Armenian Brandy: Visiting Ararat Yerevan Brandy Company

Posted on May 26, 2013 by Delia

Getting sick while travelling is always a worry. There’s nothing worse than sweating out stomach cramps in a hot, packed dorm room and running to the shared bathroom to find not only is it engaged but two other bedraggled travellers are already waiting to go in. Matty is only too aware of this.

So we have, of course, come away with a fully equipped medical kit… stuff to block, unblock and everything in between. However, we all know prevention is better than cure and fortunately our good friends Gemma and Marco were kind enough to enlighten us before we set off.

“Brandy,” said Marco, looking quite proud of himself while Gemma nodded in agreement.

Lowering his voice, as if in fear that others would hear his trade secret, he added: “We took a bottle of the stuff to Morocco and started every day with a shot of brandy.”

“And,” Gemma concluded, “We never got ill. Not once.”

I saw the pain in Matty’s eyes as he remembered his own Moroccan experience, which largely involved being curled up in a ball in Essouaira, cursing chefs up and down the country for poisoning him. I could hear his mind ticking away, saying: “That could have been prevented by drinking brandy? It could have all been different if I had begun every day with a slug of fine cognac?” He had, in his eyes no doubt, been knifed by a double edged sword.

And so, it was somewhat inevitable that when packing his medical kit for this trip, he did what every good nurse would do and made a mental note to add some brandy as soon as he crossed the border into Armenia, home of Winston Chirchill’s favourite tipple.

“If it’s good enough for Churchill it’s good enough for me,” were pretty much his first words as our sleeper train from Tbilisi, Georgia pulled into Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, at 7am.

We were tired, hungry and grouchy after a sleepless night on a particularly loud and unusually chilly train. We spent that morning trying, to no avail, to get Turkmenistan visas as we were warned that relations between Armenia and Azerbaijan are so bad that Azeri border officers may prevent us from crossing the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan, purely because we picked up the visas in Armenia. There is that little love.

So, it was in these particularly (rare) low spirits, that we began our hunt for brandy. Specifically for the Ararat Yerevan Brandy Company, which offers tours and taster sessions for a mere £7. After all, Matty had been in the country by now for a good eight hours and was growing increasingly concerned about his medical supplies.

Eventually, after much taxi negotiating in pidgeon Russian, we arrived. Perched on a hill like a palace we were buzzed through the large, wrought iron gates of Ararat’s Yerevan headquarters and immediately bowed over by the sweet, unmistakable aroma of brandy.

Within seconds of inhaling this new, much improved oxygen supply the boys looked better rested.

“It is the angel’s share”, our guide told us, which she added was responsible for both keeping the angels on side and keeping the workers so happy.

The tour began. We passed barrels of brandy, learnt all about distillation and the history of Ararat. But it was one story in particular that resonated with me.

It was 1945, Europe was on the verge of peace and Stalin was doing his best to woo Churchill at the Yalta conference, where important post-war decisions were being made. Knowing the British Prime Minister’s soft spot for the fine things in life, he handed him a glass of Ararat brandy (and probably a fat cigar but that’s not been documented as far as I’m aware). After glugging the rich honey-coloured liquor, Churchill smacked his lips and immediately ordered 400 bottles to be delivered… per year, for the rest of his life.

However, soon after (while quaffing bottle 567 or something) Churchill declared that something was amiss. So he did what any great British man would do if left unsatisfied by an expensive glass of brandy, and he wrote to the Russian dictator himself. It probably went something like: “Dear Stalin, your brandy’s off. Fix it or I will get all of Britain drinking the French stuff. Yours, parched, WC.”

Somewhat alarmed, Stalin immediately investigated the situation to learn that he (or his minions) had only sent the head technologist of Ararat’s brandy production into political exile in Siberia. An easy mistake for a man like himself to make I suppose. So within days of this discovery, Margar Sedrakyan was brought back to Armenia and reinstated in his role as chief brandy expert, Churchill was happy and all was well in the world.

So let’s have a quick recap – brandy prevents travellers diarrhoea, improves mentality after sleeper trains and saved poor Margar from possible death in exile. But there are higher hopes for the healing powers of Armenian brandy yet.

