| “M |
y children are safe thanks to you guys. My parents are safe thanks to you guys. I am able to work and provide for my family thanks to you guys. Pakistan, Azerbaijan, qarda !”
Never thought I’d hear words praising Pakistan - outside of Pakistan.
So, my bachpan kay dost, and I finally pulled off a trip together. Eighteen months of WhatsApp planning, Excel budgeting, visa confusion (Dubai’s ban on transit visas for Pakistani travellers still stings) and one universal obstacle - wives’ approval – later, we were ready. (Being the only unmarried one, I was naturally the most expendable member in the group plan.)
JD, Buddha, Chunni, Sherry (travel nicknames) and I had originally booked May 2025. Then our neighbours got a little mischievous, Pakistan responded, the airspace closed and our trip turned into a waiting game. By the time everyone’s schedules aligned again, it was September By sheer luck, one friend had a business meeting in Baku, which also happened to be a Formula 1 weekend. None of us had experienced F1 before. Two of my friends follow it religiously; the rest of us went for the vibes.
From the moment we landed, Baku felt like a city on caffeine. The entire town was a festival - fan zones, street concerts, neon-lit food stalls and people from every corner of the world. We’d rented an apartment right next to the circuit, so the roar of engines became our morning alarm.
Pole Day and Race Day were pure adrenaline. The pit lane walk felt surreal, like stepping inside a video game. You don’t just watch the cars; you feel them tear through the air. Somewhere between Ferrari’s garage and a doner stand, I almost became an F1 fan.
The weather was perfect. The people were warm. The prices? Not so much. Apart from taxis, everything else burned a little hole in the wallet. Scams were a local sport - from hotel negotiations to street food. Even after being warned, we got played at least once a day. It became our running joke to ask other tourists, “How many times did you get scammed today?”
Food was hit or miss. But when it hit - it hit. Nizami Street was buzzing day and night, and Baku’s nightlife was easily one of the best I’ve seen. The city barely sleeps - like a cleaner, more cultured cousin of Dubai.
It reminded us that even in a foreign country, history and humanity can share the same table.
And the people - consistently beautiful. Not just the faces, but also the energy. Everywhere we went, the moment we said we were from Pakistan, the reaction was instant warmth. Random strangers, shopkeepers, servers nodded, smiled, or, like the tea shop server who said those opening words, expressed genuine gratitude. It was humbling, strange and deeply proud.
Since four of us five are married with children, the parent mode was permanently on. It was like travelling with a pack of responsible bros. For me, it was bliss. For once, I didn’t have to be an adult. I could just exist - no deadlines, no logistics, no decisions. Just tag along, laugh loud and let everyone else worry about the details. It felt strangely liberating - like a mini-retirement from responsibility.
After five days of chaos and laughter, my friends flew back. I stayed. I drove north to Sheki - an ancient city wrapped in mountains and history, over four thousand years old. The drive itself was a revelation: spotless highways, consistent petrol prices, clean public bathrooms - things we don’t take for granted back home. I stopped over in Gabala, walked through cobbled lanes, tasted wine at a local factory (more for the glass bottles than the drink - my father spent 40 years in glass manufacturing, so it felt oddly nostalgic).
In Sheki, I met a wonderful factory tour guide named Aysun - a name as interesting as her personality - who, to my surprise, spoke fluent English, a rare gift in Azerbaijan. Language barriers otherwise made Google Translate my best friend. But Sheki was stunning: old-world charm, kind people, food that tasted like someone’s grandmother still ran the kitchen.
Back in Baku, we ended most nights at a small café in Central Baku with Moroccan tea that could calm even an F1 engine. That’s where we met the server who said those words - about Pakistan, about gratitude, about feeling safe. It reminded us that even in a foreign country, history and humanity can share the same table.
By the time I flew back, I felt that bittersweet post-travel comedown, the kind where you’re grateful for the memories but dread returning to routine. Still, I came back lighter, fresher and oddly hopeful.
You realise how much the world has moved forward and how much catching up we need to do. Azerbaijan is spotless, beautifully planned, with its old-city charm perfectly stitched into its modern skyline. Even the gas stations felt curated.
And yet, despite all that polish, it was the people who stood out the most. There’s a quiet pride in how they’ve built something resilient and warm, without losing their soul.
Maybe that’s what travel does: it humbles you, makes you grateful and reminds you that respect and beauty still exist in the simplest of places.
Or maybe it’s just the Moroccan tea talking.
Either way, Baku
–zaroori hai!
The writer is managingdirector at Lotus Client Management &Public Relations.He may be reached at zubairmallicklotuspk.com