A Tale of Two Fences

The road curved upwards. Who knew where we were or where we were going? Green hills surrounded us on either side. A woman carrying bread scuttled away after sticking her tongue out me. Life was certainly different out here. The air was fresh, the forests lush, and the water flowing. It was a proverbial Shangri La in comparison to the money-infested streets of Baku.

Within minutes we came to a pair of parallel fences. "Iran!" our taxi driver exclaimed.

Could we really be that close to the Iranian border?

It didn't take a genius to figure out which country took border control more seriously. The Azerbaijani fence was low and dilapidated to the point that you could roll underneath it. In stark contrast, the Iranian version was tall, barbed, ostensibly electric, and very, very well kept. There was to be no fence-hopping on this day.

On the way back from our destination, we saw on Iranian border guard patrolling a bridge. Poor guy.

Further on, we witnessed a lamb being slaughtered.

It was a little early too early blood all over the place.

We were headed to Lerik - a mountain village near the border. Our driver's 2007 Lada clung to the asphalt as we climbed steadily upwards. Trucks were forced into the lowest possible gears to negotiate some of the steeper grades.

Where was the bicycle when I needed it?

Lerik itself was a sleepy town. Most of the streets were closed as a result of infrastructure improvements. We saw a small market, a few cafes, a government building, and a monument before realizing there was nothing else to do.