Beer and pork. After six weeks of travelling through Turkey, these are the two things
we missed the most. Things that Georgia happens to excel at.
That and cheesy bread. And a whole load of randomness...
we missed the most. Things that Georgia happens to excel at.
That and cheesy bread. And a whole load of randomness...
There are few countries in the world quite as exciting - and relatively unknown - as Georgia. With a strong identity and hugely diverse landscape, Georgia prides itself on natural beauty in a part of the world that’s difficult to categorise. Is this Europe? Perhaps, politically-speaking, but let’s be honest and call this is the Caucasus. And it’s awesome.
Here is where you can hike (or ski) for days around some truly majestic 3000m+ peaks, relax on a beach-side resort and explore a wine region so ludicrous to Russia that it spawned a gigantic counterfeiting industry.
And it’s barely 400km from end to end.
There are monasteries from the 6th century to explore, mineral springs and some truly bizarre sightseeing for Soviet buffs: Not only was Stalin born here (hence a weird museum or two), but there is a plethora of decaying Russian-influenced architecture, and plenty of head-scratching new stuff to gawk at while nibbling on cheesy bread.
History here dates back to before 1200BC, with many a conquerer taking a slice of the pie; something that’s still going on today; look at any map and note the two huge gouges of Russian-controlled Abkhazia and South Ossetia. The ceasefire there began only in 2008.
And what of Georgia’s neighbours? The Russian territories of Dagestan and Chechnya are notoriously off-limits, while Armenia has territorial squabbles with Azerbaijan. It’s all a bit, well, Caucasus 90210.
As Georgia is still very much finding its feet in a developing tourism industry, there are three things to keep in mind:
And what of the Georgian people? Well, let’s just say that anyone who takes great pleasure in creating oversized dumplings that scald you with boiling liquid if you eat them wrong, must have a sense of humour.
Here is where you can hike (or ski) for days around some truly majestic 3000m+ peaks, relax on a beach-side resort and explore a wine region so ludicrous to Russia that it spawned a gigantic counterfeiting industry.
And it’s barely 400km from end to end.
There are monasteries from the 6th century to explore, mineral springs and some truly bizarre sightseeing for Soviet buffs: Not only was Stalin born here (hence a weird museum or two), but there is a plethora of decaying Russian-influenced architecture, and plenty of head-scratching new stuff to gawk at while nibbling on cheesy bread.
History here dates back to before 1200BC, with many a conquerer taking a slice of the pie; something that’s still going on today; look at any map and note the two huge gouges of Russian-controlled Abkhazia and South Ossetia. The ceasefire there began only in 2008.
And what of Georgia’s neighbours? The Russian territories of Dagestan and Chechnya are notoriously off-limits, while Armenia has territorial squabbles with Azerbaijan. It’s all a bit, well, Caucasus 90210.
As Georgia is still very much finding its feet in a developing tourism industry, there are three things to keep in mind:
- Things break, often. And they’re fixed with the proverbial spit ’n
- Travelling here is extremely good value for money
- Guidebooks are not to be depended on
And what of the Georgian people? Well, let’s just say that anyone who takes great pleasure in creating oversized dumplings that scald you with boiling liquid if you eat them wrong, must have a sense of humour.
PRACTICAL INFORMATION
OUR ITINERARY
With Pete unable to walk, (due to a wall in Turkey which had qualms about being stood on), we began with a long rest period in Tbilisi, and chose to focus our time in Svaneti National Park.
Day 1 - Tbilisi
Day 2 - Tbilisi Day 3 - Tbilisi Day 4 - Tbilisi Day 5 - Tbilisi Day 6 - Batumi |
Day 7 - Zugdidi
Day 8 - Svaneti (Mestia) Day 9 - Svaneti (Jabushi) Day 10 - Svaneti (Adishi) Day 11 - Svaneti (Ushguli) Day 12 - Svaneti (Mestia) |
Day 13 - Svaneti (Mestia)
Day 14 - Zestafoni (for Chiatura) Day 15 - Tbilisi Day 16 - Kazbegi |
WHAT DID WE MISS OUT ON?
Ideally, our 3 week itinerary would replace the extra time in Tbilisi and Svaneti with a hike up to the glacier in Kazbegi, visiting the wine region and day trips from Tbilisi.
HOW HARD IS IT TO GET A VISA?
90 days, on arrival for free, no questions asked. If only all countries were that savvy to the tourist dollar.
AND WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER COUNTRIES NEARBY?
It is very common to combine Georgia and Armenia into the average 2 week itinerary - most people we met were doing exactly this. It’s only 5 hours driving from capital to capital, with tonnes to see along the way.
If you have an Armenian stamp in your passport, you won’t get into Azerbaijan, although you can visit the renegade territory of Nagorno-Karabakh in Azerbaijan only from Armenia.
Things are messy with Russia, too. North-east of Georgia is unsafe, while north-west is fine (Sochi is here, where the 2014 Winter Olympic Games were held). Central is OK-ish; we passed through quickly on our way to Volgograd.
The Russian controlled territory of Abkhazia can be visited from Georgia or Russia, but you have to come back the way you came through. South Ossetia is accessed from Russia only.
