Travelling Around Britain and the World

Saturday 23 August 2014

Ushguli, To the Ends of the Earth: Part 13 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

A Journey to the Highest Permanently Inhabited Village in Europe

Georgia

3 Hours off-road to Ushguli

When we arrived in Mestia in its high, isolated valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains, it felt like we had reached the ends of the earth. Of course we had not; the next day we drove to Ushguli.

Our route across the Caucasus

Although Ushguli was only 45km further up the fast-flowing Mulkhra River, the drive took almost three hours as the tarmac runs out on the edge of Mestia. Alex, whose driving had been so aggressive on the main highways, babied the powerful BMW round the rocks, potholes and crevices. Whether he did this to protect the car or us I do not know, perhaps he wanted to make the four wheel drive BMW live up to its reputation as a Chelsea tractor. Toyota Celica minibuses, the locals’ vehicle of choice, bounced and rattled past, moving not at any great speed but considerably faster than we were.

The road runs out of tarmac outside Mestia

The route largely followed the river valley, though at this point it is more ravine than valley.

Along the Mulkhra gorge towards Ushguli

At other times it found its own way, sometimes across alpine meadows, sometimes winding through ancient woodland. Occasionally we passed isolated farmhouses, or hamlets where all the buildings had their own watch towers, though many of them looked to be uninhabited and were rotting away.

Watchtower beside the River Mulkhra

Some farms, though were clearly going concerns and we watched one old man heading for the fields, his scythe slung over his shoulder. Around the house there were sheds for the cattle, and neatly tended rows of root vegetables, mainly potatoes.

Hamlet between Mestia and Ushguli

Reaching Ushguli

Ushguli is a line of four separate communes near the head of a valley. As in Mestia, each commune keeps its own name and identity though it would not be a difficult to kick a football from one commune to the next, at least downhill.

Ushguli from below

The population of the four communes together is just short of three hundred and at over 2,100m it claims to be the highest permanently inhabited settlement in Europe. The population, though, is dwindling and there are houses (and watch towers) for far more than three hundred. Presently there are enough children to support a school, but to get more than a basic education they need to leave the village. Once they have tasted the easier life down the valley many never return.

Ushguli from above

Lamaria Church, Ushguli

Ushguli is snow covered for six months of the year, but in the short summer it is the most beautiful place; the warm, clean air sparkles, the valley sides are green and the view of Mount Shkhara, at 5068m (16,627ft) the highest mountain in Georgia, is breath-taking, at least on those rare moments when the clouds part and allow you to see the peak.

Mt Shkhara from Lamaria Church, Ushguli

At the highest point of Ushguli the little 12th century Lamaria (Virgin Mary) Church stands guard over the village.

Lamaria Church, Ushguli

From the outside there is little, apart from a row of bells by the wall, to suggest this small squat building is a church but inside the walls are covered in sumptuous frescoes. It is a wonderful old building with an air of great serenity.

Belltower (?), Lamaria Church, Ushguli

We paid our respects to the spirit of Ushguli and also to Dinara's parents who were responsible for much of the restoration work on the frescoes. We left when the young man looking after the church went for his lunch and only when he locked up could we see the remarkable door. In the graveyard below the church a fresh grave had been dug - there was to be a funeral that afternoon.

Door, Lamaria Church, Ushguli

On our way down to lunch we passed an elderly couple with a sledge. Did someone tell me that it would carry the late villager to their last resting place, or did I imagine that?

Sledge, Ushguli

Lunch in a Village House, Ushguli

We had lunch in a village house, one of the many in Ushguli which operate as guest houses or 'home restaurants'. Mist shrouded the valley and a few drops of rain fell as we crossed the concrete courtyard to the wooden house where a feast had been laid out for us. The ingredients for the salads - tomatoes, cucumbers and the inevitable aubergine with walnuts – had been brought up the valley, but the excellent flatbread had been baked on the premises, the wedges of strong crumbly cheese were made by our host from the milk of Ushguli cows, the fried potatoes came from the local plots and little fishes, some battered, others served in the walnut sauce that Georgians use for fish or any and every meat, came from the mountain streams. There were four for of us and, as usual, more food than ten could eat. When we were well and truly stuffed - and you must not considering standing up from a Georgian table before you have reached that state - our hosts apologised for a paucity of food. She was also catering for the funeral and had been very busy, she told us, gesturing at an adjoining table covered in industrial quantities of flatbread and what looked like chocolate based cakes.

Probably enough food, 'home restaurant', Ushguli

A Walk towards the Shkhara Glacier

After lunch, to work off our excesses, we walked through the village and out alongside the Mulkhra. We followed the rough road for an hour or more as it headed towards the Glacier on Mt. Shkhara where the river rises. Ideally we would have walked all the way to the glacier but we lacked the time (and energy) for a 16km round trip.

Strolling out of Ushguli

I realised rather belatedly that the rough roadway we were following was actually the continuation of the road we had driven up from Mestia. It heads towards the glacier for a while before turning south and descending to the villages of the lower Svaneti.

On the road to the Shkhara glacier

Above us, on fields far too steep for machinery, groups of three or four could be seen cutting hay, working downwards together, the rhythmical swung of their scythes sweeping through the long grass.

Haystacks on fields far too steep for machinery, near Ushguli

Despite the height the air was warm. For a moment a few large drops off rain splashed down on us, we broke out our waterproofs, but it ceased before we had time to put them on. The mountain top remained in mist the whole time, but we walked in hope that the next bend or rise would open up a full view of the base of the glacier. It never did, there was always another spur or ridge to block out view.

Sunshine on Mt Shkhara - just for a moment

The further we walked, the further we would have to walk back and I was beginning to think we had more than reached our limit when Dinara pulled out her phone, called Alex and asked him to drive down the road to meet us. We had previously been impressed by the way Dinara had managed to find a signal in rural locations, but we were now 3 or 4 km outside a village of 200 which was the biggest population centre for over 40km in any direction (and far more in most) – it is not like this at home*.

Lynne beside the Mulkhra, with Ushguli in the distance

We were also surprised that Alex was willing to risk the car on a road which in places dived steeply into muddy puddles of unknown depth, but it was not long before we stood on the top of a rise and saw the black bulk of the BMW picking its way daintily towards us.

Lynne and Dinara on the road to the glacier

Alex met us beside a bridge over the Mulkhra. Unimpressed with the approach to the river he decided to try the higher route on the way back but encountered one of those muddy puddles (hidden in the picture). He needed the four wheel drive to extricate himself, it was the only time he used it in our whole journey across Georgia.

Lynne on the bridge on the way out

Back to Mestia

Back in Ushguli we said goodbye to the highest permanently inhabited village in Europe with the hope that it would retain that title for a long time. The truth, though, is that life is hard here. I hope I am wrong, but within a decade, maybe two, I suspect that Ushguli will be deserted in winter; residents returning in summer to open up the guest houses and restaurants to serve the tourist who will continue to come to this high, wild and very handsome country.

Depopulated hamlet, near Ushguli

The journey back took another three hours. We knew we had been somewhere special when Alex asked if we minded him stopping to take some photographs. Drivers tend to be phlegmatic, been there, seen it all people, and when they get out a camera you know you are somewhere special.

Alex asked Dinara to take a picture of him on his phone - so I joined in, south of Ushguli

Alex and Dinara left us at the hotel. Alex had worked hard today and made the long ride as gentle as it could have been. It was also the first time we had seen the car looking dirty. We thought he had earned a rest but suspected (rightly as it turned out) that cleaning the car would be his first priority.

Alex and his dirty car, Mestia

Dinner in Mestia

After a shower we decided to forgo our already paid for hotel buffet and head down to the cafe/bar in town where we had a beer yesterday. This was when I discovered that the pullover I had intended to pack especially for this location was still at home. Despite the mist and raindrops at Ushguli it was a warm night and I decided to risk it. In the end we sat at a table on the pavement in complete comfort until long after dark.

We hit the clay pots, eating lobio - beans stewed in a clay pot - mushrooms with cheese cooked in a clay pot, and drinking a litre of' golden brown 'white' wine fermented in a big clay qvervi. We also had some chips, which had never been near a clay pot.

Mestia at night

We sat among a mixture of locals and tourists, while in the park opposite the children of Mestia played in the last of the day's light. It was a far better experience than sitting in the soulless hotel buffet. When it gets dark in the mountains, it gets very dark indeed and we were grateful for the few lights which lined our way across the river and up the hill to the hotel.

*A day’s walking in the Peak District is largely conducted out of range of phone masts, even through villages as large, but in no way as remote, as Ushguli.

From the Caspian to the Black Sea

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Friday 22 August 2014

Mestia, Capital of the Upper Svaneti: Part 12 of from the Caspian to the Black Sea

A Small Town with a Remarkable Number of Towers

Georgia

Mount Tetnuldo and a Panorama of Mestia

The view of the snow-capped and inevitably cloudy mountains from our bedroom was spectacular.

Mt Tetnuldo (4,858m 15,938ft)- the view from our bedroom balcony, Mestia.

The view from the restaurant balcony, though very different, was equally good. Mestia, population 2,800 and the capital of the Upper Svaneti, consists of ten separate communes though they are not very separate; from our hotel's slightly elevated position we could see the whole town. What makes Mestia remarkable is that almost every family has not only a house but a watchtower. We lost count somewhere in the high thirties.

Mestia from the restaurant balcony

We may have taken the photo from the balcony, but we did not eat there. After the heat of the plains the morning temperature at 1,400m felt decidedly fresh.

Our route across the Caucasus

The Svaneti Museum, Mestia

Alex and Dinara arrived at 9.30 and transported us the short distance to the newly built Svaneti Museum. The region had a tradition of producing fine icons and frescoes, but the mountains were also a place where treasures were brought in times of national emergency. Some of them are still here.

Svaneti Museum, Mestia

Icons of St George slaying a dragon are to be expected, particularly in Georgia, but this was the first time we had seen St George killing not a dragon, but the Roman emperor Diocletian.

The tumbling mountain rivers of Svaneti were also the source of the gold that made Colchis rich. We had seen the fine work of the ancient goldsmiths in the National Museum in Tbilisi, and the same figures used as decorations around the fountain in Kutaisi, once the capital of Colchis. We were not surprised to find that some of the gold had remained in Svaneti. The metal was extracted not by panning but by a strategic arrangement of sheep’s fleeces in the fast flowing rivers. Fragments of gold adhered to the wool, thus creating the legend of the Golden Fleece.

Mestia, from the Svaneti Museum

The museum also had mock-up of a room in a local house as it would have been at any time from the medieval period until the middle of the last century. The heavy wooden furniture included several benches but only one chair - for the patriarch, naturally - and a wooden screen dividing the people's area from that of the animals whose presence indoors in the winter kept the room warm.

We also met Dinara's grandfather who was working locally and popped over to see his granddaughter and, as he had some responsibility for the finds and for the museum, to show some parts to us. A small man with a confident handshake he is some years older than Lynne and I and of an age where he does not have to work, but he has the energy and drive of someone much younger and as his interest in archaeology remains undimmed he continues to excavate.

The museum roof provided another view over Mestia. Dinara lamented the construction of the modern church, which may be in traditional Georgian style, at least for the lowlands, but is rather jarring here. It is not the only new building in Mestia, indeed much of the town centre is new, but it blends far better than the church stuck on its promontory like a sore thumb.

The new church that caused Dinara's wrath, Mestia

Mestia's Watchtowers

Leaving the museum we headed into town to climb a watch tower. Distinctive features of Svan life, they were for warning and protection should the village be attacked - but why so many? Would not one for each of the ten communes be more than enough? The answer appears to be in two parts, firstly vendettas were not uncommon among mountain families, and sometimes you needed protection not from outsiders but from your neighbours, and secondly there was an element of keeping up with the vilis. If your neighbour Berishvili has a tower, and his neighbour Sutiashvili has a tower, then you needed a tower too. The Tuscan town of San Gimignano, now appropriately twined with Mestia also had an outbreak of tower building, but whereas San Gimignano is all urbane, Italianate elegance, Mestia’s charm is down-to-earth, medieval and rustic.

