A thin salt wind from the Caspian lifts off the boulevard as you step out beneath Baku’s mirrored Flame Towers, the city’s modern glass skin reflecting an older skyline of crenellated stone. The first morning moves like a rehearsed sequence: carpet museums and Heydar Aliyev’s curving concrete, a lunch of plov, then a walk through Icherisheher where minarets and caravanserai keep time with the sea. Over five days the country pulls you inland and up—onto rocky plateaus and smoking mud cones, along the carved faces of Gobustan’s petroglyphs, and into the alpine hush of Gabala’s forests.