Turkey is fine. But flareups occur from time to time. Keep an eye on the news.
If you have an Armenian stamp in your passport, you won’t get into Azerbaijan, although you can visit the renegade territory of Nagorno-Karabakh in Azerbaijan only from Armenia.
Things are messy with Russia, too. North-east of Georgia is unsafe, while north-west is fine (Sochi is here, where the 2014 Winter Olympic Games were held). Central is OK-ish; we passed through quickly on our way to Volgograd.
The Russian controlled territory of Abkhazia can be visited from Georgia or Russia, but you have to come back the way you came through. South Ossetia is accessed from Russia only.
Turkey is fine. But flareups occur from time to time. Keep an eye on the news.
HOW MUCH DID WE SPEND?
We didn’t track our expenses precisely, but guestimate around USD20 per person per day.
HOW DID WE GET AROUND GEORGIA?
We had a pretty stressful crossing from Turkey to Georgia via Posof, and this prepared us well for the Georgian bus system, which is held together by string and plays to the beat of its own drum.
To be fair, the bus system goes pretty much everywhere and getting a ticket is a simple case of turning up to the station and asking for the ticket office, where you get various kinds of ticket/receipt/confirmation hybrids. They may not inspire confidence, but at least they’re official. This is also a land of share taxis though, so if your ticket is bought directly from a tout or bus driver, it exponentially increases your chances of being squished into a seat with plenty of passengers wider than you.
Just don’t expect much from the Georgian bus drivers - they’re a particularly grumpy breed, adept at surrounding themselves in an impenetrable smokey haze. Expect severe disgruntlement if attempting to make eye contact with one and under no circumstances attempt to pet one.
We also attempted to get a train from Tbilisi to Batumi, but it was booked out days beforehand.
To be fair, the bus system goes pretty much everywhere and getting a ticket is a simple case of turning up to the station and asking for the ticket office, where you get various kinds of ticket/receipt/confirmation hybrids. They may not inspire confidence, but at least they’re official. This is also a land of share taxis though, so if your ticket is bought directly from a tout or bus driver, it exponentially increases your chances of being squished into a seat with plenty of passengers wider than you.
Just don’t expect much from the Georgian bus drivers - they’re a particularly grumpy breed, adept at surrounding themselves in an impenetrable smokey haze. Expect severe disgruntlement if attempting to make eye contact with one and under no circumstances attempt to pet one.
We also attempted to get a train from Tbilisi to Batumi, but it was booked out days beforehand.
NOW THAT WE HAVE ALL THE PRACTICAL STUFF OUT OF THE WAY, WHAT DID WE GET UP TO?
Border formalities have never been so friendly. After cheerfully stamping our passports and welcoming us with a gigantic grin, the border guard took the time to write a few key Georgian phrases on a piece of paper; ‘Hello’, ‘Please’, ‘Thank-you’. But he left off one that would have come in more useful than all the previous ones combined:
"Ut’kharit’ t’k’vens bebia shech’ereba kvebis me khachapuri. Ch’emi kuchis imdenad savse var daakhloebit’ ap’et’k’des!"
Which translates roughly as:
Tell your grandmother to stop feeding me Khachapuri (cheesy bread). My stomach is so full I’m about to explode!
Of course, that’s easier said than done. Try telling a stocky old Georgian woman that you’re full. She’ll laugh at you and your skinny frame and just serve up more.
We may have lost weight in Turkey, but we sure as hell put it on in Georgia.
"Ut’kharit’ t’k’vens bebia shech’ereba kvebis me khachapuri. Ch’emi kuchis imdenad savse var daakhloebit’ ap’et’k’des!"
Which translates roughly as:
Tell your grandmother to stop feeding me Khachapuri (cheesy bread). My stomach is so full I’m about to explode!
Of course, that’s easier said than done. Try telling a stocky old Georgian woman that you’re full. She’ll laugh at you and your skinny frame and just serve up more.
We may have lost weight in Turkey, but we sure as hell put it on in Georgia.
TBILISI
The dirt-under-the-fingernail charm of Old Tbilisi may have won us over, but it’s the plethora of traditional and futuristic sightseeing that put Tbilisi on our radar in the first place.
Perhaps avoid a visit during the 40+ degree July days though: we sweltered and spent a lot of time hiding in the cafes (where we made some cool new friends).
We dedicated an entire article to Tbilisi, with lots of practical information broken down by interest.
Perhaps avoid a visit during the 40+ degree July days though: we sweltered and spent a lot of time hiding in the cafes (where we made some cool new friends).
We dedicated an entire article to Tbilisi, with lots of practical information broken down by interest.
BATUMI
Perhaps it was the worst accommodation we had on our trip so far (and that’s including Eastern Turkey), or the wannabe-glitzy vibe of the city, but Batumi (or Ibizumi as we joked), shall we say… failed to impress.
It’s as though the mayor (or more accurately, mafia) have tried to refresh a sleepy little Black Sea-side village into something more commonly found on a Mediterranean island. Believe the hype: Now Is The Time to Invest in Batumi. But walk the streets and it all feels more than a little pushed and shoved. Like a prepubescent girl dragged down a catwalk on her first modelling show.
