Category: 2022-08 London to Yerevan

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.

Svaneti is a mountainous region in northern Georgia, famous for its natural beauty, defensive towers, and distinct culture and language. Putting these three together make Svan towns popular destinations in themselves, as well as a great base for hiking in the summer and skiing in the winter. Svaneti had its first snowfall of the year while we were sheltering from the rain in Batumi, which meant the surrounding mountains were already topped with perfectly white crowns, glistening in the autumn sun. We had two full days in Svaneti, both of which we spent exploring the mountains on foot.

Our route to Mestia (the main town in Upper Svaneti) started with a 1 hour pre-breakfast walk through Batumi, accompanied for most of the route by a dog friend that we picked up on the way. At first we were more than a little apprehensive, but he was happy to trot a good distance beside us for company and on the off-chance of a bit of food.

From Batumi’s bus station, it took about six and a half hours split across two marshruktas before we finally arrived in Mestia. We passed some absolutely epic scenery on the road through the mountains, with Sara opting to sleep rather than look out of the window of our slightly-faster-than-comfortable ride.

Day 1: Hike to the Cross Over Mestia

We woke the next morning to clear skies and views of snowy peaks from our guesthouse window.

For our first day hike, we chose to walk up to The Cross Above Mestia, which is basically a viewpoint on top of the nearest mountain. Although only 5.5 km in horizontal distance, this hike also involved 800m of elevation gain. The cobbled road rose steeply out of the town, gradually turning into a dirt track, before meeting a rocky footpath that snaked up the mountain through the trees. With a climb so steep, there were plenty of opportunities for us to pretend to take in the views while catching our breath.

While the climb itself was pretty hot in the morning sun, as we approached the summit we were met with a very welcome cool breeze. Next to the cross was a covered wooden platform reached by a ladder that provided the perfect spot to enjoy our lunch of chocolate spread sandwiches and oranges (a truly inspired pairing).

As we got up to leave, one of the resident platform dogs also stood up and stretched, before taking the lead on our descent down the mountain. He’d happily trot on ahead, then just as we thought he’d left us, he’d be waiting around the next turn. He was a very affable chap, and we named him Timmy. The three of us stopped at a viewpoint near the bottom of the mountain allowing another group of hikers to catch up with us. They remarked how cute our dog was, and I replied how he’d been a loyal friend, at which point he deserted us and followed the other group down to the village.

Day 2: Zhamushi to Mestia

The following day we took a taxi to Zhamushi with the plan to walk the first stretch of the famous 4 day path from Mestia to Ushguli (but in reverse). However, not only did our taxi driver not fancy driving up the dirt road to Zhamushi (somewhat understandably, we realised later when we walked it), he also claimed not to have any change when we tried to pay. We both checked our wallets thoroughly which didn’t resolve anything, and proceeded to sit there for a few minutes at a bit of an impasse. The taxi driver even piled on some further pressure by flagging down a passing car under the pretence of helping to make change. It was only when I insisted on walking up the (unbeknownst to me quite steep) hill to Zhamushi to split our note, that our driver finally remembered that he did have change after all. You’ve gotta respect the theatre involved in his negotiation though – we were there a good 10 minutes.

With the correct fare paid, we began the bonus 200m of ascent that I’d hoped to avoid via our taxi ride, and put the whole affair behind us. The rest of our planned hike was quite different to the first day, with a steady 200m of ascent followed by a gradual 500m of descent into Mestia, all the while traversing a couple of mountains via a 9.5km path.

We stopped for lunch at another dramatic viewpoint for round two of our chocolate-orange extravaganza. It felt like we had the whole valley to ourselves, until another couple of hikers turned up, along with the obligatory stray dog who had decided they were now friends for life. He was very happy to pose in return for little of our lunch.

Svan cuisine

While it’s not like us to return to the same restaurant, we ended up eating at Cafe Laila two nights running, and at no point did it disappoint.

The star of the show was the Kubdari – Svaneti’s national dish (on the left of the above photo). The large circular flatbread consisted of two layers of soft dough wrapped around small chunks of intensely seasoned steak, herbs and onion. The flavour definitely reminded us of something, but neither of us could put our finger on exactly what. Either way, it was totally delicious.

Next up was Ojakuri – a typical dish shared during a family meal (in the foreground of the photo). This was made up of pork, potatoes, onion, a generous amount of garlic and white wine, topped with pomegranite seeds, which Sara elegantly described as “the perfect symphony of flavour” (although she was well into the homemade wine by this point).

Finally, the pot in the middle of the photo was Lobio Kotanshi – a salty bean and coriander stew. While this dish didn’t change our life, it complemented the other headliners very nicely indeed.

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Mestia (and Svaneti) certainly grew on us throughout our stay. While Mestia is far from easily accessible, the rewards for the journey more than justify the effort. I’m really glad we’ve been able to explore this part of Georgia so far from its capital city.

Our next stop will be Kutaisi – Georgia’s third largest city, and one of the oldest continuously inhabited sites in Europe.

After the excitement of travelling the width of Turkey, a new country for both of us, we were back in familiar territory in Georgia as we’d travelled here together in 2019. On that trip, I’d been really keen to visit Batumi but we simply couldn’t fit it in, so this time, we made a beeline for the city as soon as we’d crossed the border. I knew that Batumi had been a popular Soviet holiday resort, and I had visions of rusting fairground rides, austere architecture and brash seaside fun. It had all this, but a lot more besides. We extended our stay to five nights in the end (which is not long, but still the longest we’ve stayed in any one place), but you’d need a lot longer than this to really get under Batumi’s skin. It’s a funny place, but we liked it – we think.

