A strong smell of sheep overpowered us as we stepped onto the night train from Tbilisi to Zugdidi from where we’d catch a marshruka (minibus) the rest of the way to Mestia. On greetings our new cabin compatriots, the elder grunted in russian and the younger enthusiastically repeated “me, army Afghanistan, Americans good, bang bang Taliban children”. Ed and I hastily commandeered the upper bunks and bedded down for a night chorus of bone shaking snores and tinny techno music – any attempt of sleep was interrupted by the inhumane smells produced by the elder who tried his best to hide his excretions by continually lighting matches.
5 more hours cornering barely there roads up the mountains, we arrived in the plateau village of Mestia. The svaneti mountain range forms a natural border beteren Georgia and Russia. Never have we seen mountains so grand and impassable. Clear skies afforded us views of lush green valleys and snow covered mountain tops. Ill-prepared for the low temperatures (2 degrees and -4 in the wind), we trekked to the chalaadi glacier and explored local paths in our summer sandals, wearing every item of clothing we owned.
After 3 bone chilling days, we took an 11hr marshruka ride back to Tbilisi to prepare for our next train journey to Baku, Azerbaijan.
Bolstered by the good coffee served at ‘KGB still watching you’ (our favourite spot in Tbilisi) we boarded an immaculate train and to our delight we had a cabin to ourselves!! The quiet was soon disturbed by a fierce looking but kindly conductor who repeatedly jumped into our couchette shouting ‘bonjour’ or ‘quest que ce’. She quickly enlisted a chatty iranian man to translate between us. Whilst grateful for his assistance, to our dismay he engineered a move into our couchette where we ‘regaled’ us with stories of his life in self-selected asylum as a dental surgeon cum oil dealer and the time he bought a warm coca cola in 2010.
Our only solace from the chatty iranian was a short interview with the Azeri border official in the next couchette who peered over the lid of his tool box (which had a laptop inside it) to take our photo.
Keen to avoid any more stories, on arrival in Baku we scarpered to our hostel and then set out to walk the city ‘bulvard’ along the Caspian Sea shore which we disappointingly discovered was coated with oil.
Our purpose in Baku was the take the ferry across the Caspian Sea. With no set departure time, we wandered about the city skyscrapers and immaculate streets, dodging brand new range rovers as we went. Baku is perhaps the new Dubai. Oil rich and insanely wealthy. The centre of town feels fake in its perfection. Men dressed in sharp suits and bored, pouting women plunder the designer shops. With little time to explore the country, Baku is our only perception of Azerbaijan, although we met some travellers that managed to find the odd swimming spot and mountains the climb.
Scamps on a train 