Category travel

Bosphorus River Cruise

We jumped on an early tram and made our way down to the port the following morning. We arrived just in time as a huge line had already formed for the ferry. The Bosphorus ferry cruise offered a nice affordable day trip for only 20 TL (return ticket). The Bosphorus is a narrow strait where the Mediterranean Sea meets the Black Sea. Initially we were all agitated at how packed the cruise was for October during what we believed to be off-season. Regardless, it quickly accelerated and made several stops through the Sea of Marmaris on the way to the Bosphorus strait.

After passing the Sultan’s Palace, we saw some amazing architecture along the European side of the strait. Monstrous castles and fortresses stood testament to Istanbul’s long history of the clash of religions, cultures, and wars. Each of the fortresses we passed was constructed during one of the Crusades when Istanbul was under siege. One of the most impressive had been constructed in as little as 9 months. The ferry slowly emptied as we drew closer to the Bosphorus. We pulled up and docked at a small coastal town and were immediately not amused with the this destination.

However, as we made our way outside the town and hiked up toward a fort on the hill, the fort opened up to the huge expanse of the Bosphorus. All apprehension and feelings of disappointment about the day disappeared. It was the best view of the whole strait. One of us ran down the hill and bought some beer, while I set up our Esbit stove and started to cook our lunch. We heated up a few pots of water and made noodles. It turned out to be a really enjoyable experience as we shared a few drinks, passed the pot of noodles around, and admired the Bosphorus – which was truly a sight worth seeing. The ferry ride back was much more relaxed and we all took a nap on the 1 hour 20 minute ride back to Istanbul.

Shopping

Having arrived in Istanbul at 11:00pm, we were a little out of luck for transportation. We waited for the Metro and then took the trolley and after a long walk ended up in old town, where we were covered in sweat from hauling our 50lb packs all over town. We checked into the Sultan Hostel and crashed in the 30 bed dorm, which was full of the sounds of people sleeping on the inside, and people partying and drinking on the outside.

In the morning, we all awoke at 5am and bolted out of bed to the loudest call to prayer. The Aya Sofyia and the Blue Mosque, as well as countless smaller mosques in the area, all sounded off at different times between 5 and 6:00am, ensuring no one could stay asleep. We got out of bed and tiredly ate breakfast and planned out our day. We walked around and looked at the mosques, although a bit grumpily considering the wake up they had given us. In the afternoon we toured the Spice Bazaar and the Grand Bazaar, both of which far exceed their reputations. They were full of people screaming, “welcome to Istanbul, where are you from, friend?!” and trying to sell us anything from carpets to T-shirts to bananas to live leeches that clean your dirty infidel blood.

We had kebabs for every meal in Istanbul, so we grabbed a few for lunch near the Bazaar and walked around the Hippodrome and the Cistern before exploring Old Town’s back alleys and quaint little village-like streets. The day flew by quickly, as did the following day while we did laundry in the hostel, wrote in our journals and lazed around on the roof-top terrace overlooking the straights.

The next day we did a tour of the Palace overlooking the straights, which was unbelievably beautiful. However, we saw a few artifacts in the “treasury” that were a bit questionable. A hair from Muhammad’s beard, as well as one of his teeth. A sword from the prophet Daniel, and an arm (encased in gold) from the prophet John. Also swords from various other prophets (whom I didn’t know were armed) and various artifacts from the dome of the rock (which I didn’t know was that small) and a sundry other things that left us shaking our heads in wonderment and disbelief. We walked out and turned to one another and laughed. The highlight had been the staff of Moses, made of wood, that has somehow survived to this day. We probably missed out, but we skipped the harem, which they were charging an extra 15TL to see.

Our first few days in Istanbul were magical and flew by quickly, but it had been a while since we had been in a city, and we were shocked by the amount of people in the city and the craziness of the traffic.

ANZAC graves

After a restful night, we awoke early to talk with the manager of the hostel about the package tours to Gallipoli and Troy. We were shocked at the ridiculous prices and decided to do the trips on our own, which was more our style. We took the public ferry bus from Chanonkale to the European bank and then negotiated with a taxi driver for a tour of several battle and grave sites for 45TL. Our first stop was the ANZAC museum, which contained a minimal amount of information but a ton of pictures and strange war artifacts like bullet casings that show another bullet hole in it, meaning two bullets collided in the air. That makes me imagine the air was just darkened with bullets all the time. We also saw shoes with the foot bone still in them, covered with barnacles, which made me sad because it means the person was never properly buried.

After the museum we went to see the beach cemetery, where John Simpson’s grave is. The architect of the cemeteries made interesting choices in where he places headstones. In the museum we noticed that most graves were haphazard, at best. So, the new architecture is simply symbolic. All of the sites were moving and tranquil; with 31 cemetery sites on the Gallipoli peninsula, there was a lot of sadness to go around. A jolly puppy jumped up to us at the last of the grave sites to cheer us up and put our spirits a bit more in order before we boarded the taxi back to the ferry.

The next morning we added up how much money we had saved by going solo instead of with a tour, and decided to do the same thing again when seeing Troy. We checked out of the hostel and stored our bags there before catching a minibus to Troy for 4TL. Troy itself leaves much to the imagination. The ruins are in such an extreme state of disarray that it is hard to tell what used to be a wall, and what used to be just a pile of rocks outside the wall. Troy, also, was rebuilt so many times that there are ruins all over the place on top of each other, so that different eras are displayed somewhat like strata when you cut into the earth. The site is only partially excavated, and we’re wondering what they are waiting for.

The giant recreation of the Trojan horse is farcical, and only shows how much the town has been hyped above realism. Troy was a small citadel, with short walls, but ingenious placement. The wooden horse inside the ticket office is easily 30 feet tall, which would have been higher than the city walls, and its width would have exceeded that of the main city gate. A more accurate portrayal of the horse, the one from the movie Troy with Brad Pitt, was sitting in a nearby town.

After Troy, we caught a 4TL minibus back to town and then caught the first bus to Istanbul, which would put us in town by midnight.

Ancient Pillars

Priene, Miletus and Didyma are three rather impressive ruins along the Aegean Coast that are smaller than Ephesus, but were important pilgrimage or economic sites in their day. We decided to rent a car from Selcuk and drive to all three of the ancient cities for a tour of the ancient world. Since neither Mike or I had driven in quite some time (and the rental car was a manual) Matt took the helm and Mike acted as navigator as I schemed on how best to see all the sites in one day.

Our first stop was Didyma, which was an hour and a half drive from Selcuk, counting the ridiculous detour through Soke (the town we were stuck in on our night-bus nightmare earlier that week). Didyma is the site of the Ancient Temple of Apollo, which missed out on being one of the seven wonders of the ancient world to the Temple of Artemis by a mere seven columns. We found this site much more impressive than the other because of what remains intact.

Our second stop was Militus, which was an ancient ruin of a theatre. It was a full three stories with a later era citadel atop the theatre. Caves wove in and out of the stadium carrying people to various levels. Like modern arenas, they had letters and numbers carved into the seats for their tickets. The ruin was impressive enough, but behind it was a hammam built by Marcus Aurillius’ wife, which was largely intact and impeccably built.

Our third stop was Priene, a hill-top city visited by Alexander the Great. The large Temple to Athena on the top was still standing in places, and the view of the valley (which used to be under water) was astonishing. We jumped from rock to pillar and played in the ancient arena before descending and driving to our camping spot for the night in a town near Selcuk, where we planned on returning the car by 10:00am the following morning. We had pizza and walked along the coast chatting about the ruins we had seen, and how amazingly lucky we were to have seen them. In twenty more years all of these sites might be under glass, or roped off with chains. This was easily one of the best days of the trip, and we were in high spirits as we played cribbage in the tent that evening . We all fell asleep wondering what Ephesus would possibly be like, since we would be seeing it in the morning.

