Introduction
Our first visit to Azerbaijan was during a holiday in June 2022, just as the buzz of the Formula 1 Grand Prix was building in Baku. From the capital, we took the train westward to Ganja for a few days’ exploration. On the return journey, the train came to an unexpected halt — engineers were busy repairing the pantograph, which stubbornly refused to stay raised. The delay turned into an opportunity: Marius struck up conversations with fellow passengers, inquiring about job prospects for Englishspeaking tutors or lecturers. Among the curious and friendly faces, one woman handed us a visitor’s card — a small, promising token that hinted at new beginnings beyond our holiday.
The very next day, we printed Wonda’s CV at the hotel where we stayed and visited two universities—neither linked to the visitor’s card we had been given. Two interviews followed: one university quickly promised a job offer, while the other arranged a second interview after we returned to the UAE. That second interview proved successful, leading to a formal offer that Wonda gladly accepted. What had started as a simple holiday detour was swiftly turning into a new chapter in our lives.
Azerbaijan, the Land of Fire, is a place where tradition and modernity weave together in an extraordinary harmony. When we arrived in August 2022, carrying 230 kilograms of luggage from the UAE, the country felt at first like a world apart — unfamiliar, quieter, slower. I found myself longing for the fast pace and futuristic buzz of the UAE. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, Azerbaijan began to take root in my heart. Like peeling back the layers of an onion, we uncovered its richness layer by layer: ancient customs steeped in history, genuine warmth in every greeting, and a modern spirit quietly unfolding. Over time, what was once strange became a profound blessing — a unique beauty revealed with every new discovery.
The first few months were not without their hurdles. One memorable morning, while having breakfast at the hotel where we stayed initially, I nearly choked on a stray hazelnut — a small but startling reminder that nothing here would be entirely familiar. Just two weeks after arriving, we both caught COVID-19. We were the only ones on the metro carefully wearing masks, but it didn’t spare us. Confined to our apartment, uncertain whether food deliveries even existed, we quickly discovered that ordering meals was indeed possible — and, despite the language barrier, surprisingly straightforward. The trickiest part was mastering the address system: in Azerbaijan, buildings rarely have names, only numbers, which made giving our location to delivery drivers an adventure in itself.
We soon found a modern hospital that felt more like a hotel than a medical facility, equipped with the latest technology and comforts. Language barriers were rarely an issue — either the doctor spoke English, or a translator was readily available to bridge any gaps. Coming from a country where even petrol could be ordered online, we quickly learned to adjust to what was accessible here, often finding substitutes rather than exact matches. Most medicines were available, albeit under different names or as generic versions, requiring a bit of patience and flexibility on our part.
Explaining to family and friends where we lived proved to be its own challenge.
Most had little idea where Azerbaijan was, often asking questions like, “Is it part of Turkey?” or “Where exactly is that?” Safety concerns also came up regularly: “Is it safe to visit?” For many, tourism in Azerbaijan is still a new concept—something the country is only beginning to embrace. This unfamiliarity made our experience feel all the more unique, as we navigated a land both ancient and emerging into the wider world.
Tourism in Azerbaijan only began gaining real momentum around 2012, sparked by the visit of a sheikh from the United Arab Emirates. His arrival marked a turning point, opening the door to an influx of Arab tourists eager to explore the country. At that time, however, the tourism infrastructure was still in its infancy, with few systems in place to support international visitors. Stories circulated of a tourist paying as much as 1,000 Manat for a taxi from the airport to a hotel in Baku — far beyond the going rate. This sparked a pattern of overcharging, with some drivers demanding up to 200 Manat for a single trip. Hotel standards left much to be desired, too; anecdotal tales described guests sharing a single bar of soap before it was replaced. Since then, the sector has transformed remarkably. Over the past decade, transportation, hospitality, and service quality have all improved significantly, reshaping Azerbaijan into a far more welcoming and professional destination for international travelers.
Heydar Aliyev Airport, one of Azerbaijan’s eight international gateways, was renamed on March 10, 2004, in honor of the country’s national leader. While it may not boast a vast array of entertainment or shopping options, the airport instead offers a unique experience — one rooted in cultural storytelling that gently accompanies travelers as they await their flights. Thoughtfully designed with natural materials, the airport reimagines what a modern transit space can be, inviting visitors to feel a connection to Azerbaijan’s heritage from the moment they arrive. Rather than following the global trend of relentless commercialization, it embraces an authentic and understated charm that, in its own quiet way, reflects the country itself.
We were fortunate to live in Azerbaijan for three years—a time that taught us how truly impossible it is to grasp a nation’s culture and soul through a brief visit alone. Understanding a people, their traditions, and the rhythm of everyday life requires living alongside them, sharing moments both ordinary and profound. While English is not widely spoken, from our very first vacation onward, we experienced a warmth and hospitality that transcended language, welcoming us into the heart of Azerbaijani life.
One afternoon, while traveling in the business class section of a train to Ganja, we noticed a man nearby who didn’t seem to be feeling well. I offered him an unopened bottle of water — a simple gesture of concern. When we arrived at the station, we pulled out our phones, trying to figure out how to book a taxi into the city. To our surprise, the same man quietly took it upon himself to help. He not only arranged but also paid for a driver to take us wherever we wanted to go that afternoon. It was a quiet act of kindness, unasked for and unexpected — the sort of moment that leaves a lasting impression and quietly defines the spirit of a place.
