Buying snow Sumqayit

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Buying snow Sumqayit

Off the coast of Forestville, dawn breaks in a blaze of orange over the horizon as the crew begins a long day of work by throwing about 50 traps overboard. The boat will then head back towards Bas-Saint-Laurent to retrieve its first snow crab catch of the season. Snow crab is the king of the cold salty waters of the St. Snow crab fishing also marks the beginning of the fishing season in late March or early April, depending on the year. This crustacean is also fished later in the spring in the Gulf of St. Gourmet seafood lovers especially in Japan prize this long-legged crustacean even more than lobster. Snow crab has a delicate texture with a sweet nutty flavour and the flesh is both tender and firm. Snow crab is also high in iron and vitamin C and contains very little fat or cholesterol… as long as you forgo the mayonnaise or butter, obviously. As a child, he remembers waiting for the boats to return and collecting discarded snow crab off the wharf. At the time, snow crab had no commercial value and was considered a nuisance because it got tangled in fishing nets and damaged them. Now much sought after, it is a sustainable product, since the fishery is controlled by quotas that vary from year to year. Snow crabs are crustaceans with flat round bodies and five pairs of spider-like legs including the front claws. Males can grow to a carapace width of about 15 cm 6 in. They can weigh anywhere from grams 12 ounces to 1. Snow crabs vary in colour from sandy brown to light orange; when cooked, they turned a bright orangey red. Snow crab is generally available precooked, in sections of four legs and a front claw. Plan on serving two or three pieces per person for a main course or one each as a starter. You may prefer to buy live snow crab and cook it yourself be sure not to overcook it! This way your guests have the challenge and fun of shelling their own crab to savour the white meat found in the legs and body. You can also try eating the greenish tomalley, which has a strong taste. To cook the crab, seawater is recommended, but you can also add fine or coarse salt to enough water to cover the crabs. Bring the water to a boil and plunge the live crabs into it; once it boils again, cook the crabs for 10 to 14 minutes. After 10 minutes, the flesh is very tender! You may then want to let the crabs cool on the counter or directly on the plates; you can also rinse them in cold water before serving though some frown on this practice! In terms of snow crab recipes, simplest is best: one crab per person with a small dish of homemade mayonnaise or melted butter without garlic , accompanied by a green salad and basmati rice. If there are any leftovers, no problem: you can serve crab for brunch or lunch with a poached egg, on toast with butter or olive oil, in a sandwich or spring roll, or for supper on pasta. Visit the Fisheries and Oceans Canada website. More about snow crab… Snow crabs are crustaceans with flat round bodies and five pairs of spider-like legs including the front claws. Simplest is best In terms of snow crab recipes, simplest is best: one crab per person with a small dish of homemade mayonnaise or melted butter without garlic , accompanied by a green salad and basmati rice. For more information about snow crab If you liked this article, you might also like Tags regional flavours. Categories Foodie Finds. Post a comment Author name. Author email. Author website.

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Buying snow Sumqayit

During my undergrad studies I became fascinated with religious mysticism. It is universal; movements all over the world have shaken organized religions to their cores and I appreciate anything that challenges the status quo when it becomes stagnant. The two places described below are full of mystic qualities, and are worth visiting as day trips if you get the chance. Legend has it that in the 14th century, an Arabian merchant named Sofi Hamid was traveling southward through the arid steppes of modern-day Azerbaijan when he suddenly realized that he was dying. He asked his entourage to bury him wherever his camel rested; and today we have Sofi Hamid Cemetery. Right outside is a white camel. Women who want to have a baby crawl under the camel three times, but you can wish for other things too. Next to the camel is a bunch of small trees. It immediately reminded me of the house of Mary in Ephesus Turkey , the only other place I had seen people tie cloth as a symbol of their desires. Now for the actual cemetery. A striking feature we noticed was that the monuments were all facing the same way:. Differences abound in this cemetery compared to traditional Muslim cemeteries, and my local friends were great at pointing those out. For example, the plots you see above act as monuments and draw a lot of attention to that grave site. Traditionally, burial plots are meant to look this this:. The reddish-pink ribbon indicates that the person died very young, i. Simple and basic. A majority of the grave sites