Travelling Around Britain and the World

Monday 25 August 2014

Batumi, Capital of Ajara: Part 15 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Jason & the Argonauts, Eccentric Architecture and Ajaran Khachapuri


Georgia

25-Aug-2014

Ajara
Batumi
We awoke to find the streets were wet. With prevailing winds over the Black Sea and the Lesser (though still substantial) Caucasus behind, it is hardly surprising that Batumi is the wettest town not just in Georgia but in the whole Caucasus region. You would think this might hamper its development as a seaside resort, but apparently not.
A wet morning in Batumi

It was, however, dry and warm by the time we had finished breakfast and were heading south towards the Gonio-Apsarus fortress.

Soviet Union 12th Military Base

In the days of the Cold War the border between Georgia (and Armenia a little to the South) and Turkey was the only land border between the USSR and a NATO member, so it could be a tense place. We passed the former ‘12th Military Base’ which became a Russian base with the disintegration of the USSR. After the 2004 Rose Revolution Georgia negotiated a Russians departure and the base was handed over in November 2007. It now rots quietly in the sun.

USSR 12th Military Base, south of Batumi

Gonio-Apsarus Fortress

Gonio-Apsarus, a much older and more picturesque military base, was a little further on, 15km from Batumi and 4km short of the border. Built by the Romans in the first century AD, it was taken over by the Byzantine Empire in the 6th century and became an Ottoman fortress in the 16th. The sturdy stone walls were obviously built to last.

Sturdy stone walls, Gonio-Apsarus

Apart from the impressive fortifications there is also a pleasant garden within the site and much archaeological activity concentrating on the Roman layers.

Garden Gorio-Apsarus

Impressive for what it is, Gonio-Apsarus is even more renowned for its connections with myth and legend.

Grave of the Apostle Matthias, Gonio-Apsarus

After the disgrace and suicide of Judas Iscariot, Matthias was chosen to replace him among the twelve apostles and, according to local legend, he is buried at Gonio-Apsarus. I had previously thought the graves of only three of the apostles were 'known' - St Peter in Rome (where he probably is not), St James in Santiago de Compostella (a huge cathedral built on a fanciful claim) and St Thomas just south of Chennai, formerly Madras, (an outside possibility) – but here is a fourth.

The grave of St Matthias, Gori-Apsarus

Jason and the Argonauts, Gonio Apsarus

There are those who sincerely believe this is the grave of Matthias, but the connection of Gonio-Apsarus with Jason and the Argonauts is securely in the realm of legend. Jason and his crew, supposedly the heroes of the tale but little more than a band of brigands, stole the Golden Fleece from Aeëtes, King of Colchis, possibly in what is now Kutaisi. The goddess Hera had made Aeëtes’ daughter Medea fall in love with Jason and without her help the quest would have been an abject failure.

Gonio-Apsarus

When King Aeëtes discovered Jason, his daughter and his fleece had gone he understandably gave chase. Medea killed and dismembered her brother Apsyrtus (what a charmer she was!) and strewed the pieces around the countryside knowing that her father would stop and gather them up to give his son a proper burial thus allowing time to escape. This, allegedly, happened at Gonio. I had not read the story for a long time, and was surprised at how badly almost everybody behaves; it is difficult to see any of these liars, cheats, thieves and murderers as heroes. Some years later Jason abandoned Medea - there's gratitude for you - and in revenge she killed their two children (which is, I think, poor parenting).

Where's Aeëtes, then?

Batumi Walking Tour

We returned to Batumi, and Dinara started our walking tour by the harbourmaster’s office. Batumi is a busy ferry and container port, but this is the quiet end.

The Port, Batumi

Miracle Park

From here it is a short walk to Miracle Park, which from some angles looks little more inviting than Military Base 12.

Miracle Park, Batumi - not looking its best

The area abounds with the sort of architecture that Batumi is trying to make is own. For many years it was a pleasant enough border city, but in the last five years money has been liberally sprayed around in an attempt to turn Batumi into a major international holiday resort.

Chacha, University and Alphabet Towers

The clock tower is known as the Chacha Tower as chacha - the fiery Georgian version of marc or grappa - is allegedly dispensed free for a few minutes at seven o'clock each evening. I do not know if this is true or merely wishful thinking. Behind the Chacha Tower is the tower of the local university which, for some inexplicable reason has a Ferris wheel two thirds of the way up. I am not convinced it ever turns – or how this is an improvement on an observation deck.

The Chacha Tower, The Radisson Hotel and the University Tower, Batumi

From a different angle the tower is in front of another folly, the Alphabet Tower. Built at great expense and opened in 2011, the outside is a double helix bearing the 33 letters of the Georgian alphabet - the DNA of the national language. A panoramic lift runs up the middle to a television studio and a revolving restaurant. Unfortunately none of these were operating and unless the building finds occupiers soon it will be merely a colossal waste of money.

Chacha Tower and the Alphabet Tower, Batumi

The architectural style continues in the nearby hotels. The odd wavy Radisson can be seen between the Chacha Tower and the university tower, the strangely curving Kempinski is best appreciated from Google's satellite picture while the Sheraton, allegedly based on the ancient Pharos of Alexandria, resembles the top of the Empire State building on a much shorter tower. There is quirky architecture elsewhere too, the Coliseum (sic) Hotel is a lot like, surprise, surprise, the Colosseum and there is also a facsimile of The White House, only built upside down.

