Eastern Europe, Here I Come! #1/13

4 September 2016
Checked in, well fed, crossword puzzle book in hand. Now just 18 hours of flying and I'll arrive in Tbilisi Georgia. Why Georgia? It has old stone watch towers clinging to steep hillsides, it's surrounded by rugged mountains and lakes, it has it's own unique language and alphabet, and I hear the food is amazing, why not?

Once again I have brought my bicycle, but while I was checking in I was told that Turkish airlines has been losing a lot of bags lately. Not a very confidence inspiring way to drop off my means of travel. Bike or no bike, my vacation has begun!

Tbilisi, Georgia's capitol #2/13

6 September

 After trying in vain to keep myself asleep until a normal waking hour, I gave up and went out to explore the city. Old town is a snarl of little streets and alley lines with restaurants and shops and in the early morning, inhabited only by cats.

Every direction you look there is a church rising out of the hillside. For women wearing less than modest clothing (pants) there are wrap around skirts and head scarves in a basket by the front doors. Most of the churches are not extremely old since poor Tbilisi kept getting sacked every hundred years. However inside all of the churches are beautiful fresco's covering the walls with gilded saints. The archways are decorated with painted flow¿ers and vines and the ceilings midnight blue with golden stars.

 Back at my hotel hours later for breakfast at 9, I was treated to slabs of cheesy salty flatbed and coffee so thick I could have  painted with it. I spent the rest of the day assembling my bicycle, finding fuel canisters for my camping stove, drinking minty lemonade, and trying to walk off some of the hearty generous portions that make up Georgian cuisine.

Throughout the day the air was scented with sweet hukka smoke, baking bread, and juniper that covered the hillsides. People watching was fantastic with mini skirts walking side by side with fully robbed clergy. Gypsy's holding out their palms letting their insistent "please" turn into a hiss as people reused to give them money. My favorite were the classy older women, so carefully dressed from their perfectly styled hair to their giant handbags swinging at their sides. they would pass me with a no nonsense stride, high heels clicking steadily against the uneven cobblestones.

Another Day #3/13

7 September
Needing to move around, I decided to go running in the morning. I didn't see anyone else doing it, but I also didn't get any funny looks. I ran through the botanical garden, high up on the southern side of the valley and was thrilled to be able to run through flowers, trees, ponds, bamboo forests, and a kid's playground (with a zip line!) within an hour.

 After breakfast I walked up to Tsminda Sameba (Holy Trinity) Cathedral built over ten years and finished in 2004. Despite its massive bulk, it was surprisingly open inside, the ceiling rising to over 270 feet.

Despite many new beautiful buildings, much of the city is full of cracked, falling down structures. When sagging balconies are braced with 2x4s it makes you wonder how they don't fall down. Some have entire walls that have crumbled, exposing rooms with wallpaper still showing. The 1990s were really hard for Georgia and although the capitol is booming, there is still a lot of poverty. It's getting better but makes me wonder how things will be when I pass through the smaller towns.

I planned to take the train to Zugdigi 330 miles away but at the station, which I couldn't find because it is in the middle of a shopping mall, I found out my bike would have to be disassembled and reboxed. I just put my bike together and tossed out my box from the airplane so plan B. I'll see if tomorrow I can find a marshruka (bus) to take me instead. It will either work, or I'll actually have to ride my bike.

Walking back towards the hotel I kept getting distracted by the street markets. Hanging from all the stalls is a unique Georgian candy, walnuts threaded together and dipped in sweet sticky grape juice, rolled in flour, and repeated until it resembles a knobby purplish candle. I settled on grapes shaped like tear drops.

For dinner I went to a cafe that had a fantastic trio singing along with a guitar. I have no idea what the words for certain foods are so I impulsively pointed to two things on the menu. First a mushroom salad, quite good. Then, I was brought two plump sausages, awkwardly rolling around on the plate all by themselves. Despite the presentation, dinner was delicious.

