Armenia is the first country I’ve visited and not liked. I went with another volunteer from Gomarduli, Vilte from Lithuania, and we had a nice time but the country didn’t do anything for me. I will caveat this opinion by saying winter is not the best time to go to Armenia! But I think even in the summer I wouldn’t like it. After giving it some thought these are the reasons why:

1. I was expecting Armenia to be a bit like Georgia in terms of its distinctness and scenery. This meant I was disappointed when it wasn’t, and was constantly comparing it to Georgia in my mind. I loved Georgia, so it highlighted just how much I didn’t love Armenia. It’s unfortunate for Armenia that it’s next to such a wonderful country.
2. Armenia didn’t feel distinct. The food was mostly the same as in Turkey, and even the balkans. The flavours of the food weren’t special. The only new speciality was Harissa, which is like chicken soup and porridge mixed together - it was very warming and cosy but not exactly a flavour explosion. The cities felt the same as ones I’d visited in Turkey. The music and dances were similar to Turkish ones.
3. The scenery was desolate. Armenia doesn’t get much rain and you can tell. Looking out of the window on our bus and train journeys we commented on how it looked like a barren war zone. The weather was grey the entire time which emphasised it. We saw blue sky once for about 10 minutes.
4. The people didn’t seem happy. It’s not that we had any particularly bad experiences, but people weren’t particularly friendly to us, and when you were walking down the streets everyone had a stern expression on their face.

This resulted in my gut feeling of Armenia to be one of dislike. Which I really realised when we returned to Tbilisi and I felt so much happier and in love with my surroundings. I will concede that Armenia has a good reason for most of my points. The fact cities in Turkey felt like Armenian ones are because they were Armenian cities, taken by Turkey in the 1920s after the Armenian Genocide in 1915. And the food is similar, Armenians would argue, because Turkey stole it (but it doesn’t matter either way, it’s still not distinct). Additionally, Armenia has a good reason for people to not be happy. They’re in an active conflict with Azerbaijan and their economy is not doing well. According to a tour guide, lots of people lack the certainty of being able to feed their families. It’s also just had a bit of raw deal in modern times. Horrific genocide in Turkey that was swept under the carpet, then invasion by Turkey, then a war with Azerbaijan, and most recently a revolution which saw the Government being thrown out in 2008. Out of its 4 borders, only 2 are open. So I’m not blaming Armenia for its unlikeableness, just being open about it.

We spent 5 nights in Yerevan (the capital) and 2 nights in Gyumri (the cultural capital).

Yerevan

We tried out couchsurfing for the first time for our first 3 nights here. Couchsurfing is an app where you can get in touch with people about staying with them for free. We stayed with Maria, a lovely 21 year old Armenian girl who lived with her older sister and niece. I was impressed with how easy it was and how enjoyable the experience was, and the additional insight you get into the culture. It was socially quite tiring, because after spending a long day exploring I’d have to then socialise with Maria and her friends when sometimes I just wanted to rest. One funny interaction was when they asked me if I knew where they could sell pictures of themselves (I’m still not sure if they meant that sort of picture or not!). I will definitely use couchsurfing again though! Sadly, despite Maria’s lovely sharing of Armenian culture it wasn’t enough to salvage my opinion. Some things even added to it, for example she told us that anytime she had a job interview she was asked if she was a virgin. Insane! Yerevan was utterly soulless. It had a strange, faux luxurious centre with a big shopping street with fancy shops and fancy restaurants. The other streets were brown and depressing. There was no historic feel. This is because at the end of each era everything from the old one was destroyed, and the whole city centre was newly designed and built in the mid 1900s. The old town has been squeezed to one small corner of the city and it’s more like a slum than an old town, but at least that had some soul. The main structure is the Cascades, basically just some big stairs. There’s no historic meaning behind it, it was just built to link together the Opera theatre and a park. We really struggled to find cheap places to eat that weren’t fast food, there were no cheap little family run Armenian restaurants. The only part of Yerevan I enjoyed was going to the ballet at the Opera theatre one night. We saw Spartacus which was a fun one to watch. The interior of the building was beautiful too. It was a very enjoyable way to spend an evening!