Lauren in a bus

Although we had made a pact never to take another night bus, we found ourselves booked on the 12:30pm bus from Fethiye to Aydan, where we would connect with a mini bus at 4:30am to Selcuk, which is 3k from Ephesus. Things did not go at all according to plan. We attempted to catch a wink at the hostel in Fethiye before the 12:30 bus, so we set up our sleeping bags on a bench on the hostel’s patio. Apparently that particular street is a major racing artery in town, and rap-blaring convertibles laden with hip-hop impersonators were roaring past at maximum volume.

Needless to say, we hardly slept. We got on a mini bus from the hostel to the otogar (bus station) where we boarded our large, luxurious and pleasant bus to Aydan, 4 hours away. We slept well, but 4:30am came too soon and we found ourselves wiping away sleep from our eyes at the otogar. There were no buses in sight- anywhere. The connecting bus we had been told would be there was nowhere in sight.

We waited in the lobby for a while as cockroaches scurried about their business, and by 5:30 we heard the call to prayer and found a mini bus driver who would take us to Selcuk. I fell asleep on this minibus, and woke up in Soke. Apparently we had been duped. The driver took our money for the ride and left, leaving us once again feeling miserably tired and confused. It was 7:00. We got another minibus to Selcuk, this time going in the right direction, and we arrived in town by 8:30. We were harassed from all sides in Selcuk by vendors, bus operators and hostel owners. One particular gentleman stood out as more our age, so he drove us to his hostel on the hill overlooking town. No more night buses! We put our hands into a circle and reaffirmed the pact we had made after the crisis to Olympos on the first Turkish night bus.

Now situated comfortably in Selcuk we surveyed the surrounding area. We geared up for a long day and set off to see the Temple of Artemis and St. John’s Basilica. The Temple of Artemis is one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. It was, at one point, the largest such structure in the world with 127 columns that stretched high into the sky. Today there is only one column left with a giant stork’s nest resting on top. There is little around the ruin except a swamp full of ducks and a few peddlers selling statues of Artemis.

The nearby St. John’s Basilica is more impressive. St. John (the disciple) visited Ephesus twice, and wrote his gospel while sitting atop Ayasuluk Hill, which is in modern day Selcuk. His remains rest nearby. After Christianity was no longer persecuted by the Romans, Emperor Justinian had a church built atop St. John’s tomb. What remains today is rather confusing, since signs on the grounds say the body of the disciple was long ago removed. The church and surrounding area is little more than rubble with support columns standing haphazardly. The view, however, is astonishing, and I can see why John decided to write from that spot.

In the background at the base of the hill is an impressive mosque built in 1375 after the Seljuks lost control of the region. Behind the mosque and overlooking St. John’s Basilica is the even more impressive Byzantine citadel, which looks largely intact. It was closed due to restoration work on the interior complex, but the outside offered an amazing view of the city walls and buttresses.

After visiting these impressive historical sites we walked back to the hostel and took a nap, then had a nice dinner in the downtown area. We decided to sit at one of the many roadside tea houses after dinner and play a game of Rummikube. Five elderly men sat with us and taught us how to play, and were so friendly that we stayed quite a while enjoying their company before retiring for the night.

Coast

We arrived in Fethiye and were immediately hit by how relaxed the city seemed. Boats lined the coast, which was on a steep hill overlooking the water. A castle sat lazily on the top of the hill, and beautifully preserved stone crypts dotted the hillsides. There was a lovely ruined arena in the center of town, although a bit covered in spray paint.

We walked around the town, which was full of friendly folks trying to sell us anything from T-shirts to clothing to their stray cats. We found a cheap place owned by a guy who had spent years in St.Paul, Minnesota. Small world. We enjoyed the entire day in Fethiye and even pondered coming back to this city once we were done traveling as a possible place to live for a while.

Once settled into our hostel, we decided to book a short, day-long cruise around the coast. We hopped on a boat leaving at 10:30 the next morning and spent the entire day on the boat. Our first stop on the 12 Islands Cruise was to a small Island covered in goats, but otherwise uninhabited. We jumped off the front of the boat and into the clear, blue Mediterranean water.

The entire cruise had cost 19 TL a person, which we thought was a phenomenal deal considering it included lunch. We stopped at a second scenic island where we all cooled off again in the bright water before rinsing off and sun bathing on deck. Two more stops followed, including one to a large island where we all hiked up into the mountain and looked straight down into the water, which was so clear you could see deep into its depths.

The cruise returned to Fethiye around 5pm and we spent the afternoon packing and preparing to move up the coast towards Ephesus.

Matt Exploring

We experienced a taste of what hell must be like on the overnight bus from Cappadocia to Olympos. What was supposed to be an 11 hour ride turned into a 14 hour ordeal that resulted in three grumpy backpackers sitting on a pile of their bags looking out over the Mediterranean. We all jumped into the Sea, and after a few minutes of splashing around we were jolly again, though extremely tired.

Since it was my birthday the next day, Mike and Matt gave me my first present—a bottle of Capitan Morgan Black. We sat on the beach, with all of our bags, and sipped the sweet rum as we watched the waves crash against the rocky shore.
We checked into the Turkmen Backpacker’s Tree house complex along the main road to the Sea, and quickly decided to forego the much-needed nap and head back towards the beach, where we had seen ruins poking out of the jungle that was threatening to take over. We hiked for several hours through dense jungle, all of us in flip-flops and our swim suits, to discover random piles of unmarked ruins, small rooms and crypts and unmarked (or unfound) towers and Hellenistic walls. Some of the hike was vertical, requiring focus and strength, two things the sleepless night before had robbed us of. Nevertheless, we made it to the summit of a large hill, which was covered in ruins of a castle. We were alone in the jungle the entire day, and atop the summit we all felt like Indiana Jones.

We had spotted two water caves while swimming, but knew we could not make it out to see them via the Sea. While on the summit we found the opening of one of the caves and Matt and Mike took turns threatening to climb down a vine into the cave while I hiked around the cave to look for a practical way in. None was found and eventually our rumbling tummies had us turn back to the hostel.

The next morning we awoke early and after eating breakfast (and our breakfast beers) we jumped in the Ocean. Mike swam for the Sea Caves that were too far away to get to, and made it. Matt and I watched his progress and marveled. He disappeared into the waves for so long we got extremely worried and hiked back towards the castle hill to call down to him in the cave. When we got there, we heard no reply from poor Mike, so we stashed our bags in the thicket and proceeded to climb along the rock face that protected the castle from the Sea. It was a hard climb, and our hands and feet were cut on the sharp rocks, but we made it all the way to the cave and found no sign of Mike.

Matt headed back to see if he had passed us swimming back to shore while we had been climbing, I proceeded to climb as far down the rock face as possible to see more of the cave in case he was exploring inside. Suddenly, Mike’s head emerged from the water with a big smile and a startled wave when he saw me clinging to the side of the rock-face. After a bit of debate on whether or not I could climb back up, I took off my dress and glasses and, now in my swimsuit, jumped from the rocks into the Sea below!

The sea closed over me and I was shocked by the coldness of it. Matt dropped his shirt and jumped from the rocks into the sea next to us. We all swam into the cave and explored the various rocks and reefs. We swam to the next cave and did likewise before swimming back to the rocks where we had left our clothing. I was wearing the only goggles when I came up panting for air and pointing. A man in all black with a harpoon gun had just swam by not ten feet from us, his expression as shocked as ours at where we were running into someone else. I’m sure he wondered how we got out that far without scuba gear.

