Day 32 (Tbilisi to Kazbegi)
Leaving Tbilisi was much like leaving Yerevan, and before long we were back in the other Georgia of beautiful mountain scenery and meadow flowers en route to another monastery, this time at Ananuri. To be honest, all these monasteries are beginning to blend. Juli would say that's not true and tell you how the stone is a different colour or carved in a different way or has different features, but that's not my take on it. More interesting were the two cows standing in the road playing chicken with on-coming traffic and winning.From there we headed for Kazbegi and yet another monastery, this one we were told, a minimum three hour trek up a steep mountain path, so there's no way I'll be visiting that. On the way, as we climbed higher and higher following a river flowing with milky blue/grey glacial melt water, we passed a brand new ski resort complete with chair lifts and Swiss style chalets, shortly after which the tarmac ran out.
The tarmac (complete with central white line) returned when we got to the bottom of the pass, and it wasn't long after that before we pulled into Kazbegi, now officially called Stephantsminda, but still known as Kazbegi: base camp for those fit enough to attempt an assault on the church and monastery of Tsminda Sameba (just keying the name on my phone - that's how I'm typing these posts now - is enough effort for me) and Kasbegi mountain itself.
After putting up our tent in the patch of muddy woodland Will had selected for our bushcamp, the rest of the afternoon was spent wandering round town (about ten minutes) and drinking tea. In the evening we enjoyed an excellent lasagne baked in Karen's excellent British Army surplus camp oven, before retiring to our re-sited tent. (After pitching, some randoms* turned up and pitched their tents right next to ours then lit a smokey fire up wind of us.)
[*Randoms are fellow travellers who are not truckmates.]
Day 33 (Free day in Kazbegi)
We had another storm in the night, though nothing like the one in Armenia. Indeed, some sound sleepers in our group are getting so used to the sound of rain on their tents in the night that they can sleep straight through. that's not us yet, but the ear plugs and sleep mask (thanks, guys) do help.Woke up far too early for breakfast, most of our truck mates having stayed up 'til 2.00 am (some until 6.00 am). Under such circumstances, mostly people just pitch in, and there was soon a little gang of us engaged in various food preparation activities.
Breakfast when camping is usually a variation on a theme. Staples include: toast with butter, jam, peanut butter and Marmite; Karen's own mix of rolled oats, dried fruit and bran flakes with powdered milk; last night's leftovers, if any. Added to this can be eggs - either as an omelette, eggy bread (French toast) or just boiled - fruit - mostly just watermelon, but sometimes a mixture - and yogurt.
After breakfast, having decided not to climb up to the monastery, we sat in the truck chatting with some of the others about this and that, and before we knew it, it was lunch time. We had a plate of stuffed dumpings called kalishiki, or something like that, one of the local dishes I'd not yet tried.
Afterwards we went for another wander, bought some bananas, came back and, because it was our cook duty, chopped some fire wood and generally got ready for the evening meal. There was still plenty of time to kill, so I dug a fresh latrine. Well, it's something to do. Later we learnt from some of the others who'd made the climb that it wasn't such an effort after all and that the three hour estimate was for up and down, not, as we'd thought, each way, so we could have done it after all. Mind you, at least one other truckmate, when asked what the monastery was like, answered: "Alright. Seen one, seen 'em all," or words to that effect, so maybe we made the right call after all.
Day 34 (Drive to Azerbaijan)
An extra early start for us this morning to put our own things away before making a start with breakfast. There had been no rain in the night, so the tent away dry for once. As the sun rose and the sky got lighter, just the very snow capped top of Mt. Kazbegi, which previously had been shrouded in mist, was bathed in a golden orange light and we could tell we were in for another lovely day of gorgeous Georgian sunshine and scenery.Breakfast concluded and everything put away, we set off back the way we had come two days earlier: up and over the pass, back past the cafe with the painted circular viewing platform, past the new ski resort, all the way down to the outskirts of Tbilisi. From there we took another road through more spectacular alpine scenery, and again, as we climbed, the tarmac ran out. That's the thing about the Georgian countryside: it's stunning, but you have to endure some pretty appalling roads to appreciate it.
Lunch was at a roadside cafe that did kebab (or 'kebap' as it's written in Cyrillic) but we'd under exchanged or overspent, so made do with some left over sausage from a previous packed lunch, some dates we’d bought in Turkey and the bananas we'd bought the previous day.
After lunch, we set off in search of a Georgian winery famous for its sparkling wines, sold as ‘Champagne’ in Russia. We were quite keen on this with a view to buying a stash for full moons and, of course, for Juli's birthday the next day. Unfortunately, we couldn't find it, so moved onto the Azerbaijan border early, which was a relatively painless and friendly experience, and, shortly after that, to our bushcamp.
Having been cook group the night before, it was our turn to sweep and wash the truck out, plus, since we were bushcamping, dig a latrine, for which I had an audience of two: a young goat herder and his mate, who seemed to find my efforts with a spade hysterical.
With a bit of time to spare until dinner, Adam and Martin decided to walk back to a service station they'd spotted on the road we'd just turned off in search of beer. A little while later, they returned in the back of a police car driven by the local chief of police. They weren't in any trouble; it seems that the service station didn't have any beer, so they knocked on the first door they found, which turned out to be this chief policeman's house. Apparently he invited then in, and shared his own private supply with them - for which he was reluctant to take any money - and drove them all the way back to camp.
After dinner (Thai green curry) we took turns using the shower tent then had an early night.
Later, after we'd gone to bed, some more locals came in cars and started messing about. We couldn't see what was going on, but were told later that the police came or were called to sort out the disturbance and one officer was detailed to stay with us all night to protect us.
Day 35 (Sheki)
The next day was Juli's birthday, so she had a bit of a lie-in while I made her tea and Karen made her poached eggs on toast, which I took over for Juli to have in bed. At breakfast, Juli was given a makeshift card that everyone had signed and she had presents from me (a pair of orange ear buds) and from Sarah (Irish; Photographer / Pilates instructor) who gave Juli a couple of tea bags from her own precious stash of Ireland's best brand. After breakfast there was one more surprise: the previous day, in the little place we stopped off at just before lunch, someone had spotted a cake shop and organised a whip-round. A coffee cream covered chocolate cake topped with chopped nuts had been purchased and was now presented - complete with candles - for Juli to cut to the massed singing of 'Happy Birthday'.
Now stuffed with both breakfast and birthday cake, we left - with police escort - for the nearest town to change money. Unfortunately, despite a large queue of locals, the bank remained closed. Some of the others still had GELs (Georgian Laris) to change. The Lari is a closed currency, meaning you're not supposed to take it in or out of Georgia. Fortunately, Will knew a man in the bazaar who would do this, er, unofficially, so they had some spending money.
By now, Juli and some of the others needed the loo, but knew not where to go. A friendly policeman knew, but couldn't give directions in English, so took us there himself. (On foot, this time, not in his police car.) Turned out the nearest convenience was next to local mosque, so while Juli did what Juli had to do, another friendly local showed me round inside that. I'd not been inside what you might call an ordinary every day, un-historic mosque before, and though plainer, still had some beautiful decorations and, of course, carpets everywhere. Apparently the loos were not nice, but it was another good example of the kindness shown to strangers we've found everywhere we been.
Driving on to Sheki, we noticed more examples of the contrasts I've written about before: big Mercedes and small Ladas with donkeys pulling carts full of hay, plus large posters of the president everywhere.
At Sheki, the first bank we tried was closed for the weekend. Fearing that if one was, the all were, we tried a smart looking hotel Juli had spotted. The man on reception, who spoke excellent English, was happy to change our money, though at a less favourable rate than the banks, which is usual for hotels. Brass in pocket, we went for lunch with a few of our truck mates to a very smart looking outdoor place with tables arranged around a central ornamental pool with fountains.
Brenda and Yvonne, twin sisters from Ireland (Brenda: conference organiser; Yvonne: medical measurement technician specialising in cardiology) noticed an Azerbaijani man they'd chatted to a day or so previously. He'd been practicing his English, learnt when he worked at Eriksons in Ireland. With his help we ordered some salad dishes to try and to accompany a lamb kebab, which turned out to be excellent lamb chops.
