Hinterlands
This past week has given me some of the best views and toughest climbs of the trip to date. With weather on my side, rough passes of 2000m+ and great company, the remote section of south Georgia has been nothing short of spectacular. A step back in time and a place full of discoveries waiting to be made.
However, even getting to the foot of the mountains was tough going. Finishing a cruelling hike and celebrating my survival in a hostel meant that jellied legs needed coaxing into action on my day of departure from Kutaisi; but the promise of limitless Dua Lipa, snickers bars and khachapuri (Georgian cheesy bread) could only work for so long. After a neat, and importantly flat, ride about 40km across the Rioni valley floor the start of the long incline began to sap the legs and kick start a smidge of panic. You see this was to be a two day uphill fight, following an old caravanning route over the South Caucasus to a place called Zekari pass, laying about 2200m above sea level. Once you have passed this point it is all downhill (apparently) with the hinterlands of this great country free for your exploring.
Getting as far as I physically could on day one, I managed to camp about 5km past a town called Sairme, a once Soviet ski resort, but is now mainly a bakery serving hotdogs and an expensive hotel for Russians (1-0 Capitalism). Low on energy and needing a water break I pulled over to a water point where a bee keeper, seeing the state I was in, waved me over for chai and loaded me up with wild pears and some of his honey to supplement my cold cheesy bread and pasta. Past this point the track ominously deteriorated into a broken rocky path, suitable only for ox and cart or bikes with good suspension, of which I had neither an ox nor suspension.
Resupply: Georgian hospitality style.
As the evening mist began to roll up the mountain side I call it a day and pitch my tent on what little flat ground I could find. As I get ready to call it a night, the rolling of tires on rocks alerts me to the presence of other cyclists and I pop my head out of the tent to be greeted by a German couple, Barbara and Franz pushing out a 12% gradient climb at ease, apparently so fit they could talk freely as they moved. We exchange hellos and approximate routes before they continued into the mist, but little did we all know that for the next week we would intermittently be a group travelling through this idyllic landscape.
Avid readers (Mum, are you still reading these?) who know me will be surprised to know that I have very much become an early bird over the duration of this trip; and with my alarm going off at 6.30 I had a big four-hour climb before I made the summit. It was slow progress and I won’t bore you with all the detail, but about 5km for the summit I was greeted with a sight that ranks up there as the greatest I have ever seen. On a bend, looking north I could see out across the width of Georgia, with the towering 4500m+ peaks of the North Caucuses clearly visible. What made this sight all the more captivating was the morning light giving them a pink, almost Himalayan salt, hue. Breathtaking. I have never really been a mountaineer, but staring at them made me feel both so insignificant but also like the only person on the planet. A weird mix of emotions which I have probably not written well, but transfixed me.
The opportunity to take in the views was my get out for stopping every 100m or so and it was a hugely grounding, living in the present moment. Not bothered (at least I tried telling myself) about the climb still ahead, nor all the pain it had taken to get to this point. A picture from an iPhone would never do it justice and so I sat there, letting the image burn into memory and not a data file …. whilst slowly unwrapping yet another snickers bar.
Zekari pass: a sight worth suffering for
Descending down the other side of the South Caucuses gave way to a completely different landscape and climate; gone were the thick pine forests and humid air, hello to parched earth, scattered vegetation and a sparsely inhabited part of the world. The people looked very different too and villages ordered in such a way as for all the doors of the houses to face one another, which I thought was very cool. Castles perched atop every small valley and old fortified town houses standing aside from the roads clearly indicated that this was once a part of a major trading route, an old side route of the great silk road perhaps. I should have Wikipedia’d it before I set off, but that’s homework for you the reader.
Shattered, smelly and seriously wanting a wash I camp that night along a small river, near a town called Muskhi. Here I went back to basics for an evening. Swimming in the river, collecting firewood and enjoying the spectacle of the milky way for evening entertainment.
Continuing south/south east, my morning journey was breathtaking. No cars, fairly decent roads and slight descents indicated I was closing in on my intended destination; the Kura valley. Here the Kura River roams freely, with no human obstacles trying to constrain its march and a place where sturgeon still spawn downstream at its confluence with the Caspian Sea. Its incision through such a remote place was a huge draw factor into coming here, alongside the famed Vardzia; an ancient fortified town built into the very cliffs that overlook the river.
Into arid areas unknown: the south side of the Caucuses
I cannot begin to describe the majesty of Kura valley but what topped even the views was the company I was about to re-encounter. There I was, sheltering in an old bus stop from 37c heat, when I see Barbara and Franz again, happily pressing on throughout the heat with Vardzia as their destination as well, where we agree to meet up and camp. The three of us unfurled our tents directly beneath this ancient UNESCO site, watching the monks go about their evening business (surely secretly ordering a papa johns pizza we decided), talked about expeditions of bygone years and swimming in the wild river. It was a really magical evening and after camping solo for so long welcomed such amazing company.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end and for me this entailed a very steep 600m climb out of the valley and saying a temporary goodbye to Barbara and Franz. I knew that I would be slow getting out of the valley and wanted to summit before the heat got too unbearable, but we agreed to keep in touch to ensure there were a few more nights wild camping ahead.
Barbara and Franz: welcome company in a wonderful landscape
Summiting in good time, which actually shocked me, it felt very strange to finally be back on flat road after the past few days of hard climbs and savage descents, even stranger still to actually be cycling through a part of the world so remote. Surrounded by the giant peaks that separate this nation from Armenia and Turkey, you really feel as if you are cycling atop the world, with it feeling very different on the skin than anywhere else. The air is thinner and heat here is a strange one, almost feeling like it washes off you like warm bath water, yet burns like an afternoon spent on an Australian beach.
The peaks that separate the nations here may do so by geography but not by culture. Armenians proudly move their flocks of sheep, with the borders seemingly just a manmade concept, not one that they necessarily need to adhere to, or even recognize at all. There are a few more tales ahead from this leg of the trip and so I will close my journey here for the time being. Fear not though another blog will come, just as another climb follows every descent. The roads get rougher, the body more brittle but the feeling of being at the end of the world making up for all hardships ahead.
The Kura valley