The two of us on the roof of the Svaneti Museum, Mestia

The Margiani Watchtower and House

The majority of Georgian surnames end in –vili or –dze, but not all, as we next went in search of the Margiani house. Finding someone’s house in such a small town should not have been a problem, but it was. Difficulties arose, (I think, though I could not really follow the conversation in Georgian) because Dinara had a fair idea where it was but Alex did not believe her and insisted on asking the way from several locals, some sitting on their tractors, others standing by the roadside.

I heard a marked contrast between the slow, measured tones of the countrymen and the sharp, urban voice of the young man asking directions from the driving seat of an expensive BMW. I probably imagined it, but I thought they sent the city boy round in a circle on purpose – and serve him right. After we re-encountered the original man-on-a-tractor, Alex reluctantly agreed to follow Dinara's directions and shortly afterwards we found two women sitting beside a table in the smallest imaginable village square. One was packing Svan Salt - sea salt flavoured with dried garlic, fenugreek, coriander and chilli (though recipes vary). We bought some; it has since added delightfully unexpected flavours to all sorts of things. The other woman was the guardian of the Margiani House which was next-door..

The entrance to the Watch Tower, Margiani House, Mestia

She unlocked a gate and we climbed the external stairs to the entrance of the watch tower. Inside a series of rickety ladders took us up the four or five storeys. There was nothing in the tower, the walls were bare and the floors of less than totally secure planks. The building had never been used as anything other than a watch tower, and I cannot be sure if it had ever been used as that in any real sense.

Lynne ascends the watchtower, Margiani House, Mestia

Lynne declined to ascend the last and most precarious ladder, but I went up and stuck my head out the top. There was a small plastic Ukrainian flag sticking out of the roof, but the view was otherwise not remarkable, at least by the highly unusual standards of Mestia.

From the roof of the watchtower, Margiani House, Mestia

The descent was slightly trickier as descents often are, but we both arrived safely back on the ground....

Lynne makes the descent, watchtower, Margiani House, Mestia

....and followed the guardian into the house at the base.

The Margiani House, Mestia

The furniture was exactly as in the museum, but this was not a mock up, this was the real thing in its real place.

Inside the Margiani House, Mestia

The house dated from the twelfth century. It was impossible to say when the furniture was built (such furniture really is built, not made), but I would believe any date from then until a hundred years before the house ceased to be used in the 1920s. Stepping over the threshold was like stepping back in time, and it felt we were somewhere that had been undisturbed for hundreds of years.

I assume the patriarch's chair, Margiani House, Mestia

Lunch in Mestia

It was time for lunch and because of the dearth of good restaurants in Mestia, indeed of restaurants at all, we ate in Dinara and Alex's guesthouse.

Dinara, Alex and Lynne lunch at the guesthouse, Mestia

Nothing had been laid out when we arrived – Dinara was not impressed - but the table was quickly covered with the usual salads and cheese, aubergines with walnut and garlic sauce, and, new to us, a meat pie and fried corn bread. It was a standard Georgian feast, there is no great variety, but the food was simple, fresh, expertly prepared and the quantity was gargantuan.

Meat pie, Mestia

Queen Tamar and Mestia Town Centre

After lunch we strolled with Dinara through the town centre. Money has been pumped into Mestia in advance of its development as a tourist resort, and there has been much building including a new bus station, a police station, and a suite of brand new shops, but the tourists are lagging behind the development and most of the shops awaited tenants. In the main square, outside the empty shops, is a splendid statue of Queen Tamar. She ruled jointly with her father from 1178 until his death in 1184 and then in her own right until she died in 1213. Her reign was the high point of the medieval Georgian golden age and she ranks second only to David the Builder (r1089-1125) among Georgia’s monarchs. Mestia’s tiny airport (daily flights to Tbilisi) is named after her.

