A.B. Away: More perspectives on Georgia

(John) Tbilisi

Our hostel here in Tbilisi is a colourful place. At the top of a turn of the century building, Irina's spacious apartments provide a cozy retreat for many travellers who by virtue of the fact that this is Georgia, therefore a little off the beaten track, have many an interesting tale to tell.

We have met a couple from Israel who are a month into an extended trip into Central Asia, three young men from the Czech Republic on a two week holiday, and an Aussie surfer who has been everywhere “a few times” and was celebrating just receiving his Iranian visa. We spoke to a man from Leeds, England who is heading into Pakistan and then India, via Iran and China. He's writing travel articles for magazines and the Maltese Sunday Times to help fund his trip. Yesterday morning a Russian in his underwear offered me a shot of Vodka as I was making Mhari some oatmeal. Later in the evening we offered him a piece of birthday cake, still shirtless, although by now wearing shorts, he politely refused and explained “ve drink”as he saluted and returned determinedly to his hard drinking comrades. I hate to paint stereotypes, but he started it. On our first day here we met a young English woman called Hannah, she was quite interested in Soviet history and was intrepidly travelling around Eastern Europe.

When we arrived at Irina's we were given a high ceiling-ed room packed with antique furniture. For our last night we were asked to move to accommodate a couple of older ladies who begged to be given our room so that they could smoke on the balcony. Being obliging types we agreed to move. Our new room was spacious and pleasant looking, but we soon discovered that cigarette smoke from the kitchen seeped into our room. It was a bit annoying to have been kicked out a room to allow some people to smoke and then find that we had to smoke too. Our previous room had been the only place in the hostel that was smoke free. However, the hostel showers were good, we had the use of a kitchen, there was great wi-fi internet access and there was plenty of good company.

It was my birthday yesterday and as part of the celebrations, we went to a restaurant that Irina had recommended. But when we walked in the air was so thick with cigarette smoke that we turned around again. We found somewhere else to eat that had good cheap food, was slightly less smoky and had patrons who insisted that Lesley and I down a shot of Vodka with them. Lesley managed to down half of hers down her shirt,which we felt was good enough reason to beat a hasty retreat.

This morning we said our farewells to our new friends at the hostel, and met some new people arriving as we left. It was a very hot day in Tbilisi and fully laden the walk down to the metro station and then through the bus station in the full sun was a bit of an ordeal. This was our third time at the bus station and the pushy taxi drivers have learned to leave us alone,or at least not waste their time. All we got was a cabby determined to prove that he was a nice guy and show us where to go to catch our mini-bus. The bus depot is fantastically chaotic. It doubles as a market and there are no signs to let you know where to find your bus. Of course there might be signs, but we can't read them so even if there were we'd still be lost. All we can do is ask and have people point us in the right direction.

Today we found our Kazbegi bound bus, a red Ford Transit 15 seat mini-bus, quite easily. Mhari spotted it first. I thought she had cleverly read the Georgian script on the bus, but actually she had cleverly noticed the word Kazbegi written underneath the script. We ascertained that we had 45 minutes to wait so I had fun nipping from the bus to various stalls and coming back with tasty treats. My favourite find was a cold spicy hamburger in a sort of bannock type bread bun. The trip in the red bus was fantastic. We had acres of room, nobody smoked, the breeze was cooling and the driver was sensible, not slow, just not a nutcase. During our last long bus trip from Batumi, one of the passengers got into a loud yelling match with the driver after he kept stopping and overloading the bus. We think he was also berating him for his erratic and dangerous driving. Shouting at him didn't help though as it just got the driver angry and he drove faster.

On the subject of yelling; we have witnessed many people yelling at each other in the streets. Earlier today I watched as two men got into a fist fight over a parking space. Neither man looked the type to be in a street brawl. I did not stick around to witness the outcome. This is something we have really never seen on our travels so it was a bit of a surprise. To be honest it was good to see people get over excited and a bit out of control. I'm not a big hockey fan but it made me realize how much I've been missing the playoffs. Go Vancouver!

Kasbegi

Our journey to Kasbegi was not just comfortable safe and smoke free, it was spectacular. The road we were on is called the Georgian Military Highway and ends at the Russian Border. Kasbegi is the last town on the road. The southerly stretches are well paved but the north is a mass of potholes that the driver has to carefully weave around. The route takes in a mountain pass and it was quite exciting to be driving alongside snow. We were met in Kasbegi by a few home-stay owners. We could have gone to the one recommended in the guide called Nazi's but the lady from Emma's home-stay spoke just enough English and was very sweet so we decided to accept her offer of 25 GEL each including breakfast and dinner and were loaded into a 4x4 and driven a short distance to her home.

The house did not look like much from the outside, but we were amazed when we were shown our rooms. They were huge and ornate, with elaborate furniture and cabinets filled with china and ornaments. Their was an impossible to tune guitar in one room and a hopelessly out of tune piano in another. We settled in and were served huge mugs of tea with biscuits. Then the kids went for a nap while Lesley and I decided to head down the hill into town to figure out how we were going to get the most out of Kasbegi. We soon found the centre which had six small grocery stores, a gift shop and a basic clothing store. We found a place called the mountain travel agency that sold maps and rented bikes, GPS units and camping equipment. It was all a bit expensive so we decided not to bother with that. We did buy a map though. We got back to Emma's in plenty of time for Dinner, which was a mixture of salads, bread, cheese and kinkales (perogies). It was really good.