Mike swam back (he is like a fish in the water) and Matt and I climbed the rock face and hiked through the jungle back to the beach. We ate a quick lunch and then decided to hike into the jungle further down the beach to explore the ruins there. We scaled another hill and crawled down an old aqueduct, even spotting one rather large (4ft) snake slither into the thicket. The ruins were amazing, and open crypts dotted the hillside.

After dinner that evening we took my camera and decided to climb into the jungle to take night shots of the crypts.

Mike had just finished reading Dracula, and made the experience more interesting by scaring the living hell out of us as we hiked into the deep woods. Noises you only hear in horror films engulfed us and we shivered a bit from the awkwardness of being around smooched crypts at night. Matt put my flashlight inside a crypt and I snapped a shot of it glowing from the inside out. Just then something ran at us from the woods and we all tensed. A scared cat pounced on the crypt and then ran into the woods as we all let out the breath we had been holding. It was time to go.

We sat on the beach looking out and chatting with a few locals who were doing likewise. It was a marvelous night, and a great couple of days, some of the best of my life!

ATC in Cappadocia

We arrived in Cappadocia extremely excited and giddy, having seen the fairy towers out the bus window. We checked into the Traveler’s Cave Hostel, on the fringe of town, which landed us a three person cave room carved directly out of one of the spires. Though our bags were heavy we were light of foot as we headed into town to gape at the larger fairy towers.

A fairy tower, contrary to what I thought (and hoped) is actually ash from a volcano explosion a long, long time ago. Ash, when it makes contact with air, hardens. So, when people put Obsidian tools to the piles of ash and carved caves, they hardened and were a safe dwelling from the elements. Wind and water eroded the exterior into spires, which look super cool and are fun to climb on.

It was late by the time we got into town, so we stopped at Fat Boys for drinks and discovered a Risk board game set, which we proceeded to set up. Until late, we stayed at the pub, had dinner, and attempted to dominate the globe.
The next morning we got up early, having booked an all-day tour of the surrounding area to maximize on what we could see in our minimal time in Cappadocia. The tour group, which was composed of a plethora of young adults from India, Italy and Japan, left at 9:30am with another minibus full of tourists, and an over eager guide named Manchuria. Our first stop was to see the Red Valley structures, which people of antiquity carved into homes for themselves. We snapped photos like true tourists and were mobbed by people selling dolls and scarves.

Our second stop was to the Underground City, which was an 8 story deep ant-hive like network of tunnels and rooms which could hold up to 10,000 people in times of turmoil. People ran down into the caves to hide from enemies, and had such soft limestone walls that they carved out churches, livestock holds, and sleeping quarters—a full city underground. The tunnels were, at times, so small that Matt and Mike had trouble fitting, though I felt that finally something was just my size!

We headed in our mini convoy to a beautiful gorge, where we did a 3k hike through cave ruins along a riverbed, ending at a restaurant where we all dined. From here we set off, stomachs full, to a small town of fairy spires, which was the highlight for our merry group. We had been joined by two other Americans named Sam and Max, who had traveled from Africa and the Middle East to be in Cappadocia. Now we were 5 cube abandoners, and we all fidgeted as the tour guide explained to us not to go into the far left chamber of the highest tower.

Fairy Tower

When the tour guide finished we all went to the far left chamber in the highest tower. Never tell an American not to do something, is the lesson here. We found a crumbled stairway leading straight up into the royal chamber. We climbed up until the tunnel became dark, and then retreated as the tour guides screams started to echo off the walls. We felt like kings, or archeologists, discovering something unseen. Many of us were cut and bleeding from the rough climb, but our smiles were ear to ear as the guide winked at us. I think she told the group not to go to protect the weaker climbers, full well knowing our mini group would attempt the climb.

We next headed to the pigeon valley, a panoramic view of awesomeness. We were all cold by that time, and hungry, but the view was something not to be distracted from and we all stared into the valley reflecting on the day. A tour of a jewelry factory followed, which we hurried through before heading back to town. We quickly had a few drinks and checked out of our cave and bought bus tickets to the Mediterranean Sea Coast, which would be an overnight bus landing us in Olympos by 8am the next morning.

Cappadocia, Goreme

On the evening of the 26th I found a shuttle to the airport and waited for Matt, my friend since 1st grade, to arrive in Ankara. Lauren waited in the hotel room and worked on her several writing contracts. Without thinking, I had brought a pocketknife to the airport with me. Even worse, they had a security check at the entrance – something that is refrained from in the states if you are simply waiting for someone to arrive and not flying. I slowly, and somewhat hesitantly, walked toward the security officers with my unopened pocketknife in one hand. I did this before I went through security and we stumbled through conversation. First, they tried to kick me out, but after a while, one of the guards came over and inspected the knife. I opened it for him and he jokingly put the knife to his neck and pretended to act as if someone – possible me – was cutting his throat. I dramatically shook my head and explained I just wanted to wait for a friend and would not go further into the airport.

I thought for sure it was going to get confiscated so that is why I approached them so it didn’t appear I was trying to sneak it in. To my surprise that had me walk through the metal detector and one of the security ladies came up and slipped the knife into my pocket and told me to keep it in my pocket and not let anyone see it. Although I was surprised, I walked in and nervously waited Matt’s arrival. I was worried he would miss his connection flight because of customs in Istanbul. After waiting for about an additional 40 minutes after his flight landed, I was starting to think he would be on the next flight. Suddenly, I heard a faint yell from behind me. Matt was outside the airport and they wouldn’t let him back in. He was quickly shouting my name as the sliding doors opened and closes for exiting passengers.

It didn’t take us long to find the cheap shuttle, local bus 442 back to Ulus – where we were staying. We were so busy talking and catching-up, also in disbelief the strange location we were meeting each other, that we missed out stop entirely. Luckily we quickly got on the subway back to where Lauren and I had booked a room earlier. After dropping Matt’s stuff off in the room, we went down the street and bought a few local beers – Efes – and then walked toward the Citadel in Ankara, which is the oldest part of the city and the inner walls and foundations were first set by the Galatians. We walked up the steep alleys and streets until we reached near the summit. There was a cul-de-sac with a great panoramic view of the city at the top. We walked over to the wall and kicked our feet over the side of the wall. I think it was a fitting intro to Ankara and it was great to share the experience with Matt and Lauren.

The next morning, after a small breakfast, we went to the impressive Museum of Anatolian Civilizations. It was full of pre-historic, early ages of human settlement, Greek, Hittite, and Roman history etc. The center of the museum housed some of the most interesting collections, several of which have been purchased by the Turkish government from private collections. These comprised of wall frescoes and carvings most of which were from around 9 BCE. After enjoying the museum, we quickly rushed back to the hotel, I repacked my stuff into my old bag – which Matt brought along. (My Chinese knockoff was not going to last another week.)  As we had already purchases tickets to Cappadocia, we barely made out 1:00 bus to Goreme, Turkey.

Ulus, Ankara

Having enjoyed our time in Safranbolu, but eager to get out of a town that was little more than a giant tourist trap complete with cliché souvenirs and overly friendly people trying to rip off any traveler who isn’t used to be wary every waking moment. It was the only town, thus far in Turkey, where people have been rude, tried to swindle us, and have generally left a bad taste in our mouth.

The bus to Ankara was small, and the people on board not particularly friendly. We settled in and put some comedy on the i-pod to liven up our moods. A little bit of laughter goes a long way, and soon we were revived and excited about Ankara.

