Sunday, 15 October 2017

 

Start: Tbilisi 11:00

Arrival: Stepantsminda 19:00

Total: 160 km

 

On which I learned about

 

the wisdom of turning a device off and on

the joys of a scary jeep ride

and chacha

 

 

 

I had arranged to meet Goga at 11 in the morning outside my hotel. We stowed my luggage into the trusted little Suzuki and were off, with me behind the wheel and Goga supposed to give directions. The first leg of the trip was easy to master with the Wifi telling me exactly where to go. In no time, we had left Tbilisi behind and were approaching our first stop for the day: The mountain fortress Ananuri.

 

 

 

Like all European countries, Georgia had been split into more or less independent feudal estates during the Middle Ages. In the 13th century, the dukes of Aragvi built an imposing castle into the hills overlooking their river. This fortress, now partly in ruins, is a favourite with weekend visitors from Tbilisi and young couples looking for a stunning backdrop to their wedding pictures. There were several wedding parties crowding the castle entrance when we arrived. I parked the car and we set off to explore the castle. I adore mediaeval buildings and love to clamber over old masonry and into decrepit hidden nooks. Said nooks also have the advantage of sheltering you from the elements when, as happened just then, the sky decides to send down a sudden outpour and unclement gales. When the sky cleared, we climbed to the edge of the fortification and were rewarded with an amazing view over the river valley. Picture perfect. I shoved my phone into Goga's hand and held a pose. Checking the result, I frowned. The picture had come out all blurry. I took another snapshot. Same result. My phone had gone on strike! Frustrated, I shook it. The android remained unimpressed. "It's water", suggested Goga. From two drops of rain? I rubbed the lens. To no avail. "Turn it off and on," suggested my guide. Not now. I decided to deal with this later. We went inside the chapel, where a wedding party was in full swing. The bride looked amazing in her long white robe. At least in real life she did. On the photograph, she was just a blurry blob. Sighing, I gave up on recording my stay in Ananuri for posterity, and instead enjoyed the trip.

 

When we walked back to the car, the wind and rain returned with a vengeance. Pulling the jacket over my head, I ran along the cobblestones. "Wait!" I stopped. Outside the castle, street vendors had set up their stalls. An elderly lady was selling the most comfy looking wool blankets. I chose one and she named her prize. Goga shook his head and screaming against the wind: "I can get it for you for less." No doubt, but I wasn't about to haggle with an old woman. I already loved this cosy blanket and, as far as I was concerned, it was worth every lari. I paid and the lady carefully folded the blanket and rummaged around her stall for a bag. Then she very slowly wrapped my purchase into a little plastic bag and wrote out a receipt for it. Never mind that I was getting drenched and the wind quickly transformed my hair into a Cruella-DeVilesque rats' nest. At last, she handed me the bag, I yelled a "спасибо" at her, and we dashed to the car. Writing this, months later back home, I pull my cosy blanket closer over my knees. It was a good purchase. Worth every drop of rain.

 

With the heating at full blast, I turned the vehicle onto the old Georgian Military Road, the main route north into the Caucasus. If we stayed on this path, we would eventually be in Russia. Or, more likely, at the Russian border without a hope to get in as I didn't have a Russian visa. Good thing we just wanted to get to Stepantsminda.

 

The highway was in excellent condition. As we drove steadily higher, the sky suddenly cleared and the sun smiled down over high mountains and green valleys. What an amazing landscape! I had to stop and take a picture. But unfortunately, my phone was still refusing to do its duty. "Turn it off and on," Goga suggested, once again. What's the use? Ah well, why not. I turned the phone off, and immediately back on. The picture came out as sharp as a knife. Okay. Doesn't make sense but... yay!

 

 

 

The highway to Stepantsminda was in excellent condition, and there was not much traffic. The scenery was simply sublime. Ever higher mountains to the left and right, a clear blue sky and crisp, fresh air. Now I felt that I had truly reached the Caucasus. We made good speed and in less than 2 hours, we reached the small tourist resort Stepantsminda. High over the town, at an elevation of more than 2 kilometers, we spotted the picturesque old church Tsminda Sameba. Built in the 14th century, it is a popular hiking destination, as its location offers a stunning view of Mount Kazbek. But it was late afternoon, and I didn't feel like hiking uphill for two hours, so we looked for the road up. The road sign led to a battered driveway, full of large boulders. Surely this could not be the only way up?

 

I stopped the car, unsure what to do now. Parked at the roadside, there was a battered old offroad vehicle. The driver's door opened and a man stepped up to us. He explained in Georgian that the road was closed for cars, but that he could drive us up to the church in his Jeep. I raised my eyebrows. So the road was NOT closed for cars then, otherwise how would he get us up? Happy that I had joined the conversation, he switched to Russian: "I know a way through the forest. You don't." Point taken. I looked up at the sky. It looked like it was about to rain. I looked back at the Jeep driver. "Ладно, давай." Alright, let's do this.

 

I parked the Suzuki further down the street and Goga and I climbed into the Jeep. The driver engaged the clutch, and off we went. At first, the ride went through a small village, through tiny unpaved alleys that mostly looked like someone's backyard. Soon, we left the houses behind and entered the forest. The Jeep bumbled over stones and roots, weaving its way between tall trees. Was this even a hiking trail? The Jeep built up an amazing speed, it practically flew over any obstacle, at times lurching dangerously close to the steep slope to the left, just to avoid the overhanging boulders on the right. Irrationally, my hands dug into the seat for protection. "Are you sure this is a road?", I shouted at the driver. He nodded, laughed and added something in Russian. Huh? He pointed at the rosary dangling from the rearview mirror and added in English: "Don't worry!" The car jerked to the right, throwing me hard against the door. The driver stepped on the gas and brought the car around a sharp bend. Now the steep slope was on my side, not that it really mattered. I closed my eyes. If there was a patron saint of drivers, I could only hope that she was partial to crazy Georgian Jeep drivers and even crazier Luxembourgish tourists. (Note: there actually is a patron saint of drivers: Saint Frances of Rome. It is said that an angel lit her way wherever she went.)

 

After an endless half hour, we flew out of the forest onto a wind-swept plain. We had reached the top of the mountain! I looked around in amazement. We were so high up and there, barely a kilometer in front of us, lay the old church. We had made it!

 

The driver parked the car in the vicinity of the church and we got out. I was so relieved to feel solid, unmoving ground under my feet, that I almost hugged him. He laughed like there had never been any problem in the world, and Goga took a picture of us both in front of snow-capped mount Kazbek, reaching up more than 5000 m from sea-level into the sky.

 

The driver waited at the car while Goga and I walked around the church. The town of Stepantsminda lay like a sprinkling of tiny dots far below us. Up here, the wind was cold and violent, so we soon returned to the jeep, steeling us for the ride down. In the meantime, two young hikers had joined our party, so we all squeezed in and got acquainted. The hikers were tourists from France and told me that it had taken them more than three hours to walk up to the church. Not wanting to be caught in the approaching rain and nightfall, they thought that a quick jeep ride down was the safer option. I looked at them doubtfully. Well, I guess it depended on your definition of safe.

 

When the jeep sped away from the church, the young Frenchman clutched at the roof of the car. "He is going awfully fast, isn't he?" I smiled at him. "Wait until we get into the forest."

 

 

 

Less than half an hour later we were safely back at our car and I profusely thanked the driver for this most memorable ride. By now it was almost completely dark and I was ravenously hungry. On the main street, we found a wood-decorated, oven-heated restaurant with large windows onto Tsminda Sameba and ordered food. My pork chops were unfortunately not the best choice. The meat was so tough and sinewy that I gave up on chewing and swallowed the pieces whole. But it was sustenance, so I won't complain.

 

"What is the national Georgian drink?", I asked Goga. "Tarkhuna," he replied and pointed at our glasses. Ah, the tarragon-flavoured lemonade. Yes, that was delicious. But I wanted something a bit stronger. "Chacha," my guide suggested. That sounded dashing. Let's have some. Goga soon returned with two small shot glasses. I tasted it. It seemed to be some sort of grappa. Bottoms up!

 

After our meal, we drove to the small motel that I had found on Booking. There was a cosy wood-panelled living room with an open fireplace, where the guests could enjoy a quiet hour reading or sipping some delicious Georgian wine. Goga told me about his studies at university and we spoke about life, the universe and everything until it was almost midnight. A perfect way to end the day.

 

Note: Back home in Luxembourg, I checked on the internet, and it seems in 2017 there was really no other way up to Tsminda Sameba, as they were just building a new road. Since December 2018, there is a paved road going up all the way to the church. A pity, somehow. I wouldn't have missed my Jeep ride for anything in the world.