In June, I visited Baku, Azerbaijan as part of a vacation around the Caucasus. I'd timed it so I'd be able to attend the first European Grand Prix, a fresh stop on the Formula 1 racing circuit, to be hosted in Baku. The race course meandered through the city center, which was close to equal parts historic buildings, old restaurants and shops, and gleaming, sparsely populated luxury stores. The glitz and glamor of Formula 1 and its global circus of the wealthy was draped against a backdrop of old castles and ambitious state-sponsored construction fueled by an oil industry that's had to weather world oil prices declining by half in the last three years.
An autocratic petrostate investing in prestige events and glistening highrises to gain a foothold on the world stage is nothing new, and it was interesting to see the world's sporting press descend on the city, mention the Dior boutiques and incoming Starbucks, and move on. It'd be easy, and not entirely unfair, to say the government of Azerbaijan aspires for Baku to be a new Dubai on the Caspian Sea. It even has its own artificial islands, although construction is ongoing. A 2013 New York Times Magazine headline sums it up nicely: "Azerbaijan Is Rich. Now It Wants to Be Famous."
Driving into the city from the airport, I passed down a highway lined with new apartment buildings, stadiums, and stunning architecture the likes of the Heydar Aliyev Center. But what struck me more than the city's new sheen, which is inspired by the same generically-global luxury of other booming cities—of course there's a Trump hotel in Baku—was when I took a stroll through the city to check out some historic neighborhoods, and came across one in the latter stages of being demolished to make room for a more glitzy replacement.
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