We arrived in the city and were immediately shocked that it is the capital of Turkey. The city is dirty, expensive, and according to the Lonely Planet, dangerous. The city is divided into three main parts, the cheap part, the party part, and the diplomatic quarter. We went, obviously, to the cheap part, which is also where the Lonely Planet advises against going. The area was safe enough, and we checked into a hotel that smelled of cat urine and cigarette butts. This place makes Hotel California look good. The owner was an old man who had a gentle smile and was affectionately polite. We deposited our belongings in the room (30 TL because it has a bathroom you share with the whole hotel, and no showers at all) and half expected never to see our bags again. We walked around the nearby park, which has been restored and is now clean, nice and heavily guarded. We bought donar kebabs at a booth from a friendly-looking man who told us his brother is in Philadelphia. We had not eaten a real meal in a while, and he gave us a discount when we went to pay—a rare treat when someone loves American travelers, so we relished in it as we walked back through the park.

We spent the next several days in Ankara waiting for our new traveling companion, Matt, to arrive. We saw the Ataturk Mausoleaum and monuments, the Ankara Museum and Citadel and spent hours walking the back alleys and major arteries of Ulus, in Northern Ankara. It is a rather plain and bland city but an expensive one, and we were eager to move on to Cappadocia.

Old Ottoman Museum

We arrived in Safranbolu, named after the plant Safron, around 8pm and instantly realized our bus driver, who was to deposit us in the downtown area, had overshot the landing point by 2k. He pushed us out the door and tossed us our bags as we coughed on exhaust. We shouldered our bags and instantly someone came up and pointed us in the right direction. 2k later, with 50lbs on our backs, we arrived in the right part of town—old town.

Safranbolu’s Old Town area is more than old, its ancient. Some wooden structures still standing are over 300 years old, roof to floor. The Ottoman style homes cover the entire floor of a valley, which is enclosed on all sides by sharp, rocky hills. The only way to enter Old Town is to hike up a hill and over it, which we did in the dark with our bags.

We arrived at our hostel by 9pm and were told it was full. The annual film festival was being held in town this week, so we were out of luck. They did happen to know of a friend who had a room available, so the proprietor picked up Mike’s bag (and nearly fainted at the effort) and marched us up one of the hills to a smaller hostel called the Efe Backpacker’s Pension. We deposited our bags in the dorm room and walked back into town to eat dinner at a small café we had spied on the way up the hill.

Back in the room we met Zoe, a British traveler on her way to South East Asia via Turkey and Iran. She regaled us with stories of meeting the city’s mayor that evening while strolling through town, and of having tea with the film festival’s chairwoman. Zoe was a lively and fun girl to be around, so we stayed up chatting until rather late. We had a few beers we bought at a store down the street, but the owner’s wife came running out onto the patio and told us not to drink there because it was against their religion. The beer we were drinking is called Efes, the Turkish local beer that the hostel was named after. In a daze of irony, we wondered why the named the hostel Efe, why they had a hostel at all if they were so devout, and why they had asked us to stop drinking when we were on the patio. Moreover, why do they sell beer in town if it isn’t to be consumed anywhere? I’m not one to be insensitive to anyone else’s beliefs, but on this count I find the no drinking in a hostel named after a beer just ridiculous. The situation was made all the more ironic because we were in a co-ed dorm, which should really be considered risky in Islam, when you think about it.

In the morning we walked around admiring the old Ottoman structures and snapping pictures of the town’s millions of cats. The town is small, and it took less than an hour to see the entire thing. We did something we never do, and bought a few cheesy souvenirs and a hand-woven shirt. In the evening we had a nice dinner with Zoe of Turkish meatballs and egg pizza. We went to the town’s only bar for a beer afterwards, and enjoyed the live music and atmosphere. On the way out the owner tried to charge us 5 TL for the nuts that had been on the table, but Mike and Zoe did their verbal punching and we ended up walking out paying what was right. I’m convinced that people in tourist towns like Safranbolu are not as good as elsewhere, since they are always trying to turn a quick buck on unwitting, young tourists.

At any rate, we slept in the dorm room again and in the morning notified the owner that we would be moving out. They panicked and pushed us from the breakfast table back into our room to pack up our bags. In a haze, they loaded our bags on our backs and gestured to the door. Apparently, once you pay, you might as well get the hell out because you are no good to them anymore. Three strikes for Safranbolu! Since we were thus evicted, we went to the bus station to get out of dodge, but found that there were no buses until 5pm. It was 11am. We took a minibus to the next town and from there got on a bus to Ankara by 1pm. Take that, crappy bus system of Safranbolu! We’re out of here!

Sinop Harbor

Trabzon and the magnificent hanging monastery of Sumela disappeared in the distance behind us as we boarded yet another bus heading West. Our goal was to go from Trabzon’s main bus station to the Samson station, half way to Sinop along the Black Sea Coast. For better or worse we arrived in Samson behind schedule at midnight and discovered that there was no minibus into town. The bus station was in the outskirts of Samson, and we were not in the mood to spend money and time getting to a hotel just to wake up early to catch another bus. We hastily pitched our tent near the bus station in a field next to a row of wind-break trees. It was dark, creepy and ominous not knowing what else was in the field, but since the frogs and birds were chirping it became a soothing kind of nature as we quickly jumped in the tent and fell asleep.

We awoke to the sound of barking dogs, the only concern in my mind. People you can reason with and explain that we were just camping on their property for the night—you can’t reason with a drooling dog. A farmer emerged through the field and called the dogs off of us just as I was reaching in my bag for a blunt object to protect us with. The farmer simply walked back through the corn stocks and we headed towards the bus station. It was 7am, and our bus, we discovered, left at 8:30.

After a light breakfast we were on another bus heading West….a déjà vu kind of feeling. Sinop was our destination and we had heard great things about the small coastal town. I caught up on my sleep and we arrived by early afternoon and checked into a pension. The owners were two friendly old men who gave us a discount simply based on how pathetic we looked. We cleaned up, showered and changed out of our camping clothes and reemerged to startle the proprietors, who hardly recognized us in our new and clean state.

Sinop was bustling with activity, and we quickly followed the noise towards the harbor, where people of all colors were drinking tea, playing chess and backgammon and smoking. We grabbed a table at a harbor-side café and had a few beers while we watched the fishermen haul in their catch. With Ramadan over, people around us were snacking and we jumped on the bandwagon and headed off to find food of our own.

Mike succeeded in finding beers, which he bought to drink on the harbor. I found some juice and we sat on the dock dangling our feet over the side playing cribbage and watching the sunset.

Because it was such a restful place we were tempted to stay another day, but having made arrangements to meet a friend in Ankara, we had to push on. We checked out of our friendly Pension and waved goodbye to the two proprietors who had been so kind. We took a local bus to the long-distance bus station and boarded yet another bus, this one heading to Kastamonu, mid way between Sinop and Ankara. But we had other plans in mind, at Kastamonu we got on another bus to Safranbolu, and ancient Ottoman town that has survived intact to this day!

Trabzon Mosque

After a restful week in Yusufeli we felt more than up to the task of our 6 hour bus ride to Trabzon. This was no ordinary road, but a winding, rocky pathway on which giant buses passed each other going opposite directions like slugs creeping past one another. I quickly fell into my “sleep when you can!” routine and managed to feel marginally normal for the first twenty minutes. But when we hit the first of a series of winding curves it was back to barfing into a Doritos bag for me! Looked up at one point, mid-puke, and Mike was laughing hysterically as I gave the thumbs up and finished emptying my stomach. Apparently I had eaten something red (I don’t remember that?!).