This little country, with huge spirit (pardon the pun), is nestled between Turkey, Iran, Azerbaijan and Georgia. But tragically it’s borders with Turkey and Azerbaijan remain closed after a dispute over an area of land known as Nagorno-Karabakh, which has an ethnically Armenian population and has been controlled by Armenia following a bloody war in the early 1990s, despite it legally being within Azerbaijan’s borders. Thousands of people have been displaced because of the conflict, soldiers and even some civilians are still killed around the border, and locals seem to believe that peace is an impossibility.

Nevertheless, it feels appropriate that at Ararat’s HQ, taking pride of place in the distillation and fermentation room, sits the “peace barrel”, filled with fine cognac and ready to be cracked open as soon as a solution is reached.

Right now it is hard to imagine the Azeri and Armenian prime ministers clinking glasses before enjoying the first sips from that barrel, but given its track record, I can hardly think of a more appropriate drink to seal the deal.

So as we held up our glasses, swilling the bronzed 10 year-old liquid in the light, we made a toast… To the peace barrel being opened, and sooner rather than later.

And… long live the healing powers of brandy.

Travel Tips

Ararat Brandy Company is located on the edge of the city centre, over the Hrazdan River on Admiral Isakov Poghota.

Tours must be booked in advance, and cost 4,500 dram (about £8). The guide speaks excellent English and the tour is full of interesting anecdotes and stories.

It lasts about 75 minutes including time to sample two types of brandy – we tried the three year and 10 year old varieties. Both of which were delicious.

Serving suggesting for Ararat brandy – drink with small pieces of dark chocolate or dried peaches. Delicious.

The Weird and Wonderful things about Georgia

Posted on May 24, 2013 by Delia

With its fabulous food, stunning scenery and charming ways, Georgia is without a doubt a great place to visit. It’s cheap, very cheap, and – just to top it all off – it has some weird and wonderful oddities, that I thought only right to share.

1) Wine: The Georgians make plenty of their own vino… A lot of it tends to be sweet (even the red wine) but perhaps more surprising than that, is the ingenious lengths they go to when bottling the stuff. It is commonly found in huge vats resembling vegetable oil and in strange little goblin bodies. The Mongoose was determined to drink all the goblins under the table.

2) Cheese: Any country where the ‘weird and wonderful’ list begins with cheese and wine is a wonderful one in my book. But nevertheless, the Georgians deserve a special mention here for the sheer amount of cheese they eat. This dish was served, bubbling and sizzling in its deep pan and as it was placed on the table our waitress declared it loudly and proudly: ‘Cheeeeeeeese!’

Huge quantities of cheese are seved with almost everything… Their national staple is Khachapuri, which is basically a cheese pie in a deep crust, served with half a block of butter and two fried eggs on top. I kid you not.

3) COWS!!! Yes, this list gets better, I hear you cry. Georgia literally has hundreds of cows – and sheep – roaming its streets, causing traffic to stop. They are beautiful and should be worshipped.

4) Hygiene: Georgia gets a special mention for its cleaning products sounding downright dirty. Especially its barf cleaner.

5) Loo roll: Confession – on my first day in Georgia I went without using any toilet paper at all as I just couldn’t find any in our hostel bathroom. It later transpired that this bandage-like object is actually the bog roll. Yes, it’s a tad scratchy.

6) Statues: Georgia has weird and wonderful statues all over the place. They are not shy of a bit of gold and elaborate statues of the golden fleece and whatnot often look fairly incongruous to their surroundings, just like the one at the top of this post which was taken in the coastal town of Batumi. Here’s a few more:

7) Ferris wheels: From the highest point in the crumbling, old town of Tbilisi to the sea level of Batumi, it costs less than a £1 to ride the Georgian ferris wheels which, we concluded, is a delightful way of seeing the surroundings.

8) Toasting: Georgian toasts are incredibly long and will leave you holding your glass in the air for long enough to wonder if you should put it down again. But at the same time they are often wonderfully thoughtful and poignant. The traditional feast is called a Supra, and each Supra will have a Tamada, a toastmaker, who will lead the toasts throughout the meal. It starts with a toast to God and peace and then moves onto everything from plans and dreams to absent friends. Oh, and did I mention that you have to down your drink at every toast? One person is always given the role of ‘merrykeeper’ whose job it is to keep everybody’s glasses full at all times. I think it was appropriate to scream: ‘Keep me merry!’ at him throughout the evening.

