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.

After my weird few days in Svaneti and Shekvetili I returned to Batumi for a night. From here I was travelling to Gormaduli. After asking around at the bus station and being pointed in the right direction several times, I found the right marshrutka to Gormaduli. It already seemed very full of stuff - big bags of onions and pasta and flour, and general luggage. I squeezed myself and my bag on and we set off. Everyone on the bus was Georgian, except one Ukrainian guy who spoke english. It was the most bizarre bus journey so far. We picked up lots of people on the way, until the bus was definitely at capacity. But then we still picked up people and squeezed them on. We kept stopping for what seemed to be errands. We stopped at a gas station and one man filled up a gas canister. We stopped at a bakery and everyone on the bus bought several loaves of fresh bread. I wasn’t complaining about this one though, it made the whole bus smell like freshly baked bread, and the lady next to me gave me some of hers to nibble on. This was the first of my bus snacks. A little while later we stopped at a shop, and the lady next to me bought me a lollipop which was cool. The less cool bit was the near-constant brushes with death, with the bus driver driving like an absolute lunatic. I’d say I’m used to crazy drivers after the last few months and my time in the balkans, but this was something else. The passengers near me kept asking if I was okay after each near head-on collision, so I clearly looked quite concerned. But we didn’t die, and before I knew it (not really, it was a long journey) we were departing from the main road to head into the mountains. The road was insane, nothing more than a muddy track most of the time, and we often had to do 3-point turns to make the hairpin corners. At one point we went up the smallest, steepest dirt track and I thought there’s no way that this is the road. Google maps agreed with me. Turns out we were driving up to a ladies house to drop her and all of her shopping off at the door. Still no complaining from me though, as she brought out a tray with crystal glasses and a jug of homemade juice for us all. The bus zoomed onwards and we continued to drop people off in the middle of nowhere, with huge amounts of groceries. We also delivered some of the bags of bread to other houses in the area. Eventually we made it to my stop: Gormaduli Dao Space. A retreat centre in the mountains where I’m doing a workaway for the next few weeks. Victoria was there to greet me (and the Ukrainian man, turns out he was coming here too!), alongside two guys sat on tree stumps playing drums. It’s a really cool place. Five ski chalet style houses and a bigger building in a row, in the middle of nowhere in the mountains. The most beautiful setting! There are kittens, and a pregnant dog that’s about to give birth. There are 8 other volunteers and they’re all really great and interesting people. Expect a very interesting post on this experience once I’ve finished here!

My bus refreshments:

I couldn’t face the marshrutka journey back to Batumi in one go so decided to spend a night along the black sea en route. After a quick google I found that Kobuleti was the main town but quite touristy, and Shekvetili was a more naturey area. Naturally I chose Shekvetili, a choice cemented by the fact there was a hotel that was only £13 a night. I got chucked out of the marshrutka at Shekvitili in the pouring rain. I got my raincoat out of my bag, and put the waterproof cover over it before setting off into the town. It was at this point I started to wish I’d done a bit more research first. It was an absolute ghost town. Clearly a beach resort only, and now out of season it was truly dead. I walked past closed restaurants and hotels before reaching the beach and finding my hotel (thankfully open!). I checked in and watched the torrential rain out of the double doors to my balcony, at least it was a very nice room. I asked the owner if anywhere was open for food, and he said the supermarkets. I got into my bikini and headed out in search of food for later and to go for a swim. It had stopped raining, and the sun was starting to peak through. After walking for 45 minutes and checking on 4 supermarkets I came up short. No food. Rice cakes and marmite it was! I found a nice spot to swim and undressed. Stood on the desolate beach, in the gale force winds, looking out at brown, rough sea I did question what on earth I was doing. So did the stray dog I’d picked up on my way. But as soon as I was submerged in the water, the cooling sea grounding me, and the sun emerging from the clouds to shine on my skin, I felt ecstatic. I plunged my head under, coming up spluttering, submerged by a wave. I splashed around for a bit before getting out and getting changed. I walked barefoot the rest of the way back to the hotel, looking at my feet in the black, magnetic sand. I wish I had had a magnet to see if it really was magnetic. Back at the hotel I washed off my feet before traipsing upstairs. I met the owner and explained the supermarkets were closed. He offered me food, and I gladly accepted. He rustled up some salami, a mustard like dip, bread and no less than 5 boiled eggs for me! I spent the rest of the day holed up in my room, enjoying a hot shower, watching a film and just relaxing.