Part 1: Staying in the old town

After an action-packed couple of weeks, we’d planned to hibernate for a day or two on our arrival in Batumi. This turned out to be excellent timing, as it rained extremely heavily for two full days. We thoroughly enjoyed our guilt-free retreat, and spent the time cooking, washing, writing and planning.

On rare breaks in the rain (or, more accurately, when we ran out of food and had to brave the downpours), we walked the streets of the old town. This wasn’t the Batumi I’d expected. It felt relaxed and low-key, and not a million miles from the atmosphere in Tbilisi. Like elsewhere in Georgia, many buildings were draped in grapevines and painted soft pastel colours (for obvious reasons, the below photos were taken once the torrential rain had stopped!)

However, there were also glimpses of some of Batumi’s newer and more ostentatious buildings, as well as the requisite Soviet apartment blocks dotted around the city.

On our second full day, we decided we’d waited quite long enough to eat our favourite Georgian food. So, we headed to Khinkali Ludi, an unassuming local joint with just one thing on the menu: khinkali (well, more accurately, there wasn’t a menu at all – you just let the ladies know how many you wanted). Khinkali are best described as somewhere between ravioli and a dumpling, most commonly filled with meat, cheese, mushroom or potato. Our favourites (and the ones served here) are kalakuri, which translates as ‘city style’. These contain a mixture of pork and beef, with plenty of chilli and coriander and a steaming, salty meat broth. They’re a bit of a challenge to eat as you have to nibble a hole in the dough and slurp the broth out before the whole thing disintegrates, but that’s all part of the fun. The alarmingly green drink in front of me is Tarkhuna, made from tarragon. I don’t much like tarragon, but I am shallow and was seduced by the colour! It tasted like herby lemonade and was a great accompaniment to the khinkali.

Each khinkali cost just 1 lari (approximately 30 pence) and I know they don’t look like much, but this was the most delicious meal we’ve eaten in weeks and I’m already regretting we didn’t go back for more.

It was raining so heavily that this expedition was a bit of an adventure because the streets were flooding and there were torrents of water flowing off buildings and into buckets placed on the (very uneven) pavements. Our raincoats + umbrella + flip flops/sandals combination was definitely a good one and we seemed much happier than the few other people who were out and about! It reminded us of the time in Hanoi where we tried to wait out a typhoon in a beer hall, but it turned out that the typhoon had more stamina than us so we waded home and Oli’s flip flop floated down the street. Thankfully, that didn’t happen this time but it wasn’t far off!

Part 2: Staying on the 43rd floor

We decided to extend our stay in Batumi because we’d barely left the apartment during the rain and the forecast was looking much better. Our new base was right on the seafront, in a brand new building. When we booked it, I thought that staying on the 43rd floor sounded really cool, but in practice I spent most of our time alternating between peering at the view from the balcony with wobbly knees and nervously studying the fire evacuation plans.

The views were pretty good, though.

We saw a totally different side of Batumi from here. A long seaside promenade ran for 7 km, passing sculptures, fountains, fairground rides and Batumi’s new breed of ultra-modern architecture. There was even a Japanese garden. It was definitely the place to see and be seen, and must have been SO busy in peak holiday season.

It turned out that our first base in the old town was much nearer many of the seafront attractions than our second base actually on the seafront, so we had the opportunity to walk this long promenade several times over. This was no hardship, as there was so much to see.

At the far end of Batumi Boulevard lies a lighthouse, a Ferris wheel and a mesmerising moving sculpture nicknamed Ali and Nino (after a famous Azeri novel). The below video is sped up – they actually take about ten minutes to do a full circuit before ‘kissing’ but ultimately failing to connect.

We took a ride on the Ferris wheel one evening at sunset. It turns out this isn’t the only Ferris wheel in town – the other is a slightly bizarre construction within a skyscraper that is sadly not operational (you can just spot it in one of the photos above – behind the Soviet apartment buildings).

At night, there are dancing fountains to music in several locations around the city – we suspect these were modelled on those at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. They weren’t quite as impressive, but it certainly seemed that Batumi is keen to make the most of comparisons between the two cities.

On our final afternoon, we thought we were being highly original when we bought Argo beers to take up the Argo cable car so that we could have a drink overlooking the city. It turns out we weren’t so original after all, as there was a cafe at the top with branded umbrellas and lots of people drinking the beer, but at least ours were bargain supermarket bottles!

We also visited a Soviet beer hall, a no-frills place on the site of the city’s brewery, where beer is made to a regulation standardised recipe that has never changed. Oli had read that there were some businesses nearby that pose as being part of the brewery but aren’t really, but from the limited information he’d read online, we couldn’t work out which was which (even after a lot of embarrassing back and forth). Since he was very keen to make sure we visited the original venue that has been serving since 1951, we just had to have a pint in each of them. I really enjoyed how much cheerier he looks drinking his second pint than his first!

Both venues were seriously lacking in atmosphere but the beer was half decent and we couldn’t really complain at 60 pence a pint. In the first, the main point of interest was that there was a tree growing through the building (and it didn’t look like they had tried very hard to make the roof fit around it so I imagine things get interesting when it rains). In the second, there was a whole group of ladies napping in the corner when they weren’t needing to serve beer! We enjoyed watching the steady stream of men buying huge quantities of beer to take away from a serving hatch directly on the street.

That concluded our time in Batumi, and our next stop was somewhere very different: the mountains of northern Georgia.