Georgian Wine: The Best, the Worst and the Rest

Posted on May 24, 2013 by Delia

There aren’t many places in the world where you walk into an off-license to buy wine and walk out with a belly full of moonshine. But that’s Georgia for you.

We learnt of the country’s booze loving ways before we even set foot on Georgian soil. A lovely French jewellery artist, who we met in Turkey, gave us ample warning. Cooing about monasteries and the rolling countryside, she raved about Georgia – but in a more cautious tone, added: “They are big drinkers, they often put pressure on you to drink when you don’t want to.”

Matty’s eyes lit up. The Mongoose rubbed his hands in anticipation, and I was delighted to learn that the Georgians are also big wine makers. On a trip where I thought we may have said goodbye to decent vino after leaving Paris, I was keen to sample as many large glasses of rich, red stuff as possible before begrudgingly moving onto the gurn-inducing vodka that no doubt awaits us in the ‘stans.

So it was perhaps fitting that the first thing purchased after crossing the border from Turkey by foot, was a bottle of wine. We had to break into a 100 Lari note to get a few pennies for the marshrutka into Batumi and this seemed like the most appropriate way to do it:

But, I won’t lie, it did not taste half as good as it looks. In fact, it tasted little better than an elaborately bottled glass of Ribena. Sweet and sickly, I couldn’t help but wonder if someone had picked it up in the fruit juice section before swapping it for a bottle of the stronger stuff in the wine aisle, leaving it for a hapless tourist to pick up minutes later.

The Mongoose made dark mutterings about finding the wine maker and dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night, to ensure others never again experience what we went through. And Matty wrote a rather twisted blog about its sinister ways.

Georgian wine, it transpires, is often sweet. Or dry. And a bit like girl with the curl, when it’s sweet, it’s very, very sweet and when it’s dry, it’s very, very dry.

It marked the beginning of what was to become a long journey to find the perfect Georgian wine. Our vino odyssey took us into supermarkets where we were watched like hawks as we cluelessly stared at bottles of funny-lettered wine, into basement bars where it was served out of large plastic bottles resembling sunflower oil, and into cosy little restaurants where the unidentifiable juices flowed from battered terracotta jugs.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, we concluded that we quite liked Saperavi. This robust, red grape has bags of potential and was by far, the tastiest red wine we sampled in Georgia.

Produced by dozens of wine makers all over the country (but mainly in the Kakheti region), it was occasionally a tad too dry, tasting as if it had been stripped of all flavour, and other times still a little too sweet, but by and large we found it was, in the words of Goldilocks, just right.

Many Saperavis remind me of the Merlot grape, a ruby red with subtle fruit flavours but plenty of tannin. And I guess like any grape, you get the good, the bad and the downright ugly depending on how much cash you’re willing to flash. As wine-loving budget-backpackers we found one of the best buys was the Marani brand of Saparevi, which ranged in price from 9 Lari (£4.50) to 14 Lari (£6.50) depending on the retailer.

But it is the purchasing of the wine that really makes Georgia stand out from its continental cousins. A far cry from the safe, reliable Thresher wine stores that once stood proud on every British high street (before the recession even managed to have a stab at wine), the Georgian off-licenses are as much as a place to drink as they are to purchase drink.

The centrepiece of every store is a table laden with half-empty bottles of wine and often a couple of skimpily clad ladies offering tasters to the boys. As we walked into our ‘local’ for 48 hours in Tbilisi, the Mongoose gave the man behind the counter a familiar smile and sauntered over to the tasting table.

“We’re back again,” said the Mongoose. “Last night’s recommendation went down a treat.”

The man looked at him blankly.

“You know,” the Mongoose continued, “I was in last night, you gave me some cha cha.”

Still no recognition came from the man, who was by now pouring us small glasses from a red-labelled bottle of Saparevi to try.

Eventually, he looked up and said: “I’m sorry, last night I was very drunk, I remember nothing.”

We nodded understandingly, glancing over to the two round-bellied men currently propping up the counter, which on reflection was more like a bar, drinking cha-cha with the other shop assistant.

So it was in that fashion that we sampled a few more Saperavi’s, before moving over to the bar to ‘taste’ no less than three varieties of cha-cha, a homemade fermented grape number which comes in a varieties of potencies. Most of which are potent.

And with a belly full of moonshine we eventually walked out with what we declared to be the finest bottle of Superavi yet.

