While we’ve been travelling through the Caucasus, we’ve also been putting together a rough itinerary for the next leg of our trip and thought it was about time to share it. If you like the sound of anything below and fancy joining us, let us know!
October – Late November 🇦🇲🇰🇿🇺🇿🇰🇬
We arrived in Armenia a couple of days ago and are now eating our body weight in ponchik (Armenian doughnuts), but sadly this is the end of the road for us on this leg of our overland trip. We’d love to continue over land and sea into Kazakhstan, but the Azeri land borders are still shut so the most obvious route across the Caspian Sea is closed to us. With Russia to the north and Iran to the south, we’ve decided that the best option is to take a short flight from Yerevan (Armenia) to Aktau (Kazakhstan) on 21st October and continue our planned route through Central Asia from there. We’ll pass through the deserts of Kazakhstan, the Silk Road cities of Uzbekistan, and may even hop into the mountains of Kyrgyzstan on the way to Almaty. We had originally planned to head for Tashkent and finish this leg there, but actually we can go a bit further before reaching the (closed to us) Chinese border, so why not?!
Late November – late January 🇰🇷🇯🇵
Next, we’ll need to take another flight. We looked through the options from Almaty and settled on the shortest possible flight to somewhere exciting: we’re going to Seoul, South Korea! 🇰🇷
We’ll arrive in Seoul on 23rd November and plan to eat our way around South Korea for about a month. Japan has reopened its borders to independent tourism this week and we are crossing our fingers and toes that this means that ferry connections between South Korea and Japan will also resume. If so, we plan to spend Christmas and the succeeding three-ish weeks in Japan, mixing urban and rural exploration and perhaps a spot of skiing.
February onwards 🇰🇭🇱🇦🇹🇭🇻🇳🇳🇿
TBC! We’d love to head south towards Cambodia, Laos, Thailand and Vietnam and are hoping that land and sea connections post-Covid continue to improve so that this is possible. We’re also still dreaming of New Zealand, but we haven’t quite figured out a low-carbon way of getting there yet…perhaps we need to get really good at swimming 🏊🏼
Just a few miles from Kutaisi is the spa town of Tskaltubo. Although it’s still a living, breathing town, it’s best known for its many crumbling sanatoria, bath houses, spas and hotels. The town exploded during the Soviet years as a place to come for rest, relaxation and healing, thanks to its waters of immortality that were used in balneotherapy. At the peak of its popularity, there was even a direct train from Moscow. Although a couple of the bath houses and resorts are still in use or have been renovated, many were abandoned after the fall of the Soviet Union and have since fallen victim to the elements, making them ripe for exploration.
The most photographed one
Sanatorium Iveria
Sanatorium Iveria was the first spa we explored, and what a place to start. The building was crumbling, completely uninhabited and mostly stripped of all its interiors, but there were still some signs of how opulent it would have been, with ornate cornicing and ceiling roses still intact. We climbed the stairs to explore further and were very careful not to stray too close to the edge of the atrium, which we think would have housed a huge chandelier but was now completely open. Further inside, we found what would have been bedrooms, tiled treatment rooms and a huge space that looked like a ballroom.
The one with Stalin’s private bathing room
Bathhouse No. 6
Bathhouse No. 6 was the only one we visited that is still open and offering treatments. It’s also where Stalin had his own private bathing room. We’d read that it was virtually impossible to get access to Stalin’s room but that it might be worth asking (or begging) nicely. Neither of us particularly wanted the awkwardness of being refused, but it seemed silly not to ask when we were already standing in the lobby, so imagine our surprise when they waved us through with a smile! It was pretty cool and we were left alone to admire the mosaics (and to peek into other treatment rooms on our way there and back).
Stalin’s private bathroom
Horseshoe crab mosaics
Entrance hall
Urn showing all the bathhouses, spas and hotels in the area
The one with all the wedding photographs
Sanatorium Medea
We upped the ‘intrepid explorer’ ante a bit at Sanatorium Medea by approaching (along with our usual dog friend/guide who had joined us for the afternoon) via a very overgrown path that led to the back of the sanatorium. At least this meant we got a few minutes of exploring to ourselves, because this was by far the busiest site we visited. We’d read that it was a popular place to have wedding photographs taken but we were still a bit surprised to actually see a wedding party around while we were there. I don’t blame them though – it was pretty cool (although I hope the bride got less bitten by mosquitos than I did…)
The ones where wild dogs chased us away
Finally, there were a couple of sanatoria that we wanted to visit but where the resident dogs had other ideas. We decided not to mess with them!
The first was Sanatorium Tbilisi, which had a totally spectacular exterior. However, we’d read that much of the building was inhabited by internally displaced persons from the conflict in Abkhazia. We didn’t want to pry, given these are people’s homes, so we weren’t so sad not to go inside.
