The road to Vardzia, the mountains, Georgia. Utterly beautiful scenery. As Jeff says, you could take thousands of amazing pictures here, but you'd be stopping the car every 20 feet. Driving through the mountains in blazing sunshine. Marvelling over farmhouses built in isolation on what look like sheer faces. But then the tarmac runs out. Shit.
Earlier
We woke up on the beach to more company - three teenagers coming down for a swim. What time is it? 7am. Fuck. Everyone here is nuts.
The beach is little prettier in the daylight, but with the sun shimmering enticingly on the water we put Jeff's turd experience behind us and freshen up with a dip. Then we get the hell out of here as quickly as we can - we're aiming for the capital Tbilisi today, stopping off on-route to see an ancient cave city up in the mountains. What an ace Wednesday.
We're about to set off when the little bald bloke who'd been inspecting our car last night comes hurrying over to us, carrying a bowl of fruit. He tips it into the well on our dashboard, then scurries off again. We are falling in love with this country already.
Then it's upwards, climbing into the mountains, all eyes out the window totally melting at the scenery. We drive through little villages, past roadworks, past farmers, getting overtaken by Transit vans that provide the local public transport, past dilapidated old Soviet buildings. Everyone waves. Stern-looking road workers break into huge grins when we wave at them. One bloke drives past on a digger and lets out a yell. Later we're parked by the roadside, and a truck steams past beeping, arm out the window waving. First instinct is to think you've done something wrong, then you remember where you are and realise people are just genuinely happy to see you.
All is beautiful. And then the tarmac runs out. Suddenly you're not able to look anywhere except the road in front, and a heavenly cruise round the mountains becomes a royal pain in the arse. And the transformation is that instant. You're cruising happily in fourth or fifth, along lovely smooth curves, when suddenly there's a bump and a crash and you're on a dirt track dodging suspension-smashing holes and potentially crippling rocks.
Or if you subscribe to my school of offroad wheelmanship, you're not dodging them. You're managing to hit them. Much to the understandable chagrin of your team-mates. We make one river crossing, accompanied by a hideous scraping sound as the bottom of Mr Wazzboobleyoid has her first genuine encounter with Georgian soil. React by sitting there grimacing. Then do it again 10 minutes later.
I guess this is the introduction to the more serious side of the trip - one mistake like that could easily mean the end of the car. And the end of the journey. The latter part of the trip is going to be like this constantly, which is disheartening, especially when the sun comes up higher and starts cooking your head. You're driving along, concentrating on hazards, berating yourself for being a dick, with the sun beating down on your head, which is swimming with the thought that the next few weeks could suddenly turn incredibly tough.
So in these conditions, our little detour to see an old cave complex seems a mite ambitious - especially as for huge stretches of the journey we can't get out of second, and the fact that we're probably trebling the distance we have to go with all the erratic weaving. And this is a road marked on the map as a red road - the best kind. A major route. We'd hate to see what a yellow road is like. But we figure with all the effort, better reward ourselves by having a break and seeing something, rather than just ploughing on with an endless drive.
Turns out to be hell of a decision. Vardzia. Drive down more of those roads. Through more gorges. More shitty roads, following the river all round. Then on the left, a load of holes carved into the cave, halfway up the cliff-face. Absolutely mind-blowing. But couldn't be less accessible as a tourist destination.
This is brilliant, as there's no touts, only one other group of people leaving as we arrive. And we've got the whole place to ourselves. No rules about where you can and can't go. Unless you do what I do - stumble into a sleeping monk's bedroom and see his feet asleep on the bed. Other than that - roam, into holes, explore passageways, leading up stooped until you come to a huge hole leading three or four floors down - traps for invading armies, like the Persians who came here in the 12th Century. Incredible. We wander into one cave that still has a big metal door on it. And behind that another door, leading into a still-active church. Covered in frescos and original iconography.
Incredible.
The only downer - Steve's been suffering from chest pains the past few days, in fact since he got over his other illness. Probably from being punched flat into a marble slab by a muscley Turk. And my bout of concentration in the sun has wiped me out. I'm there going 'I know this is incredible, but I can't handle it.'
We leave having found full reward for our driving marathon. Then decide to camp nearby. It's a breathtaking valley.
Just up the road we find a flat area and park up for dinner of army ration curried lamb and beef casserole.It's spoilt only slightly by a young bull, who has left the rest of the herd to come and rub his snot around our dirty saucepan.
Then the farmer turns up, dropped off by one of the transits. In England this is where you get told to sod off. We wave, he gives a wave back, and then marches off to rescue his livestock. After dinner we put the tent up, the others take in the stars, and I go to the side of an old stone shed and have my first puke of the trip. You can't beat a good bit of sun-baked nausia.
No comments:
Post a Comment