Full copy with a couple of extra bits.
There was only one country left on my DNA hot spots,
Azerbaijan, a country still at war with Armenia.
Last year 350 people were killed in a border clash and our
tour guide mentioned more than once that Armenia was “the aggressor”. We had
already heard otherwise from the other side.
Azerbaijan was the cleanest among the four on the tour and
is, like Iran, an Islamic country dominated by the Shia branch, but unlike Iran
the hijab is a rare site.
What’s more, most women felt free to shake hands with a man
and the common dress code was distinctly western.
Architecturally, Azerbaijan is a modern wonderland and makes
Dubai look like a museum to Trump like, boastful extravagance. It also bares less
Soviet scars than its former USSR colleagues. Not surprising, given its oil
money.
And now for the highlights of my journey to the Transcaucasus.
Number one, without doubt, the people of Iran, who crowded
us in great numbers to welcome, to wish us well and to take selfies.
The histories of the Transcaucasian countries are
intertwined and I could write fifty more columns, but among the most moving
visits were the tomb of the great Persian unifier, Cyrus the Great and the palace
at Persepolis, built by Cyrus, Darius and Xerxes.
In Armenia we ventured into a 13th Century church
carved into solid rock and were surprised by a female quartet that sang water
from my eyes.
None of us will forget the snow-capped mountains of Georgia
and the colourful and intricate mosques of Iran.
A lesson for us is how all four countries celebrated their
artists, writers, poets, musicians, architects, in public – sculptures, murals,
graffiti, tombs, display cabinets and building facades.
As for the food, lots of tasty rice dishes, fish, wild walnuts, mulberries, cherries and any number of unnamed vegetables.
Another surprise – Iranian police patrols carry no guns. I
have seen more guns in Perth than I saw in two weeks in Iran.
All four tour guides became friends and when I revealed my paternal
DNA map, they all claimed me.
Before I left Azerbaijan I said to our guide: “My paternal line begins in the Transcaucasus. You are all my brothers and in my family my brothers and I live in peace and love.”
He smiled and I could see he liked what I had said, but that
he didn’t think it possible.
And I danced, twice, in both Muslim nations. Once in Shiraz
to a fabulous Iranian band and once in Baku, when challenged in front of a
lunch-time crowd by a belly dancer.
Here's it is:
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