All this smacks of trying too hard; Batumi may want to represent it itself as a fun loving upmarket holiday resort, but there are two good reasons why it will fail - the damp climate, and the beach. I know Brighton has prospered for a couple of centuries or more with a pebble beach, but Batumi's looks like a beach frequented by those (mainly Russians) who have no other beach go to.

The Beach, Batumi

The Lovers, Ali and Nino

The statue of the Lovers by Tamar Kvesitadze is more impressive, despite the tendency of some to use it as an ad hoc changing room. The figures are in motion and over a period of time they move toward each other, kiss and then coalesce. It is popularly known as Ali and Nino, after the classic Azeri novel by Kurban Said, in which Muslim, Azeri Ali and Christian, Georgian Nino fall in love.

Ali and Nino coalesce, Batumi

Central Batumi and Europe Square

Turning back towards the town centre, we walked through some pleasant streets, passing the Apollo Cinema, which is innovative and original without trying too hard...

Apollo Cinema, Batumi

...and the theatre with a statue of Neptune in the park outside…

Theatre, Batumi

… and then Europe Square where Medea holds up the Golden Fleece. The cost made the statue controversial when it was erected in 2007, but I rather like it even if it is the largest statue of a murderous psychopath we have encountered since North Korea.

Medea, Europe Square, Batumi

I like the fountain in front even more; by judiciously selecting your route it is possible to walk through the heart of the fountain and remain almost completely dry.

Walking through the fountain, Europe Square, Batumi

We finished in the main piazza overlooked by the cathedral. It was full of restaurants and although it was getting on for two o'clock - I had indeed noticed it was past my lunchtime – none seemed very busy, nor did they offer what we wanted.

The Piazza, Batumi

Ajaran Khachapuri

The end of the tour was the end of Dinara's responsibilities for the day, but we offered to buy her lunch as it was our last full day. I mentioned khachapuris, Georgia’s traditional cheese pies, quite frequently in the first few posts but just because I have not mentioned them recently it does not mean we had stopped eating them - it is, after all, compulsory in Georgia. Each region had its own variation, mostly there are only slightly differences, but Ajaran khachapuri is distinctive indeed. The bready part is twisted into a boat shape with the melted cheese in the middle, and just before serving, an egg is cracked into it.

You break the yolk and it cooks in the hot cheese, turning into cheesy scrambled egg in a big slab of bread. It is hearty and filling - a strange choice of national dish for a region where the climate is warm and heavy.

Lynne tackles her Ajarian Khachapuri

From the city centre a long slow stroll back to our hotel via the sea front took up most of the afternoon. We saw little we had not observed in the morning, except this fairground version of a bungee jump rocketing youngsters into the sky. It looked like a medieval torture to me, but I am assured the victims were volunteers - indeed they paid for the privilege.

Medieval torture, Batumi

26-Aug-2014

Museum of Ajara

Our plane was not until the afternoon so in the morning we set off to find the Museum of Ajara.

Like any city of comparable international standing (London, Amsterdam and Beijing come immediately to mind) Batumi has a bicycle hire scheme.

Bikes for rent, Batumi

Wide red cycle paths are painted on the pavements. I took a picture of Lynne standing in one. It was not particularly dangerous, apart from along the sea front we had not seen anyone riding a bicycle.

Cycle Path, Batumi

We paused by Batumi's synagogue which was built in 1904, closed by the Soviet authorities in 1929 and returned to its original purpose in 1998. Ownership of the building is now being returned to Batumi's small Jewish community.

Synagogue, Batumi

The museum was a curate’s egg. The first room was full of badly stuffed, moth-eaten birds and animals, but the second was better with a large and very beautiful Greek vase, an ancient sarcophagus converted for Muslim ritual washing, textiles, clothes, assorted household implements and models of traditional local buildings.

Models, Adjara Museum, Batumi

Farewell to Georgia

Back at the hotel we found Alex and he gave us a lift into the town centre. Selecting a suitable pavement café for our last meal in Georgia, we both ordered trout, and were unsurprised to find them as tiny as the trout in Zugdidi, - at least they left room for an ice-cream afterwards. We each had a glass of brown, brackish qvervi-fermented white wine, because it was the last chance we would have. We must have acculturated well because we ordered a second for old time’s sake.

Then it was off to Batumi's small airport where we said goodbye to Alex and Dinara. Alex was a very private man, he spoke no English but even when we attempted to converse through Dinara we obtained little information. He had, though, been thoroughly professional in his approach to his job. Dinara, had been an absolute gem, one of the best guides we have encountered even though it was only a gap year occupation. Her ready smile and easy charm hide a forceful personality and this, along with her keen intellect suggest a promising future.

Saying goodbye to Dinara (with Alex behind the camera), Batumi Airport

That was not quite the end of our holiday. For some reason Turkish Airlines do not see Batumi to Birmingham as being an important link, so rather than spend 14 hours in Atatürk Airport waiting for a connection, we intended to spend a couple of nights in Istanbul - so that will be the next post.


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Location: Batumi, Georgia

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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