Which of these things will you expect to find in up-and-coming Batumi?
a) A theme park
b) A beach-style boardwalk with fish restaurants and sugary treats
c) A strangely artistic kinetic sculpture
d) A ferris wheel… inside a skyscaper
e) An artificial lake ringed by expensive hotels and neon lighting
f) A bird park
g) A bar shaped like a pirate ship
h) Photo booths and ice-cream vendors at a ratio of 3 to every visitor.
Feel free to pick all of them. Batumi’s “One of Everything” approach couldn’t feel less authentic. And no doubt it’s going to rake in millions.
Even the Georgian language - a thing of beauty - has been made tacky by the Alphabet Tower. We’re lovers of good typography and these poorly-constructed letterforms glow gaudily on a mere steel-and-glass Gherkin-knockoff.
No, Georgia. You can do much, much better.
This is evident in seemingly functional buildings that Georgia has created into things of beauty. Police Stations, highway-side bus rest areas, ski resorts and border crossings - Georgia has plenty of internationally-acclaimed architecture.
Bulgaria has had a pretty good head start on the 'Ultimate Black Sea Resort Town’ competition, but that crown is still for the taking. Batumi is clearly being developed to appeal to those who can’t access similar places in Western Europe.
But that doesn’t mean it has to be so damn tacky.
The solution? Design with integrity. Georgia has a rich history with many strong cultural identifiers. Celebrate these in the architecture, festivals and design language of the city. Develop throughout Batumi so everyone’s living standard benefits, and watch the residents support and further develop tourism.
But for now? Give Batumi a miss.
It’s as though the mayor (or more accurately, mafia) have tried to refresh a sleepy little Black Sea-side village into something more commonly found on a Mediterranean island. Believe the hype: Now Is The Time to Invest in Batumi. But walk the streets and it all feels more than a little pushed and shoved. Like a prepubescent girl dragged down a catwalk on her first modelling show.
Which of these things will you expect to find in up-and-coming Batumi?
a) A theme park
b) A beach-style boardwalk with fish restaurants and sugary treats
c) A strangely artistic kinetic sculpture
d) A ferris wheel… inside a skyscaper
e) An artificial lake ringed by expensive hotels and neon lighting
f) A bird park
g) A bar shaped like a pirate ship
h) Photo booths and ice-cream vendors at a ratio of 3 to every visitor.
Feel free to pick all of them. Batumi’s “One of Everything” approach couldn’t feel less authentic. And no doubt it’s going to rake in millions.
Even the Georgian language - a thing of beauty - has been made tacky by the Alphabet Tower. We’re lovers of good typography and these poorly-constructed letterforms glow gaudily on a mere steel-and-glass Gherkin-knockoff.
No, Georgia. You can do much, much better.
This is evident in seemingly functional buildings that Georgia has created into things of beauty. Police Stations, highway-side bus rest areas, ski resorts and border crossings - Georgia has plenty of internationally-acclaimed architecture.
Bulgaria has had a pretty good head start on the 'Ultimate Black Sea Resort Town’ competition, but that crown is still for the taking. Batumi is clearly being developed to appeal to those who can’t access similar places in Western Europe.
But that doesn’t mean it has to be so damn tacky.
The solution? Design with integrity. Georgia has a rich history with many strong cultural identifiers. Celebrate these in the architecture, festivals and design language of the city. Develop throughout Batumi so everyone’s living standard benefits, and watch the residents support and further develop tourism.
But for now? Give Batumi a miss.
ZUGDIDI
She didn’t lie. Our guesthouse was one of only 3 that we found online, and she suggested that in this small town of 75,000 people, we had better rush to the only place to eat in town before it closed.
Guided by blue and red flashing lights, it just happened to be cordoned off by a slew of police cars and ambulances. Groups of locals hung around who couldn’t have looked more disinterested in they tried.
Perhaps that’s just life in Zugdidi.
There isn’t really anything of note to see here. Most people use this as the entry point to Russia-controlled Abkhazia. We used it to break up the long journey to Mestia.
But we did find a good kebab place in the end, with typically excellent Georgian ratios: 80% meat, 18% bread, 2% seasoning.
Guided by blue and red flashing lights, it just happened to be cordoned off by a slew of police cars and ambulances. Groups of locals hung around who couldn’t have looked more disinterested in they tried.
Perhaps that’s just life in Zugdidi.
There isn’t really anything of note to see here. Most people use this as the entry point to Russia-controlled Abkhazia. We used it to break up the long journey to Mestia.
But we did find a good kebab place in the end, with typically excellent Georgian ratios: 80% meat, 18% bread, 2% seasoning.
SVANETI
The land of the Svans is one steeped in fairytale and lore. Laying claim as the “highest continually-inhabited village" in Europe, Ushguli (2100m) itself is as weathered and fragmented as the ancient Caucaus Mountains upon which it lays. Peppered across the fiercely beautiful landscape, the villages of the region are famous for their striking defensive towers, built as blood-feuds scaled out of proportion over the centuries. Life here may be harsh, but at least there is good old cheesy bread.