The next day we had a great breakfast then set out to hike up to the church that we can see from our window. It took just over an hour to hike up. It was busy at the top. A tour group of Russians had passed us on the dirt road and had taken over the church, but while we waited for them to leave we met and chatted at length to a lovely Dutch couple who told us of their extensive travels. After we had checked out the church, which took about 30 seconds we went and filled our water bottles from a spring and sat out in the meadow to eat the bread and cucumber we had bought for lunch in the village. Sam and Mhari were both not feeling well with colds, decided they had walked far enough for one day, so we confidently allowed them to return back to the house without us and Lesley and I headed further up the mountain, hoping to get at least a view of the glacier if not actually reach it. We hiked on for 2 more hours until I declared that I could ascend no more and I needed some legs to get down on. Lesley had been determined to get to the glacier but did not argue with me and we both headed back down. We arrived back, tired but happy. The countryside in Kasbegi is beautiful we have seen nothing to match it on our travels. We have heard that the Svaneti region to the east is even better but we don't have time to get there.

The Russian Border

Being so close to the Russian border and knowing that it was in a gorge and just past some waterfalls that people like to see we contracted a taxi to take us there. For 40 GEL a young man crammed us into his Lada niva 4x4 and bumped and swerved us down a wide but badly rutted and potholed road. The border was an anti-climax as expected. We had been told it was closed, but watched a few cars and trucks pass through in each direction. The cars were all Russian and the trucks were all from Armenia. We later learned that Russians can still come through the border and the highway is still open to Armenian trucks. So we saw Russia. Maybe on our further travels we'll see it again.

A Sheep, a Feast and a Hangover

This morning we watched the slaughter of a sheep. Our hostess had let us know the day before that the animal in the yard was to have its throat cut the next morning. We asked if we could watch and she let us know that the men would come to kill it right after breakfast. The following morning we ate and waited. The first indication that it was about to happen was the sound of a blade being sharpened. Then four men came into the yard. One had a jug of wine, another had a plate of bread and cheese and a third had the knife. One of the men left and shook his head indicating that he could not watch. Then the man with the knife grabbed hold of the sheep and immobilized it between his legs with its head in front of him. He then put a cup of something up to the sheep’s nose and sort of rubbed the contents in. This could have been a sedative of some sort or it may have just been something of religious nature. Then while still holding on tight to the sheep, they lit a candle and placed it to the side. Next the sheep was laid on its side, it's throat was very quickly cut, the neck broken, the spinal cord hacked through and the head was then completely cut off and put to the side. The rest of the sheep was then released and it jerked and spasmed for 20 – 30 seconds. When it came to rest the three men drank some wine and ate some bread. A little later the skin was cut from around the sheep's hind feet and then it was hung on a hook and the rest of the skin was carefully removed. We watched the removal of the stomach, intestines and the internal organs, then the butcher cut the sheep into smaller sections and it disappeared inside the house.

The next time we saw it, it was on the table in the room outside our bedrooms. It was in big chunks and cooked. The sheep was slaughtered for a feast to honour the passing of Emma, our hosts mother who passed away 60 days ago and after whom the guesthouse is named. We had arrived back at the house a little earlier than expected as our excursion to the Russian border and a couple of waterfalls had not taken as long as expected. Our host seemed a bit embarrassed that she was holding this feast right outside our bedroom and was apologetic. We were not put out at all and said we were happy to rest and would not be in the way. However moments later she requested that we join the feast. Sam and I were shown to the table outside our room that was laden with food and surrounded by men. Lesley and Mhari were shown a little later on into the kitchen with the women. Where Sam and I sat we had a man to the left who spoke a little English and for 20 minutes was able to explain the basic rules. Quite simply the toast master made the toasts, other men spoke but nobody drank until the toast master did. The occasion was a somber one and so the toasts reflected that. Some men were drinking vodka but most were drinking white Georgian wine. The table was heaving with food. There were two layers of it. Plates on top of plates. There was the mutton that we recognized from that morning plus chicken, fish, bread, rice cooked in mutton fat, mushroom, carrot and aubergine with walnut salads, chilli pickles, stinging nettle and cheese pie, tomatoes, cucumber, cheese and cake. As soon as it looked like we might be making a dent in the stack of food, more arrived. Similarly the jugs of wine were not empty for long. A young man ensured that they and our glasses were always full. Sam had the option of drinking non-alcoholic pear juice, that he wisely accepted. I was given wine; glass after glass after glass. I did not have to empty every glass for every toast, but I clearly could not just sip it. Of course once I had had about three glasses of wine I lost count and didn't care. Toasts were long and emotional, tears were shed and consolation given. Their was much reminiscing and laughter began to counteract the sorrow. During the toasts, the men would move their glasses in circles over the food on the table or if they had just joined the feast they would pour a little wine on to a plate of food. At first the men went outside to smoke but soon they were all smoking around the table. An elderly russian man came to sit next to me and Sam and I got out the Ukrainian LPG and picked out a few things to say to him. He seemed amused by that. He had a packet of unfiltered Russian cigarettes that he wanted to smoke, but the other men made him put them away and instead gave him their filtered cigarettes. They seemed to be concerned about the health of their throats and lungs because they pointed at their necks and chests and shook their heads. The evening went on, the air was thick with smoke and the men got increasingly inebriated. Some, including our interpreter reached their limit and left the feast. When I reached mine, I asked Sam to tell Lesley to come and rescue me. She came out in a few minutes with a jacket on and informed me that it was time to go. So I made my apologies, thanked them for their food, wine and company and carefully got up from the table. Lesley and I entered into town, where we met the Dutch couple we had met the previous day. I had to explain where I had been for the last 3 hours and apologized if I appeared a little worse for drink. We also met a man called John who introduced himself as the author of the Georgian Lonely Planet Guide. We spent a nice time chatting and sharing information while I sobered up with cup of tea. The hangover arrived at 1:30am. Two Aspirin and a glass of water and 6 more hours sleep and it was time for breakfast and more hiking. I'm extremely grateful that the Georgian custom is to toast with wine and not vodka.