Visiting Nagorno-Karabakh
Title image is a cropped image of a 360 panorama taken at the Jidir Plain (Cıdır düzü).
Preface
To the dismay of both supporters and critics of the events and outcomes of the conflicts in the Nagorno-Karabakh region, I will not be addressing the geopolitics nor historicity of the places I’m visiting.
My intention is to document my journey and show the beauty of the region, not only as an Azeri, but also as a British citizen and tourist.
Justification
Under what circumstances would I ignore the instructions of the British Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO) and come to a region that they “advise against all travel”, marking it clearly with red on the map?
FCDO map of Azerbaijan, advising against travel to Nagorno-Karabakh region and border with Armenia.
Image source: gov.uk
My grandma recounted a journey that she and her friends made to Shusha (Şuşa) during their time at university, roughly sixty years ago. She has been unable to revisit the city due to the conflict and border disputes.
Now that it had been roughly four years since the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war and subsequent ceasefire, that largely returned control of the region to Azerbaijan, she would like to make the journey once more. The Azeri government has been allowing citizens to visit the region and recently they’ve extended that privilege to foreigners, like myself - with permission.
We sent our details to the tour agency, paying an extra 15 manat (~£7) due to my lack-of-Azeri-citizenship, who then went through the online process, and after some worrying hours waiting for the greenlight, we found ourselves standing in a parking lot at 4am, watching fellow tour-goers alighting their transport.
First Contact with Conflict
It is impossible to come to this region and not pay mind to the conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan. We drove past damaged homes, visited graves, and listened to the stories of the locals. My sunglasses were my veil when I could no longer keep my eyes dry.
My father has told me that it is religiously wrong to display an image of the deceased on a gravestone. I don’t know why that is, but in this moment I thought perhaps it was to stop the somber realisation that the people who lay in front of me were just normal people, like me. Looking at their faces, I could almost imagine having a conversation with them. Too often the numerical sterility of a casuality figure masks the bitter taste of the blood that makes it.
Graveyard near Aghdam (Ağdam)
Later I’d watch as black-clad Azeri’s would pour out of buses and minivans, holding canvases with images of their fallen sons. I came here to explore my country, but they had come to grieve the sacrifice their loved ones made, a pilgrimage of sorts.
The Moment
There is always one moment when travelling that sticks with you. For me that moment was when we went to the Jidir Plain (Cıdır düzü). I imagined spending an eternity there, in the serenity of the mountains, leaving my crowded life in the city. “Maybe once there is fibre optic internet…” I thought to myself…
It Feels Like Home
If you’re a Brit (likely) and I teleported you to Shusha without telling you (unlikely), I wouldn’t be surprised if you were momentarily fooled into thinking you were still in the UK. There are places which feel completely unlike the Azerbaijan that I’m familiar with (arid regions to east), instead feeling much more similar to the UK; lush greenery, forests, clean air, except not having to lug around a rain jacket.
There’s something about the air of mountains. It’s smooth, clean, and refreshing; only second place to the crispness and purity of a winter’s day of northern Scotland. My grandma tells me that if I enjoy the air of Shusha now, in October, I should experience it in the spring when the scent of the flowers in bloom as “it’s another world” (“başqa bir aləmdir”).
More Images
Perhaps as I think of more things to say, I’ll flesh this section out. For now, enjoy the images.
“Victory” fountain in Aghali (Ağalı) village
Views of Lachin (Laçın)
Empathy for My Enemies
With the return of the Israel-Palestine conflict into the public conscious (we’re not opening that can of worms), my trip to the Nagorno-Karabakh region, and other region-hyphen-region disputes, I’ve been spending more time contemplating and discussing factional/territorial conflicts.
As with most conflicts, I was expecting the conversations between Azeris about Armenians to be vitriolic, but our tour group and the locals in the previously occupied cities were surprisingly civil and weren’t cursing their enemy. Admittedly, that is a low bar and there were still moments where I was disappointed at the way they’d speak of Armenians.
I generally find myself in an uncomfortable position as an ‘outside’ observer:
There are human beings that are having to flee their homes, fight for their lives and livelihood, and ultimately suffer injustices.
Without knowledge of the conflict, I’m effectively sitting on the fence, judging both sides from my position of privilege.
Perhaps that’s what truly cements my Britishness; taking the moral highground, looking at the warring factions, and dismissively stating that both parties should stop fighting and do better, all the while continuing my exploits through their land.
To be transparent, I largely side with Azerbaijan in the conflict, but I still believe it’s just wrong to drive through the region playing victory songs, humourously mentioning Armenians fleeing scared, and having double standards. Though, if I had been an Azeri expelled from my home when the region was first occupied, would I now join them in celebration of this liberation? Is celebrating a military victory ethical?
There’s a deeper philosophical discussion here on the extent of celebrating an event which has brought suffering to a group of human beings, one which I’m not knowledgeable enough to have yet. That being said, my gut tells me to lean on the side of empathy, even after defeating what one might consider to be their deepest adversary.
Living my life of peace in the UK, I will likely never fully understand the passionate outrage of seeing another taking the land of my country, my home. I can only hope that if I ever do, I will hold steadfast to the empathy for my enemies.
See You Next Year
Going as part of a tour group gave a great overview of the kinds of places to visit when in this region, but effectively having one day (two days plus lengthy travels) made it feel like you were a pinball, bouncing from bumper to bumper.
Next time I’ll hire a car and take the time to soak in specific sights; I’d rather visit a couple of profound places instead of dipping my toes in many.
Past me liked it, so that’s good enough for me; see you next year.