Georgian Journeys: Heart and Soul

Tbilisi had become blisteringly hot. Days upon days of 95+ degree sunny weather had settled into the city and there was no signs that it would be letting up. The casual clothes I had packed were no match for the heat and I decided that the only way to beat it, was to head north into the mountains.

Last year, when I lived in Georgia, I had lived in the southwestern part of the country, far from the rugged, craggy giants for which the country and region are famous. I lived in my own mountains while there, to be sure - they were dense, lush, and weathered - but they were not the fabled ones of the north. I have to be honest here and say that I don't think I have met a mountain that I didn't love and have respect for - the mountains are such a huge part of my life and who I have become. Ten years ago, I was a lost soul and as I began to explore where I wanted to go for college, I looked toward the mountains. I always felt at ease in the mountains; I felt safe and welcome; I felt like I could be the person I was meant to be and that the mountains could help repair my damaged sense of self. Montana definitely sprang me into a life that had been lost to me - one where I once again felt good about myself and believed in myself and loved myself. The mountains are life affirming. So, I loved the mountains of Adjara in southwest Georgia just as I loved the mountains of Montana, Colorado, and northern Georgia.

Suffice it to say, however, that when I lived in Adjara as a Fulbright, it was difficult to get to the north.

This time, living in Tbilisi, the situation is far different and the mountains of the north are a mere few hours drive away. So, I decided to escape the oppressive summer heat of the city and head north.

On my marshrutka ride up to Kazbegi (or Stepantsminda), I befriended some Russian tourists and we all stopped at a waterfall to fill up our bottles and cool down in the refreshing spray. I bought some fresh fruit leather and snapped photos (as I always do). We passed the ski resort of Gudauri, the monument to Russian-Georgian friendship built during Soviet times, and the travertine spring that sits near the top of the mountain pass all the while the views were getting more and more wild.

A roadside stand. Souvenirs, churchkhela (nuts dipped
in fruit sauce), and fruit leather.

A village along the Georgian Military Highway

Once in the town of Kazbegi, the owner of the guesthouse where we were to be staying greeted us each with a shot of chacha, which is Georgian moonshine in case anyone has forgotten. The three of went to what would turn out to be a rather mediocre dinner before the true magic was to begin. Over the course of our dinner conversation - in Russian - I learned that these girls also liked photography so afterwards, we banded together and walked around town well into the evening taking pictures. It was considerably cooler in Kazbegi and as we sat on a hillside drinking wine, a storm rolled in and rain began to slowly spit down from the sky. We made it back to the guesthouse just in time and I huddled under the blankets and read in my room as the sky really opened up outside.

The village Gergeti, Gergeti Trinity Cathedral, and Mount Kazbek

Gergeti Trinity Cathedral

A storm rolling in

Is anybody home?

Ancestors keeping watch.

Evening thunderstorm

A home being reclaimed by the Earth.

The next morning, I woke briefly at six to capture dawn breaking on the brilliant Mount Kazbek. By then, the storm was long gone and the sky was clear. It was chilly and I shivered as I snapped several photos before hurrying back to the warmth of my bed.

The monastery and mountain at dawn

Mount Kazbek is an ancient volcano

Last year, I had come up to Kazbegi with my parents during my final week in Georgia. We decided to take a 4X4 up to Gergeti Monastery, a 14th Century church that sits perched 2200 meters above the town and below the 5047-meter Mount Kazbek. The road was quite possibly the worst I have ever been on, matched only by the road to my host mother's village in Adjara. This time, I wanted to hike up. Later in the morning, this time by myself, I ambled around town (and was offered wine and chacha at 10:30 in the morning by some men on the street) before leisurely starting towards the village of Gergeti and the monastery that sits above it. As I began climbing the mountain, the sounds of civilization melted away and I was left with nothing but the wind, the creek, the birds, and the crickets. Despite the church being crowded with tourists and trekkers, I had the trail nearly to myself. It stirred my heart and my soul.