I suppose it's because I have so much time on my hands these days, that all these memories come flooding back to me.

I was perfectly happy with my job in the training school teaching the apprentice welders the art of welding. It was a great job in as much that I was on a constant day shift, had regular hours, and every weekend off - not bad considering that I was a subby¹ and I also had a good working relationship with the manager because I had been on the same site some years earlier as a clients inspector. So, all in all, everything was going well until the manager returned from his trip abroad and I was asked into the office. Thinking it was going to be pay-off interview, I entered with some apprehension. How wrong could I be? Within just minutes of arriving in the office I was being shown out again with a return ticket to Baku and a promise that it would all be ok.

Now with the knowledge that I had from my previous work overseas I packed what I knew would be essential, food and more food in the order of cuppa-soups and other such items. I was told to meet up with a bloke called Dave at Heathrow airport in two days time. So, once more, I was off into the unknown for a second time. Well it couldn't be any worse than the first, or could it?

The first thing I noticed about Dave, when we met, was this rather confused look he had and I just knew straight away that this was his first ever assignment since leaving university. He told me so within minutes of our meeting and, even though he worked for BP and was to be the Project Manager when we got out there, I promised that I would look out for him. So the first thing we did was to top up with duty free cigatettes, despite Daves insistance that he did not smoke. As I told him then, they will better than money when we arrive!

It was upon our arrival at Moscow airport that I just knew that my packing food was a good idea as we were whisked away to the hotel without much time to take in any of the lack of scenery. We were both really tired and, to make things worse, we had to get up at four in the morning to catch our Airoflot flight to Baku in Azerbaijan. It was just as well that I had managed to get Dave to drink a few beers on the trip out to the airport, as there was no way I could have got him onboard that plane sober! It was basically an accident waiting to happen! Once on board things got worse. We were not so bad being up in the front as all the sheep, goats and hens were in the middle and back of the plane. Poor Dave was suffering a culture shock. I, myself, could only face it remembering the previous bad experiences I had suffered in the past.

To make matters worse one of the local women took a shine to Dave and kept smiling at him, showing the fact that she had no front teeth - well not a lot of them had front teeth. This I later found out was because when they drink chi² they place a boiled sweet in their teeth and suck the chi through it, to sweeten the chi. I managed to divert her attention to the walkman I was wearing, and she was delighted to hear music through the ear pieces. In fact they must all have been delighted as my walkman made its way down the whole plane, but at least it distracted her! This broke the long boring flight of four hours, during which the only respite was a warm drink of lime juice from what I think was a plastic plant holder, served by a woman hostess who had a better moustache than my father. At one point Dave told me that he wanted to go to the toilet. Having been there earlier myself, I suggested that he wait until we landed, and to use one of the empty beer cans instead! My earlier trip had been to the rear of the plane, as the front toilets were locked, and I had to make my way through all the animals and birds. When I got to within a few feet of the toilet the smell was so bad that I had to hold my breath and, well, I think the rest I will leave to your imagination.

Upon arrival at Baku airport the doors were opened and a rush of fresh air came and hit us. It might not have been all that fresh, but oh what a difference it was to the foul air we had endured all through the flight. Then, of course, there was the custom of the baggage reclaim, which was nothing but well-organised chaos with some wrestling thrown in. You really had to be quick to claim your own before someone else did that for you. Dave, by this time, was beginning to get the hang of this survival game and I saw him, on at least two occasions, reclaim his luggage from other would be claimants! He was learning well.

It was at this point that we met the other two remaining Expats who had already been out there arranging things. I knew right away that I did not like either of them, as they both appeared to be loud and overbearing. This was not going to be my problem, as my job was in the training school which was a mile away from the office block that the others would be working in together. I tried to warn Dave about them, but I supposed that he would find out for himself sometime - especially as he was their boss, a fact that I dont think they liked very much. They took us back to the hotel where they had been staying and where we were also supposed to stay. This point was soon to be the cause of the first row between us all as, even though we were on the 15^th floor of the hotel, we saw a rat the size of a small dog, scurry along the wall where the skirting boards used to be, trying to hide away as we came forward. The skirting boards that were missing had been used for firewood; this we saw when we passed an open door and saw two Arabs cooking on an open fire in the hotel room! That was enough for me, let alone the two inch long cockroaches we saw upon entering what was going to be my room!

