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Aberdeen Press and Journal, UK
April 4, 2015 Saturday
"Trip to Nagorno Karabakh"
by Sonja Cox
I was in Yerevan, Armenia, and headed to the middle of nowhere
reclusive republic Nagorno Karabakh.
At 9.30am, as soon as it opened, I entered the British Embassy, which
was close to my hotel. I just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth
so to speak.
The Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) say that they cannot give
assistance to persons who go to Nagorno Karabakh. Let me explain.
Nagorno Karabakh is battled over by two countries, Christian Armenia
and Moslem Azerbaijan. It was once a region of the Azerbaijan Soviet
Socialist Republic, but with a population that was predominantly
Armenian.
Held together by Moscow for decades, it all started to unravel in the
late 80s and soon all hell broke loose.
Tens of thousands have died in brutal wars over this region which,
since 1994, has been back under Armenian control. The 1994 ceasefire
officially holds, but as there is no peacekeeper force between the two
sides, sniper fire and attacks happen on a regular basis.
Understand this, Armenia and Azerbaijan hate each other with a
passion. Officially, the world sees NK as part of Azerbaijan, so
therefore, in its current state, it remains an unrecognised entity.
There is no adherence to any kind of international law and no
embassies to help you.
Inside the British Embassy in Yerevan, I had a fascinating chat with
one of the staff who of course told me that the official advice is not
to go. She informed me that embassy staff are not allowed to go, yet
then admitted that she'd read up about Nagorno Karabakh, wanted to go
and was jealous I was going.
Reason for the fascination? It's probably one of the few remaining
unique destinations left on the planet. Hidden away from the outside
world, a place that takes monumental effort to get to. A cold war
frozen conflict zone. An explorer's dream.
At 10.30am, I was in the car with my driver, a lovely guy called Aman.
Once out of the capital Yerevan, the first thing that catches your eye
is Mount Ararat. It stands at a colossal 16,946ft and seems to be
within touching distance. But that's an illusion, for Ararat now
stands on the dreaded enemy soil of Turkey.
A symbol of everything Armenian, Ararat is a breath-taking sight, yet
for Armenians, utterly heart breaking. So near, yet so far. Also,
according to the bible, Ararat is where Noah's ark came to rest.
On we drove, and the modern world literally evaporated before my eyes
as we entered an untouched, untamed world.
Higher and higher we climbed as the temperature dropped. The scenery
got more spectacular with each passing mile. But this wasn't about a
drive in beauty, for I once again had that unique feeling of heading
to a place that very few westerners have ever seen.
We passed through the odd tiny hamlet, just a smattering of roadside
houses, but did eventually stop at a roadside shop. The coffee made in
true Armenian style was heaven sent. We took it back into the car and
Aman produced a bag of buns his wife had baked that morning.
We shared them and talked about life, me asking questions about his
childhood in the USSR and he about my travels. Often though, I just
sat in silence, staring out the window at a world that almost no one
knows about.
After my Abkhazia experience, I have to admit that, the closer we got
to the border, the more concerned I became. This was an even bigger
effort to get here, surely they wouldn't deny me entry, would they?
Through steep jagged mountains, we turned a corner and just across the
small road stood a hut and set of flags that indicated the border. I
handed my passport to the guy sat behind the glass, who to my
surprise, was very friendly.
Two minutes later, he handed me a piece of paper that contained my
personal details. I had to take this, without fail, to the Foreign
Ministry in the capital in the morning. Only they could give me the
actual visa.
We drove into Nagorno Karabakh. It was just wilderness, nothing but
mountains and one road. We continued on our way, but by now the blue
skies were giving way to thick fog and more snow.
We came to an unmarked crossroads; Aman pointed out to me that we were
only 70 miles from the Iranian border. "Don't take the wrong road
then," I replied.
After spending most of the day climbing high then coasting along, it
was now down the other side. The roads were windy, snowy, icy, and
with no crash barriers, the drop over the side was huge. I stopped
looking as we went round hair bend after hair bend.
Eventually, at around 8pm, down out of the mountains we rolled into
Stepanakert. With the population of the entire country at only around
140,000, the capital city Stepanakert is more like a town.
Aman dropped me at my hotel and we agreed times for him picking me up
in exactly one week. I also paid him the agreed price of £60, which,
yes, included his petrol and the fact that he was away to now drive
the 10 hours back to Armenia.
What a guy. What a drive. Damn it's good to be alive.
