Travelling Around Britain and the World

Sunday 24 August 2014

South to Ajara: Part 14 of from the Caspian to the Black Sea

From the Snows of the Caucusus to the Beaches of the Black Sea

Georgia

South from Mestia

Alex had covered his car in dust and mud on the dirt road from Ushguli but in the morning, just as we expected, the black BMW was gleaming again.

One of the twin peaks of Mt Ushba
At 4,710m (15,450ft) it is by no means the highest mountain in Georgia, but mountaineers consider it the most challenging

We said ‘goodbye’ to Mestia and the Upper Svaneti, leaving by the same road as we had arrived - there is no other way. Descending the Inguri valley we made several stops to photograph mountains, the river and ourselves.

The River Inguri rushes south from the mountains

By mid-morning we were back at Zugdidi and turned westward across the Kolkheti plain towards Poti, Georgia's main port on the Black Sea coast.

The River Rioni reaches the sea here and we crossed it on the outskirts of the town and headed south down the coast. If Jason and the Argonauts went to Kutaisi, the capital of Colchis, in their search for the Golden Fleece, then this was where they left the Black Sea and rowed up the river. There are, as we would soon discover, other sites connected with this story and other contenders for 'where it actually happened' if a myth can be said to have 'actually happened’ anywhere.

We head south in a more leisurely way

Arriving in Ajara

Ajara

We soon entered the Autonomous Republic of Ajara (or, occasionally, Adjara). The province in the south western corner of Georgia, was taken from the Ottomans by the Russian Empire in 1878. In the aftermath of the First World War, with Russia in the grip of civil war, Ajara was jointly occupied by Turkish and British troops. In 1920 it was ceded to the briefly independent Georgia under a treaty guaranteeing special autonomy for Ajara as a largely Muslim province within Christian Georgia. Although the Soviet Union was equally hostile to Islam and Christianity, the Ajar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic maintained its semi independence when Georgia became part of the USSR in 1921.

Our journey between the seas

We passed through Kobuleti, an out and out seaside resort, with the only sandy beach south of Poti. This is a holiday coast, but most of the best resorts, Dinara told us sadly, were in Abkhazia which is de facto an independent state though to Georgian eyes (and in international law) it is a Russian occupied province of Georgia. We saw holidaymakers' cars registered in Azerbaijan, Armenia, Turkey and, most frequently, Russia. The Russians were particularly plentiful this year as they were forsaking their usual haunts in Crimea for the political stability of Georgia - ironic considering how hard Russia worked to destabilize both Crimea and Abkhazia.

Ajara is in Georgia's south west corner, Abkhazia in the north west

When Georgia regained independence in 1991 Aslan Abashidze, the authoritarian leader of Ajara, kept the region out of the ensuing chaos, ruling with little regard for the Tbilisi government. After the 2003 Rose Revolution central government tried to reassert its authority and for a time it looked like there might be an armed confrontation. Popular demonstrations in Ajara against Abashidze led to his resignation and to Ajara, unlike South Ossetia and Abkhazia, becoming fully and unequivocally part of Georgia. The region retained its special autonomous status, originally negotiated when it was the only Muslim majority region of Georgia, even though today 70% of Ajarians are Christians.

Lunch in Kobuleti

We stopped for lunch south of Kobuleti. Spicy sausages turned out to be less spicy than promised and consisted largely of tripe and fat. We did not feel the need try them again. A cold beer, though, was very welcome on a hot and increasingly sultry afternoon.

Batumi Botanical Gardens

A little further south, within sight of Batumi, the Ajarian capital, we stopped at the Botanical Gardens.

The city of Batumi from the Botanical Gardens

Founded by a Russian in 1912, the gardens were expanded under the Soviet Union and became a centre of study of Caucasian maritime subtropical flora. The 108 hectare site is now home to plants from all over the world.

We arrived at the main gate amid what seemed to be a chaotic scrum of cars. The cause was apparently a wedding party and the parking attendant advised us to drive to the back entrance. By the time we had walked through the park, he said, the jam would have eased and Alex could pick us up at the front.

Getting to the back entrance was not as easy as it sounded. Directed to take the next right off the main road, Alex turned onto a track which petered out among dense vegetation. He was not amused, and he extricated himself with much muttering under the breath; the next right took us to the entrance.

Batumi Botanical Gardens

I am not, by and large, a great fan of botanical gardens (update: except the Peradeniya Gardens in Sri Lanka which are magnificent) and although I like colourful flowers, I cannot claim to be much interested in plants. Sadly, for me anyway, large parts of the Batumi gardens are in fact an arboretum. The trees were well labelled, but the Latin names meant little to me and although they said where they came from, it was not much help. In the absence of something distinctive, like banyans or the huge kapoks of the Cambodian forest, one area of woodland looks much like another.

Batumi Botanical Gardens

I was more interested in the snake working is way along the side of the road. I have tentatively identified it as a Dice Snake; they are apparently widespread across Europe and beyond, but were unfamiliar to me. I was standing close to it and wearing sandals, so I was retrospectively relieved to read that it is harmless.

Dice Snake, Batumi Botanical Gardens

The Botanical gardens were not entirely without their flowers, though.

Batumi Botanical Gardens

The back entrance was near a cliff top and our walk was all downhill to the main entrance. We continued past the entrance to a small station on a single track railway line and then onto the shingle beach beyond. We had started at the Caspian Sea and had now reached the Black Sea, which may not be black, but is a lot blacker than the Red Sea is red.

Railway station, Batumi Botanical Garden

Caspian to Black Sea Completed

We had immersed our hands in the smelly, polluted Caspian at Baku, so this was clearly the moment to remove shoes and march into the Black Sea. It was warm and pleasant but despite the apparently calm there was a strong undertow.

Standing in the Black Sea, Batumi Botanical Gardens

Our day had started among high mountains and now, only a few hours later we were at sea level, my feet were even a short distance below. Georgia is a small country, but the variety of scenery that can be seen in a single day is truly remarkable.

Lynne completes her journey to the Black Sea from the Caspian Sea

I finished my paddle, we found Alex at the now quiet main entrance and he drove us into Batumi.

Reaching Batumi

Batumi is a port, a seaside resort and the capital city of Ajara, its 150,000 residents representing almost half the population of the autonomous republic. It is a hot and humid place – Abkhazia has not just the best beaches, but the pleasantest climate, too.

Away from the front Batumi does not feel like a holiday town; it does not feel like a Georgian town either - Turkey is less than 10km to the south and there is some inevitable influence.

Batumi

Driving to our hotel we passed many large umbrellas set up outside shops – that boded well for eating and drinking we thought. We checked-in, had a shower to wash off the hot and sweaty day and headed out towards the umbrellas expecting restaurants and café/bars but all we found were take-away joints flogging donner kebabs and barbecued sweet corn. After a longish walk towards the seafront we found a café with a line of tables stretched out beside the road. We sat down and a waitress appeared bearing an English language menu – how did she know, we wondered, and not for the first time.

The fare on offer was neither particularly Georgian, nor particularly interesting, but after so many Georgian feasts perhaps it was time for an omelette and chips. I thought I ordered a litre of the usual ‘homemade’ brown white wine, but what turned up was a  carafe of very clear, very bright very white ‘European style’ wine. Perhaps I pointed at the wrong line in the menu, perhaps something was lost in translation, perhaps they thought it best to give foreigners what they were used to or just possibly they took advantage of our assumed ability to afford a wine three times the price of the basic plonk. Whatever the reason, I have to admit it made a pleasant change.

From the Caspian to the Black Sea

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Location: Batumi, Georgia

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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