How it all began

If you want to discover the hidden world of Tusheti in pictures just scroll down, otherwise please read on.

I've enjoyed writing about my family and the people we met while traveling around Tusheti .So if you have any Tushetien experiences you wish to share, drop me a line and we can add your experiences to this account. chris.wills@rufusleonard.com

A swift note: I've written this account of our travels in chronological order, reading from the top down of this Blog to the bottom - the reverse of a traditional Blog . If you wish to use the navigation on the right I recommend you work from the top downwards.


An introduction of sorts.
Over the past few years I’ve been dragging my family around Eastern Europe for our summer holidays to catch the last glimpses of traditional life held in aspic during the old communist rule.
Our quest was inspired by a trip to Hungary after the wall came down and many of the Soviet republics regained their independence while old Russia ground to an economic halt. We picked the thread up once again when our daughters, India and Iona, were ready to leave the beach behind and embrace real adventures without the bucket and spade.
First on the list was a trip to Romania riding in the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania. We experienced an astonishing countryside and a way of life not seen in the UK since before the First World War. This small but significant adventure whetted our appetite for more mountains and some serious riding. Next on the list was riding over the Balkans in Bulgaria. I had assumed such a trip would be relatively leisurely but it ended up being more a test of stamina and determination, riding for up to eight hours a day with some of the longest trots I expect ever to encounter.
With the Carpathians and Balkans under our belt and ever increasing confidence in our ability, I managed to con my family into the idea of riding in the Caucuses in Georgia. This time we knew what to expect and how to survive without the obligatory morning shower and general creature comforts associated with family holidays. I knew Georgia was a fair distance from the UK and where I wanted us to travel was to the Dagestan and Chechnya boarders. What I wasn’t ready for was the way of life we were going to experience as a family and how remote the region was.

A bit of background - Our chosen destination was Tusheti where the Tush live and work from between May and October, herding their cattle and sheep over the pass to summer pastures in the Caucuses. This region has a magical climate not experienced by Georgians in the low lands and is often regarded as wild country by many Georgians ,only fit for mountain people.Frankly I think the Tush are quite happy to perpetuate this reputation, it keeps the lowland riff raff out, leaving Gods own country to some very special people.

In 2007 we set off on our journey from London to Tbilisi. After a white knuckle ride lasting eights hours from Tbilisi to Tusheti we discovered a world of brilliant horsemen with a passion for alcohol and life unsurpassed by normal folk. With no electricity or running water we swiftly discovered a life stripped bare of essentials but bursting with an abundance of wonderful fresh organic food and all number of dairy products created by our hosts. Lamb and chicken appeared frequently but not excessively. This had to be Shangri-La. After two weeks of riding along hair-raising trails, fording snow melt rivers, camping on mountain tops and generally living the life of adventurers from another age, we all agreed Tusheti was due another visit. We had only touched the surface of this magnificent land and we fancied another taste of somewhere very special. What we hadn’t reckoned on was how rich that flavour of Tusheti and Georgia was going to be.

This account is from our second trip to Tusheti.

If you find this journey through Tusheti absorbing you might like to visit another account of a trip we made to the Yunnan province in China. If you have the patience I'm sure you will find the pictures and the story of the people we met as fascinating as Tusheti . We enjoyed taking them.

http://travelsinyunnan.blogspot.com/

Arriving in Tbilisi

On the 25th July 2008 we set out for our return visit. On this occasion we had Georgian friends who were keen to see us return and of course offer more of the renowned Georgian hospitality. Georgia is an expensive five hour flight from the UK and as a result English visitors are a rare commodity and cherished as such. But before we could immerse ourselves in all things Georgian, we had to get there. Moments before our flight took off from Heathrow the flight crew ‘discovered’ two Spanish terrorists on board. After a 1.5-hour delay, the airport police, bristling with arms, escorted what looked like two sheepish but good looking lads off the plane. My wife Melissa swore she saw knives but all I could see was the exceptional scar on one of the chap's face. Now we were ready for our Georgia adventure.

Nino and driving through Tbilisi

On arrival our wonderful friend Nino Simonia pitched up the moment we arrived through customs, brilliant timing. Georgians never waste time if they can be doing something else. So waiting diligently and suffering every moment waiting in a queue is simply an anathema to Georgians, especially Nino who swept us off our feet with the style and grace you would expect from a Parisian. The difference was her car wouldn’t start. Cars are often old in Georgia and invariably held together with string and elastoplast . The memories of their sleek trouble free past are held by previous owners. Never down cast Nino (who bought her car new and remembers better times in Georgia) made a call. Georgians love their mobile phones and I swear they would part with the family silver before they gave up their mobile. The message was the battery in the boot may be the trouble and of course this was correct. With a waggle of the terminal the Mercedes burst into life and we were off.
Melissa started to count the red lights as Nino hurtled through Tbilisi. Traffic signs are for wimps in Georgia and Nino was not about to become one. Traffic simply becomes a soup of cars all desperate to stay in front and prove they are better drivers. If you have driven in the Lebanon, India or parts of Africa and South America and you think you have experienced dreadful driving, think again, Georgians are in a league of their own.
We had only driven through Tbilisi from the airport and already the world was changing before our eyes. The fun part was yet to come.

Nino and a fine Georgian breakfast

Later that morning after a brief sleep Nino prepared a sumptuous breakfast. Unless the table is groaning with fine food a Georgian hosts will not be happy. Never ask for half a slice of cake or a small cup of coffee. Life must be filled to the brim and shared at every opportunity. Well this could be your last meal, until you meet the next generous Georgian soul.
With a hearty meal in our bellies we set off to experience Tbilisi and spend the day soaking up the city. We already knew the Tbilisi well and could afford to pick at the delicate morsels we had grown to love in our previous trip, finishing with the Turkish baths that hark back to the origins of Tbilisi.

Traveling to Tusheti

Our journey to Tusheti was about to begin and I hope the following pictures paint a clear image of this magnificent region in Georgia .I've tried to compile a selection of entries in an attempt to illustrate the key stages of our adventure. If the number of images in some sections appear to be laboured, it's only because I wanted to offer the people featured an opportunity to see their own lives in greater detail.
I've annotated many of the pictures to help place our journey into context and of course explain what was happening at the time. All you need now is the patience and determination to run through my edited collection of images. Have fun , we did.

Street vendors on the road

Tusheti car wash from a small waterfall on the way to the mountain pass

Across yet another river

Driving through last winter's snow and this , can you believe it, was July.

Late July and the road still cuts through snow and rivers

Approaching the pass

A rest stop for a cold beer or amazingly, an exceptionaly cold spring near the pass to Tusheti.

The leaf hat is not mandatory but I get the feeling the stop for a drink is. On occasions there might be half a dozen cars parked up on this spot, with the occupants sharing a few beers and as always the local gossip.

Over the pass

There is no electricity supply to Tusheti so these sentinels act as simple a reminder of better times when Russia provided the electricity and infrastructure for modern life in this remote region.

Here is the daily 6X6 truck making its way back from Tusheti.This monster of a truck inches its way along the track making up to six point turns on some of the bends. If you are tired of Alton Towers (UK funfair) this is the ultimate scary experience.

On our way to Omalo

Having travelled for what seemed an eternity we still had a few hours to go after the pass. The trip from Tbilisi to Shenako (in Tusheti )is about 6 to 8 hours, depending on how often you stop.

Once over the pass into Tusheti the view is magnificent but we still had a significant way to go.

The best thing was not to count the time but to hang on for grim life and enjoy the ride.

There is never a dull moment with every twist and turn of the track leaving you with your stomach in your mouth. The Tush just take this in their stride and treat the road as an everyday journey- as you would going to work. The road is not tarmacked and is often affected by frequent landslides and mountain streams/rivers, so the going is frequently slow and very uneven.

As our 4WD edged us towards the first settlements in Tusheti we found ourselves peering up at tiny villages clinging to the mountainside.During our travels around Tusheti we later to became familiar with these hamlets but our first port of call ,as for so many when they arrive in Tusheti, is Omalo, a wonderful spot cradled by the Caucasus. Sadley the Soviet brutalist influence still lingers on unlike the rest of Tusheti. Upper Omalo is by far my favourite place to stay and only 30 mins climb up the hill from lower Omalo, with some great new guest houses.Travelers to the region often stay briefly in Omalo but only as their first port of call when arriving in Tusheti .

If you are looking for a horse, Omalo is a good place to enquire, although in high season you might need to book in advance. Zora was our horse provider and guide in the summer of 2007 - kindly arranged by Eka . You can see her contact details below the images on the right.

Our first destination' Shenako'

Here is the heart of Tusheti for some - Shenako, with Nino and Zao's homestead centre left, our home for four wonderful days. Nino is one of the finest cooks in Tusheti while Zao is an excellent host but never take him on when drinking Chacha.

Shenako and a view from a terrace looking down on the village.
This assortment of homes (some ruined, some decaying but inhabited, some restored) is one of the most magical places I have ever been to. A community of wonderful souls whose generosity knows no limit.

The following images are an assortment of pictures Melissa and I took over four days during the village festival.

This is Shenako winter village, with only a couple of inhabited houses, the rest abandoned and rapidly becoming ruined. These are the houses the villagers moved to in the winter months of extreme cold and deep snow (the summer village being too exposed to the elements). Only one couple stay all year round now, the rest leave Tusheti in the winter (October - May) and live elsewhere.


My daughters. India on the right and her younger sister Iona on the left. This picture was taken on the track leading into Shenako

The Church in Shenako has recently been renovated .Our friends Eka and Irma's father played an important role as priest and inspiration for the restoration project With his enthusiasm and help from the village the church has been revitalised. We attended a wedding blessing this summer and I have to admit we all cried , it was a moving sight for everyone . Hats off to everyone in Shenako .

I'm not sure where the eventual and all important financial support came from .If anyone has an idea please leave me a comment and I can give them credit in this account.

Another shot of Nino's home and her cow barn. The following pictures are a selection of Nino ,our host at work, with her cows, making cheese and her life in general.












Nino described her kitchen as something out of the last century and I guess she is right. When we I asked for hot water to wash in, Nino had to boil the water over the fire and not simply turn on a hot tap. A very tough life and it made me think twice about needing hot water.

Life in Shenako a selection of images

I hope the following selection of images will give insight into life in Shenako. They are not meant to be a romantic idea of life in Tusheti but life as we observed it on a daily basis. If I've edited out anything that might alter the true picture of life, it's us all getting very drunk on Chacha - local vodka. I'll leave that to your own imagination.

Above is one of the village bread ovens, shared by many families.

Bread making in Tusheti is an essential part of life. Unlike at home where Melissa would make a couple of loaves and freeze some for eating later this lot has got to last the whole week and often shared with neighbours or relatives.


The girls tried hard at milking but it obviously needs a great deal of practice to get as good as Nino and her family ,who made the task appear effortless.


What is it about toilets? When travelling it's what many people from more wealthy countries cringe at. No flushing loo's ,my goodness how could they? Well I'm very fond of this dry toilet, it's right in the middle of the cow field and at night we all had great fun making our way past the cows for a quick pee.

Making Khinkali, a sort of meat dumpling, is as important to Georgians as! Well I was going to say as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is in the UK but that's an insult to Georgia. Take it from me this is 'the' national dish bar none.

Here's India collecting her water for the day at the sweet well, down by the winter village. When you look into this well there is a trout swimming contentedly. He/she has been put there to eat any frogs or creepy crawlies that might find their way into the well. Who needs technology when you have a fish to do the work?

A Tush saddle. Simple even basic but brilliant for the mountains. No fuss and all you need plus a nice cushion and a good horse .


Nino's parlor and through the door you can see her kitchen. I seem to have made a habit of hitting my head as I went through the door. In 2008 I fell over ( while worse for ware) and broke a rib which didn't help .







This is a picture of the oldest man in Shenako. The house is typical of the Shenako vernacular architecture. We sat opposite each other during part of the festival although he kept falling asleep. A wonderful man and I think he lives in Shenako all year round but I may be wrong.




My very good friend Zao, Nino's husband. A brilliant sportsman, football player and certainly knows how to party. Although neither of us can speak each others language he taught me a great deal about life. A true Tush with a heart of gold.

The girls playing football at dusk against the Shenako boys with Zao on their side. They won. Hooray!



Here is Iona looking out from Nino's old winter house, no longer in use.

The gang.

Elene who is Nino's daughter is on the left. Behind her is Iona in the green. In front with the long hair and glasses is India. Behind India next to Iona is Goggi, our horseman and brother of Elene. Then we have Irma, our very good friend, guide and translator. And finally Carlo who was Goggi's best friend, Irma's cousin and good friends with all the girls. This crew had some amazing times together and experienced a summer never to be forgotten.



Melissa, my wife, in a contemplative moment looking down over Shenako.

The lads after a few, well more than a few Chacha's (local Vodka's).

This house would have been magnificent in it's day . Now it just needs some love to bring it back to life.
Not a very flattering picture of our room. Simple and a place where I slept like a baby.

The Shenako Festival

It all starts first thing in the morning behind the church with no women. First take your ram, cut his head off, shake a bit of blood on the Shrine and then eat some bread, cheese and plenty of Chacha (vodka). I always seem to be good at the Chacha bit which is often my undoing.

If you don't have a son the deal is the Shenako lads will throw you over this wall as part of the picnic festival. This year a German chap broke his arm and there were a few other casualties. I was sleeping off the alcohol and so missed my chance to make a fool of myself, thank goodness.

Beka (baseball hat and pink shirt), the nephew of a great friend of ours from Tbilisi pitched up in Shenako which is an amazing coincidence. The chap dancing is a hot headed Chechen, nice guy but not someone to get in to a scrape with.

Beka with Melissa, India and Iona and the Sholta who is a sort of party maker and who's job it is to get everyone going and enjoying themselves.

More Chechen dancing. This guy has style.

The Tamada or toast master for the festival. An elder of the village who makes the toasts. The other gentlemen are of a similar stature but kept quite.

The band who had boundless energy for good times and great music.

In this picture our very good friend Alex from the US looks on as I talked to a gentleman from Docho ( up the valley) who I found out later, wanted his son to marry India. We called him 'no problem' because he decided that the marriage would of course be 'no problem'. A nice guy but I'm not so sure India would have agreed to the marriage settlement.

The girls party was something else. These women can tuck it away. Cacha that is.

More Chacha in the obligatory 'no name' plastic bottle.

In Shenako everyone will know this guy. He has a pint of beer tattooed on his arm, which he shows off at any and every given moment, hence the missing sleeve for the world to see.

Here is Nino's sister in law who's marriage was later was blessed in the church. I think the little girl is her grand daughter, she was very sweet.

Many Tushetians can play the squeeze box, and quite a few people own one. This provides music for dancing (remember no CD players as there is no electricity) and for singing often around campfires in the evening. Everyone knows the words to all the traditional Tushetian songs as did we by the end of our holiday.

The Patriarch's of the village after a good lunch

In the late afternoon sun this flock of turkey's were walked slowly through the village .

Melissa and a very drunk but happy husband.

More dancing by the Wills family.

This summers festival saw a marked difference in the appearance of horses. In 2007 we saw horses charging about all day long ending with a spectacular race. This year no race and only a few visiting horsemen. However, later in this account you can find some great racing pictures taken in another village.

A couple of the men nursing sore heads.

The Shenako festival occurs over three days or so. As a result, there appear to be numbers of spontaneous gatherings or just the odd drink at friends houses. These sessions can mean a bottle of Chacha and that's between two, then the girls start.

All you need is to hear the music in the background and it's difficult to stop dancing.

I like this picture. The goal posts and the Church. Two religions living as one in Shenako.

Off to the border between Tusheti and Dagestan

After three days of partying in Shenako it was time to get down to the business of travelling around Tusheti.

Our first trip was simple; follow the road to Diklo, and then on to the Dagestan border which is only an hour of two ride from Shenako, and then once there just take in the view. What we hadn't reckoned on were the boarder guards, who would later star in the center pages of the Sun newspaper on our return when the war broke out with Russia.

This meadow, like so many is magical . Full of wild flowers looking down over Diklo. I didn't tell India this was the village where the head man had asked if India would marry his son.

Elene rode on the back of Irma's horse. I was just happy to be surrounded by a harem of wonderful women.

This picture is the one that we later gave to the Sun newspaper in Tbilisi. As luck would have it Irma (our guide and great friend) was either related or went to school with one of the soldiers. A little bit of charm can go a long way and the guys agreed to have their picture taken. Well why not, it brightened up their day. Not something I'm a great fan of but this was a golden opportunity for Iona to pose with men in uniform.

What we didn't realise was there were only around 250 English people in Georgia when the troubles began and very few English families, hence the UK press thought is was a big deal for us to be having fun at the border. More of this later.

As you can imagine this image only really became important on our return to the UK. The Georgian flag flying high on it's boarder with Dagestan (Russia) .

This image was a fair way off and no thanks to my shaking hand. I got it after the sixth attempt.

On the road to Chigho and Dartlo

The trail to Chigho and then onto Dartlo is scary to say the least. As Irma our guide had become such a good friend, this year she revealed to us that part of the trail is known as 'the devil's way'. Having traversed it twice now, I can understand why. We did it in 2007 but that was when the trail was intact. This year there had been some dreadful flooding so it was any one's guess how things would turn out.

After a brisk ride up the hill we made it to the last lookout looking towards Shenako and Omalo. The last time we would see this area for a a week and a half.

Melissa's horse had a two month old foal who accompanied us the whole way. Leaping and kicking with joy as she discovered the Tusheti trails for her first time. Not everything was easy for her and she nearly got carried away by the river later in our journey.


Snaking our way down the slopes on the first leg of the journey I wanted to capture the wild flowers and wonderful atmosphere in these mountains. Well you can see it's green and very mountainous but that's about all. Take it from me this is a wonderful place to walk and commune with nature.

Melissa and I lost count of the number of bridges we crossed. Most of them in perpetual decay. Here' one for the record.




Melissa and her horses foal on the same bridge.


After a good mornings ride, well mostly walking because the paths were so steep, we arrived at Chigho. You can just make the village out at the top of the picture. There is an important festival held each summer in Chigho called the Lasharoba. I'm told it's held 100 days after Easter but that seems to go for other festivals in Tusheti and dates for such occasions are subject to all manner of local influences.

There is only one family still living in this crows nest of a settlement. Anywhere else in Europe this would be prime real estate. In Tusheti it's a tough life and Chigho is a long way from anywhere, especially estate agents.

This is a little secret for those of you who have been to the spring at Chigho and I hope it makes you smile with that reassuring feeling when you recognise something special. For those who don't know, this pink plastic thing opens up into a cup, which the tired traveler can take a drink from and rest their weary feet by the cascading waters.


The trail to Dartlo.

Yes a bit steep but hey, who said this was a trip for the faint hearted. The problem is we had to get the horses up the slope to where I was standing taking the picture.



Our trip became nail biting stuff as we discovered the trail had been washed away by the river after the previous weeks storm.
Goggi ,our superman horseman took his horse up the slope in 'Flip Flops' as all true young Tushetian lads do. The idea being the other horses follow - which they do, remarkable!

This is no joke. Goggi slipped as he jumped off his horse which seemed to canter vertically up the mountain. Yes we have the pictures to prove that Tushetian horses can climb mountains .

As always, all was well, despite a large gash in Goggi's hand which he refused antiseptic for.

The girls look on in awe at such skillful and brave horsemanship. Well I told them they were easily impressed.You can see a pile of stones at the bottom of this steep path, which Goggi had to build from riverbed rocks. This enabled the horses to gain a foothold to climb up onto the path - the bottom of which had been washed away in a previous flood.

Last year when we made this trip I used to explain to my friends how scary the trail was and I'm not sure anyone got the picture. This trail goes on for a long way and most of the way the width in no wider than a foot or 30 cm of shale. Well it got me going.

Back on the open trail and not so far to Dartlo, and yes it is as heavenly as it looks.

Our room for the night was with a Tush family who seemed very shy. I don't think they were used to a family of Brits especially our two girls. Their homestead was straight out of the wild west. A tin shed, weather worn, very simple and much appreciated after the long journey from Shenako.

If you are planning to take the Chegho route to Dartlo I do recommend you are accompanied by a local or a guide if you can find one. Local maps are not convincing and one needs to nowhere the trail is currently running. The weather can destroy trails overnight and many are simply goat trails leading know where. This is not to say it will be impossible , just difficult.

Last year we stayed at a Dartlo Guesthouse. You can see it top left of the picture in very new wood.

Provisions from the lowlands by truck were being deposited in Dartlo which is as far as the 4x4 could go arriving from down the valley. The previous storms had destroyed the track further up towards the more remote villages like Pasma.

Our guesthouse on a very misty morning before we set out for Pasma.

Dartlo. A very lonely place which looses the sun early in the afternoon but loved by hikers who camp by the roaring river near by.

A good shave before we start out on the next leg of our journey. I always find a shave sets me up for the day and gives me that extra zip needed when you are getting old and grey.

The road to Pasma

The track from Dartlo to Pasma is just that. A track but good enough for the obligatory 4x4 white Nivas or Ladas, although not so much this year because of the terrible weather previuosly which had washed part of the roads away. The track follows the river, hugging the shale slopes. Last year we forded the river which felt like a real risk at the time.






Just one of the tributaries making its way to the river .When I was 15 I don't remember this type of adventure. I can only hope such experiences will prepare the girls for their own future adventures.

If you are wondering where was the back-up team with the bags and luxuries. Well I'm sorry, we only had what we could carry on our horse's. Although Goggi, our horseman, appeared to only have a sleeping bag and nothing else.

On the trail to Pasma the surrounding landscape closes in and it seems as though the mountains are taking a grip on your soul. It feels like a deeply sacred place and judging by the ancient towers built an eternity ago I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt that way.

This gentleman from Pasma was picking thyme by the roadside. The Tush make what they call mountain Chai or mountain tea to you and I from the thyme that they pick.

Our homestead for two fantastic days in Pasma.

A view from our homestead looking at one of the towers in Pasma, where I might add only men can visit. The Georgians live in a very patriarchal society.

Breakfast in Pasma and I appear to have dropped something in my lap. Typical.

The girls hanging out. Life in Tusheti for young people is very social. Loads of chat and in the evening more gossip by the fire somewhere in the centre of the village. In Pasma the young people take turns reciting or making their own poetry by the fireside well into the night.

A magnificent Pasma tower. These giant edifices were used to house villagers in times of invasion from the Cechen over the border.

The veg garden behind our homestead. The food is always so fresh and perfect in Tusheti. I think it must be something to do with the clean air and organic growing.

This view is from the village looking up at the Church/Shrine. A very holy place indeed and as before, no women are allowed near this hallowed place. A significant part of the village was set aside for Shrines and the Church although I firmly believe the church predated Christianity and on first impressions Pasma appears to have been some sort of religious centre for Tusheti.

Who needs a shower when you have a bucket of cold water and a good sister?

Me, at one with the world.

This view is from Pasma looking down onto the valley below. Pasma sits on a vantage point looking down at the valley below.

This helicopter supports the boarder guards and kept passing over the village. An incongruous sight in Pasma.

Our host in Pasma.

We discovered many of these inscriptions on stones as part of the buildings in Pasma. I would love to understand more about their purpose and meaning.

Hegho just up the valley towards Chechenya.

On our second day in Pasma we wanted to make our way to Hegho which is the last inhabited village in the valley close to the Chechen boarder. Our horses had to cross the river without us and back again because the path on our side was so bad.

Iona and Irma sharing a horse, which is common in Tusheti. At least we didn't have our rucksacks on this occasion.

On arrival close to Hegho, we were greeted by these very welcoming Georgian guards. The girls were delighted but I expect not as much as the guards were.

Returning over the river our foal nearly got carried away by the swift river current.

Melissa - who will not thank me for this picture but I like it.

Our trip to Hegho was to the end of the valley - well as far as we could go without papers. The following day Melissa and the girls were to climb with the horses over the pass and I was to travel partly by horse and retrace our steps to find a 4x4 and then on to Verkhovani where there was another festival and some wild hose racing. I had been over the pass previously and I knew my health was not up to such a tough trip but hey ho.

Over the top to Verkhovani via the Nakie-Khol pass

This year I opted to leave the girls to make their way over the pass on their own with Goggi and Irma. I didn't feel fit enough and as things turned out I had my own adventures.


Iona making her way up to the pass. Most of this trip is on foot since it's to steep for the horses.

For the record This is the last part of the trail as we ride up on to the top of the pass in 2007. Just proof  I made it over the top during our previous trip. I'm the fat one in the middle with the white hat  and blue shirt.

I don't have many pictures of the climb up to the pass but golly this is a magnificent place at the top of the pass with swifts, golden eagles and the girls tell me they even saw one of the extremely rare wild goats.

The girls on what feels like the roof of the world. OK its not but hey, who can tell?

Coming down off the pass the main village is Verkhovani where Patti has the very best guest house with hot running water! Patti is also one of the most hard working wonderful people I have ever met.

Patti's guest house. Clean comfortable and the end of the line.

With the girls trekking over the pass I found myself making my way up the valley driving over another pass near Shenako. However, the guys driving found they needed to change shock absorbers on the pass. No mean feat since we didn't have any tools to speak of. These guys were the best . Think for a moment, how would you change the shocks. With a pocket knife and a whittled branch from a tree, they made a tool to compress the shock rubber into the shock bar. Amazing and after an hour we were on our way.

I always feel guilty for not showing my appreciation more .

On the way to Verkhovani and the races .

On arrival at Patti's I had a swift lunch and then off to the summer festival where the horse racing and general partying is something else. The problem was I had some Chacha that could layout an Ox. The girls at this time were still climbing the pass - sober.

Patti our host in Verkhovani is in the centre sitting with her neighbours and friends.

This is the main Shrine where the race ends and offerings are made. Home of the killer Chacha.

As with all the festival races it's difficult, as a foreigner, to understand when the great event is to occur. This race started to take shape after the local lads had been testing the course at spectacular speed and agility for about an hour after lunch. The moment arrived and off in the distance the blur of activity set alight the crowd with a roar of excitement. These lads ride bareback through rivers and rough land at breathtaking speed.

This lad has just won the horse race. He later rode off up the mountain to display his banner with pride and golly he deserved it.

The girls like to take their brothers or boyfriends horses and show off their own horsemanship.

What grips me about these Tusheti festivals is the total lack of health and safety, which is a good thing. Horses are galloping at breakneck speed around the crowds, and the girls and boys are all having great run. Parents are drinking copious quantities of Chacha and life is led to the full.

From Verkhovani to Gogrulta

Breakfast is always a welcome feast especially at Patti's.

On the road from Verkhovani there is this priceless bridge over the river leading to a village across the valley. Not my idea of fun.

After making our way back up the valley towards Omalo we turned off towards Ilyulta (I hope this is correct). Although this is small village it's important since Ilyulta is the only other village apart from Shenako that has a village church. Pasma has what they might call a church but it is more of a large shrine.

The Wills family in a rather forgotten and sorry looking church. With the new awakening to the Georgian church I expect it will be rejuvenated with the fullness of time.

One of Goggi's friends caught up with us to say bye. I just thought the mixture of typical street jeans and trainers next to a traditional saddle and a fit horse was the best.

Iona taking it easy by a waterfall.

We met a couple of wood cutters on our way to Gogulta working with axe and handsaw. No chainsaws here.

Gogrulta, a small hamlet with no direct road to it, only very precarious and steep paths. You can get there from the main valley track from Omolo but the climb is very hard indeed. We saw this village from a distance last year and wanted to make a visit. Our host Lilly and her husband have made an excellent guest house and I think it is fair to say that Gogrulta is one of the most magical places in Tusheti and for us a two day stay.

Perched on top of the world.

Gogrulta and Lily's family

After an exceptional ride from Verkhovani to Gogrulta we had at last arrived in the little hamlet we had spied upon the horizon a year ago from Docho. Our journey to Gogrulta had been fraught with problems. The previous bad weather had washed away what little trail there was, although Goggi and Irma managed to pick our way across ravines and make our way via an assortment of goat trails and dodgy advice from passing shepherds. The eventual journey we did take was spectacular. Passing through magnificent birch forests with glades of wild flowers from another world. Every so often we would break out from the forest onto soft dreamy pastures looking out over the Tusheti Mountains. This part of Tusheti is possibly the most untouched and unspoilt we have ever seen although goodness knows how on earth one would find it again.

The following selection of images are some of those we took while staying with Lily and her husband Socrat . Their farmhouse stood perched on the side of the cliff looking out across Tusheti. A great place to stay with a brand new guest house all made by Socrat. I strongly recommend it.

Lily's new guest house can be seen in the group of buildings top right in this image.

This shrine, like many others ,is off limits for women and sits at the entrance to the village close by the water trough. Such shrines play a complex role for the villages. First taking the role as a holy place, representing Christian beliefs. Secondly the ram is represented on the shrine , harking back to early beliefs where the ram was ( and still is to some degree) the embodiment of the world that surrounds the Tush . The ram is sacrificed on festival days with its blood cast over the shrine when slaughted. On such occasions bread, cheese and Chacha (local vodka) are eaten and drunk as part of the ritual. Such a combination of beliefs might appear contradictory to the outsider. To me it's the fusion between the new and old ways of life in the mountains and in many ways the symbolism of the ram holds a stronger grip than the established church.

Here is Socrat toasting Tusheti, our family and the world we all live in. Socrat is one of the most accomplished people I have ever come across. He has made nearly everything on his small holding . From the stools we sat on to the ladle and wooden bowls used to make their cheese. He made the saddle for his horse and shod his horse with shoes he made himself. For that matter he restored the guest house we stayed in making all the furniture.

Socrat takes his materials from the landscape he lives in and using his a smithy and a joiners yard he is able to be totally independent of the outside world ,supporting his small dairy farm run by Lily. Socrat is also very generous with his Chacha.

Lily making Khinkali with her grandson at her side.

Butter making barrels made by Socrat.

Lily's fireplace and the very best place to cook her delicious food.

One night a group of French travellers arrived. I don't think they knew how to party and certainly looked at us with disdain as we knocked back the Chacha. However I'm sure they loosened up later in their travels.

We had an exceptional party in Gogrulta although many of our pictures didn't come out.

Zocrat, me and some of the men from the village. This was the beginning of a long session ending with dancing over the fire.

In no particular order, the following images represent Lily and Socrat's life in Gogrulta

During our stay in Gogurlta India ,Iona and Goggi decided to walk down into the valley to visit the river where we had been the year before while visiting Docho . A very hard walk back up  the mountain. This is an idyllic mountain river but very chilly due to the nature of snow melt water. Last year we went from Docho and swam in the river while our horse guide (Zora) who ,while we splashing about and making fools of ourselves ,caught the best tasting trout I've ever eaten. 

This year the girls were keen to light a fire by the river . Perhaps this was to keep the bears away that were worrying the cattle up the mountain. Melissa's imagination got carried away with her and she was convinced that if it wasn't bears it must be blood thirsty wolves who might whisk her daughters away into the deep dark forest of Tusheti. Well neither the wolves or the bears could be bothered to turn up so we don't have any pictures of Goggi protecting my daughters from fierce beasts ,although based on previous experience we would have seen them off given half a chance with his Flip flops - Goggi traveled everywhere with his Flip Flops, as a result they took on a mythical dimension.

Traveling from Gogrulta to Khakhabo and then onto Upper Omalo

After a wonderful two days in Gogrulta it was time to wend our way back to Upper Omalo via a relaxing  night in Khakhabo. I can vividly remember riding over the brow of the hill and looking down over Omalo and its surrounding villages and thinking 'golly we are back in the twenty first century and civilisation'. The irony is Tusheti could never be described as part of the twenty first century with neither electricity or running water. Running Chacha, general revelry and a love for life for sure. That's the way of life in Tusheti.

The following images are a random selection which I trust will paint discreet picture of the last leg of our journey before further adventures beset the Wills family as we left Georgia. Sadly we don't have many from Khakhabo, largely because our camera batteries were running low by this time.











The farm yard just by our home stay. The light was amazing  on this evening, casting a glorious red glow over everything.

Notice the morning mist behind me. Some mornings the whole valley  would be shrouded in  this soft and all consuming mist, casting a damp and cool glaze over everything in its path.

 
India looking out from our room.

If you have ever traveled the simple way in  the Georgian countryside you will be familiar  with  this type of scene. The wash room.

A vegetable store. You can find these all over Tusheti

 

Mari talking to Iona. 

The last picture from Khakhabo. I like the way the outside light gently illuminates our bedroom and the wonderful old wardrobe

Upper Omalo and the end of our travels in Tusheti for 2008

When one arrives in Tusheti it's normally Omalo which is the first port of call. Further up the hill you will find tucked away the older and far more beautiful village of Upper Omalo. Look past the decaying buildings and you will see a very elegant and special village which is in the process of being rejuvenated by some outside money. I'll leave you to decide if this is a good thing or not.

Here is Melissa looking down over Upper Omalo from one of the (Keslo Foundation) towers. Keslo is a developer from Canada who is responsible for much of the recent restoration.





Melissa with Tusheti stretching out behind her. Fond memories and we will return.

If you are a vernacular architecture geek like me ,a woven wall like this example in Upper Omalo is a classic and needs to be cherished. Somehow I don't see this wall taking a priority like it should do.

Our guest house had recently open, in fact I think we were the first guests. The plumbing was predictably at the early stages of development but the rest was excellent. If you chose to stay take a bed role. As with many of the new guest houses the beds can be quite hard although clean and very comfortable.








Some of the lads keep some fine saddles with some great carpet work.



Melissa's horse was sadly lacking in good tack or fine carpet work for that matter . It's a Tusheti problem and you should not worry if you choose to travel by horse but just put your foot down to get things fixed. Carpets are not an optional extra.
The horse was excellent ,followed by her beautiful foal for two weeks. In fact she was a champion in her day and one of the best in Tusheti .

My horse looks as if he was saddled up by a monk from the middle ages. Don't come to the wrong conclusions here . After 6 hours in this saddle I felt as fresh as a daisy and my horse was magnificent and could turn on a sixpence. All our horse's were excellent, the tack was just a touch rudimentary but this is something one needs to appreciate in Tusheti and get used to .

When we arrived in Upper Omalo; Goggi ,Irma and the girls took off to return our horses to Shenako. The idea was they would be back for supper at around 8.00. At around 10.00 ,when it was pitch black, our wild adventurers returned squealing with delight. Melissa was besides herself with rage. If I recall I just held the peace until we had the full story. In short, on arrival in Shenako there was a wonderful party. The girls got drunk and a had quite rightly had a great time.The problem was how to get home while drunk and without a means to get home. The answer was they stole a horse and galloped home bareback with Irma and Goggi in the dead of night for about 10 miles. I presume the other horse was Goggi's. All I could do was congratulate the girls on a safe return and put it down to experience. Hell I never did anything nearly as exciting at 15 or 17 years of age. The next day Iona had a very sore bottom and Irma had one hell of a hangover. The horse above is the one in question. He had been Iona's horse for two weeks so they were good friends but I guess he still wanted to be home by the racket he made all night.

Butter wouldn't melt in their mouth as my mother would say. Elene on the right has recently got married to a Tushetian lad and we wish them the very best for the future. He is a very lucky man indeed.

The whole village appeared to be out to say goodbye but I fear it was for India and Iona and not for Melissa and myself but we did experience the reflected glory the girls were basking in after the previous nights adventures.

This lad was keen to see us off in style and raced around our truck like a demon on his magnificent horse. It beats a hoody in London showing off on his scooter.

In my next entry I shall be talking about how we left Tbilisi and not how we left Tusheti. If by now this blog has inspired you to visit Tusheti. My advice is just go .

Tusheti will inevitably start to change and soon it will never be the same. Is there a risk in traveling to Tusheti ? Well I've just come back from China where I caught legionnaires disease. I could have died, not because of China but stuff just happens. My advice is make your own luck and just go. Georgia is one hell of a country and unlike any other I've been to. 

Escaping Tbilisi as the Russians advanced

The following text is taken from an article I wrote on our return to the UK. If you have the patience please read on and I've included a few pictures at the end of this blog although the are a touch sparse and random . Taking pictures was not at the forefront of our minds and I'd run out of camera memory.
You can try this link to see what one of the UK red top papers had to say about our adventure.
http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/1546337/British-family-tell-of-holiday-terror-after-fleeing-from-war-torn-Georgia-following-invasion-of-Russian-forces.html

Our trip to Tusheti in July/Aug 2008 proved to be even more eventful than 2007 and sealed our passion for Georgia as one of the most magnificent countries in the world. Everyday events on our journey put our life into perspective, such as my horse slipping on the mountainside leaving me hanging from tree as she scrambled for her life. Taking part in the ritual sacrifice of Rams for the summer festival or watching young lads race bareback at breath taking speed to prove who is the finest horseman. Even our daughters stealing a horse from the neighbouring village and riding bareback at a gallop in the dead of night started to feel like an everyday event.
Such adventures and many more were as much as we could ever expect to experience until our return to Tbilisi for our flight home. After a bare-knuckle ride through the mountain pass to Tbilisi we arrived after an eight-hour drive back into Georgian civilisation. On our arrival, at our familiar guesthouse, we realised everything was not as we expected. Within moments of our arrival our Georgian friends had got wind we were in town and were on the phone. They informed us all flights were cancelled from Tbilisi since the military airport had been bombed, furthermore Ossetia had been invaded by the Russians and who knows what will happen next. After a swift and very unsatisfactory conversation with the British Consul I established we needed to get out of the country first thing in the morning. Tbilisi was a war zone with expected attacks from Russia. That night we met up with the acting Belgium Consul who gave us the inside story and how best to get out of the country. On our way back to our guesthouse the streets were flooded with patriotic Georgians all anxious to know what was happening. Soldiers paraded in their armoured tanks saluting with fists clenched. The atmosphere was electric and somewhat concerning.
That night I counted the bombs going off around Tbilisi as jets flew overhead taking out the telecommunication systems. In the morning mobile phones were dead and ATM machines were no longer working. This was for real and without cash or the ability to make contact in and around Tbilisi life was going to grind to a halt.
After a frustrating morning I managed to get our flights transferred to Yerevan in Armenia, we just needed to find our way there but again everyone else seemed to have the same idea. One harrowing moment while waiting for flight information was when a woman came to Melissa pleading with her to take her baby to the UK but with no visas we felt as vulnerable as she did. Stripped of our usual confidence I gave each of the girls a hundred US dollars with instructions, if we get separated to make their own way to Yerevan. It was at this point we met with the Sun reporter who could no believe his eyes. Blimey a plucky British family making their way home from war torn Georgia, well you could see the headlines. We were happy to share our very brief experience and even share some of our holiday pictures, never thinking our story would be told to the nation.
Equipped with flight tickets we caught a cab to the boarder where we were dropped off as close as we could get. The tailback of traffic was considerable but if we walked on foot we could save a days wait. In the sweltering heat we waited patiently for our visas. The Armenian boarder was not set up for such an influx of hopeful immigrants, after a few hours we were over the boarder. What next?
As luck would have it we found a man with a car who had just made his way across the boarder. All sign of normal cabs had vanished. With a deal struck the Wills family were free of the Georgia boarder and ready for Yerevan. Nothing is ever so simple. Within1.5 hours our car gave out an almighty bang and ground to a halt. We were a great distance from anywhere, it was very late in the day and we were all very tired. Melissa pointed out we had sleeping bags and after our recent trip in the mountains we could handle anything. After watching our driver play with Sellotape for what seemed an eternity I got out of the car to see if I could help in some way. I discovered our driver was trying to stick the engine together with Sellotape .Not a silly as it sounds since the chamber where the exhaust gases are reused had exploded and to his mind Sellotape was all he had to hand. I swiftly realised his valiant efforts were never going to work due to the heat of the engine but as every traveller in dodgy taxis will know, there is always a way to get the dam thing working. I searched through out medical bag and found a real of Elastoplast tape. Very sticky, exceptionally strong and never comes off when you want it to. Within minutes we had the engine taped up and roaring into action and on our way, albeit very slowly to Yerevan.
With two days to kill before our flight we set off to discover the delights of Yerevan, feeling confident that we had left any unlikely events behind us. On the morning of our flight we all felt relieved that there were to be no more heart stopping moments. That was until we arrived to check in. The desk was closed but how could this be, we had our tickets. The receptionist looked at us as if we were stupid. She pointed out there was a flight but we had missed it. I looked at my watch and confirmed the check in time. The penny then dropped, Armenia does not share the same time zone as Georgia and we were an hour late since we had not moved our clocks forward. Who would have thought it? Thankfully the receptionist informed us all was not lost, our airline had put on a special flight for British Embassy staff and this would be leaving in the afternoon. Hooray for exiting embassy officials and thank goodness for the additional flight since they only leave every three days and our patience was wearing thin with Soviet style Armenian customer service.
Flying back Business Class was a significant change from what we had become used to and BMI treated four very scruffy and intrepid travellers as if we were kings.
Stepping of the plane and collecting our bags all seemed well with the world until we discovered India’s bags had been lost in transit. Small beer, we were just happy to be home.

Mikheil became a daily feature of our lives and the lack of knowledge expressed by the world press was incredible.

I just love these cars. This one was spied on the way to the Armenian border.


Our very smart taxi from Tbilisi who could go no further. It was down to us from here on.

There is always someone who has an excess of the good stuff even when things are looking tough.


I just liked this shot.

Shepherd fairy and Banksy eat your heart out . Even in Armenia there's a rip off

This is a typical evening in Yerevan with a light show in the Central Sq.

Armenian music is to die for but only when it is played well and these guys are world class .

The view from our very Soviet hotel. Don't ask me the name, I was hoping never to remember .


A farewell picture of Melissa and the girls before we left for the UK after what had seemed an age in Yerevan.