Lake Sevan
We visited Lake Sevan from Yerevan, trying to use public transport to get there. It was a disaster by all accounts. We started by getting a taxi to the marshrutka station and I almost got beaten up by the taxi driver after I accidentally tried to rip him off. He settled for shouting aggressively and kicking us out. At the marshrutka station another taxi driver told us there was no bus going to Lake Sevan and the ticket lady said the same. But Maria and the internet were sure there was so we persevered, with a really lovely Armenian girl helping us out. Eventually we were on a marshrutka going to a different city but stopping at Lake Sevan! Before we got on this, we triple checked there was a marshrutka going from Lake Sevan back to Yerevan. Finally arriving in Lake Sevan felt like a miracle, and it was beautiful. Two churches on the hill and a huge lake. When it came to return it wasn’t a huge surprise to us to find that there was actually no marshrutka heading back to Yerevan from here, it was that sort of day. So we had to get an expensive taxi 10 minutes down the road to Sevan city where we then caught a bus back to Yerevan. Was it worth it? Maybe not. Would like to say a huge thank you to Vilte for paying attention to her russian classes at school because without that it would have been even more of a nightmare! And I am now desperately trying to learn russian ready for the ‘stans.

Monasteries
I went on a day tour to two monasteries and a pagan temple. After the fiasco of visiting Lake Sevan it seemed like the best idea if I wanted to see anywhere outside of the city, and the tour was surprisingly cheap (£22 for a full day)! I did enjoy this, the monasteries were both pretty, especially Geghard Monastery which was cut into a dark rock cliff surrounded by the sides of the gorge. Armenia was the first country to declare Christianity as its religion. The pagan temple looked really cool, and was in a great location, but it’s not actually that old. It was destroyed in an earthquake and rebuilt in soviet times. Khor Virap was the other monastery and is where St Gregory the Illuminator (the guy that brought Christianity to Armenia) was imprisoned for 13 years. Usually there’s a great view of Mount Ararat from here, but alas it was too grey and misty. If you think Mount Ararat sounds familiar you’re right, it’s the same mountain I was next to in Turkey (on the other side of it). It used to be part of Armenia however, and the Armenians are very attached to it, still referring to that part of Turkey as West Armenia. You might also remember that it’s where Noah’s Arc supposedly landed. Well in Armenian, Armenia is called Hayastan, which means ‘Land of Haya’. Haya is Noah’s grandson.

Gyumri

Gyumri was definitely better than Yerevan as it kept its historical buildings, but still unbelievably grey. The buildings are all made from black stone, and some have orange trimmings which looked quite nice. The only things to see are churches and a fortress, which has been converted into a medieval theatre maybe (who knows, there was no information up there!). One church was under construction but when we popped our heads in the construction workers encouraged us to enter. Not exactly a peaceful place to pray! The only enjoyable thing here was the Mariam and Eranuhi Aslamazyan gallery. These were two sisters that were artists during the soviet period and they travelled all over the world, something that was quite unusual for woman in that period. It was very female focused and very empowering. Our guesthouse was quite pleasant here, and we enjoyed watching our first Christmas film of the season one night (Home Alone - Vilte’s favourite)!

Logistics

• Marshrutka from Tbilisi to Yerevan. Was meant to take 5/6 hours, it took 7.
• Train from Yerevan to Gyumri. It took 3 hours.
• Marshrutka from Gyumri to Tbilisi. Was meant to take 5/6 hours, it took 4.

Easily the best food of the trip so far. Georgian food blew my mind. I’m going to share just five dishes with you, but every single dish was deserving of a blog mention. The cuisine is very distinct, none of the foods were familiar to me from the balkans (only exception being lobio stew but it was quite different) or beyond, and nor were the flavours.

The famous

These two are warming and delicious and the perfect comfort food. Flavours are pretty unexciting, but yummy.

Khinkali
Georgia’s national dish so they deserve to be mentioned first. They’re pretty iconic. Dumplings filled with soup and meat and herbs. The meat can be swapped out for mushrooms, or potatoes, or cheese, or cheese and potatoes… You eat them by holding the knot and taking a little bite and then slurping the soup out of them, then eating the rest. If you succeed in not spilling a drop of soup it means you’re a good kisser. My all time favourite khinkali were the fried ones with blue cheese (dambalkhacho) from Cafe Daphna, Tbilisi.

Khachapuri
Georgia’s most ubiquitous dish - bread and cheese. Each region has its own variation and the most famous is the adjarian one (from Batumi in the west). It was also my favourite variation as it was slightly less bread heavy than the others! It’s definitely the most photographic with its boat shape and the egg in the middle. The rest are circles of bread with a cheese filling in between. My all time favourite khachapuri was the one the old lady (Dodo) made for me in Svaneti, but I didn’t actually eat that many of them!

The delicious

These two showcase the variety and depth of flavours in Georgian cooking.

Ostri
A soupy stew with beef and vegetables and potatoes. When placed in front of you it looks like an unassuming warming stew. But once you take your first spoonful, oh wow. This shows off what Georgian food is really all about, taking cosy Eastern European style food and injecting it with Asian flavours. It’s like eating a Tom Yum soup with its tang and umami flavour and spice, but more tomatoey and full. On a cold day it was perfect, warming you up in every sense.