I told Dave straight away that there was no way I would live like this. Luckily he agreed and so began the first ructions amongst us.
We left and headed out to find another hotel, despite the wrath we received from Eddy and Bill our so-called work mates. Dave arrived at the outer door first and was about to get into a taxi, when I pulled him back. I told him that you should never use taxis from a hotel front; they pay a percentage to the doorman to park there, then charge four times the going rate knowing that you are strangers. So we walked round the corner, I flashed my pack of Malboro cigarettes and we arrived soon after at a far better hotel, at a total cost of 70p³ and not the $15 dollars requested by the first taxi. Dave's education was still ongoing despite his degree, but then he had his degree and I didn't - all I had was experience. All the same I felt a bond was being formed between us, one that was going to see us through this together.

Next morning we were picked up outside our hotel in the same Lada jeep as Eddy and Bill. There was a tense atmosphere all the way out to the site which was only 12 miles away but, due to the bad roads with subsidance and holes, the trip took 45 minutes! Along the route you could see places that had literally sunk into the Caspian Sea; tables and chairs still sitting there. In some places the road had completely sunk and the new route was just cut out by the heavy traffic. Wrecks of vehicles that never made it were just left to rot after being stripped for spare parts. It really was a new experience for Dave as I could see the expression on his face as if he was about to comment and then I would just make the 'shhh' signal. When we arrived at the site it looked like it had been bombed or half-demolished, yet we were assured that the whole complex was built by the French just seven years ago. We were taken up to the managers office where he was so proud to show us the only Western-style toilet in the whole site and told that we were all privileged to be given a key to use it - not that it was going to be of much use for me as I was working a mile away down on the site, and would never make it back in time!

Dave's first order of business was to arrange separate transport for us so we could leave from our separate hotels in the future. Then he set about arranging office space, leaving the largest one for himself, at my suggestion. I made my way down to the school where I was supposed to meet my translator. On my arrival - some time later as it was a long walk - I was told that my translator had fled after threats were made due to the fact that he was a Russian. This left me completely stuck, but not for long as Gazaffer, the head welder, could understand my hand signals and sketches, even though he could not speak English. The first day had started badly and it then proceeded to get worse as I found out that we had no power for the welding machines. Instead we used the time to prepare the school for all the training we were to do in the near future. I had been told by Dave that the container full of all the welding gear that was being sent out from the UK had been hijacked somewhere in Rumania. This was devasting news for me, as the gear they had was so poor. For example they had no gloves, so we had to wrap wet sacking round our hands. Even the welding rods were of poor quality and tended to burn down one side. Their welding tongs were homemade and often heated up so hot that we had to stop welding even before the rod was fully used. Still we went ahead with what we had, and what we didn't had we would make. Soon things were looking good. I even managed to convert a broken welding machine, which was stuck on full power, into a cooker by means of bent welding rods as elements. So now I could boil potatoes, which really fascinated everyone as they just cut and fried theirs.

I did actually go to the canteen on one occasion with the rest of the Expats, but the sight of all the rats, and the cats roaming over the tables, put me off the whole idea. I could smell that the meat was bad and advised Dave not to eat it. The others mocked me for this, yet it was not long before they, too, came all the way down to the school in the hope of some of my cooked potatoes. Come to think of it, that was the only time I saw them. They left empty-handed, but Dave I would help out. The fact that he was my direct boss had nothing to do with it; it was just that I liked Dave's attitude towards the locals as it was simular to mine. He often told me stories of how Bill and Eddy used to mock them and always used the fact that they could not work with them, or that their ways of working were poor. This was far from the truth as regards to the training, and even Dave noticed just how keen they were to learn and the effort they all put into it was just amazing. I felt proud of them all, especially Ivan. Now he was a giant of a man, yet so gentle and quiet. He was so good at understanding me and my thoughts, that I asked Gazaffer if he could remain with me as an assistant to help train the others. He also had an amazing laugh which would light up the whole school when something was going wrong and his concern for my well-being was, at times, embarrassing. Yet he sensed that I cared for what I was there to do. I would buy the bread⁴ every day on my way into work, and Gazaffer brought me in potatoes and tomatoes for which I gave him salt, coffee and smokes. So, if we had power that day, I could eat well and if we had water I would make tea. All this was very amusing to all the welders, yet they would stay and sit with me outside in the sun, and watch with amazement while I rolled myself a cigarette.