had several images and motifs that indicated what that person accomplished in their life, such as a career. Then there are other motifs: snakes, deer, birds, fruit, etc etc…. This looks like the story of Sofi Hamid…. Of course, I was fascinated by the combination of Arabic and Cyrillic scripts. Seriously, where else in the world would you see this? Azerbaijan and Iran. A friend from home mentioned it looks like something from a Tolkien novel. I have to agree. We met a woman on the stairs as she made her way down. She made sure we were covered correctly, and gave her scarf to Madeline without a second thought. Along the main path was a flatbed area where people stacked rocks. Then we climbed through the rock formation to reach one of the top peaks. Ladders and rails made from ersatz materials, and steps worn from heavy use made for a somewhat precarious climb. Not to mention having to worry about other people, especially the elderly women who somehow braved the trail. There was also a young woman who climbed in her wedge heels. Devout women, with the skirts of their chadors billowing behind them, drifted around the formation. We passed a couple others on the stairs and throughout the formation with faces uplifted, palms extended toward heaven, a friend conveniently nearby snapping pictures on her phone. In some places, old women stationed themselves on the ground, granting blessings after pilgrims donated a manat. And like at Sofi Hamid above, people tied pieces of fabric in certain areas as they made a wish or said a prayer. Luckily our contact mentioned this detail to me, so I cut some strips for us to tie. And there you have it, another side of religious culture in Azerbaijan. Prior to a few weekends ago April 24 — 26 , I imagined that southern Azerbaijan was nothing but a vast desert. The Talysh Mountain range, which runs between Azerbaijan and Iran, slowly integrated itself into the landscape, becoming more prominent with each passing mile. Those mountains in the background are IN Iran! Ehmed was a funny guy, and was equally baffled by and impressed with us. He spoke in Russian to Madeline and Dana, and when they translated into English for me, I added a couple words in Azeri. If something was confusing, I would try to clarify in Azeri while they clarified in Russian. This is not to say that I speak Azeri well. Definitely not. But I got the gist of situations, such as whenever Ehmed rolled down his window to ask for directions as he weaved through the calm streets of Astara, the town that leads to Iran. So…I have these Americans in my taxi, and they want to see the Iranian border. Where is that? But we made it just fine. It was lovely that day. This is facing north…. Off he went, about 15 steps ahead of us, asking random people where the nearest facility was located. So…I have these Americans and they need to use the bathroom. Crisis averted, we drove back north to see a few more points of interest. It looks a little ghetto, but I promise the people are nice. Ehmed saved the day again when he hopped into the taxi and rushed to find matches when none of us had a lighter. He hustled back through the rusty gate and whipped out a match:. Hahaha, is it, now? Set off a ways in the Talysh hills, Istisu is a collection of natural hot springs that serve as a natural healing spa for tourists Ehmed informed us that many Iranians come here every year. We only dipped our feet, but it felt oh-so-good and was oh-so-hot. Our hut. Now for the actual town. The events described above occurred on the second day of our trip. Our first day we spent in Lankaran after we arrived in the afternoon from Baku — a bus ride that took over 5 hours. Legend has it that Stalin was imprisoned in this tower. He escaped and sailed across the Caspian to safety. Lankaran is a tiny town, so we saw the main areas within a few hours. Off we went, heading in the general direction of the Caspian…. Passed by some military bases of some sort. Crossed the train tracks. It was challenging to find a road that led to the beach. We finally made it, but were discouraged at its condition:. Azerbaijan is slowly developing its tourism industry outside of Baku, it will just take time. There were a few moments during the trip that left us all in bewilderment. Blame it on cultural differences, language barriers, maybe the local quirks of people clashed with our quirks…whatever the reason, we experienced the following awkward interactions:. We tried this place out because it was raved about in the guidebook; supposedly they prepared the best levengi , a whole chicken stuffed with a walnutty herb paste. Especially tasty when paired with plov , or rice. Long story short, we were ripped off. The chicken was small, and the rice was old. It was MUCH better in terms of quality and for the price. But he was rude first so I did not care. Just then music blasted from the kitchen downstairs. Like, it was WAY louder than our talking level, and much ruder to the other guests he referred to. This is VERY loud! Why I oughta…. I wanted to lurch forward and strangle him. They did call us a