But if truth be told, by that point we probably had just as much of a clue as we’d had the day before when we accidentally ordered non-alcoholic beers and got half way through them before realising. Or just as much as the tramp who gladly took them off us, swigging the booze-free beer from the bottle as she swayed down the street. But that’s Georgia for you.

Climbing to Gergeti Glacier, Kazbegi, Georgia

Posted on May 19, 2013 by Delia

Almost a month into our big journey across central asia, I have learnt three things about travelling with boys:

1) Boys like climbing things.

Matty on a rocky crag in Ani, Turkey

2) Boys like shooting things.

The Mongoose even found something to shoot at the top of the Citadel in Budapest

3) Boys are not as good as girls at asking for things.

I was brave enough to ask this girl selling carrots in a club in Budapest for a picture. And now we have a picture of a girl carrying carrots... see, never hurts to ask.

In sum, this means I have asked more favours from strangers, and climbed more walls, steps and mountains in the last three weeks than I did in the one year I travelled with my dear friend Carly after university.* I’m not sure how the shooting thing comes into it yet, I’ll keep you posted on that one.

Crumbling city walls, that I would have once regarded as no more than a ‘lovely backdrop’ for a picture, have become giant playgrounds for climbing and walking, while steep, ghastly looking stairs that would normally pass me by have become one of the first things I notice when visiting beautiful old ruins. For those that remember my previous scaredy cat confessions of, well, most things, including stairs, I hope you are impressed.

And this was precisely how I found myself climbing up to the Gergeti Glacier, in Kazbegi, Georgia.

A beautiful, mountainous region of Georgia, we had always intended to do some long walks in Kazbegi, including a climb to a 14th century church, perched above the town on an isolated crag at 2, 200 metres above sea level.

However, it did not take the boys long to realise that this was really just the first stop on a much more arduous (‘but rewarding’, they promised) climb to a glacier at 3, 000 metres above sea level. I enthusiastically (but slightly anxiously) agreed, and we pledged if one of us felt unable to continue we would all return back to the village together.

And so we set off. The Three ‘Must-have-a-beers’ (as christened by my dad when he said our farewells to us at St Pancras) and Dog. We accidentally picked up Dog, a big giant beast of a dog, in the village when buying bread for the trek. We clambered through some forest land, with Dog faithfully trotting by our side, and paused at an information board about local fauna and wildlife.

There it was in black and white, among a long list of indingeous creatures… the Brown Bear.

‘Bears?!’ I shrieked, loud enough for even Dog to cast a cagey look to his right, into the woodland. I had been worrying a bit about the altitude, about whether Dog would suddenly turn on us to get our bread half way up a mountain, and even twisting an ankle or two. But bears?

So the remainder of the trek up to the Tsminda Sameba Church was largely spent coming up with a bear plan. We decided the boys would throw rocks at the beast, while I would throw the bread in the hope that Dog would fight him for it… or I would play dead and let the boys deal with it all. Travelling with boys has its uses after all, I concluded.

But such fears were soon forgotten as we made our approach to the stunning church, sitting amid low-lying clouds, because Dog started terrorising the cows. There are cows everywhere in Georgia and as a huge bovine fan, I am in my element on a daily basis. They are not even skanky cows like in India. The Georgian cows are beautiful beasts with deep, rich coloured coats and happy faces. But Dog started chasing a couple of the idly grazing cows beside the church, causing them to charge in fear at startled tourists, who tried to run out of their way. So we pretended not to know Dog and focused on the beauty of the church instead.

Looking down at the village of Kazbegi, where we started the climb.

From the church we began the ascent to the glacier, minus Dog. Although by this point we had picked up New Dog, a smaller little creature that treated cows with more respect.

We started the long and cumbersome climb up hills scattered in wild flowers, over mountain ridges and more hills… and hills, and hills. As the altitude increased we found just a few energetic steps could leave us out of breath, causing us to pause… and reach for the chocolate.

Even New Dog (who got crazier the higher he climbed) got tired and stopped for a snooze.

But as soon as I got my breath back and looked around me, I felt overwhelmed by the views around us. The church soon went from being a tiny speck below us to disappearing completely, and was replaced by towering mountains and deep cut valleys that suddenly emerged over the ridges as we climbed higher.

As we approached our final destination, we discovered we were unable to reach the glacier due to wet, melting snow which came up to our waists. Instead we sat looking out to Mount Kazbek and the glacier and ripped open our bread, cheese and chocolate for a picnic that might just win the best location award yet.

