Towards the end of the night we had found ourselves to be the only girls remaining in a pack of COSing volunteer men who were ready to hit the clubs. As we walked to Club Malibu (for the second night in a row) I watched as McNabb walked slightly ahead of the herd, warming up her dance moves in preparation. Clubs are not the same, middle of the floor dance-off, losing yourself to the music in Azerbaijan. Instead each dancer claims his or her (though most of the "hers" were paid to be there) place in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors that line the walls. Once all places are filled, a second row forms, staggered so as to ensure constant vision on one's own shakes and shimmies. That was fun for a while, but McNabb and I definitively broke the mold, and soon hypnotized by our dance moves were joined by the other PCV's.
One of the PCV's enjoyed us so much he even invited us out to his village for the weekend as his first and most likely only guests! What an honor, the schmuck! mwahahahaha. When you think of the Peace Corps and the living conditions, this is how Matt (our new best friend) was living. It was so hot in his little "house" that he had moved his bed out onto the porch, which is where we all 3 slept. Being quite and anomaly, there was a constant stream of peering eyes peering through the slits in the fence, children and adults alike. One night we were invited over to a neighbor's birthday party. Upon entering it seemed to be all quite familiar, loads of food and vodka bottles covering one long table. Matt was immediately ushered to the table, whereas we girls were given a signal that suggested we go up stairs. This was obviously a man party, but it was fine because we were warmly (and curiously) welcomed in to join the women and children, sitting on the floor drinking tea and eating cake. Eventually we went back home, though about 10 minutes later the party followed us (unannounced), and this time we were allowed to participate. Shots, Russian, Azerbaijani and marriage proposals flowed well into the evening, until one of the the men took a wrong step, falling off the porch, leading his friends to call it a night. This is when the fun really began, as turns out Matt is an excellent guitarist and has in his possession a book of the 40 most requested acoustic songs. We rallied. Singing all 40 songs, heartfelt and at the top of our lungs for the whole village's listening pleasure (3 am). Around 6 am, the neighbor came over to milk their cow that lives in Matt's yard, but while that was going on, the little baby calf managed to break free, running a muck and bucking all around the yard. The most help I could muster up for this woman as she chased down the cow was a weak, "oh, oh no."
No one believed us, they all said "one week, minimum," "it's impossible!" "10 days, if you're lucky!" And McNabb cackled in their faces, for they did not foresee her masterful planning skills. It took us 2 hours and 15 minutes to obtain our Uzbek visas while in Baku. Two hours of general paper shuffling, and 15 minutes of celebratory high-kicking in the streets after its attainment. For our second stay (broken up by the village outing) we switched up our host, and stayed with some American ex-pats living in Baku. We immediately took a liking to this couple, as we perused their pictures from things like Burning Man, costume parties, and mountain trekking. As our conversations pushed on though, we found out that Jessica (one of the hosts) is actually an Arial-acrobatist and used to perform in the circus! She even brought much of her equipment along with her, including her stilts! Unfortunately, our boat arrived unexpectedly after our first night staying with them so we had to run to catch it as the next one wouldn't be for at least 10 days. In retrospect, it is probably good that the our boat came when it did, as we were not stranded in Baku, and I did not have the opportunity to break my neck trying to moon-walk on stilts.
(It's hard to capture, ok?)
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