taxi, which thankfully came a minute later, but which ended up being another strange interaction…. It totally caught us off-guard, and all we could do was laugh at his outburst as he pouted. Sir, do you want me to pay you? The next morning we were on our way to Astara and the other places I talked about above. Since we were leaving the city, and going close to Iran, we wanted our passports. But this manager treated it too casually and took his sweet time to make scans. When we asked him about our passports that second morning, he blew us off and made some crappy jokes in Russian. There we stood in the office, anger simmering in each of us — at least in me. If you know me, you can imagine how annoyed I got by this dude. He looked up and sighed, grabbed our passports, and rushed out the hotel. He came back a few minutes later with the originals and scanned copies. I was happy to be reunited with my official form of identity, but was irked by his offer to drive us around that day for free. Ugh, seriously? Despite all this, I had a good time in Lankaran. Of course, I have Dana and Madeline to thank since I survived off of their awesome Russian skills, and I hope that future ETAs will be able to bond over seeing the Iranian border and surviving weird social moments. With just over a month left, things are winding down here in Azerbaijan in terms of my teaching responsibilities. Selling narlar pomegranates from the back of a car. Walking on the beach. If only some money was dedicated to cleaning it up and taking care of it. It would be so much nicer…. Almost got hit by a car; nothing surprises me anymore! So there you go, another little taste of Azerbaijan. If you want to see them in a larger size with descriptions, click on the first one for a slideshow. Gergeti church, perched atop of a little mountain peak, was the goal during our day trip to Kazbegi for more information on Kazbegi, click here. Dana said the views were to die for, and the trek up and down the substantial hill would take just the right amount of time for an entertaining, semi-strenuous day hike. Spolier alert: We did not make it to the church. First, paths were not clearly marked. Second, the path we ended up taking was still covered with snow. And third, we almost died by cows. Picture the three of us at the bottom of a big hill, right outside a little village. Our eyes scanned the surrounding landscape. We started heading up, and, to our dismay, it was much harder than it looked from afar. We watched them slip and slide while we caught our breath, panic suddenly settling in as more cows appeared and dotted the hillside. There we stood, balanced precariously on mud and slabs of gray sheet rock, desperately trying to avoid the onslaught of cows lumbering down the steep hill. Their slim ankles and bony knees hardly looked fit enough to handle their girth, and I imagined their joints buckling and heaving them down the hill on top of us. It is SO hard to move quickly with precarious footing at a steep incline as panic surges through your body. We shuffled over to the left, half the cows headed in that direction. We moved over more to get to grass, hoping for better footing. Apparently the cows were looking for that too. I know, deep down, that cows are harmless creatures. The animal must be pretty passive and relaxed to allow a human to collect milk from it everyday, and it was one of the first domesticated animals in human history. But we definitely fed the fire of fear as we each flipped out. Run away! We reconvened and tried to find our sanity, all the while nervously glaring at the cows as they meandered past us toward the village. We waited until we were sure no more cows would come, and we gave the hill a second try. We made it much further, but, as I mentioned earlier, still failed. A minute taxi ride away from Kutaisi is Gelati Monastery. This is one of my personal favorites out of the whole trip. Next phase of the trip: Batumi, a city right on the Black Sea coast. In the summer, Batumi is THE place to be — full of tourists, lots of fun. In March, spring had just arrived so although it was occasionally chilly, it was still enjoyable. It actually reminded me of the off-season back home in West Michigan, an area overflowing with tourists in the summer, and still as still can be in the winter. And there you have it, an entire week of travel in ONE post. Venture out and experience the greater Caucasus…take in the mighty vistas, appreciate the spirituality of the region…. How ridiculous , I thought, explore your own country! However, I must reprimand myself — how many places in MY country — even home state — have I failed to see thus far? I alluded in Part I that the only way to get to these villages is by hiring an experienced driver. Some taxis, I think, can take you but they probably prefer doing that in warmer months. We did this in January. We had him for both day trips, which cost about 40 manat per day 20 manat per person. We trucked around in this Soviet-era beauty:. Our guide offered to stop occasionally for pictures. Those are frozen waterfalls. But it was