A few days in and already picked up by the police #4/13

9 September

     Policeman: where are you going?
     Me: Mestia!
     Policeman: Do you know you are going the wrong way?
     Me: uh...

And this is how I got picked up by the police. They were so kind and the whole thing turned ridiculous as the police would take me just to the next station and then call ahead to the next station where I would be passed along to a new truck. All in all I traveled about 40 uphill kilometers and laughed with the police the whole way.

I did manage to get a mini bus to Zugdigi saving myself the stress of riding out of the city and riding 330km on flat, hot, and very humid terrain. The ride from my hotel to the station was plenty exciting. As in many countries, lanes lines and safe passing zones are superfluous. I had to trust that people would rather preserve their car's paint job than hit a biker. The station was crazy. I never actually saw a bus, just hundreds of mini buses with the towns they were going to written in Georgian on the windshield. I stood there wondering how this was going to work. Someone finally took pity and when I said "zugdigi?" They pointed me to a mini bus. Done.

Once I finally started cycling, the road to Mestia was the longest most beautiful 140km. I camped along a section of road that was impassible for cars but perfect for a bicycle due to rock fall. I got to look over the Jvari Reservoir and listen to stray dogs howl.

The next morning I set out with determination. I had 75km to ride on a road that gains almost 10,000 feet of elevation in 87 miles. I made it halfway, I would have kept going, but there was a beer truck that was insistent on offering me a ride. While driving onward (my bike nestled among cases of beer) the driver who spoke zero english called his friend who did, and had his friend ask if I would drink a beer with him. It made me laugh out loud but I refused. The driver shrugged his shoulders with a "never hurts to try" smile, and his brother laughed.

We pulled I to Mestia and my jaw dropped.

The Sanveti area is beautiful and I cannot wait to get out and explore it. The town of Mestia is heavy with tourism and expanding at a great rate. The center of town is starting to look more like a village at a ski resort, but walk just a little ways and it is charming. Cows laying in the road, laundry swinging on lines, and a glimpse into what things were like before it became such a destination.

Hurray for the Caucasus! #5/13

10 September

Only five miles and 9,000 feet up from town and I find myself blown away by these mountains. This is what made me want to come to Georgia.

I left at 7am for a hike and started climbing immediately. Up, up, and up without another person in sight. A third of the way up I passed a steel cross that you can look up and see from town. I watched the fog climb it's way up the sides of the valley and crossed my fingers that it would clear as I got farther up the trail.

At Koruldi lakes the fog was still thick so I lay down and fell fast asleep for an hour. When I woke up, the fog had cleared enough to see town way down below.

I ended up talking with a man from France at the top where we both decided that it was cold enough to head back town. He works in the health department specifically with blood transfusions and organ transplants. I asked him every question about blood I could think of and learned a ton. By the time we had moved on to vaccinations, antibiotics, and the potential of a massive flu pandemic, we were already back to town. Eager for a shower and a meal we wished each other happy travels and I headed to my tent.

Mestia to Lentekhi, the views kept me going! #6/13

13 September

The road from Mestia to Ushguli was beautifully paved to the top of the pass. From there things got a little more spicy. Slow and steady dodging more cows than cars I made my way the 30miles to Ushguli, the highest permanently inhabited village in Europe at 2100m. The village is nestled in a valley and is famous for the high concentration of medieval towers clustered throughout the village.

I wearily pushed my bike through the roads of the village which looked more like hiking trails until I found a guest house.

When I asked how much to stay I was told 45 lari ($20)! I said no, no, I would camp in the yard for 5. The woman of the house said 10, I countered back with 7. She agreed and then asked if I would join them for dinner. Turns out I chose the one guest house that is not really a guest house, but is a place where all the locals hang out for dinner.