Lynne and Queen Tamar, Mestia

We gave Dinara the rest of the afternoon off and visited both the town’s souvenir shops. There was little to buy beyond the highly distinctive traditional local clothing, which might be ideal for hunting in the winter snow, but did not suit a warm August day and would have looked strange at home in any weather.

Later in the afternoon we found ourselves seated outside Mestia's one and only café-bar. It was busy and getting a beer required patience, but it came eventually (and so, a little later, did a second one). We relaxed in the pleasantly warm afternoon - a change from the aggressive heat of the lowlands - and watched the life of the small town drift past.

Having a beer, Mestia

Eventually we made the walk back over the rushing Mulkhra River and up the hill to our hotel. The evening buffet was better than yesterday, though still uninspired and 10 Lari (£3) for a glass of wine was well over the top by Georgian standards.

From the Caspian to the Black Sea
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Thursday 21 August 2014

Kutaisi, Zugdidi and the Inguri Valley: Part 11 of the From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Bagrati Cathedral, Kutaisi

Bagrati Cathedral stands on a hill overlooking modern Kutaisi. As our guest house stood on the same hill the journey took only minutes.

Bagrati Cathedral, Kutaisi

Built by King Bagrat III in 1003, the cathedral was one of Georgia's major medieval buildings until 1692 when an explosion during the war with the Ottoman Empire brought down the dome and ceiling.

Bagrati Cathedral bell tower overlooking the city of Kutaisi

The programme of rebuilding and restoration which started at the beginning of this century was so ambitious that in 2010 UNESCO placed the cathedral on its World Heritage 'At Risk' list. [It was removed from the UNESCO list in 2017 as its major reconstruction work was 'detrimental to its integrity and authenticity'] As befits the granddaughter of an archaeologist and the daughter of two of Georgia's leading conservers of frescoes, Dinara was clear about the differences between rebuilding, restoration and conservation and about what it is appropriate for such a building.

A strange collection of body parts - relics of the saints, Bagrati Cathedral, Kutaisi

In one area at the back, where the shape of the old building is unknown, it has been replaced by a design of uncompromising modernity.

Modern addition, Bagrati Cathedral, Kutaisi

Although the restoration was completed a few weeks ago, workman were back in tearing up the floor, though for what purpose it was not clear.

Tearing up the floor, Bagrati Cathedral, Kutaisi

Leaving Kutaisi we drove ten kilometres into the hills surrounding the town to the Gelati Monastery, which stands on a wooded height overlooking the countryside.

Gelati Monastery

If Bagrat sounds an unfortunate name for a king in English, Gelati is a strange name for a monastery in Italian. That apart, it is an impressive complex of buildings in, as so often in Georgia, a beautiful location.

Gelati Monastery

Gelati was founded in 1106 by King David the Builder, who was responsible not only for much physical construction, but also for the building of an independent Georgia and a Georgian national identity. He may also be a distant ancestor of Bob.

Old stones, Gelati

The Academy, which has recently been restored, was a centre for Christian culture and Neo-Platonist learning and became, according to one medieval chronicler, a 'new Jerusalem'.

Lynne in the restored Academy, Gelati

In front of the Academy are the Cathedral of the Virgin and,....

Cathedral of the Virgin, Gelati

...because in Georgia one church is never enough, two smaller churches dedicated to St George and St Nicholas.

Church of St Nicholas, Gelati

Surviving an attack by the Ottoman Turks in 1510, the cathedral became the residence of the Patriarch of West Georgia until the monks were cast out by the communists in 1922. It was re-consecrated in 1988 and was used for the inauguration of President Saakashvili in 2004. It contains some of Georgia's finest frescoes and a mosaic of the Virgin and Child with the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, dating from 1130.

Virgin and Child with Archangels Michael and Gabriel, Cathedral of the Virgin, Gelati
The conservation work is much needed, but it does get in the way of my photographs!