And as we silently chomped away, at a spot that I would never dreamed of perservering to find, I concluded that travelling with boys – well these boys at least – is not so bad after all.

*This might be a slight exaggeration. Carly and I after all tackled many things including the great muddy hills of Laos’s jungles in nothing more than a pair of flip flops, which no other boys were daft enough dared to do.

Travel Tips

It is easy to travel to Kazbegi from Tbilisi – regualr marshrutkys (mini buses) run, taking about three hours and costing 10 lari (£4). You can also get taxis, costing about 90 lari – although we got a cab for the same price as the marshrutky as it needed to return to Tbilisi anyway, so worth asking around.

The journey is worth the visit in itself. Known as the Georgian Military Highway, it’s incredibly scenic if not a little terrifying as you take corners on the mountain edge – seeing an overturned lorry on one stretch was a tad unnerving – but the drive really is beautiul.

Where to stay in Kazbegi?

We stayed at a guesthouse called Nunu’s where she lovingly cooked for us every evening after we came down from the mountains. The beds were a little hard and there was no heating but we couldnt ask for better hospitality – plus the showers were hot! She’s very central – you can email her at gvanci9191@gmail.com or call +995558358535.

Best Georgian Restaurant in Batumi, Georgia

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Delia

In Georgia it would seem that very few people speak English. This is more than acceptable and is the very reason why Matty has taken one for the team and learned Russian over the last few months.

But sometimes he gets a little stage fright and the phrase book is at the bottom of a bag, underneath more useful things like tissues, kirby grips and Blistex.

So in the meantime we have a new strategy for ordering food, which basically involves the Mongoose making animal noises at bemused waiting staff.

When struggling with the word for lamb recently, the Mongoose just suddenly started bleating. Not missing a beat, the waiter ‘Mooed’ back in his face. But nevertheless, we were soon eating a bleating-no-longer lamb.

Often, the most authentic local food is found in the places that have no English menus. As was the case with the best Georgian restaurant we have found so far, in the seaside town of Batumi, which was recommended to us by the lovely owners of the small family-run hostel we are staying in.

The first challenge was finding it. We knew it was on an alleyway, off a main boulevard, but the alleyway did not have a name and the restaurant name was nothing more than a sprawl of Georgian letters (which to my untrained eye looks like a combination of Arabic and Russian). Nevertheless, after the Mongoose furiously acted out eating a big plate of food fit for the gods, and we enthusiastically showed off our piece of paper with the indistinguishable Georgian letters, somebody finally took pity on us and led us there.

This is the frontage of the inconspicuous little eatery.

Stepping in, we walked down some stairs and entered what almost felt like a hideaway den. A couple of women greeted us, chatting away in Georgian. We know one word – thank you – which we over use enthusiastically. Tomorrow I’m going to learn hello.

But for now we kind of greet people by thanking them and we try to tell people important messages by thanking them and when we actually need to thank someone for something, we feel rather pleased with ourselves for using the word in the right context.

So after ‘thanking’ our hellos, we took in our new surroundings. The walls and ceiling were decked out in a dark wooden panelling, giving the room a cosy feeling. And if you want it even more intimate than that there are two little private rooms that are curtained off from the main restaurant (this seems to be a common theme in Georgia.)

They wisely led us into one of the little hideaway dens to keep the likes of Matty out of harms way.

Then came the food-ordering challenge. No menu was presented but a cheery woman started reading out what we decided must have been food options. Our trusty hostel owner had said if we said his name they would call him so he could translate on the phone.

So we started saying his name. This caused quite the flurry of excitement and they dashed in and out of our little room, but then returned and continued reading us the menu in Georgian… With no phone.

So I just started nodding at things. There was no real rhyme or reason to what I’d nod at but I did notice sometimes she looked more excited when she read out various dishes, which in turn led to more excitable nods from me.

It was around this time that Donagh started behaving like a fish. He put the palms of his hands together and made swimming motions towards the poor woman. Just as he was about to start puckering in his cheeks and swimming in circles around the imaginary fish bowl he now believed he was in, the woman shouted what I can only presume was ‘fish’ in Georgian. I nodded enthusiastically.

And the hard work was done. We sat back on our little stools around the low table in our den and eagerly waited for the food to arrive.