This is a part of the world that feels very, very far away. With only one lonely access route skirting the Russian-controlled region of Abkhazia, the region is cut off for the very long winter months. No one is sure how the Svan’s pass the prolonged winter months, but we suspect with the amount of toweringly stocky men with shiny gold teeth and well-fed livestock, they’re probably not sitting around twiddling their thumbs. These are truly people of the land.
The main activity here is to hike for a few days, beginning at Mestia, the largest town at the ‘start’ of the Svaneti National Park and finishing at Ushguli (actually a collection of 4 villages). The trek is renowned around the world as one of the most beautiful.
Of course, with Pete unable to walk, trekking was going to prove difficult. We noticed a few horses around, and put two and two together - if a human can walk along a trail, surely a horse can too…
So, let’s get horses!
Much to the surprise of our guesthouse owner, Roza.
“But they are very expensive. You would need to hire one horse for each of you, plus one for your guide. And pay for your guide. And for 3 days!”.
Roza threw her hands in the air at the thought of how many people she could feed on the money going to waste on such an expedition.
"That’s ok. Let us know the price and we can take it from there”, we coerced Roza.
And so the following day, in the crisp morning air, we set off over an ancient stone bridge, past farmhouses and glowing pastures and into the lush forest. Two little foals scampered around us making our little troupe a source of amusement to passing locals for the next few days.
And all for the price of a single night out in London.
This is a part of the world that feels very, very far away. With only one lonely access route skirting the Russian-controlled region of Abkhazia, the region is cut off for the very long winter months. No one is sure how the Svan’s pass the prolonged winter months, but we suspect with the amount of toweringly stocky men with shiny gold teeth and well-fed livestock, they’re probably not sitting around twiddling their thumbs. These are truly people of the land.
The main activity here is to hike for a few days, beginning at Mestia, the largest town at the ‘start’ of the Svaneti National Park and finishing at Ushguli (actually a collection of 4 villages). The trek is renowned around the world as one of the most beautiful.
Of course, with Pete unable to walk, trekking was going to prove difficult. We noticed a few horses around, and put two and two together - if a human can walk along a trail, surely a horse can too…
So, let’s get horses!
Much to the surprise of our guesthouse owner, Roza.
“But they are very expensive. You would need to hire one horse for each of you, plus one for your guide. And pay for your guide. And for 3 days!”.
Roza threw her hands in the air at the thought of how many people she could feed on the money going to waste on such an expedition.
"That’s ok. Let us know the price and we can take it from there”, we coerced Roza.
And so the following day, in the crisp morning air, we set off over an ancient stone bridge, past farmhouses and glowing pastures and into the lush forest. Two little foals scampered around us making our little troupe a source of amusement to passing locals for the next few days.
And all for the price of a single night out in London.
DAY 1: MESTIA TO JABUSHI
As we crossed an unusually flat, grassy field and headed toward a narrow gap in the foliage, even we could tell the horses were getting fidgety. Our guide, a man of very few words (and only one single facial expression), struggled to get his horse to push through the branches and take a steep uphill path. And by “steep uphill”, we mean a narrow, heavily-forested rock-strewn path that most people would refuse to hike up on their own two feet.
Emma went next - charging through and up, stopping only halfway to get reacquainted with her horse after it went under a low-hanging branch. Despite her best horse-limbo, she was left awkwardly holding onto a tree branch while her boots were caught in her stirrups.
Pete’s horse stubbornly refused to have anything to do with such an endeavour, and it took around five minutes of coercing for the inevitable ‘f*** it’ moment, at which point Pete held on for dear life and together they powered up like a bat out of hell, crashing through a tunnel of branches, hooves slipping up and up, with no end in sight.
As we burst through the foliage onto another unusually flat, grassy area, happy we had made it to the top, we stopped to catch our breaths. Our wide-eyed guide calmly studied us as the two foals rolled around on the wet grass.
Was that the slight hint of a smile we saw?
Emma went next - charging through and up, stopping only halfway to get reacquainted with her horse after it went under a low-hanging branch. Despite her best horse-limbo, she was left awkwardly holding onto a tree branch while her boots were caught in her stirrups.
Pete’s horse stubbornly refused to have anything to do with such an endeavour, and it took around five minutes of coercing for the inevitable ‘f*** it’ moment, at which point Pete held on for dear life and together they powered up like a bat out of hell, crashing through a tunnel of branches, hooves slipping up and up, with no end in sight.
As we burst through the foliage onto another unusually flat, grassy area, happy we had made it to the top, we stopped to catch our breaths. Our wide-eyed guide calmly studied us as the two foals rolled around on the wet grass.
Was that the slight hint of a smile we saw?
“There’s a photo I didn’t take.
It’s of our guide, framed by the wooden door to an old farmhouse, where we were staying our first night.
The kind of place that has extremely large rooms and wallpaper on the roof.
The kind of place you can taste.
Our guide, intense blue eyes, set wide, sits hunched on a handmade staircase, cigarette in one hand, knife in the other.
He has a silent demeanour - always staring off somewhere.
A man of few words - almost none, whether he’s questioned in English, Georgian, Russian or
any of the local Svaneti dialects, he always responds with a quiet murmur and stares off into the distance.
He’s a Georgian Clint Eastwood.
Lit only by a solitary light bulb, silence amongst the rushing glacier water outside.”
