Over Labor Day weekend we traveled to a small village near the Russian-Georgian border called Shatili. This village is located in a region known as Khevsureti. Historically the Khevsurians patrolled the Northern border with Russia. This way of life is reflected in their architecture. Hundreds of towers connected to one another by narrow bridges and corridors created fortified towns. The tower systems usually had a few narrow entrances followed by a series of loop holes and secret passageways that served to trap invading forces in their labyrinth while the Khevsurians attacked from above.
Of the hundreds of original towers, only several dozen remain. This is where we stayed for 3 days and 2 nights, sleeping in one of the original towers which had been modestly refurbished. I was amazed that we were allowed to stay in these towers, realizing that a similar anthropological site in the U.S. would never permit this. What an incredible opportunity to experience this culture.
The drive to Shatili was an adventure in itself with the 120km drive taking just over 4 hours. Once outside T'bilisi the road quickly became a network of patched asphalt and potholes. From there it shortly became a dirt road with even larger potholes which switched back through the mountains with numerous river crossings over a series of rickety steel plate bridges.
Upon arrival our guide, Shalva, took us on a brief "excursion" through the towers, teaching us some of the history of the area. We navigated the network of corridors and climbed to the roofs which were once covered in grass for insulation. He pointed out windows in the upper levels that were used to empty cauldrons of boiling water on invading armies and a brewery where women were historically forbidden from entering. In an effort to honor the
Khevsurian culture the women on the trip had to stay back while Seth and Shalva enjoyed the "Man Privileges" of a brewery tour. (Yes, Shalva actually said, "Come. We have Man Privilege." This became a recurring joke of the weekend. Seth's other "Man Privileges" also included bringing all the luggage down from the hill we had to park the cars on and making sure our wine glasses were never dry.)
Authentic Georgian meals were provided everyday including staple dishes like khachapuri (cheese bread), khinkali (spicy meat dumplings), fried potatoes, fresh honey, breads, fresh milk (like, from the cow that morning) and tomato and cucumber salads. We were well fed and we needed it to fuel up for the daily hikes to explore this beautiful region.
Russian Border Guards and the Death Houses
After unpacking and having lunch our guide took us on a 2 km walk to the Russian border. Along the way we passed by cows grazing on the side of the path and a Caucasian Shepherd Dog puppy which looked like a bear cub. As we approached the border guards located high on the mountain side we could spot 3 guards looking down at us through their binoculars. Shalva waved and they waved back, apparently we were "cool" to keep going. There were a series of boulders painted white marking the border. A bit further along the path, where 2 rivers met, we came upon a group of low, stone buildings with small windows. These were the death houses. During the times of plague villagers who became sick were sent away from the towns to die in these rooms. Human bones still lie on the ground inside, visible through the small windows. We saw whole vertebrae and spinal columns intact.
The Germans and Their "Nut Liquor"
When we returned from our walk we came home to find that a group of German travelers had arrived to share the towers with us for the weekend. After introductions we sat down for dinner on wooden benches (actually, I think they were large tree trunks) around a low table. After dinner we sat around telling stories and homemade wine one of our friends had brought. One of the Germans went outside and came back with a 20 oz. Coke bottle, only what was inside didn't look like Coke. They began pouring small cups and passing them around. Seth asked the German next to me what it was and he said:
"Nut liquor."
"It's not liquor?" Seth asked.
"No, it is nut liquor. made from walnuts."
"Oh, I thought you said 'not liquor'."
"Ah, no, it is nut liquor."
Sitting in between this exchange it took all of my self control not to squirt wine out of my nose. The girls across the table from me understood my dilemma as we all struggled not to fall off our benches in hysterics. You see, to us it sounded like the boys kept repeating...well, if you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not going to spell it out here.
Mutso
The following day we headed 13 km down river to one of the oldest and largest fortresses in Khevsureti, Mutso. Built on a rocky hill 150 meters high is another tower system which served as a place for the people of the village to gather to discuss their problems, it was their parliament. The climb up to the towers was more technical that the climb to the towers we were staying in. We followed our guide up the rocky hillside, picking our way among the vegetation and crumbling shale. Another group visiting Mutso had a dog with them that would run ahead and behind us on the trail. It was trying to herd us, but mostly succeeded in tripping us up on these narrow paths. We named him Shmagi, one of the worst Georgian names we have heard yet. Once we reached the tower system we roamed freely, ducking into rooms which the plant life has begun to reclaim for the mountain. The architecture was impressive to say the least. After refilling our water bottles in the mountain stream (something Seth and I were both wary of doing but everyone assured us they had drank it and had been fine) everyone except Seth piled back into the cars to drive home. He strapped on his trail shoes and enjoyed a 13 km run along the river back to the towers we were staying in.
Monday Morning Run and the Spanish Boxer
While the rest of our group dozed on our last morning in Shatili, Seth and I headed out for a run. He had been eying a particularly steep path up the mountain that we could see from our balcony and I wanted to explore the other end of the river. It was a beautiful morning, cool breeze and bright sky. We headed out together and split off at the mountain path. As I ran along the river I saw a man and a young boy running toward me. As we passed I smiled and said, "Gamarjobat." which means "Hello" in Georgian. The man wheeled around and jogged after me. I thought, "Nice one Meg. Now what have you gotten yourself into." He started talking excitedly to me in Georgian to which I could only smile, laugh and shrug. After a moment he turned and went back the way he came with a wave.
On my way back toward the towers I ran into Seth who had come to find me. He took me home a different route (that means "harder" for those who don't know Seth's running style.) On the way back I told him about my encounter with the Georgian. As we neared the top of the path I spotted the man again and said, "That's him!" When we reached a clearing to stretch and cool down he came over and tried to talk to us in English. We were so grateful he knew a little, because our knowledge of Georgian was no help. It turns out he is a professional boxer in Madrid and was in Shatili visiting his family. When we got back to the towers and told our hosts who we had met they knew exactly who he was. It is very humbling to realize how many people know at least some English. I have been here for almost 1 month and I can say 4 things in Georgian. If it wasn't for their knowledge of English we would just be smiling and shrugging. I feel grateful to them and a little embarassed at how we often expect others to learn our language but are not as willing to learn theirs.
ome and had a "supra-lite" -- which is to say a supra composed mostly of foreigners and only lasting 6 hours. (That's a lot of heavy wine drinking in my book.) The food was great and I think the wine was good, but who really knows. (For real supras, apparently they budget 20L PER PERSON.)