business as usual for the people living there. Kids were leaving school, the men and women were hard at work maintaining the household. We did get a few perplexed glances, Why are you here now? Come back in April or something. Oh well! Himself, his wife, and his mother beamed at us with rosy cheeks while I clumsily thanked them in Azeri. Also loved it when they talked to each other in their own language. I appreciate when people recognize that America has great diversity amongst its languages and cultures, but we forget that diversity exists everywhere — including the small Caucasus countries. It was also interesting to get a small taste of village life. The sign, interestingly enough, was in Azeri and English. Captivated by this frozen waterfall. Also concerned about how to get around it…. But we got around it okay…until some school boys started throwing rocks at us. Boys will be boys everywhere! Every house was carefully pieced together with materials found in the area, so no wood. The occasional glass window, a checkered wall panel, or bright splash of color certainly caught my attention:. This is their fuel: cattle dung shaped into bricks. Talk about completely self-reliant and not wasting a thing! Managed to satisfy my door obsession here too! Are you sure that is a real place? Surely I must have been somewhere else, surely I must be confused. For this day trip we had the same driver plus his brother. He must have tagged along for moral support, it was quite snowy and disorienting. Actually, we stopped there with the intention of going no further. I see that this is a tourist trap. I am not paying you to take me to a ski resort, sir, I want to go see the village. Take me there at once! I searched for words…. A few minutes later we were back on the treacherous path, barreling over mounds of snow. But, my God, we made it! We hopped out of the vehicle on slightly wobbly legs and became more dazed by the intensity and volume of the white snow. So I had a tinge of culture shock. Except when I fell because of the ice…which I did about 10 times. A highlight of visiting Laza was seeing a bit of the mountain pastoral lifestyle. We saw sheep and horses being taken to water…. And a puppy that freaking loved me…. We all know how bleak and tiresome life seems as we struggle through endless winter. But seeing winter in a different place, away from Baku, really enlivened it for me. Laza is beautiful even in January…. We experienced another round of unconditional hospitality that afternoon. After getting lost no surprise there and managing to ask where the market was located, we stumbled through the snow to meet our drivers about 15 minutes past our agreed-upon time. A group of men were around the car, probably asking why they made the treacherous journey into the village. How is everyone? One gentleman invited us to his home for lunch and tea. After warming up with homemade soup, plov a local rice dish , and especially-tasty tea it must be the water… , we were back on the road. It was so touching that we really want to go back this spring, not only to see Laza again but to support his business. I love Baku and appreciate all it has to offer, but if you ever make it to Azerbaijan, I really encourage you to get to the regions. It takes some gumption to figure out the logistics, but the regions are the heart of country. You bet! I call her fabulous for a few reasons: 1 She planned the whole trip while I was gone itinerary, hotel options, the logistics of getting there, etc. Asking for directions, talking with our guides, and handling our somewhat crazy hotel manager usually demanded Russian. There are a few options to get around the regions in Azerbaijan, the most common are taxis and buses. We decided to take a bus to Quba and grabbed a taxi on our return home. We tried to navigate our way around but ended up having to ask where to purchase tickets. The counters are on the lower level behind a cafeteria. We looked at the lists taped by each window for Quba, and finally found one. For our ticket there, it cost some obscure amount like 2. We hustled up a few flights of stairs to catch our am ride, and, after much confusion, found our bus. It seemed that we off set a delicate gender balance. We started to sit in one section but the driver waved us toward the very back corner. Okay, Mr. After everyone settled, I saw a pattern: the other women were located in the front. Since Dana and were latecomers, we had to go in the back. On similar bus travel in Turkey i. Turns out Azerbaijan has a similar policy. If you find yourself in a similar situation, when in doubt, just do as you are told! Our sweet ride. A little bumpy, but not entirely unpleasant. Second logistical detail: our hotel. After a frantic online search, we found another one called Otel Oskar Oskar Hotel :. We got a double room with our own bathroom for 30 manat a night 15 manat per person. We were dropped off at a nice bus station. Naturally, we had no clue where we were in relation to the map in the guide book. Make sure your destination is written down and grab a taxi for a few manat. We started wandering. In the end, we concluded that the bus took us to a newer bus station that was built after the book was published. The book indicated that the only central bus station in Quba was located in the middle of many things, but all we saw was open space:. Luckily Quba is a pleasant town to get lost in. We walked for a good hour before we hit the city center, and then wandered for another hour or so before we found Otel Oskar, which I described above. We figured out the hotel room, dealt with the hotel manager more about that at the end of this post , and headed out for more exploring. All of the rain gutters had embellishments similar to this one. I asked Dana if we could venture inside. She declined. That is one robust woman. Gotta love Soviet-era athletic statues! We walked through the Jewish quarter of Quba, which is home to the largest Jewish community in Azerbaijan. I could see myself as a Peace Corps volunteer here. What also made him happy was insisting we sit in the office to drink tea and chat, probably so that he could show off the two American blondes to whoever visited him. And Fuad was a busy guy, so we met many people. In classic Azerbaijani-style hospitality, he made sure to let us know that we could ask him and the other workers for anything whenever we wanted. A boy, maybe twelve years old, scrambled up the stairs into the office. I almost lost my composure and suppressed my giggles. But tea boy was just the start. Fuad was SO hospitable and kind, he wanted to play matchmaker…or something. We have nothing to hide, so we told the truth: Nope, not married. He asked our ages. Should we have had more tact? Perhaps, but it was hard to follow his wandering rabbit trails, and he dropped those inquiries in the middle of a rant. Our whole trip depended on him! So when two tax inspectors came to the office during our second night there, we went along with the flow, perfectly used to the drama that hovered around Fuad. During our second or third cup of tea we were informed that the tax inspectors wanted to treat us to dinner. When did this exchange happen? Basically, we were set up, and of course I was very unhappy about this. Dana was too. But, to guarantee that we had a ride for our village trip the next day, we figured we had to be kind. So we grimaced through dinner with these two tax guys who spoke no English or Russian even though one of them affirmed that he spoke English when I asked him. I was over it at that point, and angry at myself for getting into such an awkward situation. Ugh, kill me. They also have an online travel guide, which you can check out by clicking here. What kind of a vacation is that?! I shared that musing in the middle of our Hong Kong adventure, I think during one of the many, many times we were lost, already exhausted and sore from walking around the main areas of Hong Kong city. The next half of our trip took us away from city center, and I think if we knew what was to come, we would have been wary to continue. In this case, the gained knowledge we applied was our footwear. We threw our cute sandals back in the suitcases and swapped them for more practical, tourist-appropriate shoes. Although, I hate calling myself a tourist. Kyla does too, she prefers to call herself a traveler. A couple times we discussed what differences in meaning there are between tourist and traveler. We agreed that a tourist is a person who goes somewhere just to relax, to experience some new things but have someone else like a tour guide or company take care of the logistics. First, I wanted to go to Macau just to add another stamp in my passport. But would you believe that neither Hong Kong nor Macau stamped our passports? Second, I wanted to go to Macau because Portuguese and Cantonese are the official languages on the island. If such differing languages form an integral part of Macau, what other cross-cultural aspects could I witness? It turns out, a lot. Fast Fact Macau History Lesson: 1 The island was initially settled by a couple different ethnic groups that migrated from modern-day mainland China. If that is why you want to go to Macau, you are not alone. Between a hotel shuttle and a taxi, we got ourselves to Largo do Senado, one of the main tourist hubs and starting point for our adventuring. Basically, we just walked around, enjoying the unique characteristics of Macau and bumping into the main points of interest. And the Portuguese-influenced architecture and themes — some moments I felt as though I were in Europe. But with a simple turn of the head, I was transported back to China; like getting bitch-slapped by culture. I kind-of like getting bitch-slapped by culture. Similar to Hong Kong, religious structures of all faiths seamlessly blended into the city, and we chanced upon several cathedrals and temples mere blocks apart. All exquisite. A separate wing of the cathedral is a dedicated museum, displaying artefacts from past services and priests mainly from the s. Muffled voices reached the sanctuary and provided hynotizing background noise as we walked through. I wish you could