We arrived relatively unscathed in Trabzon, which is one of the biggest Black Sea coastal cities in Turkey. We had decided not to take a direct bus to Ankara, but to tour the Black Sea Coast and soak in our last glimpses of this temperamental sea. Trabzon was a delightful city with glistening white Christmas lights hanging over pedestrian streets that were crowded with merry people shoving baklava into their mouths by the fistful. We checked into a hotel and received a discount based on how utterly hopeless we looked with our giant bags and sweat-covered faces. We wandered into the central park and had tea before finding a place to dine and exploring the city on foot. Mike’s primary interest was in acquiring a few beers, since Ramadan was now over. This proved more difficult than one would imagine, and Mike became ever more determined as the shops displayed endless amounts of sweets but no beer for poor Mike.
We strolled around feeling like it was a Christmas-like city, without snow and full of Muslims. The attitude was jovial and holiday-like, and everyone seemed happier than normal and full of holiday cheer. It was the last day of post-Ramadan feasting, which was perhaps part of the mood, but I think Trabzon is also just a friendly place.

Sumela Monastery. The next morning we booked a trip with a travel company (our first group tour!) to go to the Sumela hanging Monastery, about 45minutes away. Our minibus held mostly Turkish tourists and three other international travelers. It rained, and our minibus sent showers of water up the windshield with every puddle we hit. We were deposited at the top of the mountain to climb the last 1/4th of the mountain on foot. As usual, Mike forgot his umbrella so we huddled under mine as we climbed through the woods and up ancient stone steps to the monastery. The buildings have been restored, but were original built in Byzantine times by the Greeks who had hoped to acquire the area as a Greek state. The creation of the Turkish Republic saw the demise of Greek Orthodoxy and the abandonment of the monastery. The structure itself clings almost desperately to the side of a sheer rock face high above an evergreen forest, with a raging river and waterfalls galore below. We wandered from room to abandoned room and gaped at the paintings of Christ and the Virgin Mary on cave walls.

After an hour at the Monastery we wandered down the mountain in the rain as cars splashed past us on their way up. Midway down my shoes had more water inside than out, and my toes began to turn to raisins inside my mushy socks. A friendly Turkish family picked us up, thanks to our pathetic looks once again, and drove us down the road (which was now more a river than a road) to the base of the mountain where a small restaurant sat nestled in the woods. Here our driver had instructed us to gather at the appointed time. We ate a small meal so that we could sit inside where it was warm, and then boarded our minibus back to Trabzon where I sat with a German lady, an Australian man and a Polish traveler as we discussed what was worth seeing in Turkey and the highlights of the Caucus—the normal backpacker conversations one hears in every bus station, airport and hostel across the planet.

Mongol Rally Logo

Lauren and Mike landed a team in the Mongol Rally 2010! We’re in the process of picking a few team members, looking for sponsors, and planning our route. You can follow all of our progress via the blog, but we’ll also be creating a Mongol Rally page on our website soon with updates and more information.

The Mongol Rally is a charity event wherein each team (500 total) take a 1 liter car from Europe to Mongolia to donate the car to charity along with $1500 for Mercy Corps. We’re overwhelmed with glee that we get to participate in the event this year, having witnessed several teams from the 2009 rally while in Turkmenistan. It is a once-in-a-lifetime, crazy event and it’s for a good cause.

Our team, the Abandon the Cube team, is conjoined with the Not Cubists team from Yelm, Washington. We’re busy with the preliminary aspects of putting together two winning cars with one winning strategy to make it to Mongolia in our perfectly unsuitable, tiny little cars.

More information on the Mongol Rally  or for other volunteer experiences, see our “Events ” drop-down menu.

To sponsor us, or if you have ideas for sponsors please send us an email at lauren (at) abandonthecube.com or mike (at) abandonthecube.com

Water Pumping

Having arrived in Yusufeli without a map, we had to rely on shabby LP written directions to get us a place to sleep. We have not had good luck with these in the past, but luckily since we were so exhausted after the 4 minibuses that day, we found the place within a half hour. We walked through the very quiet town of Yusufeli to Green Piece Pension. Reading our guide, we were tipped that there were places to camp here, which really appealed to us because we were somewhat shocked at the inflated prices in Turkey, or at least in comparison to everywhere we had been. We walked across a creaky suspension bridge that made Lauren’s stomach churn and down a gravel road for less than 1 k. Nestled next to a rolling stream, several vegetable fields, and rocky hill tops in every direction, this was a great place to stay.

The friendly family immediately showed us the camping area and within a few minutes, our camp was all set up. The nice thing about Green Piece, was that we could use their facilities, which included a restaurant, wifi, warm showers, and bathrooms. Over the next several days, as we really took a liking to the place, it rained 5-6 times a day. I was joking with Lauren that it was a lot like Seattle. Coincidently, we also heard a comedian’s joke about Seattle on my iPod, “You know what they say in Seattle, if you don’t like the weather, just wait 5 minutes and then shoot yourself in the face.” – Probably a little dark for the blog, but the rain was actually really refreshing and the rain lulled us to sleep in the tent at night. We also got a lot of work done on the site. It was funny making a few Skype calls from our tent – as the fact that we had wifi in a tent was ridiculous, but I made a point to tell everyone where we were. Traveling is not what it used to be, huh?

One thing that did not take us too long to pick up was that there was a shortage of food!!! Yusufeli was a very religious Muslim town. We realized this the first night when the 5:00 am call to prayer blared on for several minutes and woke us up in the middle of the night. We also quickly learned that it was the festival or “torture” of Ramadan. Ramadan, a Muslim “holiday,” is a long period of fasting. This made people irritable, hungry, short-tempered, and ill-humored. It was also difficult for us to find food as all the food establishments were closed. It also made me feel guilty to eat in front of the family when they couldn’t eat from sun up to sun down. The lesson learned was, and we had heard it before: Don’t go to Muslim countries during Ramadan. Unfortunately, I don’t really keep track of things like as they usually don’t apply to me. They did in Turkey. We were able to cook a few meals in the kitchen as well. They told us we could use the kitchen, but I am not sure how happy they were about it. We also saw several whitewater rafting groups come there while we were there, a man from Holland who had been riding around on a motorcycle for a year and a half, as well as another Dutch couple with a camper who lived in St. Martin. Besides the great company we had while we were there, the slow atmosphere of the mountain city as well as the trekking around the village, made it a worthwhile place to plan and time the rest of our trip up to Ankara.

The Minibus

Having crossed several borders, with shady officials and legitimate ones, we have now crossed the easiest border on the planet between the Republic of Georgia and Turkey.

Georgia has no visa requirements, but welcomes everyone to their country. Turkey sells visas for $20 a pop at the border crossing, a simple sticker and a quick scanned copy of our passports was all that was needed. They did not check our bags, or fingerprint us, or ask if we had the swine flu, or rob us, or tell us their political views. It was as if we were going from one friendly place to another, which is exactly what we were doing.

We left the beach in Georgia in the morning and caught a simple, 1 GEL bus to the Sarpi border. From there we simply walked across the Georgian side with a wave and an exit stamp, and we were in Turkey! A friendly border guard pointed us to the visa purchasing office, and we bought the required stickers and got the required stamps without hassle.
Once outside the barbed-wire fence we sat around waiting for a bus. Without any Turkish language ability we were SOL for a while before someone came up and offered to take us to Hopa for 4 TL a person, which seemed reasonable. Once in Hopa we watched everyone else pay 2 TL a person and had to grin a bit. Less than twenty minutes in the country and we were swindled. Typical, but we’re not in Georgia anymore, are we! And there was something special about Georgia, perhaps the shared religion, that made the people honest and kind and unable to cheat.

From Hopa we found a nice family who helped us onto another bus to Artvin. Here is where the world proved itself to be a great leveling device. Because the other bus driver had charged us double (and we had agreed in advance) we did not have enough money for the bus to Artvin. The driver took the money we did have, which was 4 less than the correct amount, and drove us all the way to Artvin without complaint. Hence, we ended up getting there for 2 TL less than a local would have. Ironic.

