Motourama Part 36: Georgian Hospitality

Hello family, friends and followers! In this Travel Story, our first impressions of Georgia and the hospitality of the Georgians will be told.

At the border crossing, briefly mentioned in the last Travel Story, we met a German bicyclist, Johanna, also waiting to cross. Together, we snuck up to the front of the line, her on her bike and us on our Honda NX250s, encouraged by the border guards. We agreed to meet at the same hostel in Batumi, as we had hit it off quite well with each other. That we actually managed to meet there was a bit of a wonder. The hostel had no real name and no exact address. All we had to navigate from was a vague description. In the end, however, we found it, and a short while later, Johanna arrived.

No name hostel in the no name street

We spend a couple of fun days together, going out in the evening, trying the local cuisine (Esben enjoyed the khachapuri – bread covered in cheese – in particular).

Comparing maps and routes, while waiting for dinner.

It turned out, that the concept of starters at restaurants weren’t widely known – a theme we would have to get used to during our adventure. At one restaurant, we thought we had explained the concept well enough to the waitress, but as it turned out, she had just smiled and nodded at our explanations, probably without understanding our “weird” requests. We got some of the dishes – some warm, some cold – all for just one person, while the rest arrived quite a bit later, and not in any sort of order. Oh well, time to throw out our expectations of how restaurants work around the world.

Golden hour and the stunning view from the restaurant Sky-G over Batumi.

Road view.

Typical house in Batumi.

Batumi’s more modern architecture – a little bit Dubai-style, we think.

We enjoyed a day in the second largest botanical garden of Georgia, which was founded by Russian botanist Andrey Nikolayevich Krasnov (1862-1914), who’s last wish was to be buried on a hill with an awesome ocean view in his tree-paradise.

A huge eucalyptus tree.

But not as huge as this one.

Oh ohhh, WiFi free zone, how are we going to survive or find our way back?!

Esben working his way up…

…to see the majestic Batumi skyline…

…and the beautiful natural coast line.

Georgian interpretation of a Japanese garden.

Fishyfish. The sign gets a 7/10 for effort. Needs to be turned upside down, though.

Froggyfrog.

Pink flower power.

Is that an Elephant captured in a tree?

Bamboooooo.

Jungleboy.

After a couple of joyful days in Batumi, we parted ways with Johanna to make our way up to the mountains in the north, surrounding the city of Mestia, a hiker’s paradise.

Before we left the Black Sea, we had a last breakfast at the coast, and Denise, feeling extra adventurous, went for a dip in the cold water.

Might this be the right spot for our picnic?

A little bit of shadow, firm ground and a stunning view, made it our perfect breakfast spot. Tomatoes, salami, cheese, bread and fruit yogurt. Mjam.

Ready to get wet?

What a wonderful view of the interesting Georgian coastline at the Black Sea.

Honk honk! Never saw snow topped mountains before, while swimming in the ocean. Wow!

After the mundane coastal road of the last bit of Turkey, we enjoyed the twisting roads leading us through the mountains of Georgia.

Straight ahead…

…through the outskirts, with pigs running free…

…into the curvy mountain roads.

Luckily no river crossing necessary here.

On our way up, we came by a plot of land with several beehives and a cloud of bees swarming in the air above them. We had to stop to have a look, and didn’t even have to turn the engines off, before our ears were filled with the buzzing of the bees. Neither of us thought it could be this loud! Interested in tasting the product of these busy creatures, Denise went in to ask if she could buy a sample. She could, but the container was perhaps not as sturdy as we could have hoped for. It was given to us in a thin plastic cup with a bit of plastic wrap around the top. For extra “security” we placed it in a plastic bag and sealed it, before placing it gingerly in our luggage. With our fingers crossed, that we could keep it from pouring out, we set off for the last bit of twisty road to Mestia. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Shocker!

Bees! Bees everywhere! Even in our helmets, from time to time.

The golden bee treasure in its not that treasurous container.

The rest of the way up was scenic and a pleasure to ride.

Green valleys and white mountain tops.

A wet, dark, scary tunnel undergoing maintenance. In this case, go towards the light!!!

Breathtaking views, that forced us to stop, rest for a moment and take pictures to share with you.

Another moment to enjoy the view.

A friendly German couple took a photo of us.

The land of the thousand towers, Svaneti, Georgia. How many do you count?

