Hi again friends! I write in a semi-melancholy state; the travels are coming to an end. I fly home from Istanbul to Vancouver on the 17th of June, and I am realizing that what has more or less been 3/4 of a year of traveling with a short break at home for Christmas has been one of the most educational, inspiring, eye-opening and straight-up fun times of my life. I'll spare any excessive whinging for now though, and try to update whats happened since I last wrote from Tbilisi and wrap up a few loose ends of thoughts that I have been trying to hold onto for the past few weeks.
Dylan returned to Turkey from Tbilisi after our a VIP club visit, while Dan the Aussie and myself went north along the 'Russian Military Highway' to Kazbegi, a mountain village only 14 km south of the closed Russian border in the mighty Caucusus Mountains. And mighty they are indeed; the peaks reach up above 5000 m, and most are spectacularly jagged with lush green valleys separating them. Georgia continually proved itself to have absolutely breathtaking natural beauty in every corner that we explored. I have hiked in many mountain ranges around the world, and it always amazes me how even though mountains are mountains, there are always such drastic differences from range to range. As the Kyrgyz mountains differ from the Tajik mountains differ from the Rocky Mountains; once again, the Caucusus mountains were unlike any natural landscape I have ever seen. The country is a mountaineer's paradise. On our first day in town Dan and I walked towards Russia. The 'Highway' is barely passable for vehicles... rock slides cover the dirt track and have only marginally been cleared to allow enough space for a car to squeeze past without falling down the side cliff to the river below. On both sides jagged mountain ranges reach up beyond the clouds --- across the western range is South Ossetia, the most unstable area in the region, short of Chechnya which is only a few hundred km further northeast, but there is no way anything is cross those mountains. As I observed in my last e-mail, there is really very little sign that this country is teetering in a militarily precarious state. Not a single checkpoint or military vehicle along the "Russian Military Highway", and even though it got dark before we could get to the border (which is off limits anyways) we didn't encounter a single soldier or militia man or anything of the sort. Turkey parades its tanks around openly on the Armenian flanks as soon as you exit Georgia where the three countries meet, but Georgia's military presence is unexpectedly elusive.
The following day we hike up into the mountains to a beautiful old church perched above the village, and find ourselves in a morning snowstorm --- making for a beautiful and atmospheric hike. I knew there was a reason I carried long johns and rain gear through the desert of Egypt, Jordan, and Syria!
From Kazbegi we returned to Tbilisi where we made plans to meet again with Data, our Georgian friend from Gori so that he could show us some of the less trodden areas of Western Georgia, where his extended family lives. I also met a very interesting individual who has been traveling perpetually for the last 8 years, sustaining himself first by teaching English in Asia and now as a guidebook writer for the series Rough Guides. He was taking a holiday is Georgia from his current assignment of updating Turkey's guide, but he has worked on many other books in many other countries (including North Korea) and had some very interesting tales to tell. An inspiring chap.
After another day or two in Tbilisi we returned to Gori to meet Data, from where we hitched our way to Kutaisi, Georgia's second largest city (though only a fraction of the size of Tbilisi, and with the much more run-down feel of a town that ceased a lot of its upkeep with the collapse of the Soviet Union). In Kutaisi we were met by Data's cousin Gio (short for Giorgio, which every other Georgian child seems to be named --- Georgia's Mohammad, I guess), his younger brother Tsotni, and a dude who everyone called 'Chicago'. The excited young lads whipped us around the town and its outskirts to show us the sights ---- a gorgeous nature reserve with a big cave with massive stalactites and stalagmites, some rock outcroppings with dinosaur footprints preserved in what was an ancient mudflow, some very old holy monasteries and churches perched on cliffs above rivers and mountains overlooking the city, a place where the rocks are stained red with what is supposedly blood from an ancient storm that rained blood after the death of two legendary Georgian martyrs, and the massive gravestone of the great King David the Builder, who evidently built a lot during his day.