Once in Artvin we had to wait an hour for my stomach to stop hurling from the motion sickness. Hopa to Artvin was a winding, mountainous road that followed a raging river. We hurtled through the mountains without a care to the deathly drop-offs next to the bus, and without worrying about oncoming traffic or rocks in the road, or cows. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit just from looking over the edge of the cliff as we whizzed past. While we waited, our driver got in his minivan and put it in reverse and then floored it! His minivan was aiming right at Mike and I as we sat on a bench catching our breath. Everyone yelled and I propped by feet up on the bench hoping the metal frame would stop the van before it crushed me. Luckily the screaming worked and the driver got out of his minivan and looked at Mike and I (and a local sharing the bench). We still had our feet up, but thanks to the nausea we were more focused on not vomiting than not being hit by crazed, lunatic drivers.

Finally, we boarded the bus to Yusufeli, which was to be our destination for the night. We got in the mini bus (meant to hold 12, but now holding 18) and settled in for a long drive. Midway the road was closed due to an avalanche, so we all got out to throw stones at the river below us. A passenger got in the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse while trying to impress two female passengers. He rammed the minibus directly into a parked truck, rocking both vehicles precariously close to the drop off. Our driver came running, full of curses and wild hand gestures, to the passenger and berated him in front of the ladies—the opposite of his aim. We watched the whole event from the river bank, wondering how we’d fish out our belongings from the river if the car had slid in. Finally, as night approached, we made it to Yusufeli, having left Georgia that morning and taken 4 buses in the course of the day and witnessing two car accidents.

Our New Travel Companion - Photo: Keyboards for There's Always Wednesday

Here at Abandon the Cube we’re always happy to hear other traveler’s adventure tales. We’ve met a lot of great people along the way, and admire (with tears of jealousy) some of the insane routes people have chosen. But now we’d like to announce that Abandon the Cube has a new traveler jumping in on the itinerary.

The story of how Matt is joining the ATC crew is a funny and inspiring one. Matt was at the casino over the weekend when he put a penny in a lucky machine and out popped a $1300 prize.  He got on the web, sent an email to Mike that said, “I’ve won at the penny slots, I’m getting my birth certificate, applying for a passport, and I’m coming to join you!”

Matt will be joining ATC in Ankara, Turkey, and traveling with the, what will become trio,  throughout the Medderiterranian region. We’re happy to have him on board and look forward to the adventure!

Batumi Beach

After Bojormi National Park, Gori, Tbilisi, Kazbegi, Baku, and the Caspian Sea ferry, we were ready for a break. However, we were unaware that we would get such a great one. As our minibus emerged from the foliage and hilltops, we caught our first glimpses of the Black Sea. It was right here that Jason and the Argonauts landed in search of the Golden Fleece. Being a huge fan of the film from childhood, it was an awesome experience coming to the realization that the story was based on actual legend and places and that we were standing on the very ground that the story unfolded upon. My first impression of the Black Sea was that I quickly understood where the name came from. Black clouds were rolling over the hills surrounding the sea and gave the water a opaque dark color. The beach was very rocky and, my imagination running wild, I thought of the rough whitecaps throwing wooden ships onto the rocky shores.

After a few more hours, the bus pulled to a stop near a small port city. The bus driver turned around, enamored that we were from ‘America,’ gave me a head nod and said, “Batumi.” He then gave me a thumbs up and said, “Chicago Bulls.” I immediately got a west coast United States feeling from Batumi. It seemed like a laid-back beach community. We wandered through town with our cumbersome bags, receiving stairs of wonderment and distress. Many women would stop and stare at Lauren and look at her in distress over the big bag she was carrying on her back. I couldn’t help but feel like they then glared at me as if I was some kind of horrible creature to make her walk around carrying such a weight. We found an acceptable place to stay, albeit slightly musty, but we just figured that added to the coastline experience.

We walked down to the beach and, although still very rocky, we found it full of locals. We enjoyed two days and three nights in Batumi and kicked our feet up in the laid-back atmosphere. Lauren read her books, drank a few beers, and snacked in the sun and under umbrellas, while I spent half my time floating out by the buoy and the other half, running into town or the other side of the beach to replenish water and other beverages. I found out, days later, that my parents were worried about us being in flooding that was going on in Turkey. Little did they know that we were laying out on a beach drinking vodka tonics. It was a very enjoyable drive out to Batumi and the atmosphere was unlike anywhere else we had been, and was very different to anything else in Georgia. Batumi makes for an interesting entrance or departure into the Republic of Georgia, but definitely a must see in Georgia, as we saw Georgians in a new relaxed light we had never seen them in before.

Mike in the Creep Zone

Although not in any guidebook for the area, our hostel owners told us about a cave not far from town that we could get to only via a cab. We linked up with Emily and decided to try our luck negotiating a cab to the spot. When in town, we easily found an elderly man (in his 90s!) who agreed to take us in his equally ancient Lada car to the caves. We all piled in the death-trap of a car and rattled off into the hills.

Our friendly driver deposited us safely at the entrance to the cave, where a national park ranger who looked like the sneaky guy in Mr. Deeds told us to wait fifteen minutes. In my broken Russian I understood him to mean that an event happened every hour on the hour in the cave, and we sat about for fifteen minutes pondering what the event could be: feeding time for the bats, or an old faithful type explosion?

The event turned out to be a guided tour by the Mr. Deeds sneaky guy, who laughed at our ridiculous expressions when he unlocked a large metal door covering the cave entrance. Inside, he flicked a series of switches and the cave was semi-illuminated. We climbed down into the belly of the cave, and listened to the dripping as he explained that it took a century for the stalactites to grow one centimeter. In front of us were stalactites and stalagmites that ranged from inches long to over a meter. A group of Georgians joined our tour and translated for us along the way, instructing us to keep a wary eye out for some of the white bats that call the cave their home.

We inched ever deeper into the cave as the guide hopped around like an expert spelunker with night-vision capabilities. A hole in the cave a meter off the ground turned out to be a cave 30m into the belly of the beast, which our guide proudly said he had explored. “That’s where the spiders and worms live,” he said, as calmly as if telling us about his boring day.

We snapped pictures, letting the flashes of our cameras illuminate further into the cave than the eye could otherwise see. After what felt like forever (but turned out to be about ten minutes) we reached the largest of the stalactites, which our guide called “the heart” there was an opening and we were instructed to reach our arms into the opening and feel how soft and cool it was inside. I let everyone else go first, hoping the plethora of arms reaching into the heart would scare away any albino creatures inside. It was indeed squishy and wet inside the heart, and I held my hand into the abyss as long as possible before a tickling (or imagined tickle) made me jerk my arm out to the guide’s endless amusement.

Outside the cave again, and thankful for the light, we scampered up the hill to the driver and asked him to take us to some dinosaur footprints we had passed on the way in. These turned out to be two large limestone platforms with various sized giant-turkey footprints from ancient dinosaurs. We walked around atop the limestone like you’d never be allowed to do in the States, and took pictures of our hands inside the footprints, and our toes looking tiny inside the claw prints. After a while, the driver took us half way back to the city before jumping out of the car and running into an alley. He returned a while later with pomegranates fresh from a tree, and then we putted off down the hill into town again.

