This article was originally published by the Experience Azerbaijan travel magazine, and is reproduced here with their kind permission

My arm ached. It’s an odd thing to happen to a cyclist, but Azerbaijan was not like any country I’d cycled through so far. On my first morning in Azerbaijan, as we cycled through the town of Qazax in the west, Pippa and I found ourselves constantly waving as what felt like the entire town waved and salaamed at us. We almost didn’t make it out of Qazax, such were the number of offers for tea and chatting. This incredible open warmness and friendly spirit was astonishing in its abundance and consistency. From the smallest villages to cars passing us on the road, we would be welcomed, waved and supported. There was a spontaneous joy to those interactions – such as the man who began running alongside us for fifty metres, with a big grin on his face. It led me to reflect that in my native UK we could learn a lot from this positive, outgoing attitude, particularly welcoming to foreigners. 

Admittedly, we made an unusual sight: a pink and blue tandem bicycle cycling across Azerbaijan at a time when there were almost no tourists. It was April 2021 and the Azerbaijani government had kindly granted Pippa, my tandem partner, and I permission to enter so we could continue the cycle expedition from Bristol in the UK to China’s capital, Beijing. The expedition is rewriting what is possible with a cancer diagnosis – I was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in 2018, aged 24 – and doing it in a pandemic has thrown up further challenges but I have also seen it bring out the best in people as they have helped keep the show on the road. 

One thing that was particularly arresting was Azerbaijan’s natural beauty. Over first couple of days our route was flanked by mountains, as we trundled down the major trucking route. I was interested to see the road was being doubled in width, as part of a transit corridor between Baku and the Black Sea – and some of the first evidence I had seen of the New Silk Road – perhaps less glamorous than romanticised images of camels and caravanserai but no less important. We were to see parts of the old Silk Road further on, in Sheki.

Spring had arrived and everywhere appeared a lush green. As we passed through villages, cows would wander across the road and chickens and turkeys scratched around – this would be in stark contrast to Baku, almost in a different country. As we cycled along smooth roads towards the foothills of the Northern Caucasus mountains, the horizons felt particularly expansive – either framed by distant mountains, or by unbroken green pasture stretching away from us. As we reached the top of a climb, snow-sprinkled mountains rose before us, custodians of the green valley we were about to swoop into. This was fantastic country for cycling. 

We passed through woodlands as we cycled between Gabala and Shamakhi, which seemed to have the magic of fairytales. Little wooden stalls with rounded metal plates nestled in amongst the trees, a burning fire beneath ready to cook qutab, a folded pancake filled with meat, “greens” or pumpkin. These soon became a delicious staple for me, as the vegetarian options are generally quite limited in Azerbaijan. One evening we camped next to a qutab place run by two elderly ladies. The next morning, as light trickled through the trees, lighting up the nascent bluebells, we breakfasted on fresh qutabs and tea from the smoking samovar, before tackling the rolling roads ahead. 

Azerbaijan was a fascinating country to cycle through and held many surprises. Perhaps the most striking was the sight of the Azerbaijan and Turkish flags hanging side by side almost everywhere: from balconies and shop fronts and overhead cables, painted onto garage doors, and emblazoned on the back of cars. The country was aglow in its military success in the Ngorno-Karabakh area and this national pride was clear to see – along with the recognition that Turkey had been a key supporter in the conflict. Despite Turkey being known as the “Big Brother” of Azerbaijan, there were pronounced differences. I was surprised that it was only after two whole days of cycling I saw my first mosque in Azerbaijan, though a couple of days later we passed the magnificent Imamzadeh Ibrahim mosque outside Ganja, which was one of the highlights of my journey. The onion-top dome and minarets were the same colour as the deep blue sky as the sun beamed down on us. For me it felt like my first step onto the old Silk Roads. 

Azerbaijan is a country that wears its religion lightly. There were beer coolers in the smallest stores, and spirits lined up behind most counters, though beyond Baku it appeared most of the drinking was done at home; the only drinking houses we saw were cay evis – tea houses – which were as ubiquitous as the Lada cars. These were male-only affairs, much like public village life, where the rattle of dice and clinking of backgammon pieces could be heard. They formed a welcome place to stop and refresh as Pippa and I sipped fragrant tea from delicate glasses, which I filled many times with great satisfaction. 

They also formed the centre of some memorable interactions. On one occasion, we were given a motorbike escort to the nearest café; Javid, the driver, clearly didn’t think our paltry speed on the tandem had sufficiently shown off his motorbike’s capabilities and took us on a hair-raising loop at full throttle as an aperitif. Another time, a middle-aged man, who might have already had most of a bottle of vodka, professed his friendship, clasping my hand in both of his and pressing it to his heart, before planting a firm kiss on my cheek. He didn’t let us go before insisting we join him in his grilled shashlik and potatoes. Such acts of warmth and generosity were repeated many times across the country.

There was a time when we were particularly grateful for the local assistance we received. We had just left Sheki, another town steeped in the history of the historic Silk Roads, after enjoying an afternoon exploring the caravanserai – which was somewhat reminiscent of an Oxbridge quad – and the Shah’s summer palace, whose windows were made of coloured glass lobes slotted into an intricate wooden carved web. We cycled east and came across a section being resurfaced. We bumped along the gravelly surface, winding our way between potholes and admiring the beautiful hills on our right. Then there was a tearing sound and one of my bike bags fell off. Two laptops and other weighty equipment coupled with the rocky ride had been too much for the fastenings, which had ripped off. Muttering a few choice words, I wondered how on earth were we going to continue with a broken bag? I didn’t have the bits to fix it and we had no spare space in the other bags. Fortuitously, we had broken down in a small village which had a garage and hardware shop. Explaining the problem through a mixture of Russian and charades, the two men in the shop sprung into action, locating nuts, washers and bolts and within 15 minutes my bag was as good as new. Amazingly, something that I thought might have scuppered our chances of cycling any further was solved by these kind men in a matter of minutes, who waved us off with warmth. 

The last few days of cycling passed without a hitch on beautiful roads and in our final kilometres of cycling we hit Baku’s waterfront, the Caspian Sea glistening on our right as we passed by immense yet graceful buildings of honey-coloured stone that attested to the first oil boom over a hundred years ago. This was mixed with a daring mix of distinctive buildings that give Baku’s skyline unique interest. They go much beyond the iconic Flame Towers, which I loved for the myriad different colours of reflected light; there are buildings like long shiny cigars, stacked dice, and a water droplet and much else. 

Alongside these are wide boulevards filled with coffee shops, where I gratefully boosted my caffeine levels. Coffee culture has boomed in the last 5 years, and alongside this are an increasing number of cool hangouts for an evening drink. Part of the fun was discovering new places that didn’t exist a few weeks or months ago. I enjoyed walking around the Old City most of all – there are plenty of small winding streets to make exploration exciting, but it’s not so big you get lost for long. And yet despite the mask-wearing, the city felt like an oasis of normalcy and maintained a relaxed feel, with cafes open til late and the murmur of restaurateurs filling the central streets.

I stood on Baku’s waterfront, watching the sun set as it streamed onto the glass buildings across the bay. That burning orange reflection lit up the Caspian Sea, and for a moment it seemed like the sea was aflame. It was a fitting parting gift from the Land of Fire, which had left me with so many memories.