This was almost a disaster - a completely dead town with nowhere to get food. But it turned out alright, I enjoyed some food kindly cooked up for me and a quiet evening in relaxing.

After bidding farewell to my travel companions in Turkey I caught the bus from Hopa across the Georgian border to Batumi; entering my 16th country of the trip! The border was the strangest yet, reminding me of an airport terminal, and it was very confusing. I spent two nights in Batumi and it’s a strange city, reminding me of San Francisco (lots of colourful, hip shops and cafes), Brighton (it’s on the sea and has a pier) and a Scandinavian city (very clean and sleek). It served as the biggest contrast between neighbouring countries yet, with it being starkly different from Eastern Turkey. It felt a lot more European, and the only indicator that it wasn’t were the plethora of second hand stores advertising “Clothes from Europe - H&M, Zara!”. My time here was spent frantically searching for winter clothes and planning my next moves in coffee shops, enjoying all of the non-turkish coffee. After two nights I was ready, I’d decided to go up to the highest part of Georgia to do some hiking.

About Svaneti, hiking, village guesthouses

The area is called Svaneti and it’s right up by the Russian border (with some big mountains in between!). The people there are culturally distinct from Georgians, calling themselves Svans and with their own language called Svan. The most characteristic remnant of this culture are the Svan towers which cover the landscape, seen all over each little town. They were built as defensive dwellings, and were used by the families in family versus family conflicts in the area. They are often part of houses, and are still lived in today. The isolated nature of the location means the cultural heritage has been preserved extremely well, and it felt very different to the rest of Georgia. It did also make it a pain in the arse to get to. It took two marshrutkas (minibuses) and a total of 8 hours. If you want to avoid the bus journey you can actually fly to Mestia from Tbilisi. My guesthouse in Mestia was lovely, I had a double bed in a cosy private room, the shower was hot and good, and it was only £11.50 a night. The little man running it was awkward but helpful, and I felt quite bonded to him by the end. I think he felt the same, giving me tea and cake on my last day. Mestia is the main town in upper Svaneti and you could tell, it had a proper main street with several restaurants and cafes. It was the end of the hiking season so it was very quiet, with a lot of things already shut for the winter. There were other tourists there, mostly digital nomads (there are a lot of these in Georgia) and a few hikers.

The initial reason I wanted to come to Svaneti was to do a four day hike from Mestia to Ushguli, it’s pretty well known and is meant to be an amazing hike. The week before I arrived in Mestia the first snow of winter came and more was forecasted whilst I was there. Surprisingly, the hike was still possible but it would be more difficult and a lot colder. I didn’t fancy taking it on by myself, especially with more snow coming, so I opted for two day hikes instead. The first was up to the Koruldi lakes above Mestia, or more accurately, up as far as I could get to them with the snow. It was all uphill, first through the woods to a large cross on the hill with an observation deck, and then up further until the snow was too deep to continue. It was a total elevation gain of around 1500 metres. My fears of being cold were immediately washed away, with me stripping up off all my layers after about 10 minutes of walking up the steep path, already getting sweaty. The clouds were lingering at the start of the day, but this meant I had the most amazing show at the top - watching the clouds rise up and reveal the mountains. Seeing proper snow was exciting as always. The autumnal colours were rich, they made up for not seeing any until now. Autumn is my favourite season, I felt very happy to be able to spend some of it in a place with orange leaves and freshness. My second hike was the first leg of the four day Ushguli hike, from Mestia to Zhabeshi. This was my favourite hike of the trip so far, it was just perfect. The weather was ideal, fresh but sunny. The scenery was outstanding, bright orange trees, snowy mountains, tiny villages (with more Svan towers). I didn’t meet a single other hiker. At the highest point, with views of mountains both in front and behind me, I did some yoga and took some time to really appreciate my surroundings. When I’m hiking alone I alternate between walking in silence, happy to just be in nature and let my thoughts run, listening to audiobooks or podcasts, and listening to music. Here’s what I take with me on my hikes, I hope the colour matching is as satisfying to you as it was to me:

After 18km I reached Zhabeshi. This was a much smaller village than Mestia, with just guesthouses along a muddy road. As I entered a man called out to me, offering me a room at his guesthouse, with dinner and breakfast for 40 lari (£13). I turned him down, saying I already had one booked. I got to the guesthouse I’d booked the previous day, and was told by the lady that she had family visiting so didn’t have any space, but she’d sort somewhere else out for me. I told her not to worry, and went back to the man who called out to me. He made me tea and showed me to my room, but I realised I was the only person there with the guy that ran it, and a younger man. This made me feel a tad uncomfortable (I had reached my limit of male interactions but I’ll explain that later), so I decided to look for an alternative place. I found one with good google reviews very close by, and when I went to take a look I spotted the old lady (Dodo) who owned it outside. I asked her if I could stay and she said of course, when I asked how much it would be she shrugged and asked how much I’d like to pay. I went back to collect my bag, explaining to the man that I was very sorry but was going to stay elsewhere, telling a little lie and saying it was because the place I’d booked did have space… Oven (the guy) was actually very nice about it, giving me a hug and saying he would drive me to Mestia tomorrow. I felt a lot more comfortable with Dodo, and my room was nicer too, so I guess it was third time lucky! I walked up to the church in the village, but it was locked. At this point, I’d crossed the same muddy bridge four times, and the men working on the new bridge found this funny and struck up conversation. They didn’t speak english so it was through miming. The kids playing while the men worked were very cute, and all looked very similar - dark hair and dark eyes. I had a quick shower before it was time to eat. The dinner Dodo made for me was absolutely delicious. A plate of tomatoes with Svaneti salt which was just amazing. It’s not really salt, but a mixture of spices (at least 7) that has an almost indian style taste. It was used in Svaneti to make their salt reserves last longer, and is now used across all of Georgia. Dodo makes her own, like everyone here, and proudly showed me her jar when I complimented it. A plate of fried potatoes, wonderfully salted and perfect for dipping in the aioli aubergine dip which was also very tasty. My first Khachapuri, as delicious as bread filled with cheese and little mashed potatoes sounds. A plate of normal bread, that I didn’t touch. A bowl of bean soup, nothing too special but very warming, and of course this also included potatoes. In total, five forms of carbs, definitely not a meal for the dieting person! Dodo was apologetic that it was all she could rustle up on short notice, I was almost scared to imagine how much food she’d have made for me if she had longer! The next morning, after getting ready I went downstairs to find my breakfast already on the table, a lot of food once more. Another plate of tomatoes with Svaneti salt, some salami and an egg, khachapuri, two huge slices of cake, normal bread and a jar of homemade strawberry jam. I didn’t touch the bread again. The jam was delicious, not too sweet and very tasty. I only had a mouthful of the cake, which was very nice, and packaged the rest up to take with me. I chatted to Dodo for a bit in their little, very cosy kitchen (heated from the wooden stove in the centre). She insisted I take the rest of the khachapuri with me, after I complimented her on it. She told me about where she learnt english, by reading a lot, and the fact she used to be a teacher. She had been running the guesthouse for 10 years, spending her summers in Zhabeshi and her winters in Tbilisi. Georgians weren’t happy about the increasing number of Russians moving to the country. She wasn’t worried about Russia invading Svaneti. She made her khachapuri with potatoes because the just cheese one wasn’t as nice in her opinion. I paid 50 lari, thinking £15 was more than fair for everything she’d provided. I packed my bag and headed out, deciding not to take Oven up on his offer of a lift and instead to hitchhike. The first car that passed me was a little truck, as it flew past I was confused at seeing a child driving. Then I remembered that it would be left-hand drive here. As I walked past the now stopped truck I saw that no, I was right the first time! It was a right-hand drive for some reason, and a small boy was driving. The next car that drove past was driven by one of the men who was building the bridge the previous day, and his little boy. I ended up getting a lift with them, all the way into Mestia.

The rest of my time in the mountains was spent learning about Svaneti culture and writing in cosy restaurants. I went to the Ethnology museum in Mestia, which was fairly insightful. Even better was going to the little cinema to see Dede, a film about Svaneti filmed in Ushguli and starring a lot of local people. The cinema only showed this film, five times a day everyday. It was a lot better than I expected and I learnt a lot about Svaneti culture from it (mostly how insanely sexist it was). Mestia was such a strange place, I would love to see it in peak season but for now the bougie cafes serving fancy oatmeal bowls seemed so out of step with the surroundings.

