Georgia Bound
03/07/2012
When I got back to Turkey I had a clear plan: head to Georgia, get the Iranian visa, then jump through Armenia into Iran for a few weeks before landing back in Kurdistan, for reasons mentioned last time. However I don't think I have ever been able to carry out a travel plan that extends more than a few days into the future, let alone a month; this was no exception.
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Back in Turkey, I had a newfound desire to learn Turkish (up until then I had been focused on Russian, but trying to learn Russian while traveling in Turkey proved to be a rather fruitless idea), and so getting some practice in was top priority as I made my way towards Georgia. The more I learn, the more people show delight at my attempts to speak, and it has opened a lot of doors with people across the country.
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The first of these open doors came as I was making my way through the history-rich vicinity of the Armenian border. I was not even aware at the number of top-notch relics in the area until a family I hitched with put me up for a night and told me I must change my route so that I could see Ishak Paşa Sarayı (palace) and Mount Ararat a.k.a. Ağrı Dağı, the highest peak in Turkey. It was a welcome change of route. The Ottoman palace is set on a perfect ridge against a backdrop of mountains; standing on the balcony one overlooks the entire valley below. Its historical significance was also large, as it was an important administrative center, second only to Topkapı Palace in Istanbul.
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Heading north from Agrı and Ishak Paşa I was back on the Anatolian plateau and found myself looking for a place to camp for the night near Kars, a city close to the controversial Armenian border. After attracting the attention of a patrol car and turning their suspicion to curiosity with my fledgling Turkish and strange story, I was saved from camping in the cold by a call from my hitchhiking friends from the previous day who said they had friends in Kars who would be happy to host me. I passed this info on to my new officer friends and they happily offered a ride in the back seat of their patrol car, sirens flashing and the occasional megaphone criticism at someone to get out of the way, they drove me to the doorstep of the lovely couple that would be my host for the night.
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Hadice and Mehir both spoke fluent English, which was a welcome change, plus they were excellent cooks and warm hosts. We chatted about student life, the Armenia issue, and the surprising fact that Kars is actually colder than my home in southern Ontario - they aren't kidding when they say Turkey is a country that contains all four seasons at once. The next morning Hadice and I took our time over a long breakfast, and just as I was heading out the door a few friends of hers showed up with an old fortune teller from Azerbaijain. My curiosity wouldn't let me refuse to hear my Azeri fortune, so I stuck around while shuffled her deck of cards and told me a few accurate facts about my family back in Canada and a little about my life on the road. Nothing like a little old lady telling you your future to start off the day.
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Hadice and Mehir had confirmed my suspicion that the nearby ruins of Ani would be a site worth a visit, so after saying goodbye to the fortune teller I headed to within a few kilometers of the sensitive Armenian border to see the city that once rivaled Baghdad, Constantinople and Cairo in size and importance, and is often referred to as the "City of 1001 Churches". It has earned its nickname. As you enter the site, in the middle of a vast triangular plain cut on two sides with deep ravines, you pass through a massive gate that for centuries guarded the Armenian city and marked a key passage point on the Silk Road. On the other side of the gate you are greeted with a view of the city: barren and covered with low grass and scrub bush, except for the plethora of churches dotting the horizon. Wandering through the buildings, in various states of repair, one sees the marks of the centuries and can almost feel the presence of the Armenians, Arabs, Persians, Byzantines, Seljuks, Mongols and eventually Ottoman as the traders of those empires went to and fro getting goods to the corners of the medieval world. The hitchhiking friend who I was visiting the site with led the way to the top of the highest tower; there is nothing like thinking through the ages while sitting high above such an incredible, history-encompassing site.
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Leaving Ani it was time to head north again. After a lovely few days in the tiny village of Damol learning what its like to be a young teacher in a tiny hamlet of Turkey I headed towards Karadeniz, the Black Sea. The landscape changed drastically from windy, barren plateau to lush green mountains, and soon I was trying to convince my body to quickly adjust to the overly humid heat I had not experienced since the muggy pre-rain atmosphere of Central Africa.
I spent two days on the Karadeniz coast, one in the tea center of Çayeli, one in the bigger town of Rize, both times Couchsurfing with lovely people who showed me the best their respective cities had to offer, from secret gardens with perfect sea views to delicious local cuisine. Then on my third morning I got the much-anticipated email that my Iranian visa reference number had arrived in Tbilisi. I headed for the border immediately, and after dashed hopes that the Turkish-Georgia border would be as smooth and hassle free as the Turkish-Kurdistan one had been, I entered into a country that immediately felt like the post soviet neighbor of Russia that it is. The contrast between the fairly conservative Turkey, where women and men are free to wear what and act how they want but nevertheless maintain a decent degree of modesty, and the Georgian side where the first park we passed had a man in short shorts and a woman in a bikini having far too much fun on their public bench, was rather drastic. It did not take long before I was tired of seeing fat topless men drinking beer on the side of the highway. That said, Georgia is a country with beautiful natural wealth, and although this one had to be a short trip I will go back one day to check out the monasteries hidden in the depths of the green northern mountains. |
Getting to Tbilisi I met Ali, who had been recommended as a Couchsurfing host by another world-hitchhiker I had met before going into Iraq. It was a worthwhile recommendation. Not only did Ali turn out to be Iranian and willing to use his nationality to offer insurmountable help in making the visa process painless, but he also turned out to be an all-around amazing guy to talk to and hang out with. He freely shared his intriguing life stories, and was completely open minded discussing any issue under the sun. It is rare to meet people like that; plus he took me to a local jazz club on our first night out, which felt like a genuine post-USSR experience to add to the books.
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Unfortunately both my tour route in Georgia and plan to head to Iran via Armenia found a reason to change themselves, and after only a few days I found myself hitching back towards Turkey. The route passed a few of those famous mountain top monasteries, and for my last meal in Georgia a man I hitched with stopped for lunch at a fish farm hidden off the main road. Tucked away in a green mountain valley we dined in rugged, traditional style. Fish couldn't get more delicious.
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Back in Turkey I fast-hitched the 1700 kilometers back across Turkey to Istanbul. My friend from Kurdistan had found the time in his very busy schedule for a vacation, and so after a few days in Istanbul, during which I got to spend a little more quality time with my beloved Aya Sofia, we headed south together to the beautiful beaches of Marmaris and spent a week and a half relaxing, partying, and doing everything normal people do on vacations. It was quite the surreal change from my regular travel life, but very welcome given the circumstances.
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After prolonging our goodbye to the last possible day we parted ways and it is back to normal life, traveling by thumb and sleeping by tent. This time I am on my way to meet an old friend from university. Chris and I met in first year university physics, and after an unsuccessful attempt at a Libyan visa blocked his route through north Africa he decided to take a flight across the sea to Turkey. He will accompany me as I head back eastwards towards the Iranian border, where it will finally be time to make use of my hard-earned visa, and see what all the fuss is really about.
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