smell this incense, and I wish I could smell it now. Unsure what this is…names, prayers? If anyone knows, please enlighten me. Back on the road. Kyla and I stopped mid-stride at the same time and looked up. So not knowing the name of this one, we ventured around it for a bit. It is a formidable-looking facade, and reminded me of Celsus Library in Ephesus. What you see is basically what remains of the original 16th century cathedral — the front. Information was spread throughout the court and crypt behind the facade, but basically what befell the cathedral was this: after being built as a cathedral with an adjoining school in the late s, the Jesuits were expelled from Macau in the mids and St. Paul was shut down. It remained until , when a fire a cause was not stated largely destroyed it, leaving what you see today. See how interesting history is! After shopping nearby, we picked a direction and walked, eventually finding St. Our final religious spot was a Protestant church and accompanying cemetery, I guess everyone wanted a spot on Macau throughout the centuries…. Note the English. It was also interesting to see that most of these were young sailors and several came from the United States. Like Hong Kong, I was struck with the balance between city and nature, between lush green trees and concrete infrastructure. We behaved ourselves a little better that day…just a little. Cameos Garden, a park in the middle of the island. This was a busy place…especially with the groups of old men who walked and played board games together. A pleasant surprise was the graffiti. I am of the opinion that, when done well and in appropriate areas, graffiti is a form of public art. The peacock was my favorite. We found this series of graffiti in a residential park—bumped into it accidentally. Remind you something. This door…and that weird hand…too good. Another favorite. My imagination is not even this creative—so mad respect for people who can harness their creativity into a skill! Did we get lost at any point during our Macau day? Of course. We had gotten lost each previous day, no way to escape it on Macau. Actually, there was a chunk of time about two hours where we just could not figure out where we were. We wanted to make our way to the ferry dock before it got too dark, and it took much longer than we anticipated. Came close a few times, though:. If we had a camera crew follow us throughout our Hong Kong trip wanderings, the editing team would have to bleep out about a third of our dialogue. Yet we also learned a lot that day — not just travel skills but things about each other. Luckily I had her for one more day…. We took the metro to one of its furthest points and hitched a ride on the Ngong Ping Skyrail, the only way to get to the Buddha. Okay, here is a tip that will save you time and money: When you leave the skyrail area, the first thing you walk through is Ngong Ping village. There are a bunch of tempting restaurants, but they are pricy, like more than similar places in the city. The placement of the sun was annoying, hard to get good pictures of the Buddha. The views were worth all those stupid stairs. Since there were also a million people swarming the Tian Tan Buddha, we quickly moved on to seek some quiet. After following a path that took us away from the noise, we found a sign for Wisdom Path :. On our way to this Wisdom Path, we passed a ghost town, what I assume used to be a tourist area but was replaced by Ngong Ping Village. I can see photography majors enjoying this area. Walked some more, and eventually hit the Wisdom Path. It turned out to be more striking than I imagined; verses of the Heart Sutra are etched in tall wooden pillars:. Looking at Wisdom Path from the opposite direction. Our quiet solace slowly broke down as we got closer to the crowded area by the Buddha, and we decided to look through the Po Lin Monastery , which was extremely colorful:. To illustrate my point, check out this other temple, the Lotus Pond Temple. We took a chance and ventured off the beaten path as we walked back to the skyrail. We were the only visitors there at the time…. And with that, we ended our day on Lantau Island. Kyla took off for her 7am flight in the middle of the night, and I had to fend for myself the next day. First, I enjoyed the views of Victoria Harbor:. The one sad thing about the Art Museum was that the Chinese Antiquities section was closed for renovation or something. I honestly pouted like a child in front of the area blocked off from crazy visitors like me. I got myself to the airport with plenty of time before my pm flight, mentally preparing myself for my long journey home by eating Toblerone chocolate. A gentleman from the Hong Kong Tourism Board spotted me and asked if I could spare some time for a survey. That seems appropriate, for reminders of Azerbaijan, the country that is my home for the greater part of a year, to act as bookends to my trip in Hong Kong. And how can I ever thank Kyla for not only spending money and time to see me, but for making it such a memorable experience? Soulmate, thank you for being