Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
|
|
Bakuriani, Georgia
As part of the complete Georgian Christmas experience Tbilisi-local Kate suggests a trip to the ski fields of Bakuriani. Gun skier that I am I'm quite looking forward to hitting the piste.
Things don't start well at the bus station. We arrive at 11:40 to find our "12 o'clock" marshrutka full and our reserved seats gone. "Take the next one", the driver helpfully suggests, indicating a vacant minibus beside his, "it'll leave in 40 minutes".
An hour and a half later the second driver finally climbs in and starts the engine. At last we're away. My mind races with thoughts of powder snow and apres-ski drinks by the fire. The magic of Bakuriani beckons.
But first we have to get there. The driver is driving as if he's just remembered that he left the gas on. In between hair-raising overtaking manoeuvres he's adjusting the volume on the stereo and answering his mobile phone. Often all three at once. He tut-tuts as we pass another marshrutka crashed on the side of the road. A clearly less capable driver. As I alternate between white-knuckle fear and mental anguish from the painfully loud "comedy" tape. Kate sleeps. She's obviously more experienced in these trips than I.
It's after dark when we finally reach Bakuriani. Kate pulls out a hand-drawn map for the place we're staying at. The map shows one street with a restaurant at one end and the house at the other. Bakuriani, it turns out, has more than one street. Nevertheless we find the place and are soon back looking for food.
My heart lifts on seeing a Casio keyboard as we enter the restaurant. Always the sign of a class establishment. With my Australian gift for languages I'm sent to look for a menu. Georgian only. A drunk looking guy stumbles over and offers to help but with my trained eye I've already spotted a pizza and salad on an adjacent table and I order those. Plus some beer of course.
We're about to tuck in when the Casio keyboard springs to life. It's the drunk guy, playing like a magician, singing like a forty-a-day'er, and at a volume that makes the windows rattle. He's soon joined by a couple of even drunker friends who provide a brief bit of respite when they stumble in to the speaker cable and sever the sound.
They soon manage to plug it back in though so that's our cue to leave. We pop next door for some vital supplies then, beer in hand, stagger in the dark back to the house. Ready for an early start tomorrow.
At 10:30 we emerge from the house. I'd been directed to turn right for the Grand Master ski slopes. Kate had been told to turn left for some kiddie park. Left we turn. After meandering through town we find ourselves at the baby slopes. A handful of rope tows with a cluster of ski-rental booths at the bottom. I look wistfully at a distant chairlift climbing high to the top of Kokhta-Gora as Kate announces that this looks a fine place to ski. We find a cheerful lady with a haphazard collection of skis and boots. I find a set that looks half-decent and head for the longest of the rope tows. I'm intrigued to find that, rather than buying an all-day pass, I just pay the lift attendant a couple of lari (about one dollar) and he writes my name down on a piece of paper and marks me as having paid for three circuits.
The queue is short so I'm soon clutching the poma tow. They've ingeniously ensured that each tow is covered in snow, by having them drag through the snow all the way down from the top, so I find myself desparately trying not to sit on the seat in my jeans but just haul myself up with my arms. Eventually I make it to the top. I turn, adjust my sunglasses, bring my skis together, and thirty seconds later I'm back at the lift queue. The liftie remembers me easily enough as he marks off my second time around.
On my third trip the climb to the top was enlivened by the inch thick metal cable jumping the pulley wheels above me and whacking me on the head. As I check for blood flow or signs of concussion it occurs to me that this never happened in Switzerland. Clearly a regular occurence here as the top liftie comes down with a special stick to put the cable back on.
I head down and across to convince the never-have-never-will-ski Kate to give it a whirl. With skis on she patiently listens to my instruction on snow ploughs and Stem Christies, travels for about three metres across the snow, then suggests that maybe we should just go for a beer instead. Sounds like a plan to me.
Bodrum, Turkey
The European Parliament has just voted to begin the process to admit Turkey to the European Union. An event of great excitement here in Turkey. Whilst wishing the Turks well in their entry to Europe I wonder if any of the European Parliamentarians have ever been beyond Istanbul.
Coming from Georgia, in many ways a quite European-feeling country, I was struck by the Middle Eastern feel that I first encountered in Turkey. The mosques and the minarets. Hejab-clothed women shopping in the bazaars. Donkeys on the street. The noise and bussle.
Once you read the Mediterranean everything changes. Concrete hotels and asphalt highways cover the coast. Prices are in Euros and menus in German. Tour buses replace donkey carts. The customers are from Europe, not from Syria or Iran.
I came to like the eastern part of Turkey much more. The snow was deeper but the hotels were warmer. It was living a year-round existence, in contrast to the tourist-driven and highly seasonal life of the coastal cities. It was genuine, real, and not at all like Europe.
Mt Nemrut, Turkey
If you listen to people in Istanbul or read the guidebooks you'd think that the entire east of Turkey is impassable in winter. Well, not only can you travel around you can even climb Mt Nemrut (the one with the heads) if you like. Here's how...
I was there just after a week of solid snow so the conditions will probably be similar right through winter. No promises though.
Dolmuses run as far as Karadut (3M TL). Although I think the last one leaves Kahta at about 3pm or 3:30pm. In Karadut you can stay at the Karadut Pension (35M TL for two nights half board) which should stay open all winter. A couple of local schoolteachers are staying there. They have a heater they can put in your room but it's still pretty cold. They also make meals but forget about a hot shower. All the places further up the mountain are closed.
From Karadut it's 12km to the summit so try to get going early. You won't get breakfast before 7:30am though. The first 6km are pretty easy (or were when I did it) since some large tracked vehicle had been up to there and packed the snow. Don't be put off by locals claiming ever higher levels of snow (up to your chest said one).
The second 6km's are a bit harder since it's just virgin snow. I found I could mostly walk on top by carefully plotting my course. Only occassionally falling through. The last km or so was very easy when I did it as the snow doesn't settle on that part of the road for some reason. Blown off presumably. Overall it took me four hours to cover the 12km's.
Once you reach the top head up to the little visitors centre then go behind it and up the hill, veering slightly to the left. This will bring you to the western terrace. It's about 200m.
Enjoy the splendour and the isolation.
From there do not go back to the right to reach the eastern terrace. That's where the path is in summer and there are some signs but in winter it's a treacherous route. You end up on a very steep section covered in snow with about a 200ft drop below. Big mistake.
Instead, walk past the heads on the western terrace and you'll very quickly see a shed at the same level. Walk behind the shed and continue around and you'll have an easy access to the eastern terrace. (I discovered this only after going the other way).
I stayed on top for about two hours but I take a lot of photos. You don't really need that long. Coming back down took a bit less that three hours, arriving back at the pension after dark.
Good luck if you try this! It's totally worth it. The views are great and the isolation on the summit is really special.