Charming and well loved terracotta clay plates and bowls were placed down in front of us. A litre of red wine, served in a reassuringly robust clay jug was presented and the woman pointed at the small terracotta bowls and said ‘vino’, to avoid that awkward situation of tourists pouring food into their wine vessels.

Georgian red wine is either dry or sweet and tends to be of the two extremes, at least at the cheaper end of the market anyway. But this wine was light and fruity without being too sweet or too dry. It turned out to go very well with the food that was about to cover the table.

First up was the bread. Bread is both big and beautiful in Georgia, it is always deliciously soft and fresh and we end up eating far too much of it before the meal arrives. This time it was accompanied by a lip-smacking tangy tomato salsa that was laden with fresh coriander and chilli. The bread basket and dip were replaced so quickly we were almost embarrassed. Almost.

Allow me to introduce you to the 10 giant dumplings, (later learned to be called khinkali). Looking just like giant ravioli parcels, they were filled with a herb infused lamb mince and as we pierced the thick pasta-like skin, light but flavoursome meat juices spilled out onto the plate. A heavy sprinkling of pepper is encouraged. Delicious.

As we gobbled them down, a sizzling pan of pork was brought out to us, each little piece of juicy meat finished with its own crunchy layer of crackling.

Apologies for the terrible pictures (and lack of pictorial food porn in this post) – I had only my iPhone with me and our cosy little den was lit by a single lantern.

Rest assured though, the food was so good that Matty attempted to quieten our dramatic gasps and cooing as we chomped away.

‘The people next door are going to think there’s some kind of orgy going on in here with the amount of sex noises going on,’ he warned.

But no sooner had he said it, the waitress brought the fish out and the Mongoose made a sound that even he looked a little uncomfortable with.

Deep fried like a giant whitebait, the fish was deliciously tender and meaty.

It was, we concluded, a wonderful find and the ‘thank yous’ flowed out of us with no sign of relenting until we had finally left the building. Matty was delighted and the Mongoose ecstatic.

‘Mmmm, I wonder if we could get some squid next time,’ he suggested.

Let me assure you now, the phrase book will definitely be left behind for that occasion.

Travel Tips

We have been told that the translation for this wonderful Georgian restaurant in Batumi is ‘White Bear’.

It is on an alleyway just off Z.Gorgiladze Street, between the Art Museum and Maisi Street.

Our meal, with two litres of wine cost just 30 GEL for three people (about £10 between us).

If it’s any help at all, the alleyway entrance looks like this:

Where to stay in Batumi?

We stayed at the lovely Batumi Hostel, which is on Mazniashvilis Qucha, and run by a friendly, young couple.

A converted house, the light and airy place really feels like a second home. Being there out of season we basically had it to ourself… Perfect. They also had a living room and kitchen, which was free to use as we pleased.

Ani, Turkey: Our first Silk Road city in ruins

Posted on May 11, 2013 by Delia

My decision to travel the Silk Road was made while rambling around the Lake District with Matty and the Mongoose – hunting out film locations from the legendary British film Withnail and I. Truth be told, I didn’t really know what I was signing up to.

The conversation went something like this:

Matty and The Mongoose are walking ahead on a dusty narrow path, surrounded by trees. Delia is dawdling and looking at flowers and thinking about how to get into Uncle Monty’s Cottage. The boys have a conspiratorial air about them.

The Mongoose: So mate, it’s been four years since we pledged to travel the Silk Road together – when can we make it happen?
Matty: Well Delia has suggested that her and I travel South America in 2013.

The boys lean their heads together and talk in low tones. Matty then hangs back and waits for Delia while the Mongoose continues ahead

Matty: What say the three of us travel the Silk Road together in 2013 and then we do South America on the way home?
Delia: Ok.

Some squawking, high giving and general elation. Followed by a long pause.

Delia: Where exactly is the Silk Road again?

The following months involved me learning about this ‘stan, that ‘stan, another ‘stan and ‘stan, ‘stan. I soon had a huge list of places I wanted to see… The shrinking sea in Uzbekistan, the gold statue of the Turkmenistan president that rotates at the exact same speed as the earth so the sun is always on his face in daylight hours, the beautiful pony treks of Kyrgyzstan and the countless yurt stays in Tajikistan.

But still, when we set off almost three weeks ago, I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect.

