high-income advanced economy. It has a low poverty rate in comparison to other countries, though the poor are disproportionately found in minority groups.
Slovakia is said to be a safe country to visit. Violent crime is almost non-existent and crime rates are low, even by European standards. As in many cities pickpockets are definitely a problem, though again, much less so than in other European countries.
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