Kharcho
This is comparable to a curry. A thick sauce over beef or chicken (I had chicken), made from ground up walnuts, tomato puree and spices. The flavours were full of depth and perfectly balanced. A little spicy, so tasty and almost creamy. This was my absolute favourite dish. I had it with Elarji which is a cheesy mash sort of dish, made from cornmeal and Georgian cheese.

The unassuming

I just have to mention this one again…
Svaneti salt on tomatoes
I’ve been thinking about it ever since Dodo served it to me in Svaneti. The flavours from the ‘salt’ blew me away then and they’ve held their own as I’ve enjoyed the rest of Georgia’s delicacies. The dish itself is so simple you can hardly call it a dish, but it’s so delicious I couldn’t write a Georgian food post without mentioning it!

Mtskheta

This is the old capital of Georgia. I only spent a morning here but it’s worth mentioning because it is quite pleasant. It’s small, but there are several monasteries and convents to explore, and a cathedral in the middle. The capital was moved to the 15km to Tbilisi for defence reasons.

Tbilisi

The new capital and a lot bigger and more exciting than Mtshekta. I really liked Tbilisi, spending about a week here in total. It has lots of different areas to explore, all filled with nice restaurants (that are cheap unlike Yerevan) and cool cafes (like Kvarts coffee where they draw your portrait on the cup!). Along the river Mtkvari there are lots of modern structures, like Peace bridge, which add a contrast to the soviet style buildings in the centre and even more so to the old town. The old town is gorgeous, filled with dilapidated and characterful houses, often very colourful and covered in grapevines. You can feel the life spilling out of the cracks, both literally with the grapevines and metaphorically. I loved exploring it on the walking tour and then by myself afterwards. My other favourite spot was the Queen Darejan Palace where we had the place to ourselves and could enjoy the view of old town and the Mother of Tbilisi (a huge soviet statue on the hill). I also enjoyed the cable car! I spent most of my time in Tbilisi socialising, seeing people for coffee or dinner or drinks. I met up with old volunteers from Gomarduli, people from the hostel, and people I’d been put in touch with from friends of friends! I felt truly at home, popping out for coffee dates and trying out new restaurants.

A few words on Georgia as a whole

I really loved Georgia. It is so unique. It has its own language, its own alphabet, its own cuisine, its own truly distinct culture. It has regions which are just as unique, like Svaneti. The people are funny and strange and interesting. The scenery is beautiful. Go to Georgia.

Full Moon Check-in

1. Last: In Gomarduli workaway.
2. Current: Wandering through Kond, the old part of Yerevan, Armenia. The huge yellow full moon popped up over the dishevelled rooftops and took me by surprise.
3. Future: In Bishkek, Kyrgystan.

This year of travel isn’t solely about seeing new countries and places, but also having unique experiences. Something that had crossed my mind was a silent retreat. When I learnt that the retreat centre I was volunteering at in Georgia was holding one at the end of November I knew that I had to stay and do it. It was the perfect opportunity, mostly because I didn’t have to pay! Instead I was staying, eating and taking part in the activities for free (in exchange for volunteer work). The location, the Georgian mountains, wasn’t quite where I thought I’d do such a retreat, picturing Nepal or Thailand, but it worked out perfectly.

And so, from the 22nd November - 1st December I did not utter a word.

There are different types of silent retreats, which vary in the level of which the external world is excluded. This was a tame one. We were permitted to read, write, listen to music, explore nature, and we had group activities such as bodywork, ambient healing, contact improvisation and tea ceremonies. Communication was allowed, just not talking. We could gesture to each other and write notes when absolutely necessary (although some conversations were not necessary… I’ve included a screenshot of one of my favourites from my laptop notes below). We were discouraged from using technology. Personally, I decided to delete all social media from my phone and I really only used it for occasionally listening to music and for yoga/workouts. I used my laptop in the evenings to write my journal and do some travel planning, and watch a few episodes of netflix, but tried to keep this to a minimum too.

The structure of the day, and my own routine

8am - Yoga. This was silent, with the instructor using a clap to indicate when to change position.
8:45am - Serve breakfast, eat and wash up. As I was volunteering I had work to do each day and this was to serve the meals and wash up afterwards.
10am - Vipassana meditation. I would take a short walk up the hill to a viewpoint and then (depending on the weather) either sit in the hammock to meditate or join in with the group meditation inside.
11am - I would usually do some exercise at this time, and then shower.
12:45pm - Serve lunch, eat and wash up.
2pm - Free time. I would hike (either alone or with others), read, sit in the hammock in silence, draw or entertain myself some way. The litter of puppies were growing up fast so playing with them was always an easy way to spend some time. I was never bored.
5:45pm - Serve dinner, eat and wash up.
7pm - Evening activity or free time. The evening activities included the ones I mentioned above - ambient healing, sound healing, bodywork, listening to live music and contact improvisation. I often read, did more yoga or took an evening walk. We played cards some evenings.