Reconstruction of Bagrati Cathedral - Kutaisi, Georgia

Kutaisi, Georgia offered us some much needed rest after city-hopping for the previous few days.  The minibus dropped us off at a random bus station, which was of course, not even on the Lonely Plant maps.  It would be so difficult traveling without that book, but it is a love-hate relationship as you read and look through it occasionally wondering why they wasted space and why they gave you worthless information when there was so much more to write about.  Lucky for us, the Caucasus have been so easy to travel around in.  After China and Central Asia, we were expecting mind numbing conversations as you walk from bus to bus asking to go to a certain city and then each person points in a different direction.  Azerbaijan and Georgia have been completely different.  Baku was simple to navigate and using public transportation was a cinch.  Georgia was a great breath of fresh air. Leaving Central Asia behind and entering into a new world of Judeo – Christian values, we found no endeavor to result in a headache.  People were friendly, curtious, helpful, and seemed to have ethics matching our own.  In the previous town of Gori, we talked with the owner of “The Man Bar” and he gave us our meal and beer on-the-house just for being American and talking to him and his friends.  This was the first time in all of my travels that being a foreigner actually resulted in a direct benefit within the culture.

Back in Kutaisi, we painlessly enlisted the help of a local taxi driver who drove way out of his way, after several roads were closed – up winding streets and hills to where we wanted to stay for the night.   We were greeted at the gate by a very friendly young girl who spoke fluent English. She took us through their beautiful compound home that was over 100 years old.   The two storey building didn’t look like much on the outside, but the interior was ornately decorated with a classic Russian feel. As we walked around the side of the home, which was probably once a sanitarium, we noticed grape vines hanging down around our heads.  The whole house was surrounded with a vineyard.  Around the back, a huge greenhouse took up most of their backyard. Inside were tomatoes, lime trees, and an assortment of other vegetables.  With the exception of meat, I would say that the family was practically self sufficient.

After meeting Emily, a young solo traveler from the U.K., we walked around the side streets and back alleys of hilltop Kutaisi.  Less than 1 km away, the Bagrati Cathedral – early 11th century – sits in ruin.   However, reconstruction was underway while we were there.  The cathedral was destroyed by the Turks in the early 17th century, it was still awe inspiring to stand underneath the now dome-less ceiling.   To the East of the cathedral are the ruins of a medieval palace, complete with wine cellars and a chapel, also gave great views of the city below.  The palace was destroyed by Russian artillery bombardment from the opposite bank of the river.  We returned and had dinner with Emily, and enjoying the comfort and company so much, stayed an additional 2 days.

Grant Lingel weaves a fascinating and modern coming-of-age tale about an American boy from New York fresh out of college who finds himself confronted by a world without choices. From grammar school to college, and even choosing a major, Grant found the path before him was already laid out. But, with seven credits to go to graduate, Grant abandons the world he knows and sets out to find himself, and defy the expectations American society demands.

Reading IMAGINE in the Woods

From working in Mexico on a resort to traveling with crazed Minnesotans in Guatemala, to working a hostel-farm as a volunteer, learning poi and experiencing everyday with an open mind. Grant travels around from place to place, meeting amazing people and seeing life in a new light. His adventures leave the taste of rum and coke in the reader’s mouth, and a yearning to be a part of the trip Grant created for himself.

Grant writes often of the camaraderie travelers feel when abroad, an almost instant friendship that develops the moment you hear someone else’ amazing adventure tale. Reading Grant’s book while on the ferry from Turkmenistan to Azerbaijan, I was struck with a feeling of knowing and empathizing with the trials and joys of Grant’s experiences in Mexico. While I don’t share his enthusiasm for countless nights of partying that would shock a rock star, I feel that Grant’s adventure is well worth the telling, and feel that his up-beat and emotional readiness while traveling is an example many a weary traveler can learn from.

The characters in Grants adventures are so real that one can imagine they are a member of the small pack of friends Grant travels with while abroad. From drunken parties to day-trip adventures and midnight food runs, the reader truly comes to understand the atmosphere of life in Mexico as an expatriate. A life on the edge with extreme sporting, extreme partying, and sucking the very marrow out of each day of life, leaves the reader wishing to buy a one-way-ticket to a sandy beach.

I hope that his book inspires other people to imagine the possibilities in their own lives. Anyone can abandon their cube to see what life is like on the other side of the office wall. Anyone can buy a one-way ticket to paradise. For some reason, it is a select few who chose to defy the norm, abandon the cube and imagine a more thrilling life. Grant chooses to spend time in Mexico, Guatemala and more living on the beach, working with locals and other expats, and losing himself in the moment with drugs, women and a seemingly endless supply of booze. While Grant realizes that the world he is living in is a dangerous one, he has nevertheless stepped off the plank and into a world that is mixed with good and bad. By making the initial choice, Grant accepts the consequences and as a result, lived a more fulfilling life—and one worth reading about.

From one traveler to another, I recommend Imagine: A Vagabond Story
as a great read into the psyche of a traveler living on the edge. The tale ends happily enough with Grant starting a new adventure on another continent, letting all of us be reminded that it’s the experiences in life that make it worthwhile, not the 7 missing credits or the lack of a decent salary.

Review written by Lauren Johnson, from Abandon the Cube (Republic of Georgia, September 6th, 2009)Though we were very kindly given a singed copy of the book by Grant, we passed the book onto an English traveler heading East in the Republic of Georgia, who will pass it on as she finishes it.

Camping in the Park

Bjormi National Park is a colossal nature preserve covered in a criss-cross pattern of winding eco-trails and camping grounds. For 5 GEL a night, we could camp anywhere in the park as long as we registered in advance. When we arrived in Bjormi, the registration center was closed for the weekend (thanks, Lonely Planet) but a friendly guard called the English-speaking receptionist who explained to me that we could spend one night in the reserve and meet her in the morning to register. We hiked, with all of our stuff, along a 3k trail that made a loop into the wooded reserve from the registration center on the fringes of town. About 1k into the trail our 50lb bags were weighing on us, and sweat poured from our brows in streams. We set up camp atop the wooded hill, and Mike set off to find fire wood while I read and stayed with the bags.

Around twilight I set up the tent and built a fire pit out of rocks that were strewn about the campsite. I broke down the fire wood into manageable sticks, and set up the interior of the tent. Darkness was approaching, so I got the Ramen dinner ready for the fire, then spent about thirty minutes pleading with Prometheus for fire. Mike had hiked into town for some snacks and wine, and when he returned he got the fire roaring via a clever trick he’d learned in Mongolia about using bark rubbed together in paper as kindling. We cooked our Ramen and gagged it down, having eaten the same Ramen meal multiple times already that week. We sat around the fire singing, chatting and listening to the forest around us. We were a bit paranoid about the black bears that live in the reserve finding us and thinking we looked just tasty enough to eat, but the wine solved that paranoia easily and we headed to bed when the fire turned to embers.

In the morning two hikers came upon our tent along the trail and loudly complained that we were a messy bunch who had wreaked the forest. Readers, upon our arrival the campsite was a mess, and obviously we didn’t leave any of our trash about. We even picked up other people’s trash in our bags to carry out. What we didn’t pick up were used, dirty dippers that were up on the hill side rotting, or other disgusting, partially biodegraded objects. The hikers yelled for us to clean up our mess and then stomped off without picking anything up. We got out of our tents and packed up our stuff and climbed down to meet the receptionist at 9:30, as we had previously organized. She never showed up, and the two climbers came down the trail behind us showering us in glares. Obviously we had no baby with us, did they think the dippers were really ours? Idiots! Need I point out that one of them was French?

