November 2009 Archives

Having somehow stumbled onto Georgia's finest police officers, I walk past the police checkpoint. Behind the checkpoint lies an amazing sight, created as a result of the current political situation.

First though, a quick background to the war. In August 2008, war broke out first in South Ossetia and several days later in Abkhazia, two of Georgia's autonomous regions (the third being Adjaria on the border with Turkey) which have struggled with military actions and economic devastation by the Georgian government since the collapse of the Soviet Union.

The initial position of every major international media publication was that Russia declared war on, and invaded Georgia, annexing its territory and is exercising its might to punish Georgia for trying to join NATO, the European Union and for it's increasing ties to the United States of America. A knee jerk reaction based mostly on information gathered from Georgian sources.

An independent European Union fact finding mission investigating the war has since put out a report which can be summarised in two key points.

1. Georgia started the war by attacking peace keepers in Tskhinvali (the capital of South Ossetia), mobilising its army and attempting to retake the autonomous region by force. In response, Russia mobilised its troops and entered South Ossetia, in order to repel the Georgian offensive, to protect the 3000 peacekeepers they have in place since the last war in South Ossetia and to prevent the death of countless civilians from the Georgian military's constant attacks on the capital.
2. Russia reacted with disproportionate force, heading beyond the boundaries of Abkhazia and South Ossetia in order to destroy most of Georgia's military capabilities, including the sinking of most of its naval fleet in the Black Sea.

Shortly after the war, Russia recognised the independence of Abkhazia and South Ossetia shortly joined by Nigeria and then Venezuela. All other countries, including most of the European Union constituents and the USA recognise Abkhazia and South Ossetia as the territory of Georgia. Some food for thought, Kosovo declared independence from Serbia in 2008 and has since faced recognition from many countries (though most still recognise Kosovo as part of Serbia). It's interesting to note that the USA recognises Kosovo but not Abkhazia and South Ossetia, while Russia recognises Abkhazia and South Ossetia but not Kosovo, ah the fun of global politics.

Georgia maintains that Abkhazia and South Ossetia are part of its territory and as such no Georgian laws are violated when crossing in or out of the areas. Abkhazia and South Ossetia are working on rebuilding their countries after the war and as such freely allow Abkhaz, Russians and Ossetians into the country. This creates an interesting situation where Abkhaz are able to cross freely between the two countries (or regions if you prefer) without facing any taxes. This allows them to act as intermediaries between Russia and Georgia (who have mutual trade embargoes).

While I was there, I witnessed a lot of people crossing the border in both directions. Most of the people were Abkhaz, some were Mingrel and I'm not sure if there were any Georgians making the trip. Each person crossing had a goods with them that they would take to the other country, effectively nullifying the Georgia/Russia trade embargo.

As I walk beyond the police checkpoint, I see a lot of horse drawn carts taking people (along with their goods) across the bridge into and out of Abkhazia. There are a couple of cars parked and one of the drivers offers to drive me to Sokhumi (the capital of Abkhazia), I decide against it, opting to first check out the situation and if I deem it safe, to walk across.

The bridge itself lies 200m beyond the checkpoint (and out of its sight), I walk towards it and notice a camouflaged bunker with Georgian soldiers along with the monument of a pistol just before the bridge, pointed at Abkhazia.

I decide to not stop and chat, walk past the soldiers, another 50m to where I was told to stop and return from...

The bridge at Inguri, the border crossing over the XX river, between Georgia and Abkhazia.

I don't hesitate for a second as I continue onto the bridge, expecting the entire time to hear a shout from Georgian soldiers to return. When I'm far enough along the bridge that I'm sure the Georgian soldiers wouldn't dare to enter, I snap of photo of the Abkhazian side.

The Republic of Abkhazia (as seen from the bridge at Inguri).

Feeling bolder still, I decide to shoot a video (stealthily) as I cross the bridge.

One of the many horse and carts crossing the bridge.

While crossing the bridge, I once again check that I have both passports with me, put away my Georgian Laris and take out my Russian Rubles. I reach the other end and prepare for the final hurdle, convincing Abkhaz soldiers to let me across. I start chatting with some of the people on the other side of the bridge just before the the checkpoint while I calm my nerves, they are all incredibly friendly and wish me luck, telling me Abkhazia is a beautiful place.

I arrive at the Abkhaz military checkpoint and am told by soldiers to go through to see the commanding officer. I walk to the ranking soldier, a very serious looking Abkhaz soldier.

Soldier: Passport. (the conversation takes place in Russian)

Me: *Handing over my Russian passport* here.

Soldier: Where is your invitation?

Me: Russian citizens don't need a visa to enter Abkhazia.

Soldier: What are you doing here?

Me: *Sh!t, I should have organised with one of the people on my marshrutka to cross the border with them as their guest. No time for that, time to improvise* Travelling.

