Travel Writer Ronnie Androcasiai recounts the first part of their trip to Georgia, admiring Stepantsminda for its abundance of natural landscapes
For avid hikers and aspiring mountain goats, Georgia offers a rich landscape of hiking opportunities. Stepantsminda, a small town nestled among the Caucus mountains is a hiking haven; whether you prefer a scenic route or snowy peaks.
I head out of Tbilisi in a marshrutka (a kind of communal minibus), crushed into a window seat for the 160-kilometre drive that takes us north along the Georgian military highway.
We ascend nearly non-stop on the long drive, passing hundreds of waiting cargo lorries, and aberrant cows that schmooze in front of traffic like they envy roadkill.
Road rules appear to be more of a suggestion here, something I learnt in the taxi from the airport as I watched the Bolt driver light a cigarette out the window, reply to a voice message from his son, and Bluetooth connect a Russian dance playlist, all while going 120 down the motorway and ignoring the lane markings.
It is no different in the mountains; we swerve around traffic as if there is not a sheer drop directly to our left. I am only slightly reassured by the fact that my travel insurance covers repatriation in the instance of mortality.
At the end of the journey, we stop in a dusty main square where the town transitions immediately from shops and houses into towering mountains. They‘re the kind of wild mountains with rocks you can hear moving at night like they’re alive, a local man tells me when I go to buy bread.
As a self-proclaimed hiking hater, I have one day planned in Stepantsminda, involving a short trek up to Gergeti monastery, located on a nearby hill overlooking the town. The walk is used by worshippers to show their devotion, but as I step inside after an extremely early morning, a sweaty and steep climb, and, to top it all off, a sudden downpour, it feels like a real sanctuary from the biting mountain weather.
Just after dawn, it is blissfully quiet. Both inside the richly decorated and candlelit church, and at the top of the hill where the sweeping view of the town below is being half-illuminated by the sunrise, and half-shadowed by the heavy rain. The view is so striking and peaceful, I decide to stay an extra day to do some more hiking. This time, a much trickier route up to the glacier.
The sun rises and the monastery disappears behind me as I begin my long climb. A small dog enthusiastically joins me, disappearing every now and then to chase things in the grass. Her energy is infectious: on high alert for mountain dogs guarding goat herds, and other hikers alike. She only leaves my side as I approach my destination and have to traverse frigid streams snaking off the glacier. (Definitely not because I ran out of snacks).
The glacier is radiating an intense icy aura, imbuing the summer air with a crispness that forces me to keep hiking. I manage to beat the worst of the clouds, but they add to the chill in the air that motivates me to eat a quick lunch and hike back down for a hot dinner.
To my surprise, I can see a small group packing away their tent right at the base of the ice sheet; a legendary, if chilling camping spot.
After a much-needed shower and nap, I head to dinner at Lunch at Maia, the perfect place to devour Georgian dumplings (khinkali) and cheesy flatbread (khachapuri), to chase away any remaining glacial chill and exhaustion from the mountain trek.
Stepantsminda somehow managed to charm me into enjoying hiking and is the perfect introduction to the wild side of Georgia.
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