David the Builder ushered in the Georgian golden age which crumbled a couple of centuries later under the twin, if unrelated, hammer blows of the Mongol invasions and the Black Death. Several of the monarchs from that era are buried at Gelati, though the resting place of Queen Tamar (ruled 1184 to 1213) is uncertain. She ranks second only to David the Builder in the pantheon of Georgian heroes and was such an effective ruler she is sometimes known as King Tamar - a serious compliment in the Middle Ages, if clumsily sexist today.

Iconostasis, Cathedral of the Virgin, Gelati.
The icon of St George, lower left corner of picture is especially revered

David himself is buried under the south gate as he wanted his people to walk across his grave as they entered, which might show a refreshing lack of ego in a medieval monarch, or maybe just a perverse manifestation of it. Ironically the south gate is no longer used as an entrance and many who go to see his slab of a gravestone take elaborate care to walk round him (as we did).

The South Gate and the grave of King David the Builder, Gelati Monastery

He is buried next to his son, Demetrius I, who was a musician and composer as well as a ruler. Dinara played us one of his songs on her iPad as we stood by his grave. What a medieval ruler would have made of his music still being played 900 years after his death to foreigners from barbarian lands unimaginably far away, and by means he would probably have described as sorcery, we can only imagine. Traditional Georgian music is polyphonic chant, a type of music we had only previously encountered in Corsica. Dinara was aware of this odd link with a distant Mediterranean isle (her breadth of knowledge was genuinely impressive) but, she told us with a little national pride, Georgian singing has more parts.

The remains of the actual gate, South Gate, Gelati Monastery

Central Kutaisi

We returned to Kutaisi. The city looks better when not approached through the areas of industrial dereliction but even so the streets give a clear indication that Kutaisi is far from the most prosperous city we have visited.

A Kutaisi street

The centre, though, looks better. The parliament has moved to Kutaisi and with the latest version of the constitution giving more importance to parliament and the prime minister and less to the Tbilisi-based president, Kutaisi has become the seat of the Georgian government, and has acquired some appropriate buildings. Sadly, we did not see the futuristic parliament building on the western edge of the city.

Central Kutaisi - clearly an important building, though I have no idea what

The city's centrepiece is a fountain which echoes its claim to have been the capital of a far older country. Western Georgia is the Colchis of Greek legend, and in search of the Golden Fleece Jason and the Argonauts rowed from the Black Sea up the River Rioni perhaps as far as Kutaisi which may have been the capital of the possibly mythical King Aeëtes. What are not mythical are the hordes of gold objects that have been recovered from ancient Colchis, some of them by Dinara's grandfather, and enlarged versions of several of these gold pieces decorate the fountain. We had seen many, maybe most of them, in the national museum in Tbilisi, and of course our old friend Tamada, the toastmaster with his drinking horn, was prominent amongst them.

Fountain, Central Kutaisi

Leaving Kutaisi we headed northwest across the rich agricultural land of the Kolkheti plain, the modern name echoing the ancient Colchis.

Our route so far

Zugdidi

We had lunch in Zugdidi, the small capital of the Samegrelo district. We ate at 'The Host', a popular three storey pub on the main drag. We lunched on the top floor where the waiters have to bring all the food and drink up two flights of stairs. The good service was a testament to their fitness.

'The Host', Zugdidi

Continuing our efforts to eat as many local specialties as possible - and with Dinara keen to point them out whenever they appeared on a menu - we both chose gomi described as cornmeal porridge, and best thought of as a pallid and rather sloppy polenta. The idea is that you hide a slice of Salguni cheese in the gomi so that it melts and then cover everything with a white walnut based sauce. Sadly, the combination of white on white inside white did not look appetizing, the gomi was not hot enough to melt the cheese and the polenta was uncompromisingly bland. It was the least successful of the specialties we encountered, but the spicy stuffed peppers, fried potato and trout were excellent, though it was, perhaps the smallest trout I have ever seen - we have eaten bigger sardines in Portugal.