Soldier: Get out of my sight?

Me: Why?

Soldier: This is not an official border crossing, in fact it doesn't exist, we aren't here and neither were you. *Returns passport*

I'm shattered, such a simple oversight in my preparation  prevents me from crossing into Abkhazia. I walk away, returning to the people I'd chatted with before. They see that I've been turned back and am no longer in cheery spirits.

Waiting Abkhaz: They didn't let you in?

Me: Nope, said they wanted an invitation.

Waiting Abkhaz: Two options, you can return to the soldier and tell him that you have an invitation to join me, I'll go there shortly, or alternatively, offer the man some money. How much would you be willing to pay to cross.

Me: $100 USD (a figure big enough to get anyone interested in helping).

Waiting Abkhaz: That should get you across, good luck.

I take a deep breath, turn around and head back to the same soldier.

Soldier: What do you want?

Me: I have an invitation.

Soldier: F*ck your invitation, get out of here.

Me: Maybe we can come to some sort of an agreement? *hinting at a bribe*

Soldier: We won't be reaching any agreements. In fact, if you don't get out of Abkhazia in the next fifteen seconds, I'll arrest you myself.

Me: Come on friend, *I contemplate offering the money again but think he'll probably just take it and tell me to go away*.

Soldier: I'm not your friend, your time is running out.

I give up, defeated.

I turn back towards the bridge, find the group of waiting Abkhaz and tell them that my adventures in Abkhazia have ended before they've started.

Waiting Abkhaz: He didn't go for it?

Me: No.

Waiting Abkhaz: So what are you going to do?

Me: I have no real choice, I have to go back.

Waiting Abkhaz: *discusses with the other people around him* Here are your options. You can wait here until they change shifts and try your luck again. You can head back along the bridge and pay one of the drivers to take you across, they might not even check the car. You could try again tomorrow... or, you could go in though the black entrance.

Me: There's a black entrance?

Waiting Abkhaz: There's one marshrutka every day from Zugdidi. It avoids this bridge and instead goes across the river a little downstream. I normally take it across when I cross, or you could pay a "guide" to walk across the river with you.

Me: Tell me about this marshrutka.

Waiting Abkhaz: Ok, because you're such a nice guy. Head down to the XX garage in Zugdidi tomorrow at 2pm, there's only one per day and it should cost 1,500 Rubles.

Me: Thanks.

I stand there, contemplating trying to pay a driver to take me across the bridge, or waiting until the shift change but decide against it for two reasons. One, if I'm caught by the soldier, I could be in some serious trouble. Two, if I take too long and am forced back to the Georgian police checkpoint, I could face problems there.

I decide to head back to Zugdidi and try the marshrutka the following day. I walk back across the bridge, stopping to chat with another one of the passengers from my marshrutka, he confirms the details of the black entrance for me and wishes me luck, saying I should mention his name if there are difficulties.

As I walk across, a petrol tanker drives past and stops to offer me a lift back across the bridge. I hop in and we drive across, past the bunker of soldiers and to the Georgian police checkpoint where I get out, walk to the police and have a quick chat with them so they know that I have made my way back and not gone across the bridge like they warned me.

The driver tells me he's selling Russian petrol from Abkhazia in Georgia and makes several trips a day, but won't take me across because he doesn't want to risk the money earner. He drops me off just outside Zugdidi.

I decide to see if I can find more information about the 2pm marshrutka to Abkhazia.

I couldn’t cross into Russia from Georgia at Kazbegi (the border was closed three years ago and it seemed far too risky to cross in the mountains for fear of soldiers and mines.

My other options were to cross into South Ossetia or Abkhazia, or a ferry service to Ukraine and from there to Russia.  I’d always been fascinated about the 2008 South Ossetia war and initially planned to cross at South Ossetia however decided against it after passing a military checkpoint and hearing from locals that it’s not too safe for foreigners.

This left me with crossing into Abkhazia. I knew the most dangerous region was the Kodori Gorge, not too far from Svaneti and so decided to not head that way. I’d heard that the main highway linking Kutaisi to Sokhumi was closed at the border between the regions and thus my best bet was to head to the last major town on the Georgian side, Zugdidi and find a way from there to Abkhazia.

I arrive in Zugdidi and am faced with a daunting task, working out where I can cross the border from. There’s a heavy military and police presence in Zugdidi, and large displays of Georgian pride in the form of flags, including the following in the centre:

I apply discretion and decide against asking locals where to cross and instead hop onto the internet to find a map of the region. I find a town right on the border with Abkhazia, with a bridge heading into the region, not too far from the railroad and decide that I will try from there.

Next task, getting some Roubles, which isn’t that difficult given how many currency exchanging offices there are in the town, further reinforcing that I’ve come to the right place.

I find a marshrutka stand and ask people how to get to Inguri. I get a few strange looks but am pointed in the right direction.

