Turkey Georgia June July 2023 (EN)
In Cizre, I stop at the Dedeman Hotel, along the Tigre and the plains greened by its waters, in the middle of an environment already scorched by the sun at the start of summer.
It's quite luxurious, swimming pool, good meals, large room, but:
It's the first time since the beginning of May that I've had a nice break, and
I arrived really exhausted by this day and the crossing of the border.
The heat on the road is dreadful.
First the motorcycle itself, the engine, becomes hot; I hurt myself once...
The road returns a very high temperature, at least 50 degrees
I water myself often, even if it means soaking my clothes completely in the water; They dry in minutes with the wind and speed, a few minutes of respite before the next stop
I hydrate myself a lot, several liters, essential, but I mess up my digestion for several days.
I had also decided not to ride between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m.: I can't stand it, it takes me a long time to leave in the morning, pack up my luggage and put it on the bike; and I often have long journeys slowed down by countless photo stops.
So long live the altitude of the eastern Anatolian plateau, which rises beyond 2,000 meters, and its finally bearable refreshing temperatures.
Monday morning, I leave towards Kars, in the north, where I have already passed on the outward journey, close to the Georgian border.
700 kms in 2 days with one night in Tatvan.
It's a lot
It's long, about 15 hours
It's sumptuous, green plains of altitude to infinity, deep valleys, villages with each their minarets.
At Bitlis, I take the wrong motorway junction and go back, upside down, on the emergency stop lane.
I've seen it done here...
Soon a convoy of big black vehicles, sirens, in the middle Mercedes, Turkish flag in front: they are not delighted to see me there but they darken.
This is Erdogan returning from a visit to the province.
He doesn't even stop to talk, sheer flippant ingratitude
At each gas station, tea is offered in the shade, questions, travel, motorcycle, prices, always welcoming and curious.
I had underestimated how she would arouse interest and curiosity.
I join Turkish motorcyclists on their Triumph, they explain to me that they already know me by the photos which circulate on Internet; my quarter of an hour of fame.
Finally.
Going back down one of the innumerable passes, I stop at an inn under the trees, a pool around which children play.
The men lie for tea on raised mattresses, about a meter off the ground.
I join two.
We chat in Turkish hands.
At one point, the most talkative seizes a kind of luminous microphone, which amplifies his voice with echo and musical accompaniment.
Incredible, I love it, I want the same...
Eid el-Fitr, the end of Ramadan is approaching, it is not uncommon to come across large herds crossing the villages, often led by young people or children.
I had forgotten the late afternoon Turkish weather, unpredictable and capricious.
Before Kars, I go through two big storms, but rainbows and colors after so magical.
In Kars, the streets are invaded by at least 30 cms of water but it passes, the guard is quite high.
It's moving to be at the Konak Hotel, facing the huge new mosque not yet open to believers.
Everything has changed since I was here on June 4, and everything is the same as well.
I have breakfast with a New Zealand couple, Susan and Ric, she teaches Italian and writes, he is a car mechanic.
They arrive from Uzbekistan and join England in 6 months.
They end up convincing me to go to the two islands, after Australia.
The city is deserted, the streets empty of all traffic, a religious festival obliges.
In 3 hours, I am at the Turkish-Georgian border.
Very few people.
Fairly easy formalities, I buy local insurance for two weeks, a few euros at the first gas station when entering Georgian territory.
Back here after fifteen years.
I like Georgia.
I had wondered a bit:
Tbilisi, Telavi, Gori, Borjomi, and the mountains of Svanetia in the North West, 5/6,000 meters, Russian border and the Elbrouz summit, 5,643 meters, who says better in Europe? ; especially the innumerable guard towers in dry stone, square, high, very high.
And then these buildings of Soviet architecture, the welcoming population, the food, the wine...
I spend my first Georgian night in Borjomi, a city of water including unlimited sparkling water which wells up, as it is, from the smallest rock in the surrounding parks.
I arrive at nightfall, I wanted to move forward from the border to be in Tbilisi early the next day.
Borjomi Palace: it is a former residence of the Romanovs who also had a Palace in town, Likavi, and who came here for treatment. We have transformed into a hotel, kept their suite, which can be rented, red carpet, columns, allegorical pastel paintings, slightly kitsch furniture, like everywhere else in the establishment which is 80% filled with Kazakhs. They like to meet here, greenery, parks, relative freshness.