It’s of our guide, framed by the wooden door to an old farmhouse, where we were staying our first night.
The kind of place that has extremely large rooms and wallpaper on the roof.
The kind of place you can taste.
Our guide, intense blue eyes, set wide, sits hunched on a handmade staircase, cigarette in one hand, knife in the other.
He has a silent demeanour - always staring off somewhere.
A man of few words - almost none, whether he’s questioned in English, Georgian, Russian or
any of the local Svaneti dialects, he always responds with a quiet murmur and stares off into the distance.
He’s a Georgian Clint Eastwood.
Lit only by a solitary light bulb, silence amongst the rushing glacier water outside.”
DAY 2: JABUSHI to ADISHI
With a hearty serving of cheesy bread in both our stomaches and our pockets, we bade farewell to our homestay family and trotted over grassy hills under a cloudless sky, all to a backdrop of piercing white and grey peaks jutting out from the horizon.
We saw barely a soul today as we left the valley (and villages) behind. The growing familiarity of our horses and fresh mountain air made for a peaceful ride, taking in the quiet beauty of the landscape and the blooming wildflowers. The first days’ excitement had left us - we now had nothing to do but be in the moment.
As strategic as it is beautiful, Adishi is nestled in the curves of a meandering river, and barely visible until we’re literally on top of it. It may just be one of the prettiest villages in the entire region. And with only a few hours ride today, we had ample time to explore the village and its surroundings (i.e. laughing at the piglets falling over each other). Aside from the handful of electrical cables strung up, life seems the same here as it was generations ago.
Under the omniscient presence of the watchtowers, we wandered the surrounding hills, overgrown with wildflowers. Goats expressed their discontent as we explored their day-beds: a crumbling church-bell, some unreadable grave stones. Eventually the sun sank behind the mountains. We moved our exploration into the rooms of a farmhouse and spied old photographs and crockery imprinted with imposing Moscow landmarks.
We found a stuffed goat, and amused each other by moving it to unexpected places: the top of a staircase, standing on the toilet bowl, anywhere that would illicit a squeal of shock.
Naturally we moved our goat into the bedroom of our all-too-quiet guide, and the next morning received no indication that anything was afoot. The goat was simply back in its usual spot.
We saw barely a soul today as we left the valley (and villages) behind. The growing familiarity of our horses and fresh mountain air made for a peaceful ride, taking in the quiet beauty of the landscape and the blooming wildflowers. The first days’ excitement had left us - we now had nothing to do but be in the moment.
As strategic as it is beautiful, Adishi is nestled in the curves of a meandering river, and barely visible until we’re literally on top of it. It may just be one of the prettiest villages in the entire region. And with only a few hours ride today, we had ample time to explore the village and its surroundings (i.e. laughing at the piglets falling over each other). Aside from the handful of electrical cables strung up, life seems the same here as it was generations ago.
Under the omniscient presence of the watchtowers, we wandered the surrounding hills, overgrown with wildflowers. Goats expressed their discontent as we explored their day-beds: a crumbling church-bell, some unreadable grave stones. Eventually the sun sank behind the mountains. We moved our exploration into the rooms of a farmhouse and spied old photographs and crockery imprinted with imposing Moscow landmarks.
We found a stuffed goat, and amused each other by moving it to unexpected places: the top of a staircase, standing on the toilet bowl, anywhere that would illicit a squeal of shock.
Naturally we moved our goat into the bedroom of our all-too-quiet guide, and the next morning received no indication that anything was afoot. The goat was simply back in its usual spot.
DAY 3: ADISHI TO USHGULI
By day three, we had a sense of familiarity with the horses. Being around our nameless horses felt normal, we knew what to expect, and perhaps they did too. Being with the same horse for three days built a bond unlike anything we’d experienced with horse-riding before. We’d also never experienced such sore buttocks.
We crossed a glacial river with confidence, hoofs stumbling in the icy water. Our two foals provided endless entertainment, rolling themselves in the grass whenever we stopped to take in some true lone-ranger-in-a-vast-landscape scenery. And then we hit the road - 4x4’s throwing up dust as they ferried tour groups directly from Mestia in a couple of hours.
The collective villages of Ushguli lay in a valley, dominated by towering mountains. The ultimate strategic nest in the heart of the Caucaus. We clamoured up a hill to get a sense of scale of the area - these minuscule villages barely even register on the landscape, like the reds of cattle peppered along the slopes. There are only a handful of general stores here - the rest are guesthouses, farmhouses and the ever-present watchtowers, reminding us of the dark days of village-to-village warfare.
We enter our guesthouse common room at an odd moment as a local artist is rather intensely displaying his paintings to a not entirely convinced group of buyers. But other than that, there is little to do here - Pete ends up purchasing a small keychain of the traditional felt hats worn by the Svans. The only thing to do here is to look up and admire the stars. and have a long, hot shower.
We crossed a glacial river with confidence, hoofs stumbling in the icy water. Our two foals provided endless entertainment, rolling themselves in the grass whenever we stopped to take in some true lone-ranger-in-a-vast-landscape scenery. And then we hit the road - 4x4’s throwing up dust as they ferried tour groups directly from Mestia in a couple of hours.
