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TRIP TO NAGORNO KARABAKH PART 2
Aberdeen Press and Journal, Scotland
April 11, 2015 Saturday
by Sonja Cox
I had finally made it to Nagorno Karabakh and was based in the capital,
Stepanakert, for an entire week.
After the mammoth drive through the wilderness to get there, it was
quite hard to imagine that anything remotely resembling civilisation
could exist beyond these mountains.
It had been pitch black when I had arrived the previous night, so I
had to wait until morning to actually see Stepanakert for myself. And?
Well, the capital city is more like a large town. It is very clean,
civilised and somewhat charming. Considering its disputed status and
the fact it was once part of the Azerbaijani Soviet Socialist Republic,
there is surprisingly no communist hangover.
Transnistria this is not. No rude, unhelpful manners that is sadly
prevalent in today's Russia, Eastern Ukraine and Moldova.
Nagorno Karabakh has been its own self-declared state since 1994,
unrecognised by the world and backed only by Armenia.
The locals who are of Armenian ethnicity are friendly as Armenians are,
but here, as Abkhazians and almost blocked off from the outside world,
they were cautious towards me at first. I saw no other foreigners
during my time there, apart from one man who I will explain about
over the coming weeks.
Constantly glared at by people in the street, certainly not
aggressively, it was something I hadn't experienced for many years.
On my first day, I felt rather like Dorothy when she arrives in
Munchkin Land and the locals look on in bewilderment at the strange
foreigner.
First task of the day was to get my visa. This is one place you don't
want to get on the wrong side of the authorities. I walked down through
the centre and quickly found the building of the Foreign Ministry. In
the lobby, I was directed by a guard to a room and told to go in.
Inside sat an official in his late 20s, smartly dressed in a
western-style suit. His English was near perfect. He took my passport,
did the paperwork and within 10 minutes I had a beautiful, colourful
Nagorno Karabakh visa that cost £5. He did give me the option of not
having the said visa stamped into my passport. The reason being that
to be in possession of this visa means you will be barred entry for
life into neighbouring Azerbaijan. Since I have no desire to go back
to Azerbaijan, I told him to stick it in my passport.
The guy was very friendly and delighted I'd made the effort to come
to Nagorno Karabakh. He was also intrigued as to why I was there. Was
it to walk in the glorious mountains, see the culture? Yes, I said,
saying nothing about journalism or working on my book. This was the
beginning of a series of mistakes I made, which you can read about
in the coming weeks.
Every day, out in the streets, I wandered with my camera taking photos
of the buildings and surroundings. No one stopped me from photographing
in the capital and, despite plenty of various uniforms walking around,
I was never stopped for a document check. I was either ignored by
locals or they nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Plenty of children and teenagers would come up and in English say
"Hi, hello, where are you from, what's your name?" Then giggle,
laugh, wave and walk on. I was enjoying my time in this alien land
and getting lots of research done.
One morning, on the street, a man in his 60s, who was walking towards
me, stopped and said in English: "You are British."
This was strange as almost no one speaks English here. "Eh, yes,"
I said, "But how did you know?"
"Just a guess," he said. His name, he told me, was Alexander and we
talked about Nagorno Karabakh, its history and politics. This was my
second mistake.
Later in the week, now in full flow with information gathering,
I managed to get an interview about life in Nagorno Karabakh with a
receptionist in another hotel. That was my third mistake.
A short drive from Stepanakert is Agdam, a town that used to
belong to Azerbaijan. Until 1993, it had a thriving population of
40,000. After brutal fighting, Agdam was captured from Azerbaijan
and those who didn't die, fled. Agdam is now part of Armenian-backed
Nagorno Karabakh, but unlike other captured towns that have since
been repopulated by Armenians, Agdam remains a ghost town, empty of
all human life.
What happened at Agdam is seen as the Caucasian Hiroshima. It is out
of bounds, a military zone, close to the Azerbaijan border, and sees
frequent sniper fire.
After making what I thought were discreet enquiries as to how to get
there, I was recommended a driver who agreed to take me there the
following day.
The trip to Agdam would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life
so far.
