Georgia on My Mind

by Dylan Berg (Australia)

Making a local connection Georgia

The shouts of my hiking buddies echoed across the valley, the terror in their voices alerting me that this was no practical joke. I turned around to see the subject of their cries - a small snake slithering along the path. Moments earlier, I had inadvertently stepped right over the viper, sunning itself on the track, making the most of the remaining Autumn sunlight. I was in the Upper Svaneti region in Georgia, straddling the North Caucasus. My encounter with the serpent came only a couple of hours out of Iprari, the final stop of the three-day trek through the region. There wasn’t a proper hospital around for miles. Days earlier I had set off from the town of Mestia with two of my close mates from back home and a host of other travelers that we had met on our travels through Georgia. I had come to the Eurasian nation expecting to experience the food, the culture and the nightlife of Tbilisi. Hiking was the last thing on my mind. Nevertheless, my friend had discovered a new found love of hiking and his enthusiasm rubbed off on me. I’d always considered myself a nature lover, but the extent of that meant perhaps a three-hour trek to an isolated beach. The prospect that this journey involved not just nature, but the opportunity to stay with locals and experience their culture eventually sold me. I was woefully unprepared. While others had waterproof shoes, sturdy backpacks, lightweight clothes, and trekking poles, I was wearing what I’d wear any other day. The soggy ground, steep terrain and fluctuating Autumn temperatures quickly demonstrated that this wasn’t going to be easy. Climbing from the fields in the valley up to the alpine forests above, the stale smell of agrarian animals was soon replaced by fresh forest scents. The white noise hum of the rushing stream was superseded by the chirps of birds and the rustling of leaves in the light winds. After a grueling climb we were soon at the top of the pass, the first of many we would cross. The view from the top presented the striking contrasts of the region. The green of the valley below, the fiery red autumn leaves of the alpine forests above, and, in the distance, the snow-capped mountain peaks. The stone towers that the region is famous for towered above picturesque villages, a reminder of the region’s turbulent history. Making our way through a seemingly deserted village, an old lady suddenly appeared. Her stoic and weathered face bearing the signs of a tough life. She did the universal sign for “do you want a drink?” and we happily obliged. Soon we were sitting at her table as she scurried around the house gathering plates of food. Bright red tomatoes fresh from the garden were garnished with a local spice mix known as Svan salt. A jar of Ajapsandali, a ratatouille-like Georgian stew, was mopped up with freshly baked bread. A pitcher of wine was placed on the table. Perhaps not the most refreshing drink after a hike, but it felt rude to decline. Soon we were partaking in local drinking rituals - linking arms with the host and taking swigs out of a bull's horn. We bid our goodbyes and made our way to the village where we spent the night at a local homestay. The next couple of days followed the same pattern. A steep climb to the top of a pass, admire the views, sit down to recuperate, and eat a lunch kindly packed for us by the guesthouse from the night before. By the end, I was hooked. I almost got bitten by a snake, got soaked wading across a river, and my whole body ached. The reward was the spectacular views and new friends made along the way. The people of the region have witnessed some of the defining moments of history but have held on to their culture throughout. Although they would have good reason to be skeptical of outsiders, the warm welcome received from the locals in the villages and homestays will forever be forged into my memory.