Easter Break in Svaneti

The true skyscrapers on this Earth are mountains for they can reach so high as to grace heaven. The Greater Caucasus Range forms the border between Russia and Georgia, and Russia and Azerbaijan. These mountains are the tallest in Europe, the ragged, snowcapped peaks souring over 18,000 feet in places. This range is formidable, mythological, wild. It is here that Prometheus was chained to a mountain, where mountain men and women lived in the clouds, where the hearts of some of Russia's greatest literary heroes were drawn. Mikhail Lermontov wrote this in his work Hero of Our Time: "All around the valley tower formidable mountains, reddish crags draped with hanging ivy and crowned with clusters of pine trees, yellow cliffs grooved by torrents, with a gilded fringe of snow high above." The region of Svaneti in particular was for a long time, so remote and inaccessible that no foreign enemy ever was fully successful in conquering and taming it. Because of this, the unique culture, language (unintelligible to most Georgians outside this region despite it being in the same Kartvelian language family), and heritage of its inhabitants, the Svans, have survived largely intact.

Up until about ten years ago, blood feuds among neighbors still occurred in Svaneti. In addition, due to severe economic problems, a harsh climate, and natural disasters, it became a safe haven for criminals making it very dangerous for tourists and trekkers to travel throughout Svaneti. Around 2003, Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili sent in Georgian Special Forces to carry out large scale anti-criminilization and anti-corruption operations which resulted in significant improvement of the situation.  Today, the region is considered very safe…so for all of you are reading this worrying about me traveling alone, fear not. I am back in one piece with a singing heart and stirred imagination.

You see, these towering mountains were truly where it all began for me. Ten years ago, I watched in horror as Chechen terrorists seized an elementary school in the semi-autonous Russian Caucasus Republic of North Ossetia-Alania. Something about this event stuck out in my memory beyond the atrocity - I wanted to know more. This was a time when I was truly starting to develop interests that reached beyond my immediate world and surroundings. I was fascinated, although it was not as defined at the time, by military history and despotic leaders. World War II and Joseph Stalin fit both of those and I found him by discovering the Caucasus and I discovered Russia (and Georgia) through Stalin and the War. Another simple fact about my intrigue over the Caucasus was the very connection I felt with mountains. Mountains have a way of opening me up, easing me, stirring my soul. Ten years of dedication and determination, of passion and devotion, of research, of papers, of books, of classes, of travel, of discussions and I finally was able to actually be in the place that had spawned all of it.

Aside from all the personal significance for which I wanted to travel to Svaneti, it also was a matter of practicality. For all the reasons I outlined above, I wanted to spend more than just a weekend there, I really wanted to get a feel for the place, not to mention the sheer logistics of just getting there.

I stayed in Mestia, the administrative center of this region, nestled deep within the mountains and mere kilometers from the Russian border. Mestia is a launching point for trekking, horse riding, and skiing. I would only engage in the first, and even then nothing too serious, I just casually blazed along rural roads that weaved through little mountain hamlets and fields of farm animals. Easter weekend that happened to fall right during the shoulder season of mid-April caused the town of Mestia to be pretty dead - hardly anything was open. Even if things had been open, it would not have changed the scheme of things all that much because there were no independent restaurants or cafes or significant shops of any kind. There were a couple of small, open markets that sold the same general hodgepodge of cheap imported items, food, drinks, and cigarettes that I have found to be so pervasive and indicative here in Georgia. These types of shops are everywhere. The only restaurants in town were ones attached to hotels and home stays and after an especially awkward, lonesome Sovietesque meal in one of these places, I opted to have dinner at my hotel for the rest of my stay.