The collective villages of Ushguli lay in a valley, dominated by towering mountains. The ultimate strategic nest in the heart of the Caucaus. We clamoured up a hill to get a sense of scale of the area - these minuscule villages barely even register on the landscape, like the reds of cattle peppered along the slopes. There are only a handful of general stores here - the rest are guesthouses, farmhouses and the ever-present watchtowers, reminding us of the dark days of village-to-village warfare.
We enter our guesthouse common room at an odd moment as a local artist is rather intensely displaying his paintings to a not entirely convinced group of buyers. But other than that, there is little to do here - Pete ends up purchasing a small keychain of the traditional felt hats worn by the Svans. The only thing to do here is to look up and admire the stars. and have a long, hot shower.
EXPLORING THE USHGULI AREA
The dogs are huge. Seriously huge. The kind of huge that says ‘throw a saddle on me’ and lets go round up a few cows before breakfast. With one of these monsters escorting us, we decided to spend a day hiking up to the Shkhara glacier. And by hiking, we mean pausing every hour or so to soak Pete’s swollen foot in the 2 degree water.
The sun poked over the mountains, heralding yet another blue-skied day, and we wandered through a postcard-perfect valley up to a rocky glacier. Like most glaciers, they are far more impressive from helicopters and other far-away places. The reality is that up close, they’re dangerous, dripping walls of grit-encrusted ice that makes for slow going along boulders of varying sizes. We saw a few people that were hiking far too close to the crumbling face of the glacier, and after a huge splash, watched them scurry off and away.
Probably best to observe nature from a distance here.
The sun poked over the mountains, heralding yet another blue-skied day, and we wandered through a postcard-perfect valley up to a rocky glacier. Like most glaciers, they are far more impressive from helicopters and other far-away places. The reality is that up close, they’re dangerous, dripping walls of grit-encrusted ice that makes for slow going along boulders of varying sizes. We saw a few people that were hiking far too close to the crumbling face of the glacier, and after a huge splash, watched them scurry off and away.
Probably best to observe nature from a distance here.
CHIATURA
We hurtled around the corner in our BMW, Euro-pop blaring with the tinted windows down as our driver grinned like a maniac, blabbering something in broken English (or Georgian, we’ll never know). We just grinned back and braced ourselves as he lurched the car through another corner and toward the industrial mining town of Chiatura. With driving like this, we may as well have been doing a border run from Mexico with a trunk full of white powder.
There is a reason Chiatura isn’t mentioned in the guidebooks - it’s really just a mining town. But a casual search online will reveal a rather unique curiosity. The town of 20,000 people is spread across a rocky valley on top of extensive ore deposits, making it pretty important in Soviet times. Strung up in the 1950’s, the original infrastructure of these ropeways still remains. And you can ride them for free. These rusted coffins are the public transport of choice for workers and civilians alike. They haven’t changed in decades.
Each ropeway has a different style of cabin. In one we sway about, hunched over with fingers poked through circular air holes to steady ourselves, avoiding eye-contact with everyone in the claustrophobic space. Others are roomier, with a tiny bench around the edge and an ageing cabin lady making small-town chit-chat with workers she’s probably known since they were boys.
The machine rooms at each end of the ropeways themselves are coated in decades of grease, with massive wheels and cogs spinning all over the place. It’s like standing inside some kind of Soviet-Tim Burton inspired clock.
Some ropeways have, unsurprisingly, been closed down, in dire need of maintenance. In a country strapped for cash, it’s hard to imagine these ever re-opening, destined instead to one day be demolished.
We wandered through Chiatura town itself, a surprisingly busy place dominated by Soviet apartment blocks, constructivist statues and more than one seemingly-abandoned rusted bus. It’s a city of cracked concrete, uncontrollable weeds and huge industrial pipes snaking around the streets. It’s one of the few places we’ve visited that feels abandoned without actually being so.
We spied a rather striking house on top of a pillar of rock out of town, the Katskhi Pillar, inhabited by a monk who built his little abode high up in order to live closer to God. One man’s humble Meteora, it’s strangely out of place in the landscape and one of those things that would be a huge tourist draw card in most countries.
With the day ending, we returned to our accommodation, the only place available on Booking . com. In what turned out to be a gigantic house, complete with an upstairs parqueted-floor, ballroom-sized room, our elderly hosts entertained themselves by plying us with fishbowl-sized glasses of homemade wine. We slinked away occasionally to explore the mixed use, oddly shaped rooms with their dusty bookshelves adorned with faded novels Georgian and Russian novels. Luckily for us, a family relative passed through and translated the essentials for us. Dinner was, naturally, a hearty serving of cheesy bread, eggs and various meats, as we watched an elderly family friend inebriate himself completely in 30 minutes flat before stumbling out the front door, not to be seen again.
There is a reason Chiatura isn’t mentioned in the guidebooks - it’s really just a mining town. But a casual search online will reveal a rather unique curiosity. The town of 20,000 people is spread across a rocky valley on top of extensive ore deposits, making it pretty important in Soviet times. Strung up in the 1950’s, the original infrastructure of these ropeways still remains. And you can ride them for free. These rusted coffins are the public transport of choice for workers and civilians alike. They haven’t changed in decades.