Things were not going too well for Dave however. He had constant rows with the other two Expats about their attitude and general delays at meetings with the yard's management. Also his contact with the UK was bad and he was constantly offsite down at the telephone exchange trying to get through. It seemed as if poor Dave was forever hitting a brick wall. He got a bit scared one day and came down to the school in a panic, asking me to go with him into town. What was happening really was not aimed at us, but at all the statues and pictures of Lenin and Stalin and every Russian flag was being destroyed, and burnt. In fact anything at all Russian was a target; this explained what had happened to my interpretor. Even the welders in the school managed to tell me how they felt with sign language; they were delighted and full of joy. I at no time felt threatened, even by the gangs of demobbed soldiers in the streets I encountered as I was out and about stocking up on my food and black market supplies.

My hotel life had improved a great deal due to my dealings with the 'landing ladies'. These were the two older ladies on our floor who looked after all the rooms on our level. It was just amazing what a smile and a laugh could do along with with a carton of Malboro and a bottle of the local champagne every Saturday. My bed was made every day, my laundry never went missing and my sheets were clean. Dave, on the other hand, was not so lucky but then he wasn't all that generous either - saying it was their job and so on. I also had a fridge in my room, full of black market beer, which was shared amongst the staff who helped with my stay there.

There was also the coffee bar kid, as I nicknamed him. His name was Mohamid and he just loved my music tapes of the early sixties through to seventies - he played them all the time on his casette player. He used to find me food in exchange for smokes, salt and coffee. We had a great time, especially when all his young friends came in to listen to the music and I would slip a couple of bottles of champagne behind the bar. Well they only cost 70p each yet even that was way above what they could afford; they were poor but, at the same time, very happy people. To be honest I got along with them better than my so-called work colleagues, Dave being the exception.

Then there was Namet who ran the 'Dollar Bar'. That was the bar where all the rich people would go to buy American beers at $5 dollars a can - beer which I traded to Namet for a lot less than that on the black market in exchange for salt, sugar, coffee and tea. So it ironic that my work mates were subsidising my stay by buying the beer in Namets bar! This was a joke that I never dare tell them. Infact I told them nothing about my exploits, which kept them wondering about my survival for the duration.

My first contact with the black market came in the Fountain Square, a meeting place near the centre of Baku. It must have been a really beautiful place at some time but, with no power for the fountains and neglect, it had fallen into a bad state of repair like most of the buildings. A taxi driver whom I knew fairly well led me to this contact, and we started trading every Saturday in the square. I always carried my 'survival bag' in which I kept bottled water, toilet roll, fruit and cashew nuts - a great form of protein. I used the bag to carry all my 'purchases' as nothing was ever wrapped there; all purchases were just carried as bought. Anyway during the time I started dealing with this contact, his supplier got suspicious thinking my contact had gone into business for himself. So, upon meeting him at the usual place and time, he looked really scared and was shaking, and begged me to go with him down this narrow side street. This made me feel very apprehensive myself, so I declined. He was so desperate and begging me, however, so I went with him. I was scared and my heart was thumping in my head. Then I saw these two large bodyguard-looking men, standing in the doorway of a shuttered up shop. They 'helped' me inside where I met Mr Big! Everything was sorted out soon after and I was told by Mr Big to come to this warehouse in future and not to deal with my old contact, who was by now ever so relieved⁵. The store was literally full of black market goods and I was told that Mr Big was, in fact, involved with the 'local mob' but assured me of my safety at all times.

So, as time went on, I was starting to become self sufficient - apart from the days when we had no power or water at the site. Then I had to live on what friut I could find along with my usual supply of nuts. Even with all this there were days when I went hungry, as did Dave. It was one of these days, when I was out looking for food, that Dave weakened and ate some hotel meat. I didn't know anything about it until he turned up outside my room at three in the morning sweating and shaking and fell into my arms. He had food poisoning, and was really ill. He begged me not to let any Doctor inject him unless it was with his own needle. I never knew this but, because he was employed by BP direct, he had his very own first aid kit⁶ and he told me where to find it in his room. I managed, with help, to get him onto the bed and a local Doctor was called. It was a serious case and within three days Dave was flown home medivac. Now with my boss gone I was left with Bill as my acting boss although, luckily for me, he did not get involved in the training side of things at all. He was kept far too busy trying to work alongside the locals for whom he had no time - a fact of which they were very much aware.