Upon returning to Gio's home after their tour around Kutaisi, we found that Data's parents had come from Gori, along with another uncle and a grandmother, and that a large family feast has been prepared. I mentioned a bit about what an affair Georgian dining is in my last e-mail... the table was literally overflowing with food and drink. Georgian feasting, called supra, is a wonderful thing with many interesting rules and customs... there is a tamada, or toastmaster, who is in charge of making toasts and appointing people to toast. There is the merikipe, who is in charge of making sure that no one's glass is ever less than half full. People give toasts with every drink, and toasts are often very long and serious, usually lasting several minutes. Toasts range from remembering the dead in the war, honoring guests and friendships, acknowledging Georgia's natural beauty, or giving shout-outs to peace, freedom, family, etc. Wine is the most common drink with feasting, and most families in Georgia grow their own wine which is a matter of pride for them. One of my friends offered me a 20 L jug of his finest to take home with me, which sadly I could not carry. During feasting the person throwing the feast keeps all plates on the table continually full, so that even when the meal is done, it looks like the food has barely been touched. Food ranges from khachapuris to stews to roast potatoes, salads, BBQed meats, corn pudding, cheese plates, bean pies... its excessive. "Georgians like to eat all the time" Data tells me, and it is gloriously true. At this particular feast, Data's father, who was once an important politician in Gori and who was recently falsely arrested by the government under suspicion of raising opposition protestors to join the demonstration in Tbilisi, enters a drinking competition with his brother-in-law, who apparently claims at every family gathering that they can drink each other under the table. Georgians drink wine out of normal glasses, and only skull wine (no sipping ever!!), and drink juice out of wine glasses. As the evening progresses, different types of drinking vessels are brought out for different types of special toasts. My personal favorite is the animal horn, which people had to make individual unique toasts with to the rest of the table when it was passed around them. There is something wonderfully barbaric and vikinglike about skulling wine from a big animal horn. Data's uncle proudly shows me a picture on his camera of him drinking from a massive Ibex horn that is nearly a meter long. The drinking vessels get larger and larger as the competition continues in good humor... and the food keeps coming. We go to bed around 2 AM, after sitting around the table for nearly 5 hours, when we leave it is just as full of food and drink as when we begun. Data's father and uncle are still going at it when we retire...
Leaving breakfast in a semi-haze, we packed into Data'a uncle's mashrutka and drove to Samegrelo, a province further west, to a small village where Data's grandmother lives and the family often gathers for reunions and holidays in the summer. The village was set in some gorgeous mountains with a large river running right through it, perfect for swimming. We were obliged to another epic feast, complete with the excessive food, drink, and toasting once again --- we were introduced to a special toast, to brotherhood, called Vakhtanguli (named after Great King Vakhtang, who founded Tbilisi when on a hunting trip a pheasant that he killed fell into the hotsprings in the area and cooked itself to be so delicious he decided he needed to move the capital to the location), in which arms are locked and drinks are skulled in this way.
The next morning we went for a day hike into the mountains... through the river, to waterfalls, cliffs, forests, shepherds villages on top of mountains... the most remarkable places, seemingly untouched by anyone else. Worth noting was the villager that we met a ways up the track out of the village who was cutting firewood. Though he was alone, he had with him a 10 L jug of homemade wine and several glasses, which he had carried the whole way into the woods, along with his chainsaw, on the off chance he encountered any guests. We were offered the wine and numerous toasts, which we sort of slowly and hesitantly accepted, given that we were feeling pretty rough from the previous 2 days' feasting. This didnt stop the chap who was going to be operating the chainsaw from polishing off most of the jug. After we had lingered enough to be polite and then moved on, I asked Data it the fellow would have finished the wine if no one had come along. "Of course not. He would not have touched it. Drinking alone is seen as shameful and alcoholic practice; it is not done. He brought it along for guests."
Georgian hospitality is unsurpassed in my experience. I have only encountered such selfless (and at times over the top) kindness in Tajikistan and Syria... for this reason, it was very difficult to leave Data, his family, and all of my new friends to return to Turkey, which we did by mashrutka-hopping and hitchhiking to the eastern border post near the Turkish town of Posof. This frontier is obviously not very well used, as the road to the border (at least up until the Turkish side) is a winding bumpy dirt track... After getting exit stamps from the friendly, if not a bit lax Georgian officials, getting checked for Swine Flu by the Turks, and paying a painful 60 US for a new Turkish visa that apparently did not get extended in Sinop as I was told that it had been, we re-entered Turkey, where we immediately got lied to and ripped off by a jackass bus driver who we hitched from the border to what was supposedly the town of Posof where we wanted to get a bus to the Turkish town of Kars, but was really 9 km up the road from Posof... A little bit of a bitter welcome back after such a selfless and friendly experience in Georgia. But first a few last comments and observations about Georgia:
-vowels are conspicuously underused in Georgian, leaving us with unpronounceable words such as Mtkvari, Samshkte Jakhrtve, Mtsvardis...