Europe was a wonderful whirlwind and then suddenly we were in Turkey. And I fell in love with Turkey. A far cry from the tacky beach resorts of the south coast, we visited the fairy tale land of Cappadocia before taking a stunning train ride through the mountainous north-east of the country to Kars.

But it was a little place called Ani, an old ruined Silk Road city, that made me stop in my tracks, stand still and realise what this journey is about.

Once the stately Armenian capital that was home to more than 100,000 people, today Ani’s crumbling city walls and ancient churches are surrounded by nothing more than velvet green hills and a gurgling river.

With only seven other tourists also exploring the ruins, which are spread over acres of land, it felt like we had discovered it quite by accident. It was both eerie and beautiful.

We had more birds than people for company.

The dramatic landscape rolls right into Armenia, a border which remains closed to this day.

The Mongoose gazes out to Armenia.

As we climbed up an old mosque tower (a dark, enclosed steep concrete staircase with a local who liked to brush up against me), and looked out on the view below it was suddenly so easy to see it as the hustling and bustling Silk Road city it had once been.

This excavation shows a whole street of what would have been shops, trading their goods and perhaps selling the silk that had just completed its long journey from China.

The view out to Armenia from the tower.

It was the sort of place that took you back in time, and made you imagine another world, another place. It brought history to life.

It made me think about back to that windy day in Penrith as we trudged to Uncle Monty’s ruinous cottage, and how glad I was for giving that one word answer. Because Ani is just the beginning of learning about a rather special time in history… and for me, that is what this journey is about.

Travel tips

We travelled from Goreme, Cappadocia to Kars to visit Ani.

We caught the airport shuttle bus to the nearest train station called Kayseri (our lovely Hostel – Shoestring- organised this for us and spoke to the driver to make sure he also stopped at the station on the way to the airport) and then caught a 16 hour sleeper train to Kars, which was – without a doubt the best and most beautiful train journey of the trip yet.

You cannot make train reservations in Turkey for sleeper cars etc online or by phone – you have to just turn up an hour early and do it there. We were assured the trains are never full as the Turkish find them too slow compared to buses. Sure enough we turned up (about three hours early as shuttle bus did not go any later) and got tickets at the station no prob at all.

In Kars we stayed at Otel Mirac, which was a basic but nice enough guesthouse (although the rooms STANK of smoke) and the guy at the hotel told us it would cost 40 Lira (£15) to go out on the minibus to Ani the next day, which seemed to be the only minibus making the trip as we had the place to ourselves. It was worth every penny.

Cappadocia, Turkey: Where Fairies and Pigeons are One

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

I can think of only one thing worse than kissing a frog to find a prince… and that’s kissing a pigeon to find a fairy, but that’s just how things roll in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Having fostered a strong dislike for pigeons over the years, I found this tale especially hard to come to terms with. Pigeons (aka rats with wings) litter town centres across the UK with their filthy excrement while flying dangerously low, as if scoring points with their mates in the sky every time an elderly lady shrieks in fear or a gaggle of teens duck unnecessarily. They are ugly, menacing and downright dirty. And, unlike dirty burgers, dirty birds are not good.

But in the beautiful, fairytale region of Cappadocia in Turkey, which boasts huge swathes of deep-cut valleys with phallic boulders and hills that resemble Mr Whippy ice cream, the pigeon is of upmost significance. Or at least it was.

In a land where people created homes and communities in the caves they dug through the hills and inside fairy chimneys, pigeons were kept, loved and cherished. Little holes can be found across the hills where the pigeons were kept.

The story goes that once upon a time humans and fairies lived together in Cappadocia, but alas, they did not see eye to eye. However, against the odds one man fell in love with a fairy and they were determined to be wed.

The humans were angry, livid… Outraged. They cried things like: “How did that big, hairy oaf manage to pull a dainty little fairy?” and: “This must be stopped, their children will look like a cross between Tinker Bell and Chewbacca.”

So the horrid humans hatched an awful wicked plan to kill all the fairies. They organised a fake wedding for the pair and sat all the fairies together so they could be easily killed. But just before the genocide was about to take place the fairies, realising something was amiss, all turned into pigeons and flew out of the windows.

The horrid humans, on reflection of their ghastly behaviour, felt ashamed and embarrassed by their actions. So they built homes for the pigeons and looked after them very well… Until the tourism industry took off in the 1950s, that is, and then the pigeons sