20th - 26th September 2010
After a long walk from one side of Zugdidi to the other and out of town we got a lift which took us back into town and then back out again, adding a couple of hours to our travelling time, the driver was really friendly wanting to know if we wanted to eat anything and buying us bottles of coke when we stopped. He dropped us off at the road going to Mestia where we sat and waited with the police for a good hour trying to flag down all the cars passing that way. We eventually lucked out with a friendly Georgian guy who took us all the way to Mestia. It took almost five hours round the un-tarmacked roads in his old car, but he and Djalma managed a good conversation. We stopped off along the way and he got us all a bottle of beer, a delicious light beer called Karva, he downed his in under ten minutes but didn't seem affected by it thank god although he did tell us at the end of the ride that the brakes weren't working properly and he was really worried, all's well that ends well and I was happy that he didn't tell us until we had arrived in one piece. He drove us to his friends house and from there they sorted us a room in a guest house with a local, Kate and her husbands family. We ate together – plenty of cheese, bread and more beer.
We set out the next morning for the shortest mountain trail, it should have taken four hours but after losing the trails twice, going far out of the way and then doubling back and generally being quite slow, it took us almost nine hours. The trail up was really steep and views weren't that special, I moaned almost constantly on the way up (man, I feel sorry for Djalma) but when we did eventually make it to the top, the views were stunning. Our picnic of grapes, pears and cheesy crisps kept us going, just. We sat down at the top of the hill/mountain and looked out at snow covered peaks and forest covered slopes, it was stunning and the photos we took compensated for the tiring slog to get there.
The walk back down was considerably easier and not nearly as steep although the last section as down a scree slope which shifted dangerously underfoot, I fell over a couple of times but kept most of my tears at bay like a big girl. Our legs were so wobbly by the end, well actually before the end, that it was a miracle our knees didn't buckle underneath us. We watched the moon climb out from behind the mountains while the sun set but not for long, it was dark by the time we reached town but we stopped to pick up some wine to have with dinner before wobbling to bed. The wine was shocking but dinner was al-right and we snuggled up and watched a film trying to ignore our bodies.
The next day was absolutely painful but we did manage a walk round the village to loosen up our muscles, the town was being rebuilt but most of the work was round the square and behind the houses facing the main street the buildings were dilapidated, sometimes inhabited sometimes not and the streets were full of pigs, cows and dogs as often as people. We walked through town in the streets behind the main through-fare dodging the pigs and taking pictures of the many watch towers the area is famous for. We had a delicious dinner with soup and potato filled bread with some more wine before a film. We ambitiously planned another trek for the following day with horses but the weather was awful and we still hurt from our exertions so the following day we hung around the house.
The next day began with ominous clouds and some rain but cleared up soon enough for us to take out the horses, Kate made us a packed lunch and we set out on the 30km round trip to the top of the hill on the opposite side of town.
What a painful, wearying day. Our horses shied away from the heavy lorry traffic and mine burst into a short gallop going past a concrete mixer much to my horror, I managed to rein him in but spent the next ten minutes telling myself everything was okay and that there was no need to get off the horse and walk despite my thoroughly bruised bottom.
We made it up the hill without too much drama although my horse was quite slow and we lagged behind Djalma a lot. At the top of the ridge we followed the track to the TV tower, a spot which looked out over Mestia and other villages in the region, it was beautiful if very similar to what we had seen on the first hike. We bumped into some Czech hikers who were trying to find the route back to the town marked on the map, we couldn't find it either and we decided to follow the path we had come up even though it was longer. By this point I was so weary and more than a little afraid of my horse which basically did what it wanted to and had stepped on each of my feet, heavy bugger. On the way back down, which was heavier going on the knees and legs than on the way up, Djalma's horse decided to lag behind while mine had a prolonged burst of energy and had to be stopped from trotting the whole way back. Djalma and I became separated when his horse just stopped and refused to move, he had to get off and pull his mount down the road by force, meanwhile we were shouting to see if each other was okay, I got quite panicked after I reined in to wait for him to catch up and my wilful horse decided to play get the rider off, I couldn't keep the damn thing still to get down, instead I clung on for dear life while it jumped about trying to shake me off, eventually Djalma came round the bend and I was so relieved I started crying, he held on to the reins while I got off, sorted myself out and cried some more. I didn't get back on after that despite the late hour and increasing darkness, and Djalma led both the horses and me all the way back into town. We were an hour late for dinner but someone was waiting for us in the square and we got some more wine, to help us relax, and had dinner back at the house. My knees were utterly done in, the wonky stirrups and being tense the whole time hadn't helped and my whole body ached, I promised myself that I wouldn't go near a horse again unless it was as meek as meek could be, and even then probably... absolutely not. Djalma thoroughly enjoyed the day being more confident with horses than me and kept both me and the horses calm on the way back down.
The next day I was in unbelievable amounts of pain, the bruise on my bum was so big I didn't even need to use a mirror to see it, what that says about the size of my bum or my bruise I don't know, and the bruises on the inside of my leg from a little piece of wood on the stirrup strap looked like I'd been poked about seventeen times, all the discolouration did get me lots of sympathy and kisses from my relatively fine husband. We took it easy and were invited by Kate for coffee and home-made cake, a lovely substitute for lunch, we watched films trying to find the most comfortable position lying on the bed so we didn't need to move our aching bodies. Later on in the afternoon we went for a walk to try and loosen up and made our way down to the river separating the town where we sat and talked about our dream house, well I told Djalma how I thought it should be, and as it was the best possible vision he had to agree with me.
The next day was still painful but we packed up, paid up and said goodbye to Kate before heading off down the road hoping for the best (a free ride) and expecting the worst (having to walk to the next town). It was beautiful passing by the villages dotting the mountain sides but fortunately enough for us we got a lift before the flat road started winding up and round the hills. I didn't realise I was trying to flag down a police car until they pulled up and then we were in and on our way to Ushguli.
