A Beginning and an End
When we first thought about starting our trip in Georgia, it was pretty much solely from convenience. I knew nothing about the country, the culture, the food, or the history. I only knew it was visa free, a link to the Central Asia I very much wanted to see, and had an airport. I didn’t know that it would become so special to me, and so important in this bike ride.
With the winter still lingering further east, we needed to kill some time. Somehow we ended up in this tiny country for about six weeks. We met other cyclists, got sick, got better, volunteered, drank wine, and did some cycling in there too. Mostly we learnt. For us, Georgia was both a beginning and an end. This was the country where we felt like newbies again, where we realized how much we didn’t know, where we discovered just how soft our bodies were, and just how hardened they needed to become. This was where we took our first frightened pedal strokes towards a sensibly located goal. This was where we found ourselves a family and felt comfortable. We eased in. Where we realized we had set ourselves an impossible task, but somehow we would manage. This was where we found the end of the beginning.
The end of feeling quite so unsure of ourselves. The end of shiny new gear and spotlessly clean clothes. The end of wobbling feet and fumbling hands. This was where we had to put an end to our unease with the lack of language. Where we had to stop caring that we were constantly being stared at. To learn to stop saying no to opportunities just because we were too tired to try to communicate without language.
And when we accepted both the beginning and the end, Georgia accepted us in return. When we left our new family at Wine Hostel Sanavardo, we began to really dig in to the ride. This was a real start. From here it was full on. No more hanging around waiting for weather. No more weeks of comfort and Internet. Now we found ourselves on the open road, with nothing between us and Mongolia but kilometres left to pedal. And so one stroke at a time, we moved forward.
Georgia has good food, beautiful scenery, interesting history, and some extremely old buildings. But what made the country so wonderful for me were the people. There was Johnny, a local guy with impeccable English who stopped his truck on the side of the road to give us each a fresh loaf of bread, teach us a little Russian, tell us how bad he thought his English was, give us advice on where to go in Georgia, and to wish us well. Or the man who saw us sitting having lunch at a table on his land, who instead of telling us to leave brought us a bottle of water and some boiled eggs, and sat in a comfortable silence, answering the questions we tried to ask in Russian from our page of Russian words we need to learn. There were also the people in the local soviet style market that we accidentally rode into while trying to get off a particularly bad dirt road, who amidst their confusion at the sudden appearance of two fully loaded cyclists in the middle of the market gave us some doughnuts. Or the woman who helped push my bike up the top of a very steep ascent to a church where we wanted to eat lunch, despite being dressed in her Sunday best.
We made a side trip to Dedoplistkaro, and once again the people were amazing. We stopped to ask for water in a small town, and somehow managed to find the local English teacher, a woman who had lived her own full life, but was so pleased that we were cycling around as two women. She translated to the growing crowd of friends and relatives, who reacted with a variety of nods of approval and looks of shock. We also made friends with a man who was determined to communicate with us, even leaving us his phone number. He wanted us to join him and his mother where she would make us kinkhali, a local dish of dumplings filled with meat. Or at least that’s what we understood after ages of back and forth. Though we declined, we saw him again the next day on our way back towards the border town of Lagodekhi, and he once again requested we join he and his mother, even saying he would call a tractor for our bicycles, would take us on excursions to see the country, and then would drop us at the airport when we were leaving. We once again declined, but were deeply moved by all the kindness and generosity we had been showed.
Our favourite English teacher with her friends and family.
Nearing the end of our riding for the day, we stopped to ask for some water, and while we were filling our bottles, an old man on his donkey cart turned around and pulled out some glasses and a 5 litre bottle of wine from his cart. And so we proceeded to have some midday wine and bread with this man, exhausting our limited Russian in about two questions for which we can’t yet understand the answers. Then the man who gave us water joined in the day drinking, and the old man brought out his lunch to share. When we didn’t immediately partake, parts of the lunch were put in our hands. Turns out saying no to the generosity is more offensive than accepting someone’s food for the day. When we finally pedalled away, the wine sunk in and we danced as we veered along the empty road. A few minutes later we saw another traveler standing next to a motorbike, so we pulled over and made our first road friend of the trip.
Mael, a Frenchman riding his motorbike from India back home to France, decided to camp with us for the night after a side of the road chat. Owing to speed discrepancies between legs and an engine, he headed the other way into town to get some dinner supplies, and we headed to a meeting point. When we finally decided on a campsite, the rain started. Determined not to let that ruin a new friendship, Mael used a bed sheet he had been carrying and we rigged up a dinner shelter. Dinner underway, he also produced a 3 litre bottle of wine. Never let a Frenchman go shopping if you don’t want a hangover the next day. A slow morning followed a night of drinking and talking, and we relaxed while cooking breakfast and roasting pain an chocolat over a campfire. After Sophie and Mael went for a swim in the icy river it was finally time for us to leave. We made a meeting point and time for that evening if Mael decided he wanted to join us again after going off sightseeing, and pedalled off, still cursing our past selves for the wine.
Wine and dinner under a makeshift shelter with our new French friend? Count us in!
In Lagodekhi, after spending all but 1 cent of our Georgian money, we headed to the meeting spot and somehow all found each other. So it was another lovely night of camping, but this time with a campfire to make our dinner (which included an absurd number of potatoes we had bought earlier on the side of the road). In the morning we once again delayed the inevitable, taking our time getting out of our frost covered tents, making tea and coffee, and packing up. We encountered the worst part of travelling: saying goodbye. But with final hugs and wishes for safe and happy travels, we were off, just mere kilometres from the end of one country and the beginning of the next.
(Thanks Soph for taking all the photos!)