The beginning and the end

The silence was created with an entering circle, where everyone counted down from 10 to 0 in decreasing volume. I actually missed this as I was still in Batumi on my way back from my trip to Tbilisi and the wine region (and after staying up until 7am drinking on the beach…). I entered the silence by shouting one last phrase into the mountains before crossing over the threshold of Gomarduli.

There was also an ending circle to bring the silence to a close. I started to join this but felt like I needed to end the silence alone instead. I moved outside onto the hammock and meditated for a while first. I sat with the silence for a few last minutes before deciding it was time to speak. It was really difficult to do. Like worryingly difficult, for a moment I thought I might not be able to speak. But I did. I recorded it actually, it’s very interesting to watch as my voice is so quiet and I spoke so slowly with huge pauses between words and sentences. Vilte and Alex came up to join me after a while and we sat in silence still. We spoke a little, but not a lot. We simply didn’t feel the need to. After 10 days of silence there really wasn’t such a thing as an ‘awkward silence’. But Vilte and I had some things we needed to talk about (she was considering joining me in travelling to Armenia) and so we did talk. I felt like I would have preferred to stay silent though. Talking didn’t offer anything to me anymore. I missed how wonderful and full silence felt. It was time to serve lunch. Whilst we ate lunch we all chatted. We talked about the morality of Christmas carolling and about religion. I shared some funny stories. My love of talking came back like a flood. How could I ever have contemplated remaining silent forever! I love to talk! My voice bubbled out of me, along with laughter and the laughter of others that my voice and my story enticed. And just like that I was back to talking, a little too much perhaps, like normal. But I’ll remember how wonderful the silence felt. I’ll remember how unawkward the silence became. I’ll remember how close I felt to people when walking or eating or sitting in silence. Maybe I’ll be silent a little more often.

Later in the day we did a sharing circle and shared our experiences of the silent retreat.

My experience

Going in I was pretty confident about being able to stay silent for 10 days, what I was less sure about was the impact it would have on my already quite busy and loud mind. It really exposed just how little control I have over my thoughts when I don’t have something active to focus on. This is something I really want to work on, to bring more discipline into my mind and more focus into my life. Staying silent was even easier than I’d imagined. After one day I no longer felt the need to talk. My first response to being asked a question or needing to ask one was to gesture, not to speak. The silence was engulfing and addictive. Quickly I realised how much of speech is pointless and just noise. The first day felt strange, eating in silence, looking at people and not saying anything to them. But then it felt normal. It’s interesting how quickly the body and mind adapts to a new situation. One of the most notable things was the effect it had on my memories. If at the end of the first few days you’d asked me if we’d been silent all day I’d have said no. In my head and my memories we hadn’t. Because in remembering every silent interaction I heard the voice of the other person, rather than the waving of hands. This changed around halfway through, with the opposite happening. My memories of pre-silent interactions had become silent, with conversations being through mime rather than spoken. This wasn’t restricted to interactions I’d had with people in Gomarduli but all of my memories, conversations with family at home or with friends at university, all silent. If there was ever a case for the malleability of memories and how untrustworthy they are this was it for me!

I want to emphasise how addictive the silence was. Being alone with your thoughts and being able to sit and really notice things rather than having to talk was both refreshing and restful. I spent a surprising amount of time just lying in silence. On the grass in the sun, in the hammock, on a blanket by the fire. Just observing and breathing and letting my mind wander.

I really enjoyed hiking with others in silence. It reminded me a lot of scuba diving. You’re moving around a space with someone and communicating through hand signals to indicate directions and timings. If you’re a friend I often go for walks with, prepare for me to suggest silent walks in the future! Something I started doing was hiking barefoot. The first time was on a sunny day, when the ground was warm and the mud was soft. I hiked up a little river, through patches of clay, then across warm grass and along a muddy path into the forest. I hopped from patches of soft leaves to mud to soft leaves again, avoiding the stones. I walked until my feet were numb and then I washed them off in warm water and put on thick woollen socks. The second time was when it was wet and cold. After having hiked for a while, and being almost back, I stopped to take off my boots and finished the walk barefoot. This time the grass was wet with rain and slippy. The little river was like ice and only the clay retained any warmth. My feet were red and numb within minutes, but it felt so wonderful. I thought about why I’d never hiked barefoot before. I’d recommend trying it!