I watched as they carried in the fresh carcass of a pig and after the sun went down I was invited to sit in the kitchen to stay warm. Surrounded by a dozen people, fresh bread and a giant bowlful of organ meat was my delicious dinner. Throughout the meal, many, many toasts were given with boozy wine. 1st toast to God, 2nd to st. Archangel, 3rd to st George, 4th to family, and so on and so on throughout the night. As a guest I was told I needed to drink my glass to the bottom, which I did once, after that I took little sips despite their insisting. I excused myself at 10:30pm to retire a little unsteadily to my tent.

The next morning the sky was clear and the mountains spectacular. I walked around the village while I waited for my tent to dry from the heavy dew. After stopping at the store for some supplies for the road, I set off towards Zagar Pass at 2623m.

Along the road I passed groups of people cutting grass by hand with giant scythes for their livestock to eat during the winter. The hay was hand raked into stacks and then loaded onto sleighs pulled by a team of oxen.

As I passed by groups of workers they would all stop to wave, and the morning passed so pleasantly that I found myself at the top of the pass without much struggle. From there the bumpy dirt road descended steep and fast 75km to Lentekhi.

People were full of encouragement as I biked past and with minimal kissy noises from men sitting on the side of the road I was able to make it almost to Lentekhi before camping for the night.

Now I find myself drinking coffee and gathering my motivation to ride the 95km to hot, dry Kutaisi.

From palm trees to mountains, and how to eat dumplings #7/13

15 September

Biking to Kutaisi was mostly downhill at a comfortable to exhilarating pace. In 75 miles I went from staring at glaciers to biking past palm trees. Before I made it to town I had one big hill to climb. A very humid hour into it, the sweat was streaming down my arms and legs. Cars had stopped honking at me as I looked more like the swamp thing than a girl on a bike. Eventually I pulled myself into town and threw myself into the nearest shower I could find, a lovely hostel named "Georgianize Yourself." Dinner and a glass of wine almost had me feeling normal again.

To keep my sanity I decided to take the bus, and figured I might as well take it all the way to up Kazbegi, 200 miles away. I was charged double for my bike, but it was worth every lari. I left the bus,walked around the streets of beautiful Kazbegi (aka Stepantsmida) and found a guest house that would take me in.

 I walked in the door of Ananu Guesthouse and was invited immediately to sit at the table and drink wine out of a plastic liter bottle, with the owner and other guests. We spent the night talking and laughing as a video of places in Georgia played on the TV. When an image of Ushguli popped up, I pointed to it and said, " I've been there!" The owner immediately said, "Ah, you know this bitch!" I was taken aback until I saw the video had changed to an image of a gigantic sheep dog, and laughed until I cried.

 The next morning I hiked up to Gergeti Sameba Church, probably the most iconic image of Georgia. Perched on a hilltop at 7100 feet, the church was built in the 1300s and is a steep 3.5 mile climb from town. How they managed to haul the stone to the building site seems impossible.

Though it was very foggy, I continued up the trail to the base of Mt Kazbeg (16,560 ft) crossing my fingers that the clouds would clear up. When I reached the saddle where you can see the glaciers, the clouds parted, the sun kind of came out, and you could see almost to the summit. Since most of the hike up had been in a near white out, I considered myself extremely lucky.

 I took some pictures and just as quickly as the clouds broke open, they snapped shut again and it started to rain. Satisfied, I quickly retreated to town.

In a cafe I ordered khinkali (dumplings) and started to eat. A woman looked at me with my knife and fork and said, "No!!" And marched over to my table. "You are eating this all wrong!" Her husband shouted over, "don't listen to her." She shushed him, had me pick up a dumpling and instructed me to take a little bite. "Now blow! Blow! Very hot!" So I blew on my little dumpling. "Now drink! Drink!" So I sucked the juice out of my dumpling. "Ah, much better!" She went and picked up her plate to show me, "See? Dry. No juice!" She pointed to my plate where my dumplings were floating in their insides. "Very wet! You eat wrong!" Her husband shouted over, "you eat however you want."
Under her watchful eye I ate another, this time with the correct form as I tried not to laugh. She smiled a huge grin, "Better! This is important." Her husband shouted over, "it's not important." She ignored him, "Now you teach friends how to eat right." She gave me a satisfied look and marched back to her table leaving me to practice eating dumpings.

Mountains! Mountains! Mountains! #8/13

19 September

With a beautiful morning view of Mt Kazbek, I took it as a sign to go deeper into the mountains. I ate a hearty breakfast ( I don't think there is any other kind of meal in Georgia) and biked down to Sno Valley. The ride up the valley was beautiful and for once, mostly flat. At the end is a little village called Juta. I was able to leave my bike at the hotel there and after a Turkish coffee (imagine an espresso with all the grounds still in it) I was ready to go.

The trail quickly climbs up past a few guest houses and camping areas and then the valley opens up to a craggy mountain that would make a climber drool. Chaukhi pass climbs to 11,000ft and is steep towards the top. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself until I was passed by an old man leading a horse, fully loaded with food for the cafés, down towards Juta.

As I reached the top, fog closed in and the though the trail was easy to follow, I became a little uneasy. After all, I was by myself, it was really high, the nights are cold, what if I cannot find my way back, and on and on.

I started paying close attention to land marks and identifying them out loud so I would remember. Suddenly I heard footsteps behind me. It was the same man, leading the now unloaded horse back down the pass! I immediately felt better about going the right way and this old man became my fitness hero. 

As I headed down the fog cleared and I was able to see my destination, Abdulauri Lakes. There are three of them, Blue, Green, and White Lake  and they gradually get more milky colored as you get closer to the glacier.

I camped next to one of the lakes surrounded by wild rhododendrons and blue berries. Throughout the evening I listened to rock fall of the glacier and the tinkling from the bells of grazing sheep.

The next morning it was foggy and raining, I gathered my motivation, packed up and headed back up to the pass. As soon I crested the ridge, the skies cleared and the sun came out. I think Roshka Valley makes its own nasty weather. I quickly shed my wet layers ate some strange tea biscuits, and headed down.

Back at the café I ate spicy beef and tomato stew and jumped on my bike to ride to Truso Valley to camp for the night.

Hospitable Offers and Mountain Passes #9/13

19 September

Down a dusty bumpy road Truso Valley opens up to wide grassy fields with mineral springs that make travertine steps. Tired from hiking and battling a head wind, I was thrilled to park my bike for the night and set up my tent. I had just put the rain fly on when a young boy came walking towards me. "Come!" He said, so I zipped up my tent, snugged my bike down along side it, and followed him across the valley, over a river, and to his family's tent.
The family uses this valley to graze their sheep and cows throughout the summer. Their house was a dirt floored tent cozy warm with a fire in the stove. I was invited to sit and then food started appearing in front of me. Bread, butter, cheese, yogurt, tea, vodka, plum preserves. The family sat around the table, just watching and insisting I eat.
They kept insisting that it was too cold for my tent and I needed to stay with them. When they found out that I was by myself the boy's uncle kept offering to sleep with me. When they found out I had no children, again, the boy's uncle offered to help. Some how I managed to extract myself, stumble my way back across the river and back to my tent. Where I happily slept cold and alone.

The next morning after the ice melted off the zippers of my tent, I was packing up and the young boy appeared again. He wanted to try out all my camping equipment, so while I drank coffee he investigated to his heart's content. He was the most interested in my flashing red bike light and knife. I gave him the knife and he grinned, stayed with me for another half hour, and left.
Farther back in the valley are ruins of a fortress and a Monastery. I decided to run up the road to see. Truso is mostly uninhabited because of the recent Odessa conflict. The houses and villages are in ruins and only a handful of people live there now. By people's reaction, seeing a lone girl running along the road is not a common occurrence!
The Monastery was beautiful. Inside there was a priest and three women praying. When they saw me at the door, they invited me in, covering my pants and head with scarves and leading me in. The church was light, full of fragrant incense, and chanting. After a short while, I de-scarved myself and ran back to my bike.

