We were awoken from our slumber by a rapping on the door at 6.30am. A peek through the window revealed a cloudy morning in one of those beautiful lump-of-concrete towns bequeathed to humanity by the USSR. We scooped together our stuff and stumbled off the train and were immediately accosted by a minibus driver who, seeing our backpacks, assumed (correctly) that we would not be staying in Zugdidi, and (correctly) that we would be going to Mestia. In all honesty, this was not very hard to work out. We had come from the east, south was Batumi (reachable on another train), north was Mestia (where the road ended), and west was Abkhazia, a de facto independent state propped up by the Russian Army. Interesting to see, no doubt, but not very easy to get into. And even more difficult to leave back to Georgia. Our new minibus-driving friend must have been slightly confused by our "yes, but no" answer. He spoke no English and our Russian was not really good enough to explain to him that we were meeting a friend here but weren't sure at what time he would arrive and hence didn't want to reserve three seats and consequently make everyone wait for his arrival. Or at least not at this time in the morning.
Our friend, of course, was Cole whom we last met in Africa. It had been nearly 2 years since we last met but on our reunion it seemed like nothing had changed. He and I both had holes in our clothes, all of us were half asleep. He was half an hour late because realised too late that Georgia is not in the same time zone as Turkey, where he'd just arrived from. The other minibus had just left so we were left standing around waiting for another one, unsure as to when or if it would come. It was great to see him again. We went through the African motions of a) being assured that a minibus was coming so we should wait here, b) realising this was unlikely and dragging our bags into town and c) finally finding a minibus and waiting three hours for it to fill up. Finally, around 5 hours after we arrived in Zugdidi, we started chugging up into the mountains of Svaneti (the name of the region we were heading to, named for its inhabitants, the Svan) to the regional capital Mestia for a bit of fresh air and mountain walking.
"Where you sleep ?" asked the driver. Charmingly enough, he was going to drop us to the door
"Nest Hostel", we replied. The Nest was the cheapest place we'd found online. There were plenty of accommodation options on the road into Mestia but they all seemed like quite nice-looking homestays, obviously way out of our league. This seemed to confuse the driver, who proceeded to ask everyone in sight if they knew where it was. We trundled into the centre of town, out the other side, over a bridge and seemingly were heading out of town. Mestia may be the regional capital, but enormous it isn't. Just as civilisation was about to disappear behind us, we spotted the Nest through the window, It looked pretty run down but quaint. The driver gave us a questioning look, to which we responded with a cheery thumbs up. With a look that said "oh well, if that's what you want..." he hopped out, gave us our bags, and we wandered in. The place seemed more like an abandoned house than a hostel although a room full of bunks with a few backpacks in gave us hope. A woman eventually wandered over from next door.
"Khostel ?" she enquired.
"Yes ! Is it open ?"
Another inquisitive look as we realised that we shared no common language. She pointed at a door which led to another room full of bunks, smiled and disappeared. We settled in, wandered around and eventually a girl came to greet us. Mako was a cheery, bouncy character who had given up a job in an insurance company in Tbilisi to come up to the mountains and run a hostel. Mestia was going through a construction boom, she told us, although all of the workers were in town and she couldn't get hold of anyone to fix up the hostel for love nor money. That explained the slight insulation problems although the Nest Hostel had the most delightful bathroom I'd seen in a long time with a boiler half the size of the room which made it positively sauna-like. We had a long chat during which she explained our mountain-walking options to us and gave us the price of the beds - 15 lari each. A steal. Mako was more of a friend than a hostel boss and made us feel at home straight away.
With Mako, the queen of Mestia
Cole tries his hand at one of our events in the Olympics darts championship: the hammer. Amazingly, no one was injured on this day
Cole tries his hand at one of our events in the Olympics darts championship: the hammer. Amazingly, no one was injured on this day
We spent the evening enjoying the local chacha (Georgian firewater, bought by the litre from jerrycans and decanted into water bottles), chatting with a bunch of Poles who'd come up to the mountains, and with Tom, an Australian guy who was wandering around the Caucasus by himself. He was good company and realised we'd made a friend because, only a few minutes after meeting, we took the piss out of each other mercilessly. Cole was on the receiving end for his poverty, M for her slightly-less-than-photogenic nature, and Tom for staying at BoomBully, the most expensive backpackers in Tbilisi, and for wearing jeans without any holes in. We plotted together on some mountain walking the next day. It seemed that we'd be aiming for a cross on top of a mountain visible from town but about 900m higher.
We were later joined bz Dom, an English guy who spent all of his time with us but barely spoke and didn't seem to enjoy our company. Maybe he was just shy.
Our resolve on getting up was dented by the fact that we were to get drenched as soon as we stepped outdoors. The rain continued all day. We played darts, drank chacha, ate khachapuri. A delightfully lazy, fun and unhealthy day.
M and Cole demonstrate the art of keeping warm in the Nest. The radiator did spend a few minutes in our room but the socket exploded and our source of warmth had to be repatriated.
Ready and equipped for the trek
Already knackered...
The gang look at something. From this, it would appear to be a beautiful panorama but it was actually Mestia airport, a mind-bogglingly ugly construction
Mestia from above and, on the other side, a ski station. Who needs Courchevel ?
Ready and equipped for the trek
Already knackered...
The gang look at something. From this, it would appear to be a beautiful panorama but it was actually Mestia airport, a mind-bogglingly ugly construction
Mestia from above and, on the other side, a ski station. Who needs Courchevel ?
Next day looked slightly threatening but we decided that it was going to happen either way and slogged our way up the mountain bit by bit. Every hairpin on the path would give out over breathtaking views of the surrounding snowcapped mountains. Just to the north, behind the range of the Caucasus which accompanied us, was the Russia border and Mount Elbrus, the highest mountain in Europe. My stomach was giving me trouble (as it tends to do whenever I go more than 20km from home) but the vistas kept me going and with the promise of an amazing view at the top, I refused to let go. After 3 hours of stop-start walking/climbing and a final trudge through the snow on top of the mountain, we reached what was probably the ugliest cross I've ever seen.
Even the cow dung is interesting in Svaneti. Apparently.
M has obviously been watching too many Chuck Norris movies
M has obviously been watching too many Chuck Norris movies
My legs were about to pack in, but reaching the cross gave them a second wind. We tried to head off for a set of lakes which were apparently in the area. A short phone call later, we found out that they were 4 hours away and, with darkness soon descending, we abandoned the plot and wandered back, bumped into a group of Lithuanian girls and our friend Dom suddenly discovered that he did have an ability to talk after all, disappearing with one of them down the hill. Cole had had enough of the holes in his shoes and ran back to the hostel, leaving Tom, M and I to walk down, take a wrong turn, and get lost. The route back to the hostel included about half an hour clambering over rocks by the riverside looking for a place thin enough to wade through, breaking and entering into two separate private properties, and vaulting over a barbed wire fence. It all ended with chacha and khachapuri. If only every day could end that way.
M tries to mask her disappointment at the ugly cross
And Tom proves that getting lost on the way down need not stand in the way of fun. The cow did eventually go for the scarf, and our walking pace picked up slightly...
And Tom proves that getting lost on the way down need not stand in the way of fun. The cow did eventually go for the scarf, and our walking pace picked up slightly...
The night was curtailed as Mako announced that the minibus to Tbilisi would leave at 5am although our dear host did call the transport company and get them to pick us up at the front door.
She came downstairs to see us off in the morning, as as we climbed into the minibus her voice rang out in the darkness. "Remember what you say to your friends about Nest Hostel Mestia ? Very nice ! And VERY WARM !!!". In terms of temperature it wasn't, but the warmth of the welcome more than made up for it.
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