A taste of the sequel for me.
You walk around in a bathrobe: baths, treatments, massages: good child.
In the morning, view of the surrounding mountains and their fir trees, bright sunshine.
I take a trip to the market: tomatoes, cherries, red fruits, mushrooms, cheeses, smoked meats, as in the Ukrainian Carpathians, Georgian babushkas that trade with each other and derisory prices for us.
I arrive in the afternoon in Tbilisi.
I forgot a Turkish episode.
In Safranbolu, at the start of the trip, I meet 3 Iranian students at the restaurant who have come to work here.
him in his thirties
They, twins, absolutely identical
Physics, clothes, movements.
They are in their twenties, Elnaz and Elahah.
One is more reserved.
I observe them carefully, without being able to detect the slightest physical difference.
They explain their twinness to me: everything is the same and together: engineering studies, same room, never separated, identical clothes...
I take them to the field of love: no hesitation, they will find, probably with the internet, twins. I believe I understand halfway that it has already happened.
I tell them about Diane Arbus and her photos of twins.
I love their mix of candor and determination.
We continue to correspond. , my twin brother is always silent.
Georgia, once an integral part of the USSR, has been independent since 1991.
Stalin was born there, in Gori, it is the size of about fifteen French departments, 3 to 4 million inhabitants.
About fifteen years ago, when I first came, the villages displayed his bust, and in his hometown, we visited his childhood home and his private train, plus a huge full-length statue in the center.
Shevardnadze also, Minister of Foreign Affairs from 1985 to 1990 under Gorbachev then President here, from 1995 to 2003.
In 2003, therefore, following contested elections, Shevardnadze had to leave, replaced by Saakashvili, Rose Revolution.
Amazing journey of the latter:
He was a somewhat brutal reformer, clearly pro-European, hated by Putin.
He left power in 2013.
He obtained Georgian citizenship in 2015 and became governor of Odessa Oblast.
After many delays, he returned to Georgia in 2021, where he was arrested, 8 years in prison for embezzlement during his presidency.
He recently appeared, totally emaciated and unrecognizable, Georgian Navalny; the power refuses to accede to all Ukrainian requests for pardon.
It is now like a symbol and a stake in the confrontation between Ukraine and Russia.
Russia seized South Ossetia and Abkhazia in 2008, which it controls today, the Russian ogre.
The country is led by a pro-Russian Prime Minister, Irakli Garibachvili, and a President more in a position of German or Italian power: Salomé Zurabishvili. Born in France, of immigrant parents, brilliant studies, diplomat, our ambassador here appointed by Jacques Chirac in 2003.
She acquired Georgian citizenship the same year.
The strong man remains the billionaire politician, briefly Prime Minister, 2012/2013, Bidzina Ivanichvili. Fortune estimated at several billion dollars, house, palace, by the Japanese architect Takamatsu, which dominates the whole city.
The country is divided:
Pro Russians, about a third, campaigns, older generations.
Pro Western, urban, two-thirds, the youngest.
Many Russians have recently emigrated here, very close, direct flights, no more visas, no risk of military engagement; not the billionaires who go elsewhere and everywhere, where they are now allowed to enter.
Russia, to the benefit of Georgia and many other countries, is losing part of its vital forces.
I meet a lot of young tech people here.
Georgians complain about soaring real estate prices.
I spend a few days in the footsteps of S. who preceded me by a few days, often the same places.
The cuisine is good: last night, fried mushrooms accompanied by a herb that tastes like fennel, vegetables in vinaigrette, white wine, and a Napoleon, a thousand leaves with strawberries around it.
There is great interest in architecture: Ministry of the Interior, Palace of Justice, Music Hall, Prosecutor's Buildings, after the brutal and efficient geometries of the Soviet era.
On the heights of the old town, wooden houses, wrought balconies, I settle down at View and More, a spectacular terrace over the whole town, crossed by the Kura which runs towards the Caspian Sea to the south of Baku.
Sophio, Georgian, attends a wedding in the writers' museum that I visited, she looks like Sade; Nora, an Armenian economist in Moscow travels with her sister, a mixture of Penelope Cruz and Juliette Binoche, fatal.
The two agree to pose.
They're used to it.
I have one week left before my return flight, from Kutaisi, 9 weeks of travel since the arrival on May 8 in Istanbul.
In Tbilisi, I am advised to go to Sighnaghi, due east, beyond Telavi.
At the beginning of July, great weather, comfortable road, I stop several times, each time invited to taste the kinkalis, large ravioli, the khachapuris, pastry stuffed with cheese topped with an egg, the badrijani, aubergines stuffed with nuts, then salads, tomatoes, I love a small stand for strawberries and early figs
Sighnaghi, a small village on a promontory which dominates the immense Alazani valley and the Caucasus mountains in the distance.
You could imagine yourself in Italy, with the ocher roofs, the bell tower, almost a campanile, of the Orthodox church and the steep cobbled streets.
Arriving at the entrance of the village, I stop in what I think is simply a cafe with an exceptional view, Kanudosi.
The terrace overlooks Sighnaghi and the valley beyond.
The owner is lovely and speaks English
I understand that there are rooms, a restaurant and a wine cellar.
I'm staying
Few customers, absolute calm, I can read and write late into the Caucasian night.
My room, large, opens onto a terrace with a view, like the bathroom, moreover, you could be in Olmeto, near the sea.
I could easily stay for several days, as everything combines to make the place a magical place, a rare stopover.
To remember, Kanudosi, Sighnaghi, Georgia, just at the eastern end of the Black Sea.
The Alazani valley is wide, a dozen kilometers, between the heights of Gombori in the south and the Caucasus mountains in the north which border the southern border of Russia, Chechnya and Grozny are about a hundred kilometers away.
Most of this valley is planted with vines, well maintained, small farms, sometimes larger with modern buildings, and even quite sophisticated architecture.
At Nekresi Estate, on the edge of a long alley of shaded plane trees, I stop at a bar, owned by the estate, very large modern room, fireplace, hundreds of bottles of wine and alcohol, comfortable sofas.
Previously, I met in Kvareli, the owner and his friend, of a 33-year-old Dnieper: it's a sidecar made in kyiv by Ural, the Russians.
A little more rustic than mine, same color, impressive engine protruding from both sides on both sides, it looks like a BMW.
We meet on the road to the Nekresi monastery to take pictures.
In the morning, towards Gurjaani, in the city center, traffic is diverted, street blocked, police, ambulance, crowd: there has just been a murder.
I sleep in Lechuri.
Here the hard road ends.
This is the beginning of Tusheti Park, still snow-capped Caucasus mountains, spectacular deep valleys, narrow dirt road along steep flanks.
Early in the morning I start, objective Omalo, the main village at 70 kms, 4 hours of road, announced.
Very quickly, along the deep valley and the bubbling and impetuous river, the road rises, many stones, it passes in the middle of the water which descends and crosses.
It's steep, more and more
It goes, at the beginning
It gets very hot now.
At kilometer 14 I stop.
I can no longer move forward, it slips on the wet stones, the slope steepens.
I park downhill on the edge of what now looks more like a path than a road.
No need to continue, I see above, the mountains are impressive and it won't pass, I don't want to slip or force the engine.
It would go with 2 wheels, not 3.
A few moments later, a mini van stops at my height: they go up with a local driver, French expatriates from Tbilisi, education and financial organizations, taken by Servane who organized the expedition up there, beyond Omalo, camping and horseback riding.
Kindly they take me on board.
It takes us nearly 4 hours to cross the 50 km that separate us from Omalo.
At the beginning we follow the deep valley, the vegetation is almost luxuriant, the water is everywhere, in the river, an impetuous torrent at the bottom and along the steep walls which ooze abundantly.
No regrets, many passages would have left me no chance, water, smooth stones, excessive slope.
Soon the landscape clears up, giving way to what we decide to call mountain pastures, open meadows, a few scattered groves of fir trees.
Mostly a blue sky between the clouds that fade with the sun and the altitude.
And even more, breathtaking slopes, like a vertical that plunges towards the valley, our road clinging all along to these vertiginous slopes.
Certainly one of the most spectacular access routes with some that I have taken in Bolivia, Peru, and Ladakh.
The Tusheti pass is more than 3,000 meters, so 2,000 vertical drop since our departure.
We plunge back towards the other valley after a coffee and cakes, so high perched.
In the distance the Caucasus Mountains, snow-capped peaks.
Around 1 p.m., we finally reach Omalo.
It is a small mountain village, totally isolated in winter, which comes alive in this hot season.
Some accommodation, modest hotels and guest houses.
We climb up to the dry stone watchtowers, square, about ten meters high.
They are reminiscent of those of Svanétie, a little lower here
I let my companions continue to another higher village, Dartlo, hiking to come, on foot and with horses.
A tea on the terrace which dominates the landscape at 180 degrees, green valleys, mountains which stand out in the background, calm, it's sumptuous, Russia and the Caucasus on the edge of here.
I find a shuttle that goes down in 3 hours.
The motorbike waits for me wisely.
Grateful for not having taken her higher.
Who wants to go far takes care of his mount.
It's good to find the asphalt, I'm driving at high speed towards Telavi, end of the summer day, sun, heat, small villages, clear road, it's very good and intoxicating.
The very end of this first part of the trip is approaching, in a few days.
Almost 9 weeks, so intense, time flew by, like the bike and me, over 7,361 km, about 200 per day.
She never let me go.
I congratulate her as a rider or a navigator would.
I absolutely depend on her
It proved to be reliable, roomy, comfortable, ensuring my safety with its three wheels.
I have complete control of its driving, reverse gear included, and I have total confidence in it and its reliability now.
We crossed powerful thunderstorms in Turkey, crossed so many passes, trying heat in Kurdistan, and started climbing hard in Georgia.
She has been photographed thousands of times and I brought up curious people, delighted to be able to pose with her.
I will leave her for 8 months here in Tbilisi where I will return in March, to travel still further east.
I crossed 16 degrees of longitude from Istanbul, 5%.
There are 320 left before Amsterdam.
In Telavi and all around, I try to find a kvevri to buy
These are terracotta jars that contain the wine, most often buried, a question of temperature.
The interior is covered with beeswax.
They range from 80 to 3,500 litres, and are also exported to Italy and Hungary.
In Corsica, one rarely finds smaller jars intended for olive oil.
There are still a few manufacturers left; I opt for this solution, I had left thinking of buying an old one.
The hotel gave me an address in the outskirts, which I couldn't find; I arrive at another, who recommends me another but cannot take me there, they are angry.
Finally, I arrive at Mekvevre Karaulashvilis Marani.
Fifties, also a producer of organic wine, praised by Italian colleagues.
The house is large, the land well maintained, cellar, workshop, oven, everything is there.
He is accompanied by his teenage daughter, he does not speak English.
They have been manufacturers for several generations.
In the garden, several sizes, including one of 3,500 liters, almost a century old.
We enter a fairly large double room where a dozen identical jars, 1,000 liters each, visibly dry.
I know I'm in the right place.
This alignment is sumptuous, the earth still damp, the touch is sensual.
He also shows me smaller ones, 80 litres, this elongated shape is just perfect; I choose one of them, her daughter engraves my initials on the edge: she is mine.
Skip to Content
Thierry Pajot
Open Menu
Turkey Georgia June July 2023 (EN)
In Cizre, I stop at the Dedeman Hotel, along the Tigre and the plains greened by its waters, in the middle of an environment already scorched by the sun at the start of summer.
It's quite luxurious, swimming pool, good meals, large room, but:
It's the first time since the beginning of May that I've had a nice break, and
I arrived really exhausted by this day and the crossing of the border.
The heat on the road is dreadful.
First the motorcycle itself, the engine, becomes hot; I hurt myself once...
The road returns to a very high temperature, at least 50 degrees
I water myself often, even if it means soaking my clothes completely in the water; They dry in minutes with the wind and speed, a few minutes of respite before the next stop
I hydrate myself a lot, several liters, essential, but I mess up my digestion for several days.
I had also decided not to ride between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m.: I can't stand it, it takes me a long time to leave in the morning, pack up my luggage and put it on the bike; and I often have long journeys slowed down by countless photo stops.
So long live the altitude of the eastern Anatolian plateau, which rises beyond 2,000 meters, and its finally bearable temperatures refreshing.
Monday morning, I leave towards Kars, in the north, where I have already passed on the outward journey, close to the Georgian border.
700 kms in 2 days with one night in Tatvan.
It's a lot
It's long, about 15 hours
It's sumptuous, green plains of altitude to infinity, deep valleys, villages with each their minarets.
At Bitlis, I take the wrong motorway junction and go back, upside down, on the emergency stop lane.
I've seen it done here...
Soon a convoy of big black vehicles, sirens, in the middle Mercedes, Turkish flag in front: they are not delighted to see me there but they darken.
This is Erdogan returning from a visit to the province.
He doesn't even stop to talk, sheer creepy ingratitude
At each gas station, tea is offered in the shade, questions, travel, motorcycle, prices, always welcoming and curious.
I had underestimated how she would arouse interest and curiosity.
I join Turkish motorcyclists on their Triumph, they explain to me that they already know me by the photos which circulate on the Internet; my quarter of an hour of fame.
Finally.
Going back down one of the innumerable passes, I stop at an inn under the trees, a pool around which children play.
The men lie for tea on raised mattresses, about a meter off the ground.
I join two.
We chat in Turkish hands.
At one point, the most talkative sixteens a kind of luminous microphone, which amplifies his voice with echo and musical accompaniment.
Incredible, I love it, I want the same...
Eid el-Fitr, the end of Ramadan is approaching, it is not uncommon to come across large herds crossing the villages, often led by young people or children.
I had forgotten the late afternoon Turkish weather, unpredictable and capricious.
Before Kars, I go through two big storms, but rainbows and colors after so magical.
In Kars, the streets are invaded by at least 30 cms of water but it passes, the guard is quite high.
It's moving to be at the Konak Hotel, facing the huge new mosque not yet open to believers.
Everything has changed since I was here on June 4, and everything is the same as well.
I have breakfast with a New Zealand couple, Susan and Ric, she teaches Italian and writes, he is a car mechanic.
They arrive from Uzbekistan and join England in 6 months.
They end up convincing me to go to the two islands, after Australia.
The city is deserted, the streets empty of all traffic, a religious festival obliges.
In 3 hours, I am at the Turkish-Georgian border.
Very few people.
Fairly easy formalities, I buy local insurance for two weeks, a few euros at the first gas station when entering Georgian territory.
Back here after fifteen years.
I like Georgia.
I had wondered a bit:
Tbilisi, Telavi, Gori, Borjomi, and the mountains of Svanetia in the North West, 5/6,000 meters, Russian border and the Elbrus summit, 5,643 meters, who says better in Europe? ; especially the innumerable guard towers in dry stone, square, high, very high.
And then these buildings of Soviet architecture, the welcoming population, the food, the wine...
I spend my first Georgian night in Borjomi, a city of water including unlimited sparkling water which wells up, as it is, from the smallest rock in the surrounding parks.
I arrive at nightfall, I wanted to move forward from the border to be in Tbilisi early the next day.
Borjomi Palace: it is a former residence of the Romanovs who also had a Palace in town, Likavi, and who came here for treatment. We have transformed into a hotel, kept their suite, which can be rented, red carpet, columns, allegorical pastel paintings, slightly kitsch furniture, like everywhere else in the establishment which is 80% filled with Kazakh
He finally unlocks the lock, repairs it and screws the lid back on.
Bingo
All this in full sun, it is now very hot these days
Cold Coke and I give him enough to have a good day.
Thank you, thank you, he saved me.
I will never force the trunk again. In the afternoon, I stroll for several hours in a new space, Samba.
Photo museum, restaurant, workshops, workspaces, large bookstore
It feels good, I photograph several young women, they all accept.
In the evening, dinner at 8000 Vintage.
A large Vinotheque with thousands of bottles, exclusively Georgian.
You can also eat, it's good, and of course taste and buy.
They have several addresses in town and one in Batumi.
On July 14, they open their first establishment abroad,
Berlin.
The world is small.
Traveller's life in Tbilisi,
In Georgia,
Is easy , cool , even if I don't like this password everywhere.
But that's how I feel.
I begin to have my addresses, my landmarks, my habits.
Contacts too.
So the prospect of going back next March appeals to me.
I am serene for the motorcycle
I will have a little to do for her:
Oil change, oil and air filters, slow start.
And then a new paint: I'm tired of this military green, I want it beige now, with brown in places to enhance, aesthetics...
I won't compromise on quality, Paddy who watches over my bike, watch for me here.
I go by bus, 3 hours drive due west, for Kutaisi, flight Sunday morning for Berlin.
To come, in the spring,
Georgia, the north to cross the Russian border,
Chechnya,
The Caspian sea ,
Kazakhstan,
Central Asia...
