Dilijan, the Switzerland of Armenia

Dilijan is a town in Armenia’s Lesser Caucasus mountains, most famous for its position within the eponymous 240 km2 national park. The region’s alpine landscape and quaint towns have earned it the (slightly questionable) nickname of the Switzerland of Armenia. We were staying in Dilijan’s old town; a small collection of wood and stone buildings, separated by cobbled streets already draped in autumn colours.

Surrounding the old town were a real mix of modern residential and commercial buildings, alongside the crumbling Soviet concrete to which we were starting to grow accustomed. Within a stone’s throw from our hotel was a columned amphitheatre, an ornate stone staircase flanked by lions and a long abandoned building (all pictured below).

Dilijan also had its fair share of monuments. These included three chaps from the 1977 Soviet movie Mimino standing around a water fountain (left), and the colossal monument to the 50th anniversary of Soviet Armenia (right).

But the main reason we were here was to explore the Dilijan National Park on foot. With few circular trails available, we opted to take a taxi to Parz Lake; an understandably popular lake situated in the mountains, before walking a mountain trail back to Dilijan. This taxi ride was almost noteworthy for how straightforward it was. The driver opened fare negotiations with a price I’d read was typical online, which almost never happens. In fact, I rarely achieve the price I’ve read about online even after a stressful negotiation. On top of that, the vehicle was modern and largely undamaged, the driver was careful, and knew exactly where we wanted to go. It was all too easy.

Parz Lake

While I’d hoped the taxi ride would allow us to skip some of the elevation gain of the 12.5 km hike, a closer inspection of the elevation graph below shows that we only started 78 m above our end point, and we still had nearly half a kilometre of vertical gain before we reached the walk’s highest point. This all felt vaguely familiar – I’m sure one day we’ll find an easy downhill stroll!

Elevation graph: km walked shown horizontally, height gained/lost shown vertically

While the lake was fairly busy, we met very few other hikers on the trail. The path itself was relatively easy to follow despite the carpet of leaves which covered most of the mountainside. We popped in and out of cloud as we went, and the damp landscape was full of vegetation, including some shiny black fungi which caught our eye.

At the highest point of the hike, the forest ended abruptly at an alpine meadow, which I’m sure would have had spectacular views if we weren’t in dense cloud. To make matters worse, the GPS on my phone stopped updating, so you can imagine our relief when we managed to pick out one of the few-and-far between way-markers through the thick fog. Re-entering the forest on the opposite side of the meadow, we came across a sign warning us of wild bears, which gave us a new danger to look out for as the visibility had improved.

The route down to Dilijan was similarly autumnal, with both the trees and cloud ensuring that the town didn’t emerge until the final moment.

Just as we reached Dilijan we came across a crumbling concrete “rotonda”, which I believe was the predecessor to the columned amphitheatre pictured at the top of this post.


With our loop of northern Armenia nearly complete, we were ready to return to Yerevan, this time for three nights instead of our previous 60 minutes. Although it was our last stop in the Caucasus, Yerevan stole our hearts immediately, and was the unexpected highlight of our time in Georgia and Armenia.

A short diversion to Gyumri

To cross into Armenia, we took the brand new sleeper train from Tbilisi to Yerevan. Booking our tickets all the way to Yerevan was another in a series of slight miscalculations – we’d so easily booked last minute accommodation in Georgia that it came as a bit of a shock to find that there was barely anything available in Yerevan, and anything that was available was very expensive. We made some friends on the train (who had moved to Armenia from Moscow, but some months ago) who explained to us that Armenia had seen an influx of Russian citizens in recent weeks because it was one of the few countries where it was possible to travel on a national ID (since apparently many Russians don’t have full passports), and this might explain the shortage of accommodation.

We decided to switch our itinerary to visit Gyumri first. This left us with two options:

  1. Get off the train in the middle of the night when it stopped at Gyumri, knowing that Armenian cafes don’t open for breakfast until around 9.30am
  2. Enjoy a full night’s sleep on the train, before turning around and travelling the three hours straight back to Gyumri

We opted for option #2, since arriving at 4am didn’t sound like much fun. It was also an excuse to take another train, only this time we’d be able to take in some of the scenery as we trundled along after leaving Yerevan’s beautiful station.


Gyumri is Georgia’s second largest city, but its name is still synonymous with the earthquake which practically levelled the town in 1988, killing 50,000 people and displacing even more. The reconstruction effort has been ongoing ever since, with ruined buildings and others undergoing repairs visible throughout the city, including the city’s old hospital (below right), which was rebuilt from scratch next door, leaving the ruins to be consumed by nature.

Still, those buildings that had been restored continued to use the distinctive black and orange tuff (volcanic rock), giving the city a unique architectural style.

The town is built out from Verdanants Square, a vast area flanked by the Cathedral of the Holy Mother of God at one end and the Holy Saviour’s Church at the other. The cathedral has been fully restored since the earthquake in black tuff, with two of its predecessor’s spires preserved in the cathedral’s gardens.

The exterior of the church at the other end of the square had also been restored, but inside work still continued. We were a bit surprised to be beckoned into the building site by the man who was working alone inside the church, but it was worthwhile to see just how much of a project it was to restore it to its former glory.

We also came across a picture of the church taken shortly after the earthquake, which was pretty staggering – there was very little left standing.

Our favourite meal in Gyumri was undoubtedly the lunch we ate at Gwoog Gastrohouse. The first dish to come out was heavily buttered scrambled egg with basturma, a type of salty cured beef (not pictured as we ate it way too quickly). Next up was chrov pilaf, a rice side with apricots, dates and raisins (we realise this was a slightly strange accompaniment to eggs, but that was on us!) Finally, a whole plate of lamb dolma arrived, complete with fresh lemon and sour cream. All of this was washed down with a sweet apricot and raisin Kompot, a drink we’d never heard of, but that went down a treat!