Each ropeway has a different style of cabin. In one we sway about, hunched over with fingers poked through circular air holes to steady ourselves, avoiding eye-contact with everyone in the claustrophobic space. Others are roomier, with a tiny bench around the edge and an ageing cabin lady making small-town chit-chat with workers she’s probably known since they were boys.
The machine rooms at each end of the ropeways themselves are coated in decades of grease, with massive wheels and cogs spinning all over the place. It’s like standing inside some kind of Soviet-Tim Burton inspired clock.
Some ropeways have, unsurprisingly, been closed down, in dire need of maintenance. In a country strapped for cash, it’s hard to imagine these ever re-opening, destined instead to one day be demolished.
We wandered through Chiatura town itself, a surprisingly busy place dominated by Soviet apartment blocks, constructivist statues and more than one seemingly-abandoned rusted bus. It’s a city of cracked concrete, uncontrollable weeds and huge industrial pipes snaking around the streets. It’s one of the few places we’ve visited that feels abandoned without actually being so.
We spied a rather striking house on top of a pillar of rock out of town, the Katskhi Pillar, inhabited by a monk who built his little abode high up in order to live closer to God. One man’s humble Meteora, it’s strangely out of place in the landscape and one of those things that would be a huge tourist draw card in most countries.
With the day ending, we returned to our accommodation, the only place available on Booking . com. In what turned out to be a gigantic house, complete with an upstairs parqueted-floor, ballroom-sized room, our elderly hosts entertained themselves by plying us with fishbowl-sized glasses of homemade wine. We slinked away occasionally to explore the mixed use, oddly shaped rooms with their dusty bookshelves adorned with faded novels Georgian and Russian novels. Luckily for us, a family relative passed through and translated the essentials for us. Dinner was, naturally, a hearty serving of cheesy bread, eggs and various meats, as we watched an elderly family friend inebriate himself completely in 30 minutes flat before stumbling out the front door, not to be seen again.
CROSSING THE BORDER TO RUSSIA FROM KAZBEGI
The quintessential photo of Georgia is of the Gergeti Trinity Church at Stepantsminda. Situated high up against the towering Kazbegi mountain, it’s a fitting analogy of the small entity being dominated not only by its surroundings, but its neighbours. Here was our final stop before heading across the border into an area of Russia that isn’t marked green on those is-it-safe-to-visit websites.
But our hopes for ascending the mountain were dashed when we realised our border crossing was to be a lot more complicated than we realised, and we should start the day as early as possible.
Like the elephant in the room, no one in Stepantsminds town had any information on crossing the border. With the very sour Georgian-Russian relationships very sour, and a very irregular route for tourists, there is simply no infrastructure to assist with crossing the border. We heard there was a bus from Tbilisi, and thought we could catch it from here instead, but there is simply no information anywhere, with no one able to help, from hotels to restaurants to hiking companies.
We would stick by our travel mantra: Just turn up.
So we got a taxi to the border. The driver didn’t know if we could cross - he was just happy for a fare. We quickly left any signs of civilisation as we snaked through the single valley joining Russia to Georgia. This unlikely road was probably placed here by brute force - the Caucasus mountains make for an impenetrable barricade.
We first past dozens, and then what turned out to be hundreds of trucks, all lined up to the border. Small camps had been set up around the ones closest to the border. These guys must have been waiting here for days or even weeks.
But we kept going, and were eventually dumped near passenger cars that were being waved through by military personnel. This was about as far from duty-free shopping as we could be.
Our first hurdle was a little formality: We couldn’t cross on foot. Every person must be in a ‘machine’. We spied two (Russian speaking) Ukrainian guys and with their help, jumped on a large bus which had begun its journey in Tehran, Iran. Seemingly familiar with the procedure, the bus driver didn’t seem too bothered - we just stood in the aisle as we slowly lurched through stop-start traffic for an hour. We fielded questions from the insanely bored passengers who had been on this very bus for 2 days. The air was stuffy but they were all lovely and patient - we accepted handfuls of accepting handfuls of sugary sweets.
Our second hurdle was a bit more serious - we were told to get off the bus at the actual border crossing, as we weren’t on the passenger manifest for that ‘machine’.
Back on the tarmac, barbed wire and towering cliffs all around us, the Ukrainians abandoned us to ask every single car if they had room for them. We had little hope but to approach the fearsome-looking military man with his ridiculously oversized assault rifle and ask what the hell we’re meant to do.
“Where you from?” he stared at us, lips barely moving, his English words resonating in the air around us
“Uh… Australia…?”. We wondered if it was the right answer.
“Is only possible to cross in machine”. He stood his ground.
“Uh… could, could you, maybe, ask one if someone could take us?”, we asked like kids in a lolly shop.
“Of course!”, he beamed, his stoic front draining in an instant. “Wait to one side i will find someone to take you through!.
Relieved, we watched as a 12-seater van pulled up and the border guide began to argue with the driver. The driver, insisting he didn’t have room, waved his arms around, and a minute later, the doors opened and we sat on our packs in the cramped van. A cheery wave from our military man, and we were off.
We were through!
This bus had come from Yerevan, in Armenia, and although it had only been a day of travel, the cramped conditions didn’t make for happy Armenians. We quickly passed around all the sugary sweets we received on the bus previously, to eagerly outstretched arms. Funny the way the world works sometimes.
Our passports were studied, scrutinised, stamped and before long, we were gliding along the road to Vladikavkaz, the capital of the North Ossetia-Alania region of Russia. We chatted to our bus driver, who genuinely wondered why the hell we were here. This bus was headed another 500km+ to Astrakhan, near the safer areas of the Caspian Sea, a place we were assured was popular with holidaying Armenians, yet still pass through the no-go territories of Chechnya and Dagestan.
We had no idea where we would even get dropped off - we planned to just get a taxi from the border but the bus driver had taken a shining to us.
An hour later, we found ourselves dropped off right at the entrance to Vladikavkaz bus terminal. And soon after we were loaded up with sweetened bread and yoghurt, bouncing along on an utterly decrepit, sorry excuse for a bus.
After a long day beginning in Kazbegi, our 18-hour overnight journey to Volgograd had just begun. Little did we know we would be getting pulled off the bus to have our ‘documents’ checked as we passed through military checkpoints every other hour.
But our hopes for ascending the mountain were dashed when we realised our border crossing was to be a lot more complicated than we realised, and we should start the day as early as possible.
Like the elephant in the room, no one in Stepantsminds town had any information on crossing the border. With the very sour Georgian-Russian relationships very sour, and a very irregular route for tourists, there is simply no infrastructure to assist with crossing the border. We heard there was a bus from Tbilisi, and thought we could catch it from here instead, but there is simply no information anywhere, with no one able to help, from hotels to restaurants to hiking companies.
We would stick by our travel mantra: Just turn up.
So we got a taxi to the border. The driver didn’t know if we could cross - he was just happy for a fare. We quickly left any signs of civilisation as we snaked through the single valley joining Russia to Georgia. This unlikely road was probably placed here by brute force - the Caucasus mountains make for an impenetrable barricade.
We first past dozens, and then what turned out to be hundreds of trucks, all lined up to the border. Small camps had been set up around the ones closest to the border. These guys must have been waiting here for days or even weeks.
But we kept going, and were eventually dumped near passenger cars that were being waved through by military personnel. This was about as far from duty-free shopping as we could be.
Our first hurdle was a little formality: We couldn’t cross on foot. Every person must be in a ‘machine’. We spied two (Russian speaking) Ukrainian guys and with their help, jumped on a large bus which had begun its journey in Tehran, Iran. Seemingly familiar with the procedure, the bus driver didn’t seem too bothered - we just stood in the aisle as we slowly lurched through stop-start traffic for an hour. We fielded questions from the insanely bored passengers who had been on this very bus for 2 days. The air was stuffy but they were all lovely and patient - we accepted handfuls of accepting handfuls of sugary sweets.
Our second hurdle was a bit more serious - we were told to get off the bus at the actual border crossing, as we weren’t on the passenger manifest for that ‘machine’.
Back on the tarmac, barbed wire and towering cliffs all around us, the Ukrainians abandoned us to ask every single car if they had room for them. We had little hope but to approach the fearsome-looking military man with his ridiculously oversized assault rifle and ask what the hell we’re meant to do.
“Where you from?” he stared at us, lips barely moving, his English words resonating in the air around us
“Uh… Australia…?”. We wondered if it was the right answer.
“Is only possible to cross in machine”. He stood his ground.
“Uh… could, could you, maybe, ask one if someone could take us?”, we asked like kids in a lolly shop.
“Of course!”, he beamed, his stoic front draining in an instant. “Wait to one side i will find someone to take you through!.
Relieved, we watched as a 12-seater van pulled up and the border guide began to argue with the driver. The driver, insisting he didn’t have room, waved his arms around, and a minute later, the doors opened and we sat on our packs in the cramped van. A cheery wave from our military man, and we were off.
We were through!
This bus had come from Yerevan, in Armenia, and although it had only been a day of travel, the cramped conditions didn’t make for happy Armenians. We quickly passed around all the sugary sweets we received on the bus previously, to eagerly outstretched arms. Funny the way the world works sometimes.
Our passports were studied, scrutinised, stamped and before long, we were gliding along the road to Vladikavkaz, the capital of the North Ossetia-Alania region of Russia. We chatted to our bus driver, who genuinely wondered why the hell we were here. This bus was headed another 500km+ to Astrakhan, near the safer areas of the Caspian Sea, a place we were assured was popular with holidaying Armenians, yet still pass through the no-go territories of Chechnya and Dagestan.
We had no idea where we would even get dropped off - we planned to just get a taxi from the border but the bus driver had taken a shining to us.
An hour later, we found ourselves dropped off right at the entrance to Vladikavkaz bus terminal. And soon after we were loaded up with sweetened bread and yoghurt, bouncing along on an utterly decrepit, sorry excuse for a bus.
After a long day beginning in Kazbegi, our 18-hour overnight journey to Volgograd had just begun. Little did we know we would be getting pulled off the bus to have our ‘documents’ checked as we passed through military checkpoints every other hour.