My contract time was up by now but, because of the theft of the welding equipment container, I had not completed my work. I was shown a telex from the UK by Bill asking me to stay on and complete the work. I did not really want to stay, as I had lost a lot of weight myself and was not feeling well at all. At the same time I did not want the other Expats to think that I could not stick it out; it was a matter of pride and determination. I had Ivan and Gazaffer helping me so I managed to give them more responsibility as time went on, in the hope that they could finish the work for me. In the end this is what eventually happened and, after a further month of work, my time was up and I got my ticket home.

On my last day there all the welders came up to see me from the site and it was a rather emotional scene as they shook my hand and thanked me. I must admit to feeling a lump in my throat at the time, as we had gone through a lot together. Yet it was a great feeling when I went up to the site managers office to pick up my passport and ticket home. I was returning home by myself and all I had was a piece of paper with the address and telephone number of the BP office in Moscow where I was to pick up my flight tickets to Heathrow. I said farewell to all the hotel staff the night before and found they had laid on a going away party for me. The drinks flowed like water as I emptied my fridge supply and they produced their Vodka. I had one of the worst hangovers of my life as, with mixed emotions, I got into the taxi at four in the morning to head for the Baku airport .

I had a few beers on route in my preperation for the long Airoflot flight to Moscow. Mixed with the earlier drinks these did the job well and I slept most of the flight there. Upon arrival at Moscow, I noticed that my case had been sliced open and my leather jacket was gone, but at least I managed to reclaim the case! It was now time to try and get a taxi into Moscow, an hours drive away. The airport was very busy as flying to them out there is the same as us hopping on a bus. After a lot of bargaining, pushing and shouting I managed to get into the back of a small Lada - the driver of which assured me he knew where to go. Yet, just as we entered the outskirts of Moscow, he turned to signal me that he didn't know where the office was! I was rather annoyed about this as I was lost, so I made gestures to tell him to pull over at the first pay phone he saw. I franticaly searched my pockets for change to use this phone and, as I did so, the piece of paper blew away in the wind. It was sheer panic that drove me to chase this bit of paper as I had no idea what it said as regards to the address. Eventually I caught it some distance away and then had to stop the taxi as he tried to leave me! After I eventually got through to the office I was treated with contempt and given a hard time as they thought that I was arriving the day before, hence no one to meet me at the airport. When I eventually arrived at the office, they snubbed me! I was so angry that I told them that I had been treated with more respect by the locals in Baku. Then I asked the driver to take me to the other airport early, just to get away from the 'old school tie brigade' in that office.

It was a very bumpy flight to Heathrow but I did not mind - at least I was on British Airways and heading home. I missed the connection to Inverness by only half an hour on arrival at Heathrow, so I was stuck until next morning with only sixty pounds sterling in my pocket. I asked the bus driver if he knew any cheap hotels near the airport. He was really good to me and dropped me off at the 'Ariel Hotel' where a room and breakfast was only fifty pouds - a lot cheaper than the rest. I must have looked a right sight as I checked in and the young lady behind the counter spoke in a Scottish accent. To my surprise she came from a town not more than twelve miles from my home town and so did the hotel manager! He was amazed, and insisted on upgrading my room for no charge. We then went into the bar where we had a great time. In fact it was so good it was hardly worth my going to bed as I was up and away at six to catch my flight to Inverness feeling very tired and hungover!

I was met at the airport by my then wife, who insisted that she wanted to go into Inverness to have her watch repaired! I can remember to this day standing in that busy shopping mall totally amazed by all the bright shop lights and clothes. All the happy faces and sounds; it seemed a world away from where I had spent the last six months but, in a way, I suppose it was. I still have the memories of those determined, hard-working men out there, struggling to succeed. They may have been poor but, my God, they were proud and free.

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