At any rate, with the idiots behind us, and the receptionist nowhere in sight we tried to register to go back into the park but the guards would have none of it and sent us packing. When it was obvious we would have to wait until Monday to get into the park again we decided to leave Bjormi and head west. We walked into town and waited at the bus stop in a bummed-out mood. An elderly man in a fishing cap approached us and when we told him we wanted to go to Kutasi he told us to come back at 11:30. We found breakfast in town and returned at the appointed time, the old man had flagged down a passing van for us and had even rearranged the van passengers so we were sitting in the front seat with the driver. The driver was friendly enough, and kept telling me how much he adored Arnold Swarzeneggar. I used my limited Russia and he used his limited English and Russian, and we had a bit of a conversation as he peeled along curves that would kill us all if his attention shifted even a hair. It was a four hour drive to the next town, and I was petrified most of the way by our driver’s complete lack of concern for the drop-offs to his right or left, and with the screaming and wailing of the 25 passengers crammed into the 16 passenger van. Obviously, since I’m writing this, we made it to the next town without incident.

Stalin's Head

Gori is a relatively small town nestled against a weak river with a small fortress resting on a hill in the center of town. Once the fortress served to protect the residents, now it is a minor attraction; the primary attraction in town is the Stalin Museum, built next to the remains of the home where Stalin’s mother and father lived with him for the first several years of his life.
We jumped off the bus from Tbilisi in downtown Gori, and went about finding a place to leave our bags so we could explore the town. Hotel costs were ridiculously high, but we knew of a home-stay that had bad reviews, but at least two beds available. We found the home-stay and dropped our belongings before searching for food.

We found one of the most amazing restaurants on the planet, I’m sure you’d agree. It was run by several men who also owned the place. Inside there were no decorations, just a bar with a marble counter-top and several tables you could stand around. The menu was only in Russian, but as one of the owners spoke a bit of English, he helped us order. “Plate of meat or plate of hotdog meat, or plate of cow meat.” We ordered plat of meat and were shocked when he slapped down a metal plate full of pork ribs, perfectly cooked. We gulped these down with our “plate of bread” which was a whole loaf of wheat bread. The only thing to drink on the menu was beer, and he made sure our cups were never empty. There were no women in the place, and all the town’s men had gathered for their ‘plate of meat’ and beer, and were happily bunched in groups all around the room chatting. Everyone was happy and introduced themselves, and the owner called an English-speaking friend on the phone to talk to us about Gori. When it came time to leave (after much beer and meat) they refused all payment attempts and invited us to climb to the church with them in the morning.

In the morning, needless to say, we were unfit to climb to a church of any sort. We pulled ourselves out of bed with so much effort and found that the home-stay was of disgusting quality, with damp beds and dirty walls—easily the worst place we’ve ever slept. We cleaned up and then climbed up the hill to the top of the fortress to look around. Gori is a small city, but a quaint one, and the view from atop the castle was well worth the early-morning hangover climb. We had a quick breakfast on Stalin Ave before heading to the Stalin museum. A group of four Marines from the USA were ready for an English-guided tour, so we tagged along. We were rushed from spot to spot, and all of us exchanged glances when she skipped a whole room called “collectivization.” It was a mixed-bag of history and lore, but some of the items from his personal collection were interesting, and the well-preserved home his parents raised him in has since been cased in marble outside the museum for all to see.

Having had enough of Stalin, we dropped by the “man bar” but our host from the night before was nowhere in sight. We waved at the patrons we recognized, and wondered if they ever left the restaurant at all. At the bus stop, we easily found the marshutka to Bjormi, and I fell asleep on the back bench of the van while a Georgian military kid in front of us played American music for our entertainment on his cell phone.

Mike at the Summit

In the morning we awoke to the sounds of people around us, and, paranoid that we should perhaps not be camping on church grounds, packed up our tent and decided to start hiking further up the mountain. There is a glacier about 900m up (but over 3k distance wise) the mountain, so we aimed for that. With the packs, the going was slow, but we made progress slowly as we watched the summit of this 2000m mountain loom closer.

Once at the top, there was an astonishing view of the glacier beyond, and of base camp one for mount Kazbeki assents. It was noon and we decided that without warmer clothing and clamp-ons for our boots we should not risk crossing a glacier to reach a frozen plateau where we could freeze to death in our tiny tent. We turned around and began the descent. However, midway down the mountain a grump of a cloud hovered over us and began to pour, we threw down our bags, and in less than a minute our tent was assembled with us dry inside. We waited out the storm on the edge of the mountain in this fashion, playing cribbage, making a small esbit fire for food and warming up in the sleeping bags. Two hikers (now soaked) climbed up and we emerged from our tent for a top-of-the-world get to know ya. They were photographers on a mission to photo raptor birds in the wild. We chatted a bit before breaking down the tent and continuing our descent.

We passed the church, and our campsite from the night before, and in the middle of the woods encountered a Frenchman on his way up named Julien. We chatted a bit before climbing down the rest of the mountain.

Back in town, we ate at the same café as the day before, and they advised us on camping in the park on the edge of town. We ordered food and a few beers and Julien showed up and joined us for dinner and told us about his amazing trip from France to basically all over. We had a few rounds of beers while Julien had a few rounds of French fries and then it got dark while we told travel stories. It was already late so we quickly headed into the park once the beers were empty and the mosquitoes emerged. In the park there was a stream bisecting the north and south parts. We crossed a log over the river by moonlight, and set up our tent on the northern bank.

In the morning, we packed up the tent and faced a river that, in daylight, looked impossible to cross with our bags. Somehow, in the moonlight, it had seemed safer. We managed to cross the rickety log without incident and then got lucky when we nabbed two seats on a bus back to Tbilisi. Although I was car-sick the entire time, it was a pleasant enough ride with a great group of people who were about as friendly as any group could be.

Hiking

Kazbegi is a mountain town nestled smack dab between South Ossetia and Chechynia, in northern Georgia. All around this peaceful and beautiful valley wars rage off and on while the serenity and peacefulness of this particular town and the surrounding mountains has been maintained for generations on end. Indeed, in times of turmoil in Tbilisi, artifacts would be rushed to this region for safe keeping from any invading force or political what-have-you.

I was hesitant to go north due to State Department warnings and because I read the news regularly and know that the border areas are about as stable as a three legged dog. But, after meeting several Georgians, travelers and even government workers who vacationed in the area, we felt assured, and packed a small bag to take with on our journey north.

The bus careened up a road in such disrepair that it does not deserve to be called a pathway at all. Our bus’ tires screeched along pebbles mere inches from drop-offs that would have decimated any vehicle unlucky enough to fall over the edge. They would have a hell of a time searching (and identifying) body parts should the bus tumble out of control. Rather than harp on the uncontrollable, I shut my eyes and woke up occasionally to the sounds of honking, squealing tires, and eventually, of the parking break.

Mike and Friend

Kazbegi was the classic cowboy town, with one main street through town (littered with cows on their way to greener pastures) and lined with tiny shops, cafes, and a few hostels. We bypassed all of these and found a café on the outskirts of town where we ordered a few beers and the only item in English on the menu: Plate of Meat.

After eating, we climbed the mountain behind the town to the church, which is where religious artifacts are kept in times of trouble. With heavy packs, the walk was grueling, but we made it fun with chatter and joking until we suddenly emerged from the woods to see the clouds breaking and light pouring over the tiny church as if God was peeling back the clouds for a look.

Strangely enough, when I entered the church a man approached me with a wrap-around skirt that he insisted I put over my jeans. Apparently the Orthodox church likes women to have their head covered and a skirt around their legs. After traveling through several Muslim countries, I was shocked that this was the most conservative religious experience yet: I was in long pants, hiking boots, a sweater, a head-scarf and now a wrap-around skirt. I looked ridiculous. I’ll never understand traditions like this, unless you grow up with it, it just comes across as odd.

We set up camp near the base of the church, and Mike made a small fire so we could cook some ramen noodles and tea (our camping staples) before watching the sunset and climbing into our sleeping bags and falling quickly asleep.