INGULFED

(Notes for the Abu Dhabi Bar Mitzvah)

Archive for confusion

Azerbaijan Five: Lost and Found — أاذربيجان خمسة: مفقود وموجود

Previously, in Azerbaijan:
Azerbaijan One: The City — أذربيجان واحد: المدينة
Azerbaijan Two: The Escape — أذربيجان اثنان: الهرب
Azerbaijan Three: The Trick — أذربيجان ثلاثة: الخدعة
Azerbaijan Four: Rest (and a little paranoia)

We had maps. We had names of towns along the route. We had the word “where”. And we were completely lost.

According to our screenshot map, there were two roads out of Sheki toward Yevelax, a town at a junction from which a road would head south into uncharted (for us) territory. One of our friendly pedestrian human GPSes pointed straight, convinced us left was right, and we sped off down a narrowing road into the kind of scenic countryside correct directions always seem to miss. We had intended to retrace our steps from the night before, but with this our first experience in daylight, we assumed the mountains around us were the shadows we had seen the night before, that the wide open fields had been the deep black emptiness. But nope, we were just going the wrong way.

We slowed down in the early morning cow traffic to film a rush hour chat with the cowherd. He was delighted to speak to the camera, and I understood the question “what channel?” “Ameriki” — easier to agree than to attempt the truth.

“Azerbaijan kharasho!” I said, Azerbaijan good! He didn’t agree. Not good. President not good. Clearly, the man controlling highway traffic to get his cows out to pasture couldn’t care less about political censorship — or political fallout from his high-profile media appearances.

Just when things started to look wrong we found another junction, one not on any map, where men at a service station pointed back the way we came — “Yevelax.” Or, it seemed, we could take the road Google didn’t know about (still paved) and hope for the best.

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Nonsense — سفاسف

Some things just don’t make sense. Why would they make the European electrical plug exactly nose-width if they didn’t want you to stick it up your nose? In the vast cosmos of language and logic, there is shared perspective, and there are disjointed frames of mind that keep us from colliding with our “impossible”. Here on the Arabian Peninsula, for example, one can even haggle with reality.

“I’m 45 minutes away,” the man stated. Fact. Distance. Time.

The international crowd strives for tolerance, the pinnacle of mutual understanding, yet to tolerate is merely to accept — not the validity but the existence of something different. Anything short of plotting and pursuing a savage vendetta is tolerance. I think we can aim higher. We tolerate first, and then we use this impossible flexibility to our advantage.

“Could you make it 30 minutes?”
He was there in 15.


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