Six days I was in Svaneti, including two days of travel back and forth. I left Keda mid-morning on Thursday and two marshrutka rides later, I ended up in the small city of Zugdidi, the gateway of the Caucasus. The plan had initially been to take a marshrutka up there, but by the time I arrived to Zugdidi in mid-afternoon, the marshrutka was not going to depart because there were not enough passengers. I finally convinced the two other intended passengers, an old Georgian lady and the all too common, all too sketchy middle-aged Georgian man, to take a taxi (well not so much the man, but he decided to come along anyway). Taking a taxi definitely cost a great deal more than taking a marshrutka would have, but honestly, I did not mind. I was just excited and eager to be heading into the mountains. The ride to Mestia was absolutely spectacular.

The front range of the Caucasus right outside Zugdidi is already lush
and in full spring glory.

The Zugdidi-Mestia Highway

The wild and rugged peaks of the Caucasus Mountains as seen
from the Zugdidi-Mestia Highway.

By the time we arrived in Mestia, it was evening and just growing dark, and the middle-aged Georgian man insisted I stay with him. I tried to explain to him an innumerable amount of times that I had already booked a hotel, but because he spoke poor Russian and I poor Georgian, it was all lost on him. He followed me through town until I approached the entryway of my hotel and then he understood. I appreciated his offer, but I did not feel entirely comfortable for many reasons, and I said thank you and goodbye.

Friday I spent all day wandering around Mestia, checking out churches, rivers, and side streets. I also met a Georgian man later in the hotel named after John Wayne - he proceeded to engage me in a long conversation about American Westerns.  In pictures, you will see what I saw and did (especially since everything was closed):

The town of Mestia.

One of at least half a dozen churches in Mestia. 

Seti Square in the center of Mestia. What is interesting about it is that
these buildings that you see are just merely facades. They are gutted inside
and it does not look as if they were ever developed.

An alley that branches off a side street. 

Yours truly standing in front of the iconic Svan watchtowers that were
used in days of old as defense to watch for both invading foreign enemies and feuding neighbors.

Cows are everywhere in Georgia.

Saturday was a gloriously beautiful, sunny, warm day. I decided to take a walk to the center of town to see if the information center and ethnography museum were open (they were not) and ended up walking over a bridge that teetered above a deep gorge. I would have taken pictures but it was littered with trash. An elderly Georgian man passed me by in a marshrutka brimming with hay, stopped, and asked me if I wanted a ride to Ushguli, Europe's supposed highest inhabited settlement. Now, I consider myself a fairly good judge of character and have fairly good intuition and sensed no harm from this man. Since I wanted to see Ushguli, I hopped in. Fifteen minutes into the ride and six or so kilometers out of town, I realized that this man was not a local and thus severely underestimated the supposed travel time to Ushguli (he had said only half an hour, which I found suspect). I was not prepared to spend the night anywhere but Mestia and told him to leave me on the side of the road so that I could walk back. At first, he was hesitant, but I convinced him in short order when I spotted some American tourists and before I knew it, I was in the cleanest vehicle that I had seen in months and was wearing a seatbelt! For the next couple of hours, I hung out with these American tourists, who happen to be currently living and working in Tbilisi, crisscrossing the valley from village to village.

Mount Ushba clocks in at over 16,000 feet.

Old churches housed in the iconic watchtowers.

Just beyond these mountains sits Russia. 

The view from one of the villages.

At midnight on Easter, all the churches in Mestia began to ring, and I listened as the beauty and jubilation of the tolling echoed throughout the valley for five minutes. Easter Sunday turned out to be another beautiful day and I went for a walk along the Zugdidi-Mestia Highway and counted the cows and towers that passed me by.

The village of Lenjeri. 

An ornamented door of an old church.

Yours truly standing along the Zugdidi-Mestia Highway.

Mr. Cow and Lenjeri.

The village of Lenjeri.

Monday was quieter, cooler, and rainy and thus I spent most of it at the hotel doing work, alternating between the balcony and my room. That night, I was treated with a brilliant sunset, a perfect farewell to my time spent in these mountains and with which I will leave you before I left at 6:30 am the next morning.

Sunset in Svaneti 

Alpenglow