Lynne, Dinara a tiny trout and a plate of gomi

At Zugdidi we were within 30km of the Black Sea, but we would not reach it for another three days. Zugdidi is the gateway to the mountainous Svaneti region, and that was where we went next, heading northeast along the banks of the River Inguri. For the next three days we would not stray far from the Inguri and its tributary the Mulkhara and would eventually come within a couple of hour’s walk of the Mulkhara’s source, a glacier on Mt Shkhara, Georgia’s highest peak.

The Inguri Dam

As the road climbs into the mountains it follows the Inguri’s sizeable gorge to the Inguri dam, at 270m high the second highest arch dam in the world,* and then runs up the eastern side of the lake.

The Inguri dam

The Inguri Valley

Abkhazia, Georgia's other breakaway region (for South Ossetia, see here) was on the other side of the lake. The Abkhaz speak their own language, quite distinct from Georgian, but the region had been linked with Georgia since medieval times. In 1921, under the Soviet Union, Abkhazia signed a treaty of union with Georgia and ten years later it became an ‘autonomous region within Georgia’. Stalin and Lavrinty Beria, then Secretary of the Georgian Communist Part and later Head of the NKVD oversaw the migration of Georgians into Abkhazia. In 1989 the Abkhaz made up only 18% of the population, but they dominated Abkhazia's Supreme Soviet which in 1990 declared independence as a separate republic within the Soviet Union.

The road runs beside Lake Inguri

As the Soviet Union crumbled Georgia tried to regain Abkhazia. A brief but vicious war in the early nineties resulted in the displacement of Abkhazia's Georgian population sending some 230,000 refugees to Georgia. Despite Russian backing for the breakaway, Georgia retained hope of regaining Abkhazia, and some 40,000 refugees even returned, but after the 2008 South Ossetia war, Abkhazia declared complete independence. Their independence is recognized only by Russia (and Venezuela, Nicaragua and Nauru) and fellow unrecognised breakaways South Ossetia, Nagorno Karabakh (now called Artsakh) and Transnistria. The Abkhaz are barely a majority in their own ethnically diverse country but remain in firm control of the government. Abkhazians might hold Russian passports and use the Russian Rouble, but they have shown little inclination to join Russia.

..and beside the River Inguri above

Higher up the gorge, dozens of vehicles of the Georgian environment agency lined the road, and there was a large police presence. Then we ran into what at first appeared to be a traffic jam outside one of the villages crammed into the narrow valley. It was, though, not a jam; the cars were parked and a crowd of men were making their way towards what already seemed to be a packed and angry meeting in the village square.

The environment agency, we later learned, were trying to enforce stricter rules to safeguard the forest and the protestors did not think the rules should apply to locals. Not understanding the argument and having no wish to take sides we were glad that Alex managed to pick his way between the parked cars, milling crowds and nervous officials.

A demonstration, not a traffic jam, Inguri Valley

We wound higher and higher into the mountains on a well-made road, occasionally detouring round rocks and boulders which had fallen from the cliffs above.

The road climbs higher into the mountains, Inguri Valley

As the road rose we entered the region of Svaneti. The Svan people have their own language, though unlike Abkhaz, it is of the Georgian language family and they have shown no yearning for independence. Living high in the mountains has always given them a measure of freedom, though they remain dependent on the valleys below for economic survival.

Approaching Mestia

Arriving at Mestia

In late afternoon we reached the remarkable small town of Mestia where we checked into the Hotel Tetnuldi on the edge of town, while Alex and Dinara made do with a B &B in the centre.

Our balcony had a wonderful, if inevitable intermittent, view of the snow covered peak of Mount Tetnuldi (4858m, 16,319ft) and a different though also splendid view over the town, which will be the subject of the next post.

Mount Tetnuldi from our hotel balcony

According to the Rough Guide the Hotel has the best restaurant in Mestia, but we were treated to an uninspired buffet and an overpriced bottle of beer. We quickly gained the impression that what should have been a good quality alpine-style hotel was drifting like a rudderless ship. We later learned that the builder, owner and driving force behind the hotel had recently died in a motorcycle accident and under the sad circumstances the lack of direction was perhaps inevitable.

*The highest at 292m is Xiaowan Dam on the Mekong River in Yunnan Province, China near the Burmese border


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