-on Georgian Independence Day the protesting politcal opposition organized large rallies in the Tbilisi stadium. They shut down the train station for 24 hours, but to little apparent gain. Some of the Opposition coalition was against some of the more extreme moves by protestors, and pulled down their fake cells from in front of the parliament. My sense is that the demonstrations are going nowhere fast, and that Misha will hang on, albeit precariously, for the next little while. His term is supposed to last until 2013, but that seems like a bit of a stretch.
-apparently right after we left, Tbilisi started preparing itself defensively for a Russian attack.., but this seems strange, as another report I read said that there are current talks regarding the re-opening of the Kazbegi border along the Russian Military Highway.
-Georgian Christians seems to have more fun. They are all quite devoutly religious --- the homes I saw all had shrines with numerous icons and candles where family members said daily prayers; the churches were always full of people making prayers and hanging around (Georgian Church choir music is GORGEOUS); and the majority of people cross themselves three times whenever they see one of the numerous churches around... but this doesnt seem to hinder the Georgian proclivity for care-free fun. On one mashrutka ride, a fellow and his wife bought a bottle of vodka at a lunch break stop, polished it off along the way, and were having the time of their lives being rowdy on the bus... yet every time we passed a church they soberly and resolutely crossed themselves, before returning to their state of bliss...
Anyways, after being dicked around by the jackass Turkish bus driver, we hitchhiked down the road to Posof, where all transportation to our destination, Kars, had dried up, leaving us in the tiny village, which was actually quite charming, even if it is a middle-or-nowhere border outpost. The natural beauty of Georgia continues into northeastern Turkey, so we got to enjoy the beautiful mountains and lush valleys even more. The area is dotted with the ruins of Georgian castles and churches, which have, somewhat ironically in my view, been adorned with large Turkish flags.
We finally made it to Kars, which is one of the larger cities in the east, originally laid out by Russians, meaning that it follows a lovely grid plan and has some lovely drab rectangular buildings, but once again, the city is in a spectacular location. Dan and I met up again with our friend the Guide Book writer. We made a trip out to Ani, the ancient Armenian capital, which, as is evident again from the massive flags flying proudly at the ancient gate, is now proudly Turkish. Directly across a valley that unforunately divides Turkey and Armenia in this area and leaves the Armenian ruins on the Turkish side, the Armenians have started noisily mining the red stone of the area, leaving big natural blights in the beautiful green hills. The move is seemingly out of spite, an Armenian middle finger being sent to the Turks, given the fact that it seems like they could have put their mines anywhere along the valley banks for kilometers north or south of Ani. It is unfortunate, but the ruined churches and cathedrals are spectacular nonetheless.
After kicking around Kars for a while, I parted ways with my friends and caught the 30 hour train across the country to Ankara, where I kicked it with the good friends that I had met there at ODTU Spring Fest. We went for a three day camping trip in the moutains south of the city, and then I returned to Istanbul, where I am not preparing for the homeward journey. It has been a hell of a trip, and I would be lying if I said I was not melancholy about returning home. There is so much to see and do out here, and I feel like I have only scratched the surface of what I want to experience...
In Canada I will almost immediately be heading to the field to start my Master's research. I will be doing an archeological survey of the inlets around Sechelt for July and August, and then in September I will move to Toronto to start my Master's at the University of Toronto. I hope that this doesn't get in the way of me furthering my travels in the near future, though it will be nice to get back to school for a bit as well. I hope to get a chance to see as many of you as I can and catch up with as many as possible before I hit the field and then move to Toronto...
I will be trying to put up pictures when I get back, and I would like to hopefully write one more reflective sort of letter to tie up thoughts I have omitted or forgotten, and express some final ideas.
I miss you guys, thanks for following me on this one.
All my love,
Bryn
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