Just before we arrived, an angry dog came charging onto the road and down towards us. As it came from a slight above angle, it looked huge. It gave us a good jump scare, but we managed to stay on the bikes. Esben had to extend his foot out to keep the dog from running into his bike. It did not care at all, that we were driving things of metal, that would hurt it, if it would get hit. It kept its distance after that and had no intentions of biting. It just did not like our presence one bit.

WOOOOOFFF! Get outta here!… Ok,ok, we are convinced and keep on driving.

Leaving the dog behind, we arrived in Mestia, as rain was starting to fall. We had researched a bit on guesthouses and had found one, which looked promising, but as we were driving around the village, we could not find it. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as we ended up with the most heartwarming, friendly couple in their guesthouse, simply called “Guest House 34” along the main street. The man lured Esben in with the sentence: “Don’t worry about money, let’s drink some vodka together!”. He was an ex-military mechanic at the local airbase, while she was tending to the guesthouse. Together, they also cared for a collection of livestock, from which they got milk, eggs and meat, which they insisted we should try before we got unpacked. They had a particularly interesting curdled milk-yogurt which was sprinkled with sugar. Yummy! After we had settled in, and wanted to go see the town and have dinner, we were called into their kitchen to meet a friend and try their vodka.

Guest House 34, our comfy home for one night.

And a safe place for the motorbikes, with guarding dogs (and cow).

Debating the route with a friend that just came from that direction by car.

As we were debating taking a difficult mountain road from Mestia towards Tbilisi, the friend told us, that the road was mostly washed away, and even though it had been dry the last couple of days, a steady rain was now making matters worse. With this new information, we agreed we would have plenty of opportunity to challenge ourselves later on during the trip, and we would rather drive back down the way we came.

It turned out to have been the right decision; on our way out of the town the next day, we met a couple of Czechs on a Yamaha Super Tenere and a BMW R1200GS, who had just done the difficult road. They had had mostly dry weather, but the road had been hell nonetheless, and their bikes wore the battle marks to prove it. Completely covered in mud with parts hanging off the frame here and there, the bikes could rightly be considered proven adventure bikes.

Our awesome and very helpful hosts.

Back to the kitchen, the good company and the vodka, which turned out not to be vodka at all, but a Georgian brandy called chacha made from plums.We were served a very salty, feta-like cheese and bread along with a tall glass of chacha to prepare us for dinner in town later. Even though there were some language barriers, we could understand enough from each other to have a very good time.

After some good laughs and sharing of stories, we were let loose on the town. We walked along the main street and came upon a busy restaurant, named Laila, that looked promising. As luck would have it, we were in for an extra treat that night; a local performance group would perform traditional Georgian songs and dances.

Dancing and singing Svaneti style

The chacha and local cheese had definitely awoken our appetite for more local food. We ordered both a large khachapuri; sizzling hot, clay pot cooked vegetables with cheese; a local salad; and beers to top it all off. It was actually more than we could eat, so we got a doggie bag. The food, combined with the entertainment of the evening, made for an amazing dinner that will live on in our memory for a very long time.

With our stomachs full and sleepy heads from the day’s ride and adventures, we strolled back to our guesthouse, where our hosts were awaiting us with more chacha and yogurt. Even though our bellies were almost complaining over the amount it had to process, it was the perfect way to end a perfect day.

The next morning we got the bikes packed, had even more yogurt (and declining a tall glass of chacha “for the road”, as our host put it), and said our goodbyes to the lovable couple. If you ever find yourself in Mestia, Georgia, we can only give the highest of recommendations for Guest House 34 on the main street. If you choose to stay there, give them our regards. It would mean the world to us.

That day we made our way back down the same road we came up the day before, past the huge, angry dog and right up to the busy, buzzing bees, where we had to do something about the fading brakes on Denise’s little Honda NX 250. It was raining, and the wet had not improved the breaking capability of the worn out brake pads. With a spare set of brake pads, it was a straight forward swap, and Phoenix was ready to tackle the descent again within 30 minutes.

A misty mountain view.

Behind the scenes.

Driving towards the clouds.

Being in the clouds with cracked roads – adventure!

Worn all down, these are not of much use anymore.

Little shy helper dog, being as wet as we were and hungry, too. We shared our doggie bag – now the name makes sense – and drove on.

We did not know how far we would make it that day, so we just rode on until Esben’s motorcycle started to misbehave and make an altogether disconcerting noise. It sounded like marbles in a tin can. All of a sudden, the chain had started to slap rather violently against the swing-arm of Falkor, whipping him without warrant. Twice in 5 km we did our best to adjust the chain and give it some extra lube, but it didn’t seem to want to behave, so we stopped for the night in Kharagauli to let the lube have time to seep further into the chain links and hopefully remedy the issue.

Driving into the town, we were scouting for a camp site but every potential spot was half hidden. In terms of a camping spot, that is not ideal. Either everybody should be able to see you, or nobody. The very visible spot is to deter any up-to-no-good sneaky-pants due to risk of exposure, while the very hidden spot is to avoid other humans altogether.

Giving up on the idea of camping that night, we asked a couple of teens on a scooter for a good, cheap place to spent the night, which Denise tried to mimic with her hands making a triangle above her head, repeating the word hotel. The friendly guys lead us through town to a large, closed hotel. As we came to a stop, they waved their goodbyes and went on their merry way again, leaving us to ponder in front of the locked door. There was a phone number to call, but with no local sim card it would be an expensive call to make, especially considering the general lack of English skills we had encountered so far. As far as we had learned, the tourism has been predominantly Russian in Georgia for a very long time. As we were standing there, looking lost and considering our options, a man came down the road, took notice of us, and asked us – in fluent English – if we needed any help. Pleasantly surprised by his question, and hopeful of having a potential, clear channel of communications with the person on the other side of the phone number on the door, we happily accepted his offer of help. His name was Giorgi. It turned out he was project managing the reconstruction of the building next door to the hotel into a tourist information centre, and he had a phone! After a quick phone call, he told us the hotel manager would be arriving momentarily.

While we waited, we got to know the construction crew, consisting of two burly men, and the assistant of Giorgi. A merry bunch, happy to share their after-work beers (which came in the form of impressive 1.5 litre bottles). The hotel manager did indeed arrive not long after the call was made, and after a few words with Giorgi, he showed us around the hotel. Imagine the scenes from the movie “The Shining”: an old interior from the mid 60’s, early 70’s, showing the grandeur from 40-50 years ago, now looking well kept at first glance but with signs of age and use at a closer look. That, added to the completely empty hotel, made for an eerily exciting atmosphere. We had the luxury to be able to pick and choose from all the rooms, and got a very good price on the best kept room. We could even bring our bikes into a locked off garden and put them under cover for the night. Perfect!

After we had gotten ourselves settled in, we went out to see if the guys from next door were still there. They were where we had left them, so to say, talking to the hotel manager. When they saw us, the hotel manager waved us over to a door leading into the basement of the hotel. It turned out there was a musty bar down there, that he offered us to use, while drinking our own beers. Wanting to give something back to these friendly and open individuals, Esben went to get a few more of the wonderfully large bottles of liquid “gold” to share with everyone.

We had a blast of an evening, sharing stories, music and jokes, and as the beers were slowly emptying, the hotel manager asked if we had tried local wine. We couldn’t say that we had, so he went off to get some from his “local friend who makes the best!”. Not long after, he returned with a large bottle of clear liquid, a humongous piece of the local feta-ish cheese, and bread. The bottle did contain wine, of sorts; it contained chacha. Okay, now we know that brandy is considered wine in that part of Georgia, hahaha! It tasted delicious and horrible at the same time. The initial taste was a fruity note, followed by a donkey kick of strong alcohol. As the first glass was emptied sip by sip, however, the donkey kick mellowed into a push, and finally barely a nudge.

In the small hours of the night, as the last glass of chacha had been drunk, there was only one logical thing to do: wander the darkened streets of the city in the search for a place to have one last beer. It had started to drizzle by then, but we did not care. The night was wonderful and the company even better. Whistling various tunes, we sauntered down the street, found a kiosk still open, and enjoyed one last beer together. Bidding each other good night, we each made our ways back to our respective beds.

The next morning was less fun for both us, and for Denise in particular. The combination of chacha and the local cheese did not sit well in her stomach, and the amalgamation of fluids and solids decided to make multiple swift exits the way it had come in. The hotel manager took pity on us, and allowed us to stay well after the checkout time.

Will we make it all the way to Tbilisi? Will Falkor live up to the Honda reputation of reliability? Will Denise be able to drive straight? All those questions, and many more, will be answered in the next Travel Story.

Until then, always accept the invitation to try any local delicacy wherever you are. You never know if you will like it, unless you try.

PS: we are sorry for the lack of photos in the last bit, but we were too caught up in the moment to take any footage.