I can’t believe my luck, the marshrutka takes us right to the border, everyone on board is heading to Abkhazia. I get out of the marshrutka and notice a Georgian police checkpoint, but the men inside aren’t paying much attention so I decide to not bother them and walk very hastily in the direction beyond the checkpoint where several passengers have gone before me.

“STOP!” I ignore the direction. “Hey you, come here!”. My pulse quickens, I’ve been spotted by the police and they’re waving me over, time to play it cool. I gather my thoughts, check quickly to make sure that my Australian passport is separate from my Russian passport, which is out of sight and casually walk over to the police.

Me: Gamar Joba (Georgian for hello), how can I help you? (in English)

Policeman: What are you doing here?

Me: I heard there was a war here last year, I wanted to see the border.

Policeman: Are you a reporter?

Me: Do I look like a reporter? I’m just a traveller, reporters dress much better than me.

Policeman: Hmm, ok, show me your passport.

Me: *hand over Australian Passport*

Policeman: *thoroughly inspects every page* (I presume he’s looking for an Abkhazian visa).

Policeman: Ok *looks at the photo page*, wait. Ivan Alexandrovich?

Me: Yeah?

Policeman: Is that a patronymic? – All Russians have a patronymic (in Russian Otchistvo), their fathers name with a different ending. I’m Ivan Alexandrovich, my sisters are Daria and Elizabeth Alexandrovna.

Me: Yes. *getting slightly nervous, I’m starting to think he suspects that I’m Russian*

Policeman: Born in Moscow?

Me: Yeah, but I was too young to remember it, we left to Australia a LONG time ago.

Policeman: ты говориш по Русски (Russian for do you speak Russian)?

Me: чуть чуть (a little) – I reply trying extra hard to make sure my Russian accent sounds incredibly bad.

Policeman: Are you going to Abkhazia? *Here it comes*

Me: No, it’s too dangerous. I just want to see it, is it ok to take a photo of it? *Why is he not telling me to go away, or asking for my Russian passport or arresting me?*

Policeman: You’re sure you’re not a reporter? – At this point he’s joined by a few more policemen, one who offers me some grapes while eyeing me suspiciously.

Me: No, have a look through my dirty unwashed clothes if you want, I’m just  a traveller.

Policeman: Ok, you can go through as far as the bridge, but don’t you dare to set foot on the bridge and do not point your camera in the direction of our soldiers, only at Abkhazia. – He records all my passport details in the notebook, I note that in the past two weeks only a couple of foreigners have been recorded, perhaps they’re part of some Human Rights organisation or reporters with permission. After recording my details, the policeman returns me my passport.

I thank the man and casually walk towards the bridge and Abkhazia, maintaining my cool the whole time, despite the nerves.

Having left Gori behind us, we first visit a church, Ateni Sioni followed by an ancient cave city Uplistsikhe.

Next, the St. George Chitakhevi Monastery (aka. Green Monastery).

From there, we stop along the way to Sapara Monastery for more photos of autumn.

After Sapara, it’s next to a women’s nunnery, Saro Monastery.

Next, the cave city of Vardzia where I befriend a group on a school excursion.

From Vardzia to Ubisa…

… and on to Bagrati Cathedral, which is under heavy reconstruction work…

… and finally to Gelati Monastery which easily ranks as one of my favourite places in all of Georgia.

After the visit to Gelati, it’s time for me to leave Koba and Jean as they head to Mtskheta while I go on to try and enter Abkhazia.

After deciding to not cross into South Ossetia, we continue to Gori, the birthplace of  the most famous Georgian, Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin. This man was seriously hardcore, his son was captured by the Germans during the Great Patriotic War (Russian name for World War II) and the Germans offered a prisoner exchange, Stalin's son for a Field Marshall. Stalin replies, "You have in your hands not only my son Yakov but millions of my sons. Either you free them all or my son will share their fate." The Germans killed Stalin's son.

The guide notices me reading all the signs in the museum and starts speaking Russian to me. I tell her about my travels and in turn ask her about the South Ossetia War. She tells me that long before the Russians occupied Gori, those that wanted to leave were long gone. Those that remained (herself included) were scared for their lives. Three artillery shells launched by the Russians landed in Gori, compared to the constant bombardment of Tskhinvali (capital of South Ossetia) by the Georgians.

When the Russians did eventually arrive in Gori, those that remained felt much safer than when the Georgians were using it as a base, because they knew that the Georgians wouldn't attack Gori. The Russians occupied Goris for a few days and did allow Georgians to return back home, they had blocked the main highway but the back roads were still accessible.

The guide also gives me one gold nugget of information. I mention to her that I want to cross into Abkhazia and she tells me that she has heard of people being allowed to cross from neighbouring towns in and out of Abkhazia without any real problems.