I had one day where I felt desperately sad. In a way I haven’t for a long time. I was expecting to feel that way at some point over the retreat, something about being alone with your thoughts for so long, so I wasn’t surprised or annoyed by it. I let it consume me for the day, and I felt my sadness in a way I’ve never done before. I wasn’t sad about any particular thing, maybe not being able to share my travels with my Grandpa. I isolated myself completely for the day, hiking alone in the rain, reading alone in the evening, not communicating with anyone. It felt like a life lesson, to rely solely on yourself to both feel sad and to then feel better. I went to bed feeling exhausted, and a little anxious about how I’d wake up. I woke up feeling content and light as ever.

While I found the silence easy, I found not having contact with the outside world much harder. I didn’t miss social media, but I did miss speaking to my friends and family. Not having social media actually felt wonderful, like I existed only in the present moment and the present place. In my own bubble of tranquility. I know it’s not news to say having a social media cleanse feels good, but in case you needed an extra nudge to try it, this is it! I didn’t redownload everything at once. I felt a bit scared to actually, worried about feeling overwhelmed by suddenly having access to the rest of the world. I did it slowly. Replying to people in stages and intentionally. Giving each reply consideration and really savouring the connection it brought.

Overall I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It made me hone in on a few things I want to bring into my life (the main one being meditation) and gave me a fresh outlook on relationships and communication with others. I would quite like to try a full Vipassana retreat, perhaps when I’m in Southeast Asia…

A photo taken on each walk to the cross

Goodbye Gomarduli!

I stayed a few extra days after the retreat and then left for the final time. Like Kotor, Montenegro, I felt I found a little home here. I will miss everyone so much.

I’ll forgive you for not knowing this, but Georgia is the birthplace of wine. The earliest evidence of its existence here is 6,000 BC (for context, the earliest evidence of wine being produced in France is 500 BC…)! It therefore seemed rude to not visit the wine region in the east of the country, Kakheti. After being utterly impressed with the wine from Bosnia and Hercegovina, I was excited to see what Georgian wine had to offer. Turns out Georgian wine is very different to any wine I’m used to! Unlike conventional wine, Georgian wine is made with the pulps of the grapes as well as the juice. This results in much darker, richer, juicier wine. Some of the reds were like drinking ribena to be honest. It also means there is no white wine but amber wine, because of the effect of the pulp on the colour. The other major difference is that Georgian wine is made in 3 metre deep clay pots called Qvevri buried under the ground, rather than in wooden barrels. This does make wine production more accessible for the everyday person however, with every household and shop seeming to have a cellar with a Qvevri installed, and an insatiable desire to share this wine with you. Whilst we (another volunteer from Gomarduli joined me on this venture) did visit a winery, if you’re just interested in trying wine you could fulfil this by wandering around the town looking thirsty. The winery was very informative though, and beautifully maintained. Neat rows of turning orange vines, with blue painted wooden stakes and plagues describing the variety and origin of the grape. There were roses at the end of each row. Not just decorative we found out, but as an indicator for Mildew infections. This was learnt on our little tour with a student doing a degree in winemaking (the government fund wine degrees in an attempt to boost the wine market) and he also told us about ice wine - the reason some grapes were still on the vines despite the main harvest being over. These grapes are left over winter to freeze, with them then being used for wine. Their frozen nature increases the sugar content of the fruit and therefore the wine (not that it needs to be any sweeter in my opinion!).

A Qvevri in a random woman’s cellar, and a lot of Qvevri in the winery

On our tour of the wine region we made two stops. The first was in Sighnaghi, the more touristy, beautiful town. The second was in Telavi, the bigger town. Sighnaghi really was beautiful. The town stood atop a hill which rose out of the flat plains of vineyards, giving it breathtaking views. The view from our £5.25 a night guesthouse evidences it perfectly. The city walls with a church and then a tower sticking up out of it; a sharp drop and then open stretches of vineyards, beyond this sheer mountains rising up and touching the clouds. Sprinkle in some orange trees (some with pomegranates still hanging) and I struggled to look away. We enjoyed this view at sunset on our first evening over a tray of fruit, cake and, of course, wine, provided by the little lady.

Telavi was less beautiful, sat on the ground level rather than some lofty height. It still had the mountains as a backdrop however, and they caught the sun at sunset. It was a more convenient spot to visit vineyards, because it was on the same level as them. It also had an interesting bazaar, and was the first one I’d visited since Turkey. It was a lot smaller but a lot more pleasant to walk around. I think primarily because all of the stall owners were women (definitely not the case in Turkey!). It made me very happy to buy walnuts, fruit and a ponchiki from the little old ladies.