My time in Svaneti was really wonderful but also very strange, almost like a fever dream. I’m not sure if there was something in the air, or if I was just the only young woman around, but the reaction of men was very intense. I bumped into one local guy up by the lakes and he gave me his number. I wasn’t going to text him but later that evening I bumped into him on my way to dinner, and then again on my way back to the guesthouse! Either Mestia was a very small town or this man was stalking me. When I turned down his offer of going to an isolated tower for sunset he got quite stroppy over text with me which was funny, but proved my bad gut feeling about him was right. I went to the same restaurant for dinner each evening and I could feel one of the guys there staring at me constantly. Eventually he dropped a piece of rolled up paper on my table, which read ‘YoU aRe SO bEauTiFul’. I’m not sure what the random capitalisation was about, and I’m certain this was a reusable note as he took it back after a bit. I had to fight off men trying to pick me up whilst I was walking on the road for a bit near the end of my hike. What struck me wasn’t the advances, but the way that these men looked at me, with such wide eyes always. It wasn’t just men either, Dodo looked at me the same way, often commenting on how beautiful I was. It was a little unnerving but quite amusing.

Svaneti was perhaps the strangest place I’ve visited so far, but thinking about it makes me really smile. It was such a fun experience, and it was the perfect way to get back into travelling alone.

When I planned my route for this year there were some countries that I really wanted to visit and was excited for, and others that were just on the way. Turkey fell into that second category. And it has made me even more grateful that I decided to do this route, because it has proven the point that sometimes the unassuming, zero expectation places can be the most wonderful. My view of Turkey before this trip wasn’t particularly positive. I saw it as a not very nice beach destination. I didn’t know anything about its culture, or food, or history. I had no idea just how rich it was in all of those areas. The people here have been unbelievable open and kind and generous. The history has been insane, with us arguably seeing some of the most important sights in human history. The food has been delightful and fun, with every place having its own specialities, especially in terms of desserts. I’ve had so many memorable experiences here. I don’t even know what to include in this post, there’s so much to say. I’m going to try and share with you some of the highlights (and lowlights of course), and attempt to communicate the essence of my experience here. It’s a place that you should visit at least once in your life. But it’s not my favourite country, I’m not in love with it, and I won’t be rushing back to it.

Our route:

Gaziantep

This was our first stop and where I met up with Thalia and Helena. I had my own hotel room for the night which was a wonderful change from hostels. Gaziantep (or Antep as its locally known) is famous for food. It has the best Baklava in the world. It’s the major producer of pistachios so it’s also famous for any pistachio based products (which there are a lot of, you’d be surprised with how much they manage to do with one nut!). Wandering through the bazaar we saw, and sampled, all of them. Bazaars are characterised by huge barrels of products out in the open, and it’s perfectly acceptable to help yourself to these to try. I tried a fresh pistachio for the first time, peeling the soft coating to reveal the shell and then the nut, it tasted very different to dried pistachios. My favourite pistachio item was a pistachio mash sweet, it wasn’t particularly sweet but had an intense pistachio flavour. I ate a lot in my short stay in Antep, and I can confirm that the food really was incredible. Beyond eating, we visited the Mosaic museum, which is the largest in the world, and we saw the famous Gypsy Girl mosaic (which might actually not be a girl, but in fact Alexander the Great).

My favourite local interaction in Antep was with our hotel owner. He invited us to drink tea with him and asked us about our trip. In response to our answer, the google translate voice read out “freedom is beautiful”. Simple and quite funny.

Speciality dessert: Katmer. A sort of hot pancake filled with cheese and pistachios and syrup. Served with milk. (And Baklava of course!)

Sanliurfa

We got a taxi to the bus station in Antep, and then a bus to Sanliufa and another taxi into the centre and to our hotel (this is the procedure every time!). The taxis are interesting here, for the one in Sanliurfa the driver pulled over and three children jumped into the front seat to join us for the ride. Like Antep, Sanliurfa has a nickname which is Urfa. Our first impressions of Urfa weren’t very positive, we were stared at a lot as we walked down the main street towards to bazaar, and the dark, dirty buildings gave an oppressing feel. The bazaar was also strange and didn’t have the same happy vibe as previous ones had. This impression changed when we emerged from the bazaar into an oasis. There was a beautiful light-coloured square with a mosque, and the colours from the sunset made it glow. We placed our headscarfs on and entered the mosque, ready to see an important religious site: the cave where the prophet Abraham was born and lived for the first 15 years of his life. It was quite impressive, and very strange. People washed their hands in the ‘holy’ water from the taps and wet their faces with it. Close by we came across a beautiful park, with a small lake and a river that led to a larger lake. These were filled with fish (carp we found out). They lakes also had religious significance, with the larger one having supposedly formed when King Nimrod burned Abraham alive at the location, and the smaller one when he did the same to his daughter who was Abraham’s fiance.

On our second visit to the bazaar we enjoyed it a lot more. We drank pistachio coffee (remember what I said about them making all sorts from it!) in the big square in the centre of the madness, and enjoyed food in a little shop much to the man’s excitement. We watched as he called over his friends from across the bazaar to see the three women in his shop. He even asked for a photo of us with the sheep head stew.

Gobeklitepe
The reason we’d come to Urfa was to see Gobeklitepe. Now this place is historically insane. It is the oldest religious site in the world, by 6,000 years! When it was discovered in 1994 it changed our entire understanding of human evolution and history. Until Gobeklitepe it was thought that agriculture led to civilisations which led to religion. But Gobeklitepe, a religious site, was built before farming and agriculture began, turning this idea on its head. Instead, it suggests that religion led to civilisation, which in turn led to agriculture. I’m not fully convinced by this explanation however. I struggle to follow the logic that a huge group of people settled in one place knowing they couldn’t sustain themselves with their current lifestyle, to build a large religious structure, with the apparent hope that they would find some way to sustain themselves. I find it hard to believe they would attempt this without any knowledge of a potential way to sustain themselves, and for them to be so lucky as to stumble across farming and for it to work - with crops not yet being domesticated. But anyway, the site is incredibly important in human history and a bit mysterious, with the prehistoric people burying the site and leaving 1,000 years after construction began. As of 2021, less than 5% of Gobeklitepe has been discovered, so maybe more clarity will come. The site is 20km away from the city, and we got a taxi there and managed to hitchhike back. In the city there is the Sanliurfa Archeological Museum which gives wider context to Gobeklitepe and the region in general, it was a really well done museum.

Harran
Harran is another site of interest near to Urfa, and we got a taxi here. It’s a small town close to the Syrian border, where there are still traditional beehive mud houses. The houses were very interesting, but the overall experience wasn’t great. We were hassled a lot by men who wanted to be our ‘tour guides’. The town was clearly very poor, filled with Syrian refugees, so we understood the men’s desperation but it was quite aggressive. It was a very hot day, and the environment was so dry and like a wasteland. Our taxi driver tried to rip us off as well, so all in all it was a bit of an ordeal! In a dramatic change of vibe, back in Urfa we spent the evening at a traditional music and dinner night. It was a really wonderful evening. The music was great, the food was plentiful and delicious (salad with dips, soup, köfte and stuffed dried vegetables, kebab, Çiğ köfte (ceremoniously made), kunefe. And ayran (a salty yogurt drink) and lots of tea. The Çiğ köfte was made in front of everyone by the chef, with him kneading the bulgur, spices and raw meat together, alongside the music and dancing. We joined in with the dancing of course.

Speciality dessert: Şıllık. A crepe-like pancake filled with cheese and pistachios, served cold and drenched in syrup. I was not a fan!

Mardin

Our bus to Mardin from Urfa was late and took an extra hour which meant we arrived quite late into the city. We were all feeling exhausted when we got to our hotel, so the news that there was an issue with the room we’d booked and they needed to add an extra bed to a different room for us (delivered through google translate which added to the confusion) was not happily received. As we sat waiting, we witnessed a whole bed being pulled up from the downstairs courtyard, and wedged into the room. It was quite comical. Our first impressions of Mardin were that it was a lot more touristy than Urfa, albeit Turkish tourists. But this still meant it felt less conservative and we got stared at a lot less. The old town has one big main street which cars can drive down in one direction, and lots of narrow streets with steps branching off. There are no cars on these, but several horses and donkeys ladled with goods. The buildings are all made from the same light coloured limestone. We visited an orthodox church, a protestant church and a mosque. It was interesting to compare the vibe from all of them. They all feel very similar to me. A lot of the stores in the bazaar were closed but it was, as always, fun to wander around it. It felt a lot more touristy than the previous bazaars. The stand out products were blue sugared almonds and soap. There were also a lot of bakeries selling walnut biscuits which we learnt are a Syrian food. The other major product from Mardin is wine. Up until this point we hadn’t seen any alcohol at all in the East, so it was quite exciting to see all of the wine shops. One evening we went into one to try them. They are Assyrian wine, and they didn’t taste at all like the wine I was familiar with. The reds were very fruity and heavily spiced, reminding me more of mulled wine. The owner, Baris, told us lots of information about the wines. While sampling them, a friend of Baris came in and joined us. He was called Ufuk and he offered to show us around the following day. The following morning we decided that we had all got good vibes from him so took him up on his offer. Ufuk picked us up and we were all shocked by the car - a very fancy blue one with a red stripe, it was a Dodge. We drove first to Dara (stopping briefly at a monastery on the way), a town with an underground city carved into the rock. Sadly, it was closed! Ufuk had an idea however, and we set off to Midyat. The drive took us right along the Syrian border. It was a strange experience driving in the fancy Dodge, listening to heat waves by glass animals, looking out the window and seeing the barbed wire of the Syrian border. We stopped at a place for lunch which was right on the river, with the tables built over it meaning you could sit with your feet dangling in the water and see the water flowing underneath you. Ufuk paid for everything and refused any discussion about allowing us to pay (I’ve noticed this a lot in Turkey, it’s almost seen as offensive if you try and argue). We continued to Midyat, a smaller, slightly prettier town than Mardin. Back in Mardin we returned to the wine shop, reflecting on how yesterday evening we would never have guessed how the following day would unfold and that we’d be back to the same wine shop. We went out for tea with Baris and Ufuk, I quite like how this is their version of going out for a beer in the evening. We walked back to our hotel and observed Ufuk deal with the police over a ‘small issue’ (something to do with his younger brother driving his car). Ufuk and Baris were both so lovely and I can’t thank them enough for showing us around Mardin and the local area!

Felix, Thalia and Helena’s friend from a workaway earlier in the summer, joined us on our last day in Mardin. He was travelling with a van and from this point we all travelled together in this (so no more buses or taxis in Turkey from this point!).

Speciality dessert: Blue, sugared almonds.

Diyarbakir

This city also had one main street which reminded me more of Urfa than Mardin (also because we were stared at a lot again). It had huge city walls which we climbed up and admired the rural view on the other side. Along the main street were several Hans, these are remnants of the city’s location on the Silk Road (the ancient network of trade routes across Eurasia) and are large quads with two floors. The bottom floor would be for the animals and for stalls and restaurants. The top floor would be for rooms, for the travellers and traders to sleep in. The main mosque was built with dark bricks which gave it a very oppressive feel. We walked out to the Dicle bridge which was a very large, stone bridge. The scenery was pretty, very rural feeling despite us being just a 40 minute walk from the city centre. There was a wedding party dancing on the bridge with loud music and drums. One of the women beckoned for me to join them so I did, putting my dancing practice in Urfa to good use! If you google Diyarbakir you might see results claiming it’s unsafe, due to clashes between the PKK and the Turkish Government. We didn’t see any of this. The PKK are the Kurdistan Workers’ Party. Diyarbakir is the de facto capital of Kurdistan, and hosts the largest Kurdish population in Turkey. The Kurdish conflict in Turkey is deep-rooted and complex, as seems to always be the case with ethnic issues like this. I’m not well enough educated on the issues to talk about them here, only having a vague understanding myself. I wish I had had the time to look properly into the conflict while I was here, but it’s difficult to juggle researching the ancient history, modern history, culture, food of a place, and enjoying actually being there! Some things get left behind, and sadly the Kurdish conflict was one of these for me.

We weren’t staying in a hotel in Diyarbakir, instead a friend of someone Helena knew had kindly offered us their empty apartment to stay in. It was a little outside the city, in a big flat block alongside many other identical ones, with plots of rubble where it seemed like additional blocks would soon be built. The apartment was very swanky, clearly very new. We had a wonderful few days relaxing here, fully enjoying being in a house rather than a hotel/hostel. We cooked dinner, we watched a movie, we worked out. We spent one whole day just hanging out there, something I hadn’t done for months and really enjoyed. My favourite activity was chocolate tasting. Helena has a PhD in chocolate (the genetics and chemical characterisation of flavour in cocoa to be more specific) so gave us a full chocolate tasting lesson. Before we left the comfort of the house, we cooked breakfast for the owner’s cousin who had brought us over the keys, to say thank you. It was fun to make a Turkish breakfast after eating so many, although we added our own twist, with banana oat pancakes making their way to the table.

Speciality dessert: Kadayif. Shredded-wheat-like crunchy casing around pistachio mush, with syrup, served hot. My favourite dessert so far, huge fan.

Mount Nemrut

We drove two hours to a little village called Karadut, at the base of Mount Nemrut. We were planning to go up the mountain for sunset, so spent the afternoon exploring the village and discovering just how tiny it was. Whilst we were out wandering, it started to rain, and then to really rain, so we took shelter in an empty garage. An old man rode past on a donkey and then came in to join us, picking up breezeblocks for us to sit on and making conversation. Sat on the breezeblock, eating a pomegranate handed to me by a farmer earlier, watching the torrential rain, surrounded by friends and chatting to an old, very well-dressed Turkish man, I thought to myself how magical travelling is. Just before sunset we drove up the mountain, walking the final part up to the reason we’d decided to come here. On top of this mountain there are several huge statues which have been decapitated, their heads lying on the ground by their feet, on both the East and West side. The giant heads and headless bodies were really cool, but the experience was negated by the huge number of people up there, and how cold and windy it was. Behind the statues was a huge, man-made pile of stones, purportedly a burial mound of King Antiochus I, although the tomb hasn’t been found. On our walk back down the stormy sky became even more dramatic, with one cloud so black it seemed endless. The guesthouse we were staying at provided dinner and we enjoyed the most succulent chicken I’ve ever eaten. The power went out halfway through dinner, so the staff shined their phone lights on us. We spent the rest of the evening playing cards, playing guitar and chatting by gaslight, with the power coming on and going back off repeatedly.

Mount Nemrut was meant to be our final destination as a four, but happily the others became convinced to continue with me to Van! I’d take the credit for this but I think it was more the draw of Van than anything I said.

The drive from Mount Nemrut to Van was a long one, 530km. We shared the driving between us, which I loved as I’d missed driving the van at home. There were four or five military checkpoints where we had to show our passports. We didn’t have any issues with them on this drive (despite Helena, Thalia and Felix all having stayed longer than the allowed 90 days…) and often left the guards laughing in bewilderment at one Swiss, one Belgian, one English and one French person driving in a yellow van.

Van

Van was a larger, more bustling and modern city. This meant it was uglier than previous ones, but it had a bigger selection of shops, cafes and restaurants. It’s on the largest lake in Turkey. It has a castle in ruins which was quite cool, with a good view of the lake from the top. The lake has a little island in it called Akdamar Island. We took a ferry out to this and saw the Armenian church it’s home to. I also saw several tortoises and rabbits. One of the most famous things about Van is the Van cat. This is a special breed of cat which is white with one blue eye and one green eye. We went to the Van Cat House to see them, and it was really strange. Hundreds of white cats in one room, jumping on us and meowing, it could’ve been out of a horror film and I love cats! The lake itself wasn’t that special, by the city it was a bit industrial seeming and not very clean.

Thalia flew back to Switzerland after Van sadly, leaving Helena, Felix and I to continue.

Speciality: The Van breakfast. Just a Turkish breakfast with a few added dishes. But you have to ask yourself, at what point does a breakfast have too many little dishes? I’d argue the ordinary Turkish breakfast has already reached this limit…

Dogubeyazit

By far my least favourite city. Again, just one main street but this one felt equally oppressive and depressing. There’s always more men walking around than women, but I really noticed it here. Luckily we were only there for one night, and we were really there to see the Ishak Pasha Palace just outside the city. Now this was beautiful. An open style palace made of sand coloured stone, which sat so perfectly against the red mountains, and was lit up by the setting sun. Lots of intricate details had been carved into the stone, and the maze of rooms had wonderful details like fireplaces, interesting windows and pillars. It hosts a blend of Ottoman, Persian and Armenian architecture. From the palace you had a view of Mount Ararat (although it was almost entirely covered by clouds when we were there), this is the highest peak in Turkey and the supposed resting place of Noah’s Ark.