Sanatorium Tbilisi
Sanatorium Tbilisi
Sanatorium Tbilisi
The second time this happened, we were a bit more disappointed. We’d read on Wander Lush’s excellent guide that Sanatorium Metalurgist was her top fave to explore because it was so beautifully preserved. We’ll just have to satisfy ourselves with the pictures we saw on her blog, which as an aside, I would highly recommend if you’re planning a trip to Georgia. Much more professional than our ramblings 😉
We only saw a fraction of what there was to see in the area, but it was a fascinating afternoon and totally different to anything else we’ve done on our trip so far. Our next stop was Borjomi, another spa town (we are on a roll) around two and a half hours south-east of Kutaisi.
Our first full day in Kutaisi was a gorgeous day – around 30 degrees, with a bright blue sky and the soft sunlight of early autumn making the leaves look even more golden. Unfortunately, Oli was unwell and I was feeling like a ticking time bomb because we’d eaten all the same things, but while I still had my health (dramatic!), I decided to get out and explore.
My first stop was to a bakery, where I picked up a lobiani (flatbread filled with crushed kidney beans) for lunch.
I could fool myself that this was somewhat virtuous choice, what with all the cheese products available in Georgian cuisine, but the sheer butteriness of the bread gave away that this probably wasn’t a health food! Undeterred, it was time for lunch pud, and I headed to the freezer counter of the local supermarket to get a Milka choc ice to eat in Kutaisi Park. With no one to check for me, I spent the rest of the day wondering how much melted chocolate I had around my mouth.
In and around the park, I saw the 9th April Memorial (remembering those killed and injured during Georgian independence demonstrations in 1989), the famous Colchis Fountain (which looked rather less spectacular than usual as it was being cleaned) and a sculpture of the Sisters Ishkhneli (a family who formed a Georgian folk quartet in 1941).
My next destination was Bagrati Cathedral, set on a hill overlooking the city. I walked up the hill via a winding road lined with traditional houses with ornate wooden verandahs. When I wasn’t leaping out of the way of passing cars on the hairpin bends, I could have been in a village. The cathedral was really striking against the bright blue sky, but even to my untrained eye, there looked to be very little of the original building remaining. Indeed, I read that UNESCO had removed the cathedral from their list of world heritage sites in 2017 because of the level of reconstruction that had taken place.
The best part was probably the view over the city, and the fact that there appeared to be a constant stream of wedding parties arriving and leaving. No sooner had one party left in a blaze of fancy dresses, dogs in tutus (really) and beeping horns, another group would arrive. It wasn’t totally clear whether they were actually attending services in the cathedral or just taking many, many photos outside, but either way it was brilliant people-watching. I found a shady spot to watch the action and plan my next move.
Earlier in the day, I’d seen the top of a Ferris wheel through trees, so in the hope that more of my rusting Soviet fairground dreams would be realised, I decided to head there next. I got a bit sidetracked on the way – just a few minutes from the cathedral was St George’s church, which I discovered hidden down a peaceful side street behind wrought iron gates covered in flowers. It felt like entering the Secret Garden, complete with overgrown graves, glimpses of the city view and a resident sleepy dog.
That is, it felt like the Secret Garden until a motorcade of beeping cars also turned up there for a wedding. I had been enjoying the peace, so I left and wandered down Kazbegi Street, peeking behind decorative gates at houses covered in grapevines and watching as lizards popped back into their hiding places on a sunny wall as I passed.
When I finally reached the amusement park, it was everything I’d hoped it would be. There were only a few other people around and the atmosphere was as eerie as it could possibly be on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The rides were lying dormant and were only started up on demand, accompanied by the sound of screeching metal echoing around the park.
I wandered around, took some photos and was about to head back to the apartment when I suddenly decided that I’d be missing out if I didn’t go on the Ferris wheel. I regretted it almost immediately – somehow I suspect that the bargain 2 lari (approx. 60 pence) token was not being put towards maintenance! The tiny carriage rocked violently as I stepped into it, and the chap manning the ride didn’t even bother to put the safety chain across the opening. The more chance I had to inspect my surroundings, the more rust I noticed, but the worst part was when the minature train in the park below creaked into life just as I reached the top. For a terrible moment, I thought that the noise had come from the Ferris wheel and that I was a goner! There was a spectacular view of the city from the top, but mostly I was just extremely relieved to be on my way down again.
After this excitement, I took a cable car across the river back to our apartment. In normal circumstances, I think this would also have been in quite worrying condition, but it was beautifully maintained in comparison to the Ferris wheel so I hopped in happily and was back at our apartment in no time.
The next day, Oli was feeling well enough to join me again, and we headed to Tskaltubo to explore some fascinating Soviet-era sanatoria.