a permanent character in my movie, and for making Hong Kong be one hell of a scene! I met one of my best friends, who is teaching English in South Korea, there. And HK has absolutely nothing to do with Azerbaijan, which is one of the reasons why I pursued the trip. Let me tell you something about my close friends and I: throughout high school we talked about travel — about getting out of our small Michigan town and experiencing the unknown. Travel was always on the tips of our tongues; lunch hour and weekly Barnes and Noble get-togethers were saturated with conversations about exploration. We mapped out routes, joked about who would cause a ruckus by dancing on tables, and vowed to make it happen for ourselves. For although we were ambitious, we were also Eurocentric. Europe is the place for culture. Anywhere else is insignificant. Thank God for college. Now, I am someone who knows next to nothing about east Asian culture and history. Shameful, I know. But, this turned out to be a good thing — no paradigms or presumptions about Hong Kong interfered with how I felt in the moment; every second was full of eye-opening discovery. Do you know how the rest of the world lives? An average Azerbaijani person in Baku — at a minimum — possesses fluent Azeri and Russian skills. Now add English to the mix. Signs, advertisements, and packaging are in at least two languages. There is a linguistic harmony between multiple languages in Baku, and Hong Kong displayed that even more so. Almost every local we spoke to had at least advanced beginner English skills and everything was systematically labeled in Cantonese and English. Streets tell you which way to look when crossing — how much safer can you get? How many times do you have to be reminded — leave your livestock at home. Livestock again…always causing trouble. I was amazed at how many restaurants had English menus and we ate at street food places! I forgave and enjoyed all spelling mistakes. Check out these signs from Macau:. Cantonese, Portuguese, and English. Say what?! Protestant church bulletin in Portuguese, Cantonese, and English. But my-oh-my, was it all delicious! Did not partake in these dried seafood delicacies…a little too far from my comfort zone. Just about flipped out on the street, haha. Seafood rice from a community food court place — we were the only non-locals there but the staff was so wonderful to us. Craving this dish from a noodle place in Macau. Saw bamboo everywhere for construction projects. Distance, combined with several-hour layovers in Dubai, made my journey to HK almost as long as my journey from Memphis, TN to Baku about 24 hours. But maybe they do that on purpose, to make you shop for duty-free products. Fascinated by the Arabic even on the bathroom stall door. By the time I landed in HK, it was am local time and I was running on about two hours of poor airplane sleep. I waited for Kyla to land about an hour after me, and after celebrating a joyous reunion we dragged our sorry selves through the airport to get a public transportation card. I can only imagine how ragged we looked as we waited for the bus that took us to Causeway Bay one of the main parts of HK , and as we stumbled through crowded streets with our things to find the hostel — all in the rain too. By the grace of God we did it, and by am we crashed for a two hour power nap, during which time we hoped the rain would clear up. One of the things I love most about Hong Kong was the number of religious buildings. Not just that, but they seemed comfortably integrated into the greater community. Me and doors…. Sofi Hamid Cemetery Legend has it that in the 14th century, an Arabian merchant named Sofi Hamid was traveling southward through the arid steppes of modern-day Azerbaijan when he suddenly realized that he was dying. Out in the middle of nowhere. Tiny cradle. Hundreds of prayers. Crazy blue!! An awesome shade of green. Like this…. And that one. Gentle pastels…. A breezy beach scene…. This person was probably a driver. Another driver? Construction worker? This person was perhaps a tailor or cobbler. I want one on my grave stone when I pass. Looking back. Starting the ascent. It was intimidating, to say the least. View of the Caspian. Or candy too, apparently. And this is facing south toward Iran. Brand new seaside park. Ehmed is wearing the checkered sweater. Let there be light!! So green! Statue commemorating WWII. Heading back to town. Entryway outside of the apartment I stayed at. Of course we parked on the sidewalk. Nizami Mausoleum, honoring the 12th century poet, Nizami. Nizami Mausoleum. Park adjacent to the Mausoleum. Nizami Museum across the street. We checked out the entry gates of the city. The gates were also museums. But I was more fascinated by the epic doors. View from the top of the gates. Pleasantly sunny, warmer than Tbilisi and Baku. Exterior of a museum celebrating a different poet:: Mahsati Ganjavi, a woman famous in her own time in the 12th century. Mosque right outside of the city. The famous Dove statue. Walked through an outdoor theater. The trip took place over Novruz