Kars

Like Dogubeyazit, the main site of interest in Kars was actually just outside it. We visited this first: the Ani Ruins. These are the ruins of a medieval Armenian city, and it was huge. Behind a big double wall stood a large, open, hilly field. Scattered around this were remnants of buildings. The field was surrounded by a river, and an empty valley on one side with caves cut into the rock. Armenia was just the other side of the river. The scenery reminded me a lot of Scotland. We spent several hours walking around the entire site, listening to the audioguide. It was crazy to think what it would’ve been like back in the day. One of my highlights was seeing the ruins of the Silk Road bridge, which marked the entrance of the Silk Road into Anatolia. Armenia say that Turkey are neglecting the site intentionally, and I have to agree with this. Compared to the other historical sites we’ve visited, this one had very little information, with the few signs that did exist being so faded and broken they were illegible. Maybe Turkey should just give it back to Armenia…

Kars itself was lovely, a nice middle ground between the modern Van and the pretty Sanliurfa. It had a cool cheese museum (a local delicacy) and a castle (not as cool as the one in Van). I had my one and only disappointing meal in Turkey here, with the traditional goose meat and rice being insanely salty and otherwise tasteless. But we also had a very good meal so I won’t hold it against Kars!

Speciality: Goose meat.

Hopa

The last stop on my Turkey journey was Hopa, a little town right on the Black Sea, and very close to the Georgian border. The drive over was fun, with us ascending up into the mountains. First we saw snow in the fields next to the road, then it started to snow on us, and finally it started to settle on the road. I was driving (I always seemed to get the tricky bits of the journey!) and took it very slowly, with Felix being a very helpful copilot. We followed in the tyre tracks of a big lorry in front of us, thinking if that can make it so can we. Despite the fear factor, it was really beautiful, and as was the rest of the drive inside a gorge and then a very big tunnel. I only spent one evening in Hopa and it was a strange place. It was clearly a truck stop point, illustrated by the huge number of trucks and the multiple seedy nightclubs.

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In summary

To sum up Turkey in one sentence: you will be offered tea, and if you refuse you will still be given tea.

I’m actually going to miss the tea, it’s served black and is weaker than British tea, and I really grew to like it. But the fact you’ll be given tea even if you refuse is a good example of the underlying something that I didn’t love about Turkey. Yes the people are wonderfully generous, but sometimes to the extent that it’s forceful and uncomfortable. If my “no” to tea wasn’t listened to or respected, would anything I say be adhered to? The people here are also very nationalistic, but it is illegal to say anything against the current President so I guess that makes sense. I didn’t love that! I got the impression from a lot of younger people that they were desperately jealous of us, travelling around and seeing new places. It gave me hope that in the future this generation will have the opportunity to travel and in turn mellow their conservative views. But perhaps that will also see a mellowing of their intense culture, which is arguably a loss.

Less glamorous parts:

• Having to cover up constantly, despite the searing heat.
• Being desperate for a proper coffee and spending each morning walking far and wide to locate one, often to be left very disappointed. But when we did occasionally find one, like we did on our third day in Mardin, the struggle made it taste even better.
• Some of the military and police checkpoints on the road were a tad scary. Sometimes they would get angry with us for not understanding what they wanted. We were always able to calm to situation down by being extremely polite and friendly. We had one stop that was especially unnerving. On the way from Van to the ferry point for visiting Akdamar Island we were stopped by men in normal clothing, no uniforms, all holding screwdriver like tools. They shouted that they were police but we made sure to ask for ID before we opened the van like they were ordering us to do. They said they were checking for drugs as they poked around inside, with me sat smiling on the bed. They didn’t hold us for long, but we all felt quite shaken by the experience.
• Helena and I would do yoga every morning, always finding somewhere to do it in the hotels without any real problems. In Dogubeyazit, this location was in the corridor just outside of our room. Near the end of my practice the guy that worked there came up to me with a message on google translate reading “can you go back to your room. This is Turkey, they can do anything to you here”. I’m not too sure what he was trying to say to me, but it did shake me a bit.
• In my mission to try as many new foods as possible, some mistakes occur. An especially embarrassing one was in the bazaar in Sanliurfa. We saw brown balls in the mixed nuts barrel that looked like chocolate. I picked one to try, popping it in my mouth and biting down. It was at this point I realised why all of the men were staring at me in shock, it was a hazelnut with its shell on. The bitter taste of an inedible nut shell in my mouth, and the hard shell fragments on my tongue. I spat it out into my hand, joining in with the men who were now openly laughing at me. (See photo below.)
• Late buses… (See photo below for how happy this makes me.)