As promised, I shall recount some of my adventures in Karabagh. I figure that the most authentic way to do this is to quote directly from my own personal journal entries from that weekend, while everything was still fresh in my mind. So, here are a few choice excerpts:
It is one in the morning and I am lying in a modest bed belonging to a wonderful yet very poor family in the war-torn village of Shushi, in Karabagh. Shushi is a fascinating and somewhat eerie place. It, along with the whole of Karabagh, has changed hands between Armenians and Azeris several times, which is made evident by the architecture. Orthodox churches and Muslim mosques stand close to each other, the latter slowly eroding from neglect. Much of the rest of the town is in ruins from the war [1989-1994]. For many buildings, the exterior walls are all that remain. Others have not even fared this wellóin the village center a lone support beam stands solemn guard over the rubble that was once their school. The charm of the village remains, however, and contrary to the danger implied by Western travel advisories, it is peaceful, hospitable, and serene…
Still in Shushi, I am standing on the top floor balcony of a Soviet-era mountaintop hospital, overlooking the stunning valley landscape. The rolling hills, luch fall colours, quain mountain villagesóthe view is simply breathtaking. The only sound is of the gusting wind, tearing through the trees and across the veranda. No wonder people here refuse to give up their land, no matter the cost or sacrifice…
Earlier, I was shown around town by a former KGB agent, and later joined him and his young family for dinner. We dined outdoors in the garden, and I was introduced to the post-Soviet legacy of endless toasts of stiff vodka. Later that afternoon, a vendor at the shuka [market] in Stepanakert offered me a glass of homemade mulberry vodka. Weighing in at around 80 percent proof, the locals hail it as the cure for what ails you. While the intense fire that erupted following the shot may not have cured my minor stomach woes, it definitely brought me one step closer to appreciating the drink oí the masses that accompanies nearly every social gathering in this next of the woods.
Tonight, a village party with ñ surprise, surprise ñ no shortage of vodka.