After the tour of the museum including Stalin's office, house, train carriage and of course Stalin's personal couch from where he would ponder who was next to the gulags, the guide wishes us a safe trip, and tells us one last interesting fact. After the death of Stalin, Kruschev ordered most of the statues of Stalin to be removed as he greatly despised the man. Gori is one of the few places where you can find Stalin standing proudly for all to admire. Earlier, Stalin had a place next to Lenin in his mausoleum, however he has since been buried outside it along with several other leaders of the former USSR.

Leaving Stepantsminda we head to Sno Village, from where we get a good vantage of Kazbegi mountain.

A lookout from the Georgian military road, not far from Ananuri church that we visited the previous day.

Heading towards Goris, we see a lot of houses built for those relocated as a result of the 2008 South Ossetia War.

Before going to Gori, we make a stop at Samtavisi church, as soon as we turn off the highway, we hit a Georgian military checkpoint. Just past the church lies South Ossetia, they warn us not to get too close or the South Ossetian terrorists will shoot at us.

There’s a service at Samtavisi church when we arrive, one of the Georgian news programs is filming the event. Walking around outside I start chatting with locals, to assess the likelihood of getting through South Ossetia into Russia. A group of girls there tell me it’s ok, for locals, as a foreigner, I might face difficulties. Koba tells me if he passes the military checkpoint and is stopped, they will notice one of his tourists missing and he could get into a lot of trouble. I decide to not cross into South Ossetia and have all my hopes set on crossing at Abkhazia.

The night in the B&B in Telavi was splendid, one bedroom had every book by Russia’s most famous authors along with Russian translations of Clancy, Dickens and Shakespeare.

Statue of Erekle II in Telavi.

The first order of business is visiting Telavi’s oldest (900 years old) tree. After a tree hug, it’s off to Shuamta where we walk around in the surrounding countryside to find the best angle to shoot from.

From Shuamta, we head to Kvetera (roughly half way between Telavi and Kazbegi), this is where Koba’s skills really shine. The road heading to the fortress/monastery complex is incredibly steep and Koba battles his way up the narrow path with remarkable skill, bringing the 4wd back under control just as it appears that it has the better of him.

The complex, overgrown with weeds and not fully restored is amazing, especially given it's surroundings, surrounded on three of the four sides by valleys too steep to climb, the only way the Turks could attack was by the path that we drove, not an easy feat.

After admiring the monastery and climbing around the walls for a bit, we head back down towards Ananuri, passing some incredibly beautiful scenery along the way.

Ananuri, located on the Aragvi River, only a short distance upstream from the dam, is a favourite amongst tourists for its location and state. There was a service on in the church at the time, and we attended for part of it.

Heading further north along the aptly named Georgian Military Road, we stop by a spot where two rivers merge, one dark, one light.

Up the mountains, just outside of Gudauri (Georgia’s premier ski resort) is a lookout point where I bump into a polish trio in an old beat-up compact heading to Iran. We take turns sharing tales of our more interesting travel experiences. They picked up a hitchhiker somewhere in the Balkans, so grateful was the passenger that he fixed a few of the problems they had with the car and left them very well fed.

Further along the road, we come across the Soviet monument dedicated to Georgian/Russian friendship, a large concrete circular wall containing murals of Georgian and Russian folk tales, along with the following:

Super soldier.

Next stop, a natural mineral water spring. Better than Borjomi? You have to try it and see for yourself.

We arrive in Kazbegi (now known as Stepanatsminda), and as we drive in, I see a nice surprise. “Charlie” I shout out the window. Koba stops and we have a quick chat. Charlie, the American cycling his way from Singapore to Turkey had caught the Aktau/Baku ferry with me and we parted ways in Baku. I travelled south towards the Iran border before crossing into Georgia.

The day I wanted to head to Kazbegi it was raining, so I went to Armenia. Several hours after I left Luka’s place (my couchsurfing host in Tbilisi), Charlie arrived and stayed with him. He was on his way out when he met an Armenian girl living in Georgia and spent some time around Tbilisi with her showing him around. I came back to Georgia, started the road trip and randomly bumped into the two of them here. Talk about a small world.

I also speak with local people about the border situation, the Russian/Georgia border at Kazbegi has been closed for three years and I’m told that it will be highly impossible to bribe or negotiate my way across. We drive there anyway, since there’s a church nearby. Koba warns us not to take any photos, he once had a tour group with him, one of the passengers decided to take a photo and was seen by one of the soldiers manning the post. The car was followed the Georgian soldiers confiscated the camera and smashed it against the ground.

I walk from where we parked the car to the border checkpoint but no one comes outside to say anything, I contemplate grabbing my bag from the car and running across but decide against it when I’m walking back and see the soldier in a building watching my every move, with his rifle in my sights. I survey the surrounding mountains and contemplate a mountain crossing at night but decide not to make the attempt given the previous year’s Georgia/Russia war and not knowing how many soldiers are stationed up in the mountains. After Vladimir’s story about the tourists that were caught in a minefield between Azerbaijan and Karabakh front lines, it’s not worth the risk.

Beautiful tree not far from the Georgia/Russia border.

Next destination from the border, is to catch the sunset at Gergeti Holy Trinity Church. The monk inside, wearing a jumper and having the heater on full blast tells me that despite its remote location, it’s still incredibly popular with pilgrims from all over Georgia, Russia and Greece. He gives me a present to help me in my journey, a copy of the Holy Mother of Kazan icon.

On the way back down the mountain, we pick up a couple of Dutch consular officials who tell me about the places they’ve worked and how much they enjoy living in different countries for four years at a time. I jokingly ask if they’re hiring, unfortunately, I’m not Dutch so I’m ruled out.

We spend the night in another B&B, run by a family who give a great example of how politics makes it difficult for people. The family live in Stepanatsminda, Georgia, half an hour’s drive from Vladikavkaz, Russia (the capital of North Ossetia), where the wife’s parents live, however the border is currently closed. The family find it almost impossible to get a visa to Russia. Once a year, depending on if they have money, the wife’s mother comes to Georgia, first catching a train to Baku in Azerbaijan, before changing for a train to Tbilisi and finally driving to visit her daughter, turning a half an hour direct route into a several day affair through Azerbaijan.

The following day, Koba and Jean will be heading near the border with South Ossetia, another possible entry point to Russia, so I continue with them.

From David Gareji we head to Sighnaghi, a small old town that’s been restored and prepared for masses of tourists. There is a monastery nearby.

Castle along the way.

The Monastery of St. Bodbe near Sighnaghi. I overhear an Australian accent and start chatting to it’s owner. Ross, his wife and daughter are travelling Georgia for five days before heading back home. It’s funny how when you travel and meet people from your home country, you go out of your way to talk to them. When you live in the country you just don’t make the same effort.

Sighnaghi.

St George church in Sighnaghi.

From Sighnaghi, we head to Akhtala in Gurjaani, a small town with mud volcanoes.

Apparently the mud is very good for your skin. In Soviet times, the surrounding town was built in order to develop the location as a resort town for people that would come to heal any and all ailments in the mud.

We stop at Akura to visit a friend of Koba’s for a wine tasting.

Grapes fermenting into wine, the family here has been making wine for several generations now and has been featured in some magazines.

Tired of being driven around everywhere we go, Jean and I walk to a partially restored church complex up in the mountains. Nekresi consists of several churches built at different points in history.

From Nekresi, we drive to Gremi…

… from Gremi to Gurjaani…

… from Gurjaani to Alaverdi …

… from where we catch the sunset…

Before heading to Telavi to spend the night, ending one very long first day of travelling around Georgia.

Having come off a whirlwind tour of Armenia with Jean, he invites me to join him for a couple of days on his tour of Georgia, until I reach Kazbegi (where the Georgia/Russia border has been closed for three years) and decide whether or not I cross it in a less than legal manner.

We leave Tbilisi incredibly early with Georgian guide and driver, Koba Kenkadze, one of the finest guides I’ve seen, who shares with us plenty of stories and jokes (he loves to take the piss out of Armenians). Did you know, Mt Ararat (where Noah’s ark came to rest) is the highest mountain in the world? It’s 5,000m above ground, but nobody ever counts the 5000m below the ground. (At 5,137m it is dwarfed by Qomolangma at 8848m).

Along the way to David Gareji.

After a several hour drive, along a mostly dirt road, with no passing traffic, we arrive at David Gareji Monastery, where six thousand monks were killed by Turkish armies. Although the monks were more or less hidden in the mountains, each held a lit candle during the Easter liturgy service, collectively acting as a beacon to the army that came to slaughter them.

Inside the David Gareji monastery complex.

The story goes that David Gareji is one third as holy as Jerusalem because one day David made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem but when he reached the gates, he was overcome with emotion and couldn’t enter the city. He picked up three stones and started the long journey back to Georgia. That night, the King of Jerusalem has a dream, that someone has stolen the spiritual holiness of Jerusalem and that this must be stopped. Naturally the king sends his soldiers after David. The soldiers catch David and find two of the three stones (I don’t want to think where the third was hidden…). When David returned, he placed one stone within the monastery complex, thus making it one third as holy as Jerusalem.

When I ask Koba how many trips he’s made to Jerusalem (since three to the monastery is the same as one to Jerusalem), he says “I don’t need to make trip, I live in the holy land.”

While the following photo may not appear all that beautiful at first, it is nonetheless interesting. The metal railing serves as the boundary between Azerbaijan and Georgia, for lots of the walk to the church at the top of the mountain, we are along the Azeri side of it. Contrast this to the Armenia/Azerbaijan border which consists of a neutral no-man’s land and far too many troops and tanks on either side.

The Georgia/Azerbaijan border, a result of Stalin’s careful distribution of territories of the former USSR.

A temple where John the Baptist is said to have prayed.

While the churches carved into the mountains may not look like much, the atmosphere when one visits is surreal, maybe even holy (you’ll know when you visit).

The church at the top of the mountain monastery complex of David-Gareji.

More of David Gareji’s beauty, it appears as if the tree is growing through the rocks.

Out of Karabakh, back in Armenia, we still have a long drive ahead of us, past a shepherd wearing an afro wig...

... over the Sulema pass, with a quick stop at a caravanserai...

... and at a volcano ...

... before catching a sunset ...

... at Noradus ...

... and spending the night at a Soviet style hotel, with the following poster...

The following day, we take a quick snap of the church outside our hotel before racing down to see the monastery on the peninsula on Lake Sevan. Afterwards we stop by Dilijan, a town built for tourists; it seems every country has at least one of these restored, polished, overpriced, lack of atmosphere towns with "authentic experiences".

After Dilijan, we visit yet another Armenian church, Makarvank. An elderly woman approaches me at times mentioning she has a museum at the back and found some really things during the excavations and restoration of the monastery and gives an impromptu tour around the monastery. She has no change when I go to pay for her museum, so she lets me in for free, gives me some walnuts and an apple. I decide to adopt her, give her a huge tip and take a photo with her.

The loveliest lady in Armenia, after telling me she had three sons of her own and that I was her fourth, had my heart pounding while Vladimir tried to not look like a third wheel.

The next part is the most dangerous part of our trip in Armenia, driving along a road, I know given the driving style preferred by Armenians, this can be dangerous on its own, however, the reason this is considered so dangerous, is because the road happens to be within sniping distance of Azerbaijan. You may laugh and think it's silly, but the Armenian government chose to build a detour around the stretch considered most dangerous at considerable cost.

The detour takes forty minutes to do what takes five as it goes up and around the back of a mountain. Our driver and guide, Vladimir, who fought in the Karabakh war decides that it's worth taking the extra time to not risk a bullet. Who am I to argue?

We stop at the stop of the detour to take a whiz and snap a photo of Armenia. I put my Azeri sim-card into my phone to text Vladimir - "Our snipers can see your little weiner".

Points are given to those that can state exactly where Armenia (foreground) ends and Azerbaijan (background) begins and whether both countries agree with the borders and whether or not it's fair that even though there is no fence, tourists will face unpleasantries if they try and walk around all of the lake.

Having not been shot at (or at least shot), we stop for lunch (which includes some vodka) before crossing from Armenian to Georgia (where I'd come the other way only a week before) and part ways with Vladimir in Tbilisi, ending the fast-paced tour of Armenia.

Nagorno-Karabakh (Artsakh in Armenian) is an interesting place. It declared independence during the fall of the Soviet Union but is currently unrecognised by any other nation. If you find the situation interesting, you might also want to read about these other partially recognised states: Abkhazia, Kosovo, South Ossetia and Transnistria.

The Armenia/Azerbaijan war was fought here until a 1994 ceasefire, although smart traveller still considers the place incredibly dangerous and recommends anyone currently in Karabakh, to get out: “We strongly advise you not to travel to Nagorno-Karabakh and the military occupied area surrounding it because of the unstable security situation.” For this reason, I take smart traveller recommendations with a grain of salt.

Karabakh visa, since I was travelling on my Russian passport, I didn’t need one, though you can get one on the border for $10-20 USD.

The national symbol of Karabakh, the story goes that only the heads are above ground while the body/roots are in the ground.

Stepanakert shows no visible traces of the war and has a war museum dedicated to showing the Armenian/Karabakh side of the war. The girl (20 years old born just before the war started) is good at reciting all the atrocities committed by Azerbaijan during the war, contrary to the museum tour in Ganja, Azerbaijan where the guide only talked about the atrocities committed by the Armenians. When I ask her about the Khojaly Massacre, she tells me that that’s all been fabricated by the Azeri government and was in fact caused by the Azeri government in order for Heydar Aliyev. I decide that it’s pointless to talk about the situation with her because she can only recite what she’s been told to say and won’t think for herself.

It’s a sad fact that in my encounters with the youth of Armenia, Karabakh and Azerbaijan, very few of them are informed about the situation or have any interest in finding a solution to the problem, they’re all much more keen to talk about how the other side has wronged them and how they must all die.

Shushi, in contrast to Stepanakert, very much shows signs of the war as there are few people living there and little money going towards the rebuilding of the city. It does have a beautiful church in the centre though.

As we’re leaving Karabakh, Vladimir presents our passports to the border guards (only present on the Karabakh side, there are none on the Armenian side). One of them comes to the car and thoroughly inspects our faces, turns out they’re looking for a blonde Russian guy. He decides that I’m not the wanted Russian and lets us leave.

As we drive back into Armenia, I wonder out loud, what would happen if you never obtained a Karabakh visa and didn’t stop at the checkpoint prior to leaving the country. Would they follow you in Armenia?

Having agreed the previous night to attempt one very long day trip, we wake early to try and visit Tatev and Gandzasar on the same day. Vladimir convinces us that his car is unable to make the trip to Tatev, so we organise with the owner of the hotel where we stay to drive us.

The scenic drive to Tatev is shrouded in a fog which only lifts just before we arrive.

Naturally formed bridge and limestone caves several kilometres from Tatev.

Tatev from a distance.

Tatev up close, the crane remains from Soviet times. Prior to the collapse of the USSR, the church was to have some restoration work performed. A lack of funds led to an abandonment of the project.

After visiting Tatev, we begin the drive to Gandzasar, stopping in Goris along the way to have a look at many cave-dwellings carved into the soft rock skirting the town.

Shortly afterwards, we cross into Nagorno-Karabakh to drive to Gandzasar. We make a quick stop in a cafe where the drunk owner decides to show off his trophy.

Yes, he really is as drunk as he looks, how else would you explain showing a goat’s head to customer’s while they eat?

With only a few minutes of daylight left, we arrive at Gandzasar. The story of its survival in the Nagorno-Karabakh War is interesting.  Whether or not the story is complete truth is a different matter.

Given that all capable fighters of the region had left to fight in the war, the only people that remained were the monks. They took up arms, justifying it as protection of holy grounds, and set up lookout points around the monastery. When the Azeri army positioned a Grad on the mountains in order to destroy the monastery, the monks were able to attack them. The story goes that a small number of monks with little weaponry, aided by god (as all these stories go), were able to take on a much larger, better equipped group of Azeri soldiers.

No tour of Gandzasar is complete without showing the unexploded rocket shell which landed and became wedged in the wall surrounding the monastery. While the living quarters were destroyed (and since rebuilt), the church itself suffered very little damage.

In the town of Vank, just before Gandzasar, is a wall, decorated with Azeri license plates, issued in Soviet times and featuring the Cyrillic alphabet.

After the long day, we spend the night in a Stepanakert.

After the fun times in the mountains near Vanashen, I once more join the road to continue my trip throughout Armenia, despite the pleas of everyone asking me to stay for a few days, weeks or until winter passes. Amas and Arasik give me a lift to the highway and wait as I flag down a lift.

After twenty minutes of waiting and one driver apologising that he can’t take me to Noravank, another slowing down, almost stopping and then speeding up again, I eventually find a car to take me. They’re on their way to Karabakh a man and his three sons who don’t speak English. They do know hospitality though.

We speed down the highway at over 160 km/h, Armenian techno blaring out of the stereo while doing shots with the guys sitting in the passenger seat. The trick is to down the shot before the tires skid around the hairpins, chasing it with a beer and not getting it on your chin. It seems these guys have been drinking since Yerevan.

All of a sudden, my phone rings. It’s Roseanna, from Yerevan, her husband is taking the French tourist to Karabakh and I can join them. I can barely hear a thing over the roar of the engine. Another phone call, it’s Vladimir, Roseanna’s husband.

Vladimir: You’ve just passed us, I recognised you from your facebook photo standing on the side of the road hitchhiking. Let’s meet up at Noravank.

Quick break, one of the guys doing shots with me.

After a few more drinks and some dancing in the car, I’m dropped off at the turn off for Noravank and start walking down the road thumbing for a lift.  An old zhiguli pulls up.

Driver: Hello Ivan, I’m Vladimir, hop in.

Me: Small world.

Noravank. Fun fact, if you look above the entrance of the church on the right, you will find the following.

A saint carved with “slanty eyes”. In order to prevent Amir Timur’s armies from destroying the churches when they came through, they made the saint’s eyes reflect those of the great ruler himself. News of this soon reached Timur and he ordered the armies to not touch the churches as they passed through.

Khachkars (carvings of a cross) outside Noravank.

Vladimir, the manager of Discover Armenia Tours offers me, with his client’s permission, the option to join them for the tour through Armenia. Jean, the French, well-travelled traveller shows me his itinerary and says he’s happy to make modifications if there’s anything else I want to see. The only research I’ve done is in the conversations I’ve had with the tour guide at my hostel in Yerevan and the people I’ve met along the way, I decide that Jean has done enough research for the two of us and I happily join.

After Noravank, we head along the road to Jermuk (famous for it's mineral water) to the monastery of Gndevank.

Gndevank, as seen from the road to Jermuk. We’re all far too lazy to make the ten minute walk down to the monastery, mainly because of the return trip.

After Gndevank, and prior to arriving in Sissian, we stop at Carahunge to look at some rocks.

I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder!

While the true purpose of all of the boulders is unknown, the most plausible, and currently best accepted theory is that the area was an ancient observatory.

Imagine it’s night time, the sky is clear, it’s several thousand years ago, before the discovery of optics and modern day astronomy and you can see that it is a plausible theory. The rocks are pretty cool.

After the visit to Carahunj, we stop in Sisian, which has a really beautiful church and adjacent cemetery. We dine in a very nice restaurant, a welcome change to some of the places I’ve eaten before and prepare to do the impossible the following day.

After an intense night of festivities with my new friends in Vanashen, we wake up and prepare for a trip into the mountains. Arasik is outside cornering the sheep when I come out to join him. We corner the sheep, drag it out then Arasik cuts its throat.

After the throat is cut, the sheep is hung, skinned and it's balls are removed. They are  considered a delicacy. The insides are removed, the junk parts are binned.

After cutting up the sheep, we pack the necessities: a case of vodka, several bottles of apricot vodka, several bottles of plum vodka and a few litres of grape moonshine along with some food into the cars and head into the mountains.

We crack open the first bottle and polish it off before getting to business.

Pork and mutton shashlik.

One very pimp looking Volga 21.

After more eating and drinking, the real festivities start:

While everyone drinks and takes part in the festivities, the evening calls for the preparation of the most important meal of all: the following day's breakfast (a former dish for the poor), considered a real delicacy is khash (pronounced hash). Throughout the night, the Armenian guys (those that haven't called it quits from all the vodka) take turns monitoring the fire and the khash. Remembering that I don't have a sleeping bag, I sleep by the fire.

The following morning, at the break of dawn and before the rising of the sun, we begin the festival of khash. The rules are simple:

1. Khash must be devoured before the sun comes up.
2. The only ingredients to add to the soup are chilli peppers, dried lavash and garlic.
3. Vodka must accompany the meal.
4. Everyone drinks, no exceptions.
5. There are no toasts, only bar luis (Armenian for good morning) and what drink this is (bar luis one, bar luis two, bar luis three etc.)
6. Khash comes before all else.

Khash is good, all hangovers are forgotten, all stomachs are full and more drinking can occur.

Khash is so good that all stomachs are full, much alcohol is consumed and no one is drunk. We head up into the mountains to celebrate the meeting of amazing people.

In the evening we head back down to Vanashen and I stay the night again with Arasik prior to beginning the trip to Noravank.

Having left Etchmiadzin with a priest’s blessing, I decide to hitchhike to Khor Virap, a distance of only 30km. I take a marshrutka a part of the way and start hitchhiking along the main highway.

There is a lot of traffic, so one would think that getting a lift is not a problem. Every driver had the same idea, there are so many cars, I don’t need to stop because someone else will. I walked for two hours before a car stopped and offered me a lift.

The guy that stopped happened to be a taxi driver, in Armenia, it seems every second driver is a taxi driver. I tell him I’m hitchhiking and he says he’ll take me as far as the turnoff for the village of Khor Virap.

I get out of the taxi and no more than twenty seconds pass before a car also turns off in that direction and stops for me. On small roads with little traffic, everyone stops. On major roads with a lot of traffic, almost no one stops, go figure.

I’m dropped off at the turn off for Khor Virap and begin walking once again, despite the fact that it’s only a few hours from sunset and I have no real plan for where to sleep for the night. My priest’s blessing will take care of me.

A convoy of three cars passes, one of them slows down, stops, then drives off. Odd.

I hitch on the back of a motorbike and finally arrive at Khor Virap four hours after leaving.

Khor Virap

The driver of the car that stopped and then drove off approaches me.

Driver: Hello, sorry we didn’t stop for you.

Me: No problems.

Driver: We wanted to, but we really had no room in the car.

Me: It’s cool.

Driver: Where are you staying for the night?

Me: Not sure yet, I’ll find something.

Driver: It’s decided, you will stay with us.

This exchange is a very typical example of Armenian hospitality. We head back to their place and begin dinner and a “few” drinks.

Closest to the camera, Amas, the driver who apologised to me for not giving me the lift. On the left Karen (pronounced Car-en and not like the woman’s name), Tolik and Lenya. At the far end of the table, Hendrick, the uncle of Amas and the father of Aras, the man in the far right in the red shirt with his arm around Sergei. Next to myself, Arsen in red and Vartam Petrovich. The photo was taken after several bottles of Apricot vodka were consumed…

The following morning after waking up, the group ask me where I’m going for the day. I tell them that I’m going to Noravank. They tell me that I’m not, instead, I will go with them into the mountains. They will slaughter a sheep, we will eat it, drink more and be merry.

How can anyone resist an invitation like that?