 Battling a hearty headwind, I slowly made my way up Jvari Pass passing more travertine along the way. The view from the top was cold and spectacular. There is a memorial at the top with a cafe offering hot coffee and paragliding, I accepted the coffee.

Passing Georgia's most popular ski area, I zoomed down the hairpin turns, over 3000 feet of pure descent on smooth pavement, such a treat after my last week.

Reaching the valley floor, I pedaled for a little while against the wind before deciding to splurge $30 on a hotel. A hot shower and a soft bed did wonders for my morale. I spent the morning lounging, waiting for my laundry to dry, and strangely, drinking wine at 9 in the morning.

As much as I love the high mountains, the nights are frigid and the roads painfully steep. I think I'll battle the slightly lower passes In the foothills and head to wine country.

Men with beer vs Women with knives #10/13

20 September

At 7:30am, I was the first one up in the hotel. I wandered into the kitchen to find some tea, and the owner of the hotel filled a cup for me, gave me a cookie, and sat me down in front of the television. Throughout the morning he kept bringing me little sweet breads, which graduated to glasses of wine. At 9am, a couple glasses in, I finally sat down to breakfast. When it was time to go, he sent me off with water bottles full to the brim of special mineral water that was so effervescent and sulphurous that every time I took a swig, all i could think about was fizzy farts.

My first stop of the day was the fortress at Ananuri, a 13th century castle that seems to have been a never ending battle site. The church inside the walls was built in 1689 and like all Georgian churches seems more like a museum than a place to gather. It used to be covered with frescos, but now just a whitewashed shell.

I continued on towards Telavi and was meet with 12 miles of non

stop hills and construction. I resorted to pushing my bike for two hours through gravel, sand, and dump trucks. When I finally hit pavement I could have kissed it. At the top of the climb there was a road side fountain, they pop up along the roads so often that I never have to carry extra water. Some are just pipes out of the hill side while others are full on shrines to loved ones. I've been drinking from them since the beginning of the trip without issue, but if I come home with giardia, you'll know why.

After covering far less mileage than I hoped, I found a place to camp in a beautiful area, wide open fields at the top of a mountain. As soon as I found a place, a car full of 3 Georgian men pulled up with a liter of beer. They insisted I join them and we sat toasting each other and getting frustrated with the language barrier. One of the men kept trying to have a conversation which turned into him repeating himself louder and louder while poking at my arm and trying to get my phone number. When the beer was gone, they said they were getting vodka and to wait there for them. As soon as they left I quickly moved my camp.

The next morning I braced myself for another rough day of biking. The road thankfully had a few flat parts, but was so full of rock I could have been biking on a river bed. I pushed, pulled, and sometimes rode my bike the 34km in four hours to Akmeta. 

I was feeling beat down by the bumpy roads so when a car passed and the man driving motioned for me to follow him off the road, of course I did! It was a couple bringing coffee to a group of people harvesting grapes and i arrived just at break time. Instantly I was surrounded by women who stuffed me full of every kind of grape they were picking, gave me a knife and had me cut grapes into a bucket, and served me delicious Turkish coffee. The women sat around me and patiently asked simple questions and erupted into laughter, and claps every time we were able to communicate.

 They sent me on my way with cheers and a bag bursting with grapes. I have never been so happy to be surrounded by a gaggle of women welding sharp knives.

The ride into Telavi went fast and all along the way I was passed by entire dump trucks loaded with grapes. In the city I was able to find a guest house that I liked. My standards have gotten pretty low, if the place has flower pots or a garden, I'm in. Fortunately this guest house was wonderful and after a much needed shower, I set off to explore.

The city is set atop a hill with a castle at it's apex. Standing at the wall you can look out over the valley and see the Caucasus mountains rising up. Behind the castle wall there were bags of bread tied up in the trees. In this part of Georgia (and maybe other parts as well) bread is considered sacred and cannot be wasted or thrown out. Often it is tied up in trees as a way to get rid of it. 

Tomorrow I continue south, I'm crossing my fingers for pavement, but i would take more grapes as an alternative.