“GUYS… STAY RIGHT THERE!” I shouted at the top of my voice, my words echoing around the remote and majestic peaks of the Greater Caucasus range. This was a photo opportunity not to be missed. My guides, Mursal and Aboo, stood in the ideal position on the trail just as two blankets of whispering clouds rolled towards their heads and another swept in the opposite direction below their feet.
Anxious to seize the moment, I retrieved my camera from my backpack, but as is too often the case in moments like these, I found it lifeless with a flat battery. Frantically, I reached for a replacement, swiftly inserted it, and glanced back up. Aboo’s voice sang across the mountains: “Pete, where are you?”
“I’m still here, but I can’t see a thing,” I responded. Unexpectedly, I’d been enveloped in my own cloud, probably for no more than a few seconds, although time seemed to have been suspended. As the clouds dissipated, I was reunited with my two companions and met with the vision of lush green mountains and a large canvas of blue sky.
Our miniature mystic moment shouldn’t come as a surprise in Azerbaijan, a place whose past is woven from the threads of spiritual traditions from many diverse cultures. Nestled between the Caspian Sea and the Caucasus Mountains, (fire) and (protector).