week. Novruz is a major spring holiday in Azerbaijan and is also celebrated in Iran. It left at pm there are a few departure time options , and we arrived in Tbilisi at about am. We spent roughly an hour at the border, which we arrived at around am. To get back, we took the overnight train from Tbilisi to Baku. The border took longer than the bus, I want to say close to three hours. Basically, we were very, very busy! Our main mode of transportation within Georgia was marshrutka , basically a little bus. It is useful to know Russian to travel this way or at least have Russian-speaking friends to depend on, which I had. Our hostels , which you can find on Booking. In Batumi, we rented a little apartment. The cost was comparable to a hostel, and we really enjoyed having our own space to crash in. Tbilisi — Round 2 Highlights from Tbilisi: Taking in the city at a faster pace. Besides the rain, it was great seeing Tbilisi again. Georgian wine and chacha. I declined. Loved talking with them and comparing experiences. Tbilisi Pictures: If you want to see them in a larger size with descriptions, click on the first one for a slideshow This…this is very true. The greatest dish on the planet: khachapuri. Very old church. Loved walking through residential areas. Failed to eat here during this trip—an excuse to go back! Old Russian signage. Came across another super old church. We assumed this was a mosque, or maybe part of one nearby. Reminders of Azerbaijan. Sulphur baths. Tbilisi has some awesome graffiti. Trust me, chacha ruins lives! Doughy dumplings filled with meat, or potato, or vegetables. This time I could venture inside…. Growing up Lutheran, I love comparing those churches to the Orthodox ones. Dry reservoir this time around. Of course, happy to be there. Made a stop after driving through Gudauri. This half-circle construction was striking to look at. Love these mountains. Walking through Kazbegi to start our trek to the church. Cows are harmless here…. But become deadly killers whilst slipping down muddy, steep hills. Survived the cows, saw a few cool things on the trail. Those orange markers need to be more prevalent. Hiked about 45 minutes and saw that our path was blocked by snow. However, still a sight to behold. Walking back to town. The car accident…ohhh the Caucasus! The sink of the public rest area our marshrutka stopped at during the drive to Kutaisi. Balcony of our hostel. Walking through residential areas. Big fountain in the center of town. When in doubt, just order xingale. Friendship Bridge. Wonderful views from the hill. Had these little guys follow us during our walk through the city. Had to take the funicular. Was a little creepy, though. Part of an amusement park. Preservation work. Piles of tiles. A gentleman who we assumed worked here gave us a tour of the grounds. Mosaic at the head of the main church. According to our guide, it is made up of 2 million tiles. I was obsessed with the interiors. Almost makes me want to specialize in Georgian history…almost. Mighty vistas. Spiritual beauty. The Black Sea! Walking along the boulevard parallel to the beach. Reminded me a bit of Izmir. Funky modern architecture…. Walked through the dock area. Mosaic around a Georgian church. Georgian Orthodox church. Armenian church. Soooo blue…. Walking through the gardens. Baku was never too far from us. To get back to the entrance of the gardens, we had to climb a million of these awkward, tiny stairs. View from our apartment. Interior of Choco Latte. Go to this coffee shop!!! Went up the funicular; awesome views. We trucked around in this Soviet-era beauty: The elegant Lada Niva. Retaining wall. And all of a sudden, a pop of green. A market…with the name on it! Some Logistics There are a few options to get around the regions in Azerbaijan, the most common are taxis and buses. Looks new…but where are we?! Yes, a purple door. Check out the blue accent color! Looking out toward the Old Jewish Town. The houses in this part were huge. Balconies became my new obsession in Quba. Creepiest hamam sign ever. Okay, back to the show! Agree, disagree? Okay, Hayley, enough with your silly philosophical musings. I want pictures. Day 3 — Macau First, I wanted to go to Macau just to add another stamp in my passport. Love the red and the gold. Green doors, like on St. I liked the ceiling here. Beautifully maintained. The only thing I saw here in Cantonese. Great views from the top of Macau Museum. Peeking through some trees. True that. So excited…so excited! The skyrail trip takes about 30 minutes. The Tian Tan Buddha from afar. Hello, Buddha! Walking around the Buddha. Really tall. Much simpler, but lovely because of it. Standing under a portion of the Art Museum. Did I read the title of this post correctly? Yes, yes you did. Why on earth did you go there — what does Hong Kong have to do with Azerbaijan? Control your livestock, people. Or just Portuguese and Cantonese. Find the typos…. It was busy, to say the least. This was a fancy entrance to a bank. Loved Hong Kong at night. In Kowloon district. Overcast but fresh.

Buying snow Sumqayit