We also treated ourselves to a donut each from Ponchik Monchik. These are hollow deep fried dough balls, filled with either vanilla custard, chocolate spread, or jam, and dusted with icing sugar. After demonstrating how much the filling hole looked like a mouth, Sara then painted her nose white with icing sugar with her first bite. Absolutely delicious, and we could probably have eaten two each!

To burn off some calories, we took a walk out to Gyumri’s Mother Armenia – a colossal statue on the edge of town which somehow survived the devastating earthquake. She watches over Gyumri, with one arm raised to the sky and her back clearly turned to the Turkish border less than 10km behind her. Still, her view across Armenia was spectacular.

Just next door to the statue lies the Black Fortress, a military installation built with typical Gyumri black tuff, which has more recently been converted into a live performance venue. Both attractions were eerily quiet, with just the odd wandering tourist and a few local kids out exercising.

We took a short diversion on our way back into town through Gyumri’s Central Park. From the outside, this appeared to be a wild and seldom used park, but once inside, we found that the park was dotted with beautiful architecture and Soviet statues.

As well as yet another amusement park…

After exploring Gyumri’s main attractions, it was time to pay some attention to the increasingly messy matt of hair on my head. We headed to Lux Barber Shop, a traditional barbers filled with wood panelling, mirrors and metal and leather chairs. With my Armenian language skills stretching to “hello”, “goodbye” and “thank you”, I resorted to showing the barber a few photos taken shortly after my last hair cut. He gave the photos a passing glance before leading me towards a chair and picking up the clippers. Sara watched on from the entrance as I had one of the most tense hair cuts of my life, but at least I didn’t have to engage in the normal barber small talk. In the end, the barber did a great a job despite my lack of communication skills, and I left Gyumri looking much smarter than the state in which I arrived.


Our next destination would be Vanadzor, a typical Soviet town and the gateway to the Debed Canyon, with Yerevan now demoted to the end of our Armenian itinerary.

Georgia round up 🇬🇪

While the transition from Greece to Turkey felt gradual, the difference between eastern Turkey and Georgia was immediate. Food instantly became more varied, Islam changed to Christianity, clothing became less conservative, the Latin alphabet became Mkhedruli script and the structured coach network was replaced with an informal collection of marshrutkas. After three weeks in Asia, it felt like we’d re-entered Europe.

Transport

We travelled from Batumi in the west to Tbilisi in the east almost exclusively by marshrutkas.

While we loved the organised chaos of marshrutkas, the lack of certainty kept us on our toes regarding whether they departed on a schedule or when full, and whether passengers should buy a ticket or pay the driver. We also found that driver care on the road varied wildly, and it seemed that essential requirements included a huge crack across the windscreen and reliably departing before closing the sliding minibus door. We also witnessed many pre-departure altercations between fellow passengers and sometimes the driver. We think the source of these arguments related to who sat where and whether the passenger had bought a ticket before reserving a seat, but we’ll never know for sure. The best part of these situations was that inevitably, every passenger on the marshrutka threw in their two cents, while we sat helplessly and watched it unfold.

While there are train lines in Georgia, there are generally only one or two trains a day, often at inconvenient times of day (or night!). We were most excited about the scenic Borjomi-Bakuriani railway, but sadly this route hasn’t restarted since it was paused during the pandemic. Still, I managed to weave a round-trip train journey into our day trip to Gori.

We enjoyed the amount of bureaucracy that went in to the purchase of this train ticket, despite Gori only being 79 km from Tbilisi. Our passports were required, seats were allocated, and after lots of typing, we were presented with an airline-style ticket each. And after all that, we found some people sitting in our seats anyway.

Carbon

Our route across Georgia was our second most carbon intensive journey so far, despite also being the shortest distance we’d travelled within a single country. This is largely because I’ve classified our marshrutka journeys as “average local bus”, which is nearly 4 times more carbon intensive than “coach”, according the the UK government’s carbon database. This is probably an overestimation of our carbon emissions, but it’s the best I could do with the available data.

This brings our total carbon emissions from transport since leaving London to 676 kgCO2e, so we’re now well over halfway towards the minimum offset size of 1,000 kgCO2e.

Cost

We spent less money per day and less money in total in Georgia compared to any other country we’ve visited so far. This was despite feasting on Georgian delicacies in some great restaurants while we were there.

Transport costs were responsible for less than 10% of our expenditure in Georgia. This proportion is similar to Turkey, but noticeably less than the proportion spent on transport in Italy and Greece. Despite travel by marshrutka being quite hair-raising at times, they really were cost-effective. For instance, we travelled the 267 km from Batumi in the south to Mestia in the north for the equivalent of £16.50 each.

Cats

We saw about 5 cats per day in Georgia, which sadly doesn’t even hold a candle to Greece or Turkey’s totals.

We did meet some particularly fine chaps though – quality not quantity!

🏅Award for the cutest flood barrier

If it fits, I sits

🏅Award for the most co-ordinated cat gang

They arrived en masse, worked together to fleece this woman of her dinner, then dispersed to wreak havoc around the rest of the restaurant

We also saw plenty of dogs, although these were not counted so rigorously. At first we were apprehensive of stray dogs when they approached us in the street or while we were hiking, but it was hard to not feel attached when they would quietly follow you for hours purely for company and the chance of a scrap of food. We also noticed that most of them had tags in their ears, presumably to track and record health status, which I thought was pretty impressive. Still, I think my favourite photo is this one of a stack of snoozing Georgian puppies.


From Tbilisi, we took the overnight sleeper train to Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, although this wasn’t where the day’s journey ended…