After lunch we all piled into a couple of taxis, which took us up to see the Khan's Palace, an 18th century house decorated in a Moghul style with exquisite figurative frescoes. The other main tourist attraction of the town - another but particularly notable Caravannessi - being closed for filming, Juli and I found a tea house with a number of little pagodas arranged around a hillside garden, where we had a birthday tea accompanied by plates of little sticky sweet treats.
Too soon, it was time to get back on the truck and continue on our way to the capital of Azerbaijan, Baku, across a wide plain towards high mountains.
That evening we camped in another quarry. If your reading this with a view to booking onto the trip next year, forget tent pegs, bring a supply of six or nine inch nails. Hammers are provided. For dinner, and one last birthday treat, we had roast lamb.
That night, one of the warmest so far, we were visited by two men on horseback who warned of snakes, but we didn't care, as we had chosen to sleep on the truck's roof again and look at the stars.
Day 36 (Drive to Baku)
The road to Baku is dead long, dead straight and dead boring. Today, the start of week 6, we crossed a seemingly endless plain of scrubby nothingness, occasionally punctuate by what looked like new towns being built, though why anyone and/or who would want to live there I can't imagine.After passing a number of smart looking service stations with WCs, we eventually stopped for lunch at an entirely unpromising little cafe, which didn't even look open. How (or why, for that matter) Will and Karen choose these places I don't know. Still, after some pointing at pictures of sheep and hens, some lamb and chicken kebabs were ordered with the help of yet another friendly local with some English. What came, however, was rather disappointing being two small chicken wings and a bit of spine. Mind you the beer was cheap and cold, so it wasn't all bad.
More boring driving until we reached Gobustan where these are some petroglyphs, some of which are 100,000 years old, though most date from 30,000 years ago, with others from the bronze age and even Roman times. Another UNESCO World Heritage site, they have a brand new interpretive centre that we wished we’d had more time to explore.
After that we went to our bushcamp site by the last attraction of the day: some mud volcanoes, which Lonely Planet describes as "10Km south of Qobustan is a weird collection of baby mud volcanoes, a whole family of "geologically flatulent" little conical mounds that gurgle, ooze, spit and sometimes erupt with thick cold grey mud. It's more entertaining than it sounds - even when activity is at a low ebb, you get the eerie feeling that the volcanoes are alive. And normally the peaceful site is completely deserted." Well, deserted they certainly weren't, but they weren’t exactly teaming with tourists either.
before we pitched our tent, it was time for a truck clean. This is something that happens about once a month or every six weeks, where everything comes of the truck, all the lockers are emptied and cleaned out and, usually, all the kitchen equipment is given an extra deep clean. however, we’d done that recently after the big storm in Armenia when everything got covered in mud, so this was a mini clean. it was also used as an opportunity for every one to move seats, an we’ve now lost our cherished front row position, but that’s only fair, although, as the only couple sharing a double seat, rather than having one each, we’ll miss the extra room the front seats have for our bags.
Another hot evening and very sticky in our tent, which you can't pitch without the fly sheet, as the poles that support the tent are fed through tunnels in the fabric of the fly. I think the perfect tent has still to be invented, possibly because the 'must have' list would contain to many conflicting design features. Maybe I'll give it some thought and blog about the matter further in future.
Day 37 (Drive into Baku)
It didn’t take Will long to get us to Baku, Azerbaijan’s capital. More of a problem was getting to our hotel because of the number of road works making it impossible for our truck to get anywhere near the place. This meant a last minute switch, which has worked out quite well for us, as we’ve been put up in a lovely big double room, with sea views, AC and a well appointed en suite.At one point, though, we weren’t sure we’d be in any hotel tonight, as Karen had got word from a new passenger we’ve just picked up (Jonny: from Weston-super-mare; now living in Windsor and a previous passenger with Will and Karen) that the ferry across the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan was getting ready to go. Apparently it does this or goes late quite often. In fact it’s sort of wrong to think about it as leaving early or late, as the ferry doesn’t really have a timetable, more like it goes when it’s full. It’s certainly a law unto itself: last year, it stopped mid way and demanded more money for diesel to complete the crossing, so it could be quite an adventure.
Whenever we do go, that’ll be it, not just for posts, but quite possibly tweets too for a while. Apparently, there are no mobile phone networks where we’re going and wont be until we get to Uzbekistan five or six days later, cheerio for now.
TTFN - N
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