The ghost town of Agdam
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
Aberdeen Press and Journal, Scotland
April 11, 2015 Saturday
by Sonja Cox
I had finally made it to Nagorno Karabakh and was based in the capital,
Stepanakert, for an entire week.
After the mammoth drive through the wilderness to get there, it was
quite hard to imagine that anything remotely resembling civilisation
could exist beyond these mountains.
It had been pitch black when I had arrived the previous night, so I
had to wait until morning to actually see Stepanakert for myself. And?
Well, the capital city is more like a large town. It is very clean,
civilised and somewhat charming. Considering its disputed status and
the fact it was once part of the Azerbaijani Soviet Socialist Republic,
there is surprisingly no communist hangover.
Transnistria this is not. No rude, unhelpful manners that is sadly
prevalent in today's Russia, Eastern Ukraine and Moldova.
Nagorno Karabakh has been its own self-declared state since 1994,
unrecognised by the world and backed only by Armenia.
The locals who are of Armenian ethnicity are friendly as Armenians are,
but here, as Abkhazians and almost blocked off from the outside world,
they were cautious towards me at first. I saw no other foreigners
during my time there, apart from one man who I will explain about
over the coming weeks.
Constantly glared at by people in the street, certainly not
aggressively, it was something I hadn't experienced for many years.
On my first day, I felt rather like Dorothy when she arrives in
Munchkin Land and the locals look on in bewilderment at the strange
foreigner.
First task of the day was to get my visa. This is one place you don't
want to get on the wrong side of the authorities. I walked down through
the centre and quickly found the building of the Foreign Ministry. In
the lobby, I was directed by a guard to a room and told to go in.
Inside sat an official in his late 20s, smartly dressed in a
western-style suit. His English was near perfect. He took my passport,
did the paperwork and within 10 minutes I had a beautiful, colourful
Nagorno Karabakh visa that cost £5. He did give me the option of not
having the said visa stamped into my passport. The reason being that
to be in possession of this visa means you will be barred entry for
life into neighbouring Azerbaijan. Since I have no desire to go back
to Azerbaijan, I told him to stick it in my passport.
The guy was very friendly and delighted I'd made the effort to come
to Nagorno Karabakh. He was also intrigued as to why I was there. Was
it to walk in the glorious mountains, see the culture? Yes, I said,
saying nothing about journalism or working on my book. This was the
beginning of a series of mistakes I made, which you can read about
in the coming weeks.
Every day, out in the streets, I wandered with my camera taking photos
of the buildings and surroundings. No one stopped me from photographing
in the capital and, despite plenty of various uniforms walking around,
I was never stopped for a document check. I was either ignored by
locals or they nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Plenty of children and teenagers would come up and in English say
"Hi, hello, where are you from, what's your name?" Then giggle,
laugh, wave and walk on. I was enjoying my time in this alien land
and getting lots of research done.
One morning, on the street, a man in his 60s, who was walking towards
me, stopped and said in English: "You are British."
This was strange as almost no one speaks English here. "Eh, yes,"
I said, "But how did you know?"
"Just a guess," he said. His name, he told me, was Alexander and we
talked about Nagorno Karabakh, its history and politics. This was my
second mistake.
Later in the week, now in full flow with information gathering,
I managed to get an interview about life in Nagorno Karabakh with a
receptionist in another hotel. That was my third mistake.
A short drive from Stepanakert is Agdam, a town that used to
belong to Azerbaijan. Until 1993, it had a thriving population of
40,000. After brutal fighting, Agdam was captured from Azerbaijan
and those who didn't die, fled. Agdam is now part of Armenian-backed
Nagorno Karabakh, but unlike other captured towns that have since
been repopulated by Armenians, Agdam remains a ghost town, empty of
all human life.
What happened at Agdam is seen as the Caucasian Hiroshima. It is out
of bounds, a military zone, close to the Azerbaijan border, and sees
frequent sniper fire.
After making what I thought were discreet enquiries as to how to get
there, I was recommended a driver who agreed to take me there the
following day.
The trip to Agdam would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life
so far.
The ghost town of Agdam
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress