Tag hiking

We spent a day in Plovdiv walking around and admired the Old Town. Luckily, we met a couple from Australia who were on a honeymoon-backpacking trip, which was interesting in itself, and they had a guidebook specifically on Bulgaria. Matt and Lauren perused through the “around Plovdiv” section and discovered several things that were not even in our guide. We decided to go to a Monastery that was only about a 40-minute bus ride away. Once we announced that we were going, we ended up with a whole group of people interested in seeing the Monastery.

The next morning we got up late and left even later after gathering everyone together. We took the long way to the bus station and walked around the alleys of Plovdiv for a good 30 to 40 minutes before we arrived at the bus station. It didn’t take long and we found the bus to the Backhovo Monastery for a pleasant ride South. We played 3-person cribbage and I, of course, lost again on the way to the old Orthodox site. Once we arrived, it was only a short walk up the hill and we were already at the church. There were several Orthodox clergy walking around the grounds. We had all been told that it was possible to stay (sleep) in the monastery so we were all carrying our packs along with us. Unfortunately, no one was really willing to put us up inside or out, and they directed us to a hotel towards the bottom of the hill.

The monastery was nothing special and looked just like all the other Orthodox churches we had seen; The exception being the surrounding building, which looked like lodging for a large number of worshipers / clergy. After looking around, we all got really hungry and returned to the foot of the hill for a quick lunch. The honeymooners decided to head back to Plovdiv. They looked pretty disappointed with the excursion when they left. However, Matt, Lauren, another traveler – Tim, and I decided to start up the modest hiking trail. The monastery had been slightly disappointing so we ascended with lowered expectations.

Camping Intruder

We saw a few other buildings, which were closed down for the season, and continued to hike past obvious camping grounds that had signs NO CAMPING everywhere. Several hundred meters father, we came to a huge clearing that was amazing. The leaves were just starting to change, and we found ourselves in the middle of a vast field, flanked by mountainous treed hills. After admiring the view, we were all invigorated to go on. Next, we came across an Orthodox pilgrimage site up the hill. It was a tiny chapel surrounded by massive Tim Burton – esc trees. There was a pool, feed by a natural spring in the middle of the chapel. The whole experience was becoming a little surreal, after the ordinary morning, we had all experienced.

Farther up the hill we came upon another small wooden chapel built on the side of a cliff and beyond that, yet another church at the top. The inside of the church had beautiful frescoes and paintings, as did the other chapels. Perhaps I appreciated this more because I had been in China and Central Asia so long, but it seemed to me that the church and chapel were buried in a very dense forest. After months in the deserts, we shared great moments of happiness walking through the forest paths.

Tim, although impressed with the location, was in no position to camp – as he had intended to stay at the monastery overnight. After a quick warning about how cold it was about to get, Tim departed to catch the last bus back to Plovdiv. Lauren, Matt and I stayed and we immediately got to work. Lauren set up a campsite, then kicked up her feet while Matt and I collected firewood for the next hour and a half. After collecting enough firewood, we got ready for the fire, waited for dark, and then started up the fire. Luckily, Matt brought a water purifier, so we went to a nearby waterfall and purified some water for cooking. We all sat happily around the fire, which burned for the remainder of the night – fortunate because it was really cold compared to the nice weather we were used to while in Turkey.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In the morning we set off again to find the complete opposite of the previous day’s hike. The paths were congested with people and there was screaming, yelling, pushing and more screaming. It was like being back on the Shanghai subways. We forged ahead and eventually broke into a relatively quiet space between two rather large groups about 100m to the front and rear of us. We hiked all morning after watching the sunrise and eventually came to Lotus Flower Peak, the highest point of the mountain range at over 2000m. After climbing stairs that were carved into a sheer rock cliff, with both hands and feet on the steps, we eventually summited the peak where we found an old old woman selling noodles. How she got up there is a mystery, as there are only the stairs. Throughout the hike we had been passed by several elderly folks who giggled as they marched past us while we huffed and puffed up the mountain.

Climbing

After summiting the highest point we followed the steps around to the back of the mountain and down to Celestial Capital peak, the second highest peak. Due to ice, the mountain was closed. We had been planning on spending the night at a hostel that was built into the side of the cliff wall on the opposite face of Celestial Capital, but with the mountain closed we were faced with two options. 1) climb down the entire mountain and spend the second night at the base, or 2) explore the summit and then take the cable car down in the morning. Amid a wave of screaming and pushing from locals and tourists we decided, quite quickly, to leave the crowd and set off down the Western steps of the mountain.

The steps down were steeper than the steps up, and further apart. With one bad knee it wasn’t long before I felt my poor knee screaming at me to rest. With no where to go except back up or all the way down, we pushed forward with the sun rapidly setting behind us. A cane salesman half way down the hill was only too happy to part with a wooden stick which he sold for 5Rmb to me as I hobbled up to his lonley booth. With the aid of the cane I was hobbling along at a speedy rate of a snail. However, throughout the descent we played the tortoise and the hare, as groups rushed past us only to stop exhausted and covered in sweat at each resting point where we slowly hobbeled past without pause. It was a trial, but one with amazing scenery and it was a beautiful and throughout the trip there were subtle surprises like a tiny waterfall or a neon bird that kept my eyes glued to the bamboo forest.

Once at the base I looked at the pedometer I had been wearing since 6 that morning. 13, 561 steps from the hostel to the temple at the bottom of the hill. That’s over 6.2 miles of sheer steps going straight down. The day before we walked 3.8miles going straight up (and then took the cable car when dusk approached). We stepped off our final stair, with the aid of the cane, at 4pm and caught a bus to the closest town. At the town we were lucky enough to find a Best Western. Ironically, we were looking for the hot springs and decided to check into the hotel to shower and change and rest for a bit before setting out to find the springs. During our check in we were informed that the hot springs were not part of the hotel. How fortunate for us, because we would have wandered all over the mountain side looking for a natural spring. We checked in, ate dinner, cleaned up and promptly passed out.

In the morning we were in for a real treat.

-Posted by Lauren.

We returned today from a four day trip to HuangShan, Yellow Mountain, in Anhui province, China.

On Friday the 13th we boarded the nightly slow train to Anhui at 10:00pm. We were in a crowded sleeper car with about seventy other adventurers on their way to the mountain. Everyone was wearing hiking boots and had Canon cameras around their necks. Since it had been raining the past few weeks, everyone had a rain jacket strapped to their bags. We settled in and fell promptly asleep after a few games of cribbage, and listened to the sounds of our fellow cabin mates playing poker until the early morning.

At 5:00am I woke to the sounds of laughter- our cabin mates were gambling again already. I pulled out my book and read for a while before descending from the top bunk (they are three high in mini rooms of 6 beds) and found a seat along the hall where I watched the scenery change from the flat, coastal farmland around Shanghai to the rolling, rocky hills of Anhui province. We arrived at the HuangShan train station at 10:00am.

After buying our return tickets to Shanghai for the following Monday evening, we were accosted by dozens of men and women eager to sell us anything we might desire. One such promiser was a middle-aged woman who offered a ride to the base of the mountain for 15Rmb. We agreed, as this is how things are generally done around China, and hopped in the back of her 6 person mini-van. Ten minutes later the van had 10 people in it and we were bumping along at 70 miles an hour. An elderly woman with purple hair tapped Mike on the shoulder every few minutes asking his age, or my occupation, or his dental plans, or if I wanted a boy or girl child. The van stopped in a town at the base of the mountain, but several hours hike from the start of the mountain trails. We got in another mini van, the driver of which was quite possibly drunk, and took off down a winding road of switchbacks until we finally arrived, mid vomit, at the entrance to the Nine Dragon Falls. Though this was not the gate we had asked to be taken to, the falls looked beautiful so we went in after the ticket lady (all of 14) assured us we could connect with a seldom used trail to the main route.

The falls defied beauty and went into the realm of nirvana. We were alone on the trails, which were often little more than a few granite stones pointing the way, and we stopped often to feel the water, take pictures or explore areas off the path. By 2pm we were hardly half way to the halfway point, and sped up our pace a bit as we hiked through endless bamboo forests. Around 3pm we stepped off the granite path and onto a black-top road, shocked to discover that there was an auto-route up the mountain. Also at this intersection was a cable car that would deliver people and cargo to the base of the summit. As the sun was going to set soon, we hopped a ride on the cable car for 10USD.

The cable car ride was, in a word, magical. From the bamboo and palm tree waterfalls and turquoise ponds the lift heaved us up into a frozen paradise, where trees looked like crystal and sidewalks looked like glass. When we stepped off the lift a surreal feeling fell over us, and there was a long silence as we walked around touching the ice and rubbing our hands together.

We explored the various peaks around the summit until well into the evening, and then discovered that the hotels on the summit cost more than I make in a month. We walked out of each hotel a little more worried until a plump little man approached us and said “100 Rmb hostel?” to which we replied, “YES!”

The room was a cement square with a cement roof and cement floor. Four wooden beds lined the walls. In all, it was smaller than the compartment on our overnight train and had no bathroom, running water or heat. It was negative 3. We bought the whole room, which was 300Rmb, and then put all the blankets on one bed to try to keep warm. A party of hikers bought out the rest of the building and stayed up all night gambling and screaming, singing and drinking. We lay awake all night shivering, cursing and then laughing. It was easy to get out of that bed and that cement coffin of a hostel to go see the sunrise at 5:30am.

The sun peaked out over the hills and light flooded the valley in waves of orange, red and then blue. It was beautiful, except for the hundreds of other spectators who were screaming, waving bells and trying to hear their own echoes in the early morning valleys.

After a nice breakfast at the spendy hotel we packed our bags, big adieu to the stout cement square owner and set off for a day of summiting the various peaks of HuangShan.

-Posted by Lauren.