Feeling like Dorothy when she arrives in Munchkin Land
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
April 4, 2015 Saturday
"Trip to Nagorno Karabakh"
by Sonja Cox
I was in Yerevan, Armenia, and headed to the middle of nowhere
reclusive republic Nagorno Karabakh.
At 9.30am, as soon as it opened, I entered the British Embassy, which
was close to my hotel. I just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth
so to speak.
The Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) say that they cannot give
assistance to persons who go to Nagorno Karabakh. Let me explain.
Nagorno Karabakh is battled over by two countries, Christian Armenia
and Moslem Azerbaijan. It was once a region of the Azerbaijan Soviet
Socialist Republic, but with a population that was predominantly
Armenian.
Held together by Moscow for decades, it all started to unravel in the
late 80s and soon all hell broke loose.
Tens of thousands have died in brutal wars over this region which,
since 1994, has been back under Armenian control. The 1994 ceasefire
officially holds, but as there is no peacekeeper force between the two
sides, sniper fire and attacks happen on a regular basis.
Understand this, Armenia and Azerbaijan hate each other with a
passion. Officially, the world sees NK as part of Azerbaijan, so
therefore, in its current state, it remains an unrecognised entity.
There is no adherence to any kind of international law and no
embassies to help you.
Inside the British Embassy in Yerevan, I had a fascinating chat with
one of the staff who of course told me that the official advice is not
to go. She informed me that embassy staff are not allowed to go, yet
then admitted that she'd read up about Nagorno Karabakh, wanted to go
and was jealous I was going.
Reason for the fascination? It's probably one of the few remaining
unique destinations left on the planet. Hidden away from the outside
world, a place that takes monumental effort to get to. A cold war
frozen conflict zone. An explorer's dream.
At 10.30am, I was in the car with my driver, a lovely guy called Aman.
Once out of the capital Yerevan, the first thing that catches your eye
is Mount Ararat. It stands at a colossal 16,946ft and seems to be
within touching distance. But that's an illusion, for Ararat now
stands on the dreaded enemy soil of Turkey.
A symbol of everything Armenian, Ararat is a breath-taking sight, yet
for Armenians, utterly heart breaking. So near, yet so far. Also,
according to the bible, Ararat is where Noah's ark came to rest.
On we drove, and the modern world literally evaporated before my eyes
as we entered an untouched, untamed world.
Higher and higher we climbed as the temperature dropped. The scenery
got more spectacular with each passing mile. But this wasn't about a
drive in beauty, for I once again had that unique feeling of heading
to a place that very few westerners have ever seen.
We passed through the odd tiny hamlet, just a smattering of roadside
houses, but did eventually stop at a roadside shop. The coffee made in
true Armenian style was heaven sent. We took it back into the car and
Aman produced a bag of buns his wife had baked that morning.
We shared them and talked about life, me asking questions about his
childhood in the USSR and he about my travels. Often though, I just
sat in silence, staring out the window at a world that almost no one
knows about.
After my Abkhazia experience, I have to admit that, the closer we got
to the border, the more concerned I became. This was an even bigger
effort to get here, surely they wouldn't deny me entry, would they?
Through steep jagged mountains, we turned a corner and just across the
small road stood a hut and set of flags that indicated the border. I
handed my passport to the guy sat behind the glass, who to my
surprise, was very friendly.
Two minutes later, he handed me a piece of paper that contained my
personal details. I had to take this, without fail, to the Foreign
Ministry in the capital in the morning. Only they could give me the
actual visa.
We drove into Nagorno Karabakh. It was just wilderness, nothing but
mountains and one road. We continued on our way, but by now the blue
skies were giving way to thick fog and more snow.
We came to an unmarked crossroads; Aman pointed out to me that we were
only 70 miles from the Iranian border. "Don't take the wrong road
then," I replied.
After spending most of the day climbing high then coasting along, it
was now down the other side. The roads were windy, snowy, icy, and
with no crash barriers, the drop over the side was huge. I stopped
looking as we went round hair bend after hair bend.
Eventually, at around 8pm, down out of the mountains we rolled into
Stepanakert. With the population of the entire country at only around
140,000, the capital city Stepanakert is more like a town.
Aman dropped me at my hotel and we agreed times for him picking me up
in exactly one week. I also paid him the agreed price of £60, which,
yes, included his petrol and the fact that he was away to now drive
the 10 hours back to Armenia.
What a guy. What a drive. Damn it's good to be alive.
Feeling like Dorothy when she arrives in Munchkin Land
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress