10 Jun 2015

Kazbegi II - Mountain Goats, Nuns and Snow

I’ve been in Muscat, Oman, for two days now and have done next to nothing. Outside it’s around 43°C with 60-70% humidity. Apparently that sort of weather makes me drowsy, so I have done embarassingly little here and haven’t really seen anything either. For some random reason that makes me feel…guilty?

Now it’s midnight and I’m sitting in the bath, listening to Beirut - Port of Call on repeat and sipping a Holsten Non-Alcoholic Malt Beverage Apple Flavour, which I mistook for non-alcoholic beer. Might as well get on with it then. Should we? The last article ended with a description of moonshine chacha.

Day 2 - Lazy mornings and steep ascents

The next morning my mouth tasted like death and felt as if a hamster had slept on my tongue. I got up with agonizing slowness, trying not to wake the pain hiding behind my temples.

After a thick slurry of Indian instant coffee and boiling water (ratio 1:1) and a light breakfast I almost managed to sit upright without swaying back and forth. Outside the sun was shining angrily and the sky was a hateful clear blue. Our accommodation was whisper-quiet, so I figured that the others were still in bed and, hopefully, just sleeping. Groaning, I decided to make use of the time and step outside to take care of my boots.

While sitting there, groggily brushing away, our host turned up with an elderly man in tow. This man called himself the “Georgian Michael Schuhmacher” and was apparently the best driver we could get in this town. He explained the available tours in a passionate presentation. The audience - consisting only of myself, and just barely - nodded patiently. He would repeat the same pitch to all of the others during the next two days, and be disregarded every time. A pity, really, because his white Lada Niva had “adventure” written all over it. If you don’t know what a Niva is, just picture a Kalashnikov with wheels. About as comfortable a ride, too.

In the early afternoon the others began to trot around the house in the same, zombie-like state of tupor I had experienced earlier. Their livers were clearly used to more punishment though, since they began looking pretty spry just an hour later.

Quickly we decided on doing the hike up to Gergeti Trinity Church, which sat on top of a steep hill towering over Stepantsminda. So Rene, Manu and myself stepped out into the sunshine (Anthea had decided to relax a little longer) and started walking towards the hill.

Naazi Guest House, excellent branding

Technically, the hike would take around three hours, if we were to follow the looping serpentine sneaking around the hill. Or - amazing choice, really! No, really! - we could just walk to the foot of the hill and then walk…upwards for about 500 meters in elevation. The ascent turned out to be a painful mixture of panting, quiet cursing, louder cursing and burning quads. The view from up there was pretty special though:

Stepantsminda from above

Near the top

About half-way up I must have stopped cursing because I couldn’t afford to waste the oxygen. Luckily, by the time I reached the top and found Manu smirking down at me, I had caught my breath again.

A true mountain goat!

The church was built in the 14th century and looked wonderfully rustic. While it was not permitted to take pictures inside the church, the building itself and the fantastic scenery were enough to keep us occupied for a long time.

Gergeti Trinity Church

Reasonably recovered from the ascent, we decided to take the same route down again. At that point, the weather began to change and the sky turned completely overcast. A bit worried, we hurried down the steep hillside (why am I always the only one falling on his ass in those moments?!). Just as we reached the town limit, another group of hikers (a family including little kids and the elderly) walked towards us and up the hill. That very moment it began to rain. By the time we reached our accommodation it rained in earnest. I wonder whatever happend to that little group. I’m sure they made it. Probably.

We passed the evening with a decent dinner in town. I can’t recall if anybody ordered chacha that night. I reckon we might have.

Day 3 - Truso Valley and Juta

The next day we managed to get moving a bit earlier. With the help of our host we had actually found a much cheaper driver who turned up with a 8-seater Delica. That particular model seemed almost impossibly common in Stepantsminda.

We had planned on doing two tours on that day: Truso valley in the morning and a small mountain town called Juta in the afternoon. As it happened, our driver and his wife also ran a B&B. Since our original place did not have any vacancies for the coming night, we would stay at our driver’s.

After sorting out our place for the night we hopped in the Delica and drove south along the river for about an hour before turning past some ancient-looking roadworks into a narrow valley. The Delica ambled over a precariously narrow pass right next to the muddy stream about 20m below us.

Eventually, the gorge opened up into a wide, green valley. We got out of the car and admired the landscape.

Entrance to Truso Valley

Amidst the greenery we found patches of unmolten snow, which obviously led to snowballs being thrown in unsuspecting faces.

Once we got back to the car, our driver drove further into the valley. Much of the road seemed flooded by meltwater, which was running into the stream. We stopped again at a tiny…village?

Ruins.

And yet, there were people living there.

One of my favourite shots of that trip.

Walking further into the valley we stumbled upon what turned out to be a nunnery. The nuns welcoming us were incredibly friendly and offered us a snack, which we took with another group of (German) tourists. The nunnery turned out to be very new, so the nuns proudly showed us around the building. This being Georgia they had a Magnum bottle of Whisky on their dinner table. Two of the younger nuns were explaining how and when the nunnery was built, while fiddling with their iPhones.

The nunnery

As we stood there, taking in the views and washing down the hard cheese with coffee, this guy rode up on a horse. Dressed in army fatiques, carrying an army backpack and sporting some indecipherable rank insignia. Like a scene from a movie, he rode up from the valley, passed us silently before stopping in front of one of the nuns. They exchanged a few words before he rode off towards the horizon.

Georgian Lucky Luke

After this somewhat bizarre encounter we walked back to the car. Our next destination was to be the town of Juta, higher up in the mountains. On the way there we drove through several smaller valleys which looked distinctly different from the somewhat winter-y Truso valley we had just left: The roads were lined with blooming trees and small gardens were almost bursting with various greenery growing through fences and hedges. Eventually, the road got steeper and steeper, as we entered another gorge. This time, the road led us at least 50m above the rapids down below. The road didn’t have much of a shoulder, so we all kept glancing back and forth between our driver and the sheer drop. There is something enjoyable about the detached amusement you feel in those moments. I mean, surely nothing is going to happen, right? Heh.

Our driver proved himself unflappable and delivered us to the small village. The first thing we noticed was the stream thundering down the middle of the town.

After a round of coffees at the local cafe, we decided to climb up on top of one the hills surrounding the Juta.

After a while of aimless wandering we found a passable trail. We decided to look at that snow you see in the distance up close:

In the end we got to within about 500 meters of it before deciding to turn around and head back. So we walked all the way back into town were we enjoyed a round of drinks before looking around for our driver. As these things go, everybody alwas sleeps on the way back. As did we, exhausted by a fair amount of hiking and that clear mountain air.

In the evening, the four of us gathered at our driver’s house were we enjoyed a fantastic home-cooked meal of traditional Georgian dishes. After a few drinks we all headed off to bed.

Until next time,
Arne