We travelled from Tbilisi to Sighnaghi, onwards to Telavi and then back to Tbilisi all by marshrutka, and it was very easy to do.

Some funny incidents

1. I wanted to show Micah the joys of a guesthouse breakfast so we indulged in this while in Sighnaghi. We came downstairs to find a feast awaiting us as I expected would be the case. What was unexpected was being served a shot of chacha to “disinfect” us (a homemade spirit that ranges from 40-70% abv). Not wanting to be rude we drank it dutifully despite the burning sensation, only to look in horror as the little lady smiled and poured us another one, holding up three fingers. Oh dear. So by 9:20am we were three shots deep and feeling really quite drunk. I remained drunk all day, a fact I realised when I accepted a lift on my way back from the Bodbe monastery (which was beautiful) from a man on a motorbike with a sidecar. I sat in the sidecar as we raced the short distance back to the town with the wind burning my face as the chacha had my throat earlier, and felt giddy with the strangeness of the whole day. I’d lost Micah on our walk over to the monastery, turns out he’d decided he was too drunk for the day and returned to bed!
2. We bought some wine from our guesthouse in Telavi to take back to Gomarduli for one of the other volunteer’s birthday. We spent ages haggling the price and carefully pouring it into bottles for us to take. So obviously, when we stepped off the marshrutka back in Tbilisi, we left the bag with the 3 litres of wine on the bus. We realised immediately, but still too late as we watched helplessly as it sped away. Replacement wine was bought in Tbilisi, and trying to act out what happened to the original wine was a fun activity during the silent retreat…

Before doing any research for this trip there were two random places that I already knew about and was excited to visit, one of these was Gori. Gori is a small town in central Georgia, 90km west of Tbilisi (the capital). It’s unremarkable in every sense. So why did I know about it, and why on earth would I be excited to visit it? Most people who know me will know that I studied Russian and Soviet history at A level and it remains the period of history I’m most interested in. Gori is the hometown of Stalin - the most evil and insane world leader in history (in my opinion). What remains of his legacy in Gori is a museum, including his house and train carriage. The museum itself is a sort of museum in its own right (very meta I know). It was built in 1957 so the propaganda machine was in full swing, and its exhibits have not been altered since. Therefore it’s unbelievably biased. Interestingly, this fact isn’t acknowledged anywhere in the museum. If you didn’t have any knowledge of Stalin or the museum before entering, you’d leave it thinking Stalin was a phenomenal leader and a good man. Before we even dip into Stalin’s history, this brings up some interesting topics: should the museum be altered to reflect facts as we now view them, is there such thing as a fact when looking at history, is any museum truly unbiased, is the living propaganda this museum represents what makes it so interesting? I won’t try and answer these here, but what wonderful topics to debate! I will give my view on the state of the museum however. I believe the exhibits should be left as they are, but there should be a big disclosure as the beginning which explains that this museum was built in 1957 and the exhibits remain unchanged, stating that they show the level of propaganda prevalent in Soviet times. Such a disclosure did used to exist. In 2008, after the South Ossetia War (a region that is still occupied by Russia), a banner reading “This museum is a falsification of history. It is a typical example of Soviet propaganda and it attempts to legitimise the bloodiest regime in history.” was placed in the entrance hall. It was removed in 2017… I also think relevant statistics should be included alongside the exhibits, revealing the ‘true’ state of affairs at the time. For example, for the exhibit commenting on Stalin’s brilliant collectivisation policy there should be a note stating that it is estimated that 10 million peasant farmers were displaced, being executed, exiled to Siberia, or sent to labour camps during the policy. And that the resulting years saw a reduction in food production that led to the worst man-made famine to date, resulting in (at least) 6 million people dying of starvation and people resorting to cannibalism. (This includes the Holodomor famine in Ukraine, which is considered by some as a genocide - I’d really recommend looking it up if you’re interested). Just a few little details like that…

I personally enjoyed commenting on these missing pieces as I read the biased exhibits, either in my head or to my travel companion (poor them!). It reminded me of why I love Russian and Soviet history so much (it’s just so insane in both scale and horror) and it brought back a lot of my knowledge from A level days. I was prepared for the biased state of the museum, but I was still surprised by the fact it didn’t mention the infamous Great Purge at all! It was as if the high profile trials and executions of party members, the arrest of 1.3 million people in 1937, and the execution of at least 700,000 of them didn’t happen.

Pictured: Stalin’s house; Stalin’s train carriage; statue of Stalin; embroidary of Stalin and Lenin (I always preferred Lenin!).

Beyond the museum, Gori really had nothing to offer. But for me, climbing up to the fort and looking out at this unremarkable, ugly place, I felt real awe. Both in the historical sense and a personal one. Stalin had grown up here, he’d walked these streets and important events in his life had occurred here. He lost function in his left arm for life when he was hit by a cart, preventing him being conscripted in the first world war where he likely would have died on the front line. How different history would have been if that accident hadn’t happened! On a personal level, I first heard about this town when I was 17, with no idea I’d ever visit in person. I’d been listening to a podcast which mentioned it just before I left on this trip, this time knowing I’d visit and imagining my future self there. It felt so strange to actually be here.

Gori is not a nice place to visit. If you don’t have a burning interest in Stalin don’t bother going!
Logisitics if you would like to visit: Catch a marshrutka from Tbilisi to Gori.

Back in Turkey I was on the phone to my parents saying how I wanted to spend a while in Georgia because I’d heard such good things about it, and they suggested doing a workaway there. It was a great idea and I found three that I liked the look of. Two weren’t taking volunteers now that it’s winter, and the third replied that they’d love to have me. So henceforth came my bizarre bus journey to a remote retreat centre in Gomarduli. I stayed for two weeks, left for one week with one of the other volunteers to explore Tbilisi and the surrounding area, then returned for a silent retreat (more on that in a separate blog post).

Gomarduli is truly a world of its own. I’d call myself hippy-inclined, not fully hippy but very happy to lean into that lifestyle. This place encouraged full hippiness and I was happy to oblige. We began each day by taking it in turns to say how we were feeling. Not just “I’m good” but how we were really feeling. It felt a bit strange at first, but after a few days I was really into it. In fact, it changed my whole day and I will definitely be taking it forward with me. We did workshops on ‘authentic movement’ and ‘body contact’. Again, I had my doubts but honestly I really enjoyed all of it! It felt wonderful to connect with my body through movement, to explore contact and intimacy with others, and to discuss the feelings that these activities brought up. It did remind me of the Peep Show emotional dancing episode, and I did have to show this to the others, not being able to take it completely seriously (but I think laughing at yourself is part of it)! We all pitched in to create our existence in the mountains. We ate vegetarian food three times a day, all sat around a big table with hot tea and homemade bread. There was a yoga class most mornings which I was ecstatic about. Doing yoga with people I then spent all day with reminded me so much of doing yoga in my college at university, and made me reflect on how much I loved that experience. The other volunteers were like a family, and our evenings were filled with live music, films and games. One notable evening was spent visiting the nearby sauna where we ran between the 100 degree sauna and the makeshift hot tub through the freezing rain, completely in the nude. Some moments whilst travelling make you think “no one at home is going to believe this” and one such moment was being sat naked in the sauna learning how to play backgammon with a guy I had known for 24 hours. Despite this lack of privacy which extended into our living situation (9 of us in one room with one bathroom) we also respected each other’s space in a way that felt so caring. I could spend my alone time sat by the fire reading, or taking a walk in the wilderness. The scenery really was stunning (picture snowy mountains, orange forests, rolling hills, pink sunsets, the occasional ramshack house). It was truly isolated. Once a week a car would arrive from Batumi (the nearest proper town) ladled with supplies and food. It was interesting to see how the chefs made this work with feeding so many people, with them having to depend on non-perishables and making items such as bread from scratch throughout the week. An item from the outside world enticed great excitement from the group - a jar of peanut butter was consumed in minutes, being handed round with a spoon sticking out of it, everyone taking a spoonful; a chocolate bar the same, with everyone taking a bite before passing it to the next person. It was a connected living.

The core volunteer tasks were serving meals and washing up afterwards, and collecting drinking water from the spring. Additional work varied but included helping with renovations, lots of painting walls and ceilings, and cutting and transporting firewood. Of course there were some less ideal quirks, mainly the strange cult leader-like owner. He was in charge of everything and orders were passed down via the administrative coordinator (Vika). He would demand tasks were done quickly and without regard to quality (the Slavic way perhaps). My life as a volunteer was blissful despite this, but there was definitely tension between him and the full-time staff. I really enjoyed the work here, for many reasons but notably because of the other volunteers. I have never been in a space that encourages such thoughtfulness and care. People would help you out not because they had to, but because they wanted to make your life easier. And this encouraged the same behaviour in me, and I really enjoyed it! My time in Gomarduli had a huge impact on my mindset and I’m confident I’ll carry those changes forward with me.

Did I mention the litter of puppies that was born on my second night there? You can see why I extended my stay beyond the one/two weeks I started out with…

Difficult decisions

The temptation of staying somewhere so comfortable for Christmas, and why I ultimately decided not to. Lots of the other volunteers were going to be spending Christmas and New Year at Gomarduli, and I toyed with the idea of doing the same. I knew it would be a wonderful place to spend Christmas, and we’d have a really beautiful time together, just like a little family. But… It felt a bit too comfortable, and a bit too safe. This year’s Christmas isn’t going to be spent like usual with my family, so I might as well go all the way and continue my journey east, risking having a less lovely Christmas but backing myself to make it work out wherever I end up. This is also paired with the risk of being snowed in for several weeks! So I’m going to leave Gomarduli after the silent retreat, and I’ll likely spend Christmas in Kazakhstan or Kyrgystan.

After being on the road for half a year it feels appropriate to give you a general travel update. Beyond the stats, this will only be interesting for those intrigued about the realities of travelling for a while and how it makes you feel.

The stats

Countries visited: 16
Stamps in passport: 22
Overnight buses/ferries: 8
Distance travelled (according to polarsteps): 10,357 miles

3 pieces of advice for people setting off on longer-term travels

My main piece of advice is to work out what you’re wanting to get out of the trip. This will make decisions throughout the trip so much clearer. My second piece of advice is to relinquish all expectations and truly just go with the flow. Be super flexible. Amazing situations and opportunities pop up whilst travelling and you can (a) only notice them when you don’t have tunnel vision on certain expectations, and (b) only take them if you’re flexible enough. My final piece of advice is to pack a food item from your country that you can share with other travellers. I always carried tea bags and now have marmite too, and sharing these with people from all over the world brings everyone a lot of joy.

Does travelling get tiring/boring?

Quick answer: no. Longer answer: If I were to travel in just one way I’m certain I’d get bored and tired, but I mix it up whenever I feel myself nearing that point. By this I mean I vary between fast-paced city travel where I’m visiting lots of museums or historical sights; slower stays in nature where I’m hiking and enjoying interactions with locals; and finding routine when volunteering on a workaway and learning new skills. There’s also variation on a smaller scale, I don’t spend all of time and energy on ‘travelling’. I spend time socialising, writing my journal and blog, doing online courses, practicing yoga, and lots of the things you generally do in normal life. But this is to say that I do get tired of sightseeing! I arrive in a new place and having to research what there is to see there and then going to see it feels like a chore. When this happens I book a few extra nights and take the first few days to slow down. I’ll go and sit in a cafe and read for a morning, wandering around blind, doing any errands I need to do. Once I feel like it I’ll return to researching the place and will go to the sights that appeal to me. After visiting a lot of new places, I’ve found that I really don’t need to see everything and I’m happy being picky about what I do see. Travelling is definitely less tiring and boring than my life whilst studying!

How am I feeling after being away from home for so long?

I feel the most settled and steady and sure that I’ve ever felt. I chose to go travelling because it’s what I wanted to do, so it’s really cool that it’s made me feel so good. The six months has absolutely flown by, it doesn’t feel like I’ve been away from home for that long at all. I haven’t gotten seriously homesick yet (maybe it’ll come over Christmas…). The thought of returning home now makes me panic, I’m having too much of an important time travelling and am definitely not ready for it to end yet! I’ve learnt a lot about myself, and have noticed fairly big changes to my attitude and general being (I’m not saying I’ve found myself I promise…). Of course it’s not all highs, and I still have doubts over the trip and I sometimes miss my life in England. When I speak to friends who are moving forward with their careers and lives it can make me feel like I’m being left behind, like I should be working on the same things. Basically, I want to say it’s normal to compare your life to others, and everyone has doubts over the path they’ve chosen. There’s also no rush in life. Take time to work on yourself and have fun, adult life with its proper careers and relationships and everything else will still be there waiting.

Things I miss most about home are my friends and family (of course), cooking, my clothes and being able to wear nice outfits, having a routine, and being able to have a bath. I really thought the thing that would bother me most about travelling would be having to live out of a backpack and unpack and repack constantly, but it really isn’t an issue. The actual thing that bothers me most is having to constantly think about accommodation - booking, or at least finding, somewhere to stay.

Here’s to another 6 months (and more) of happy travelling ahead! Thanks for still reading my silly little blog, it means a lot :)

Full Moon Check-in

1. Last: On the hotel rooftop in Mardin.
2. Current: In Gormaduli Dao Space doing a workaway in Georgia, walking back to the volunteer house after a long discussion about Russia with two russians over homemade wine brought by the local Georgian man. I bumped into Eva as the full moon became visible through the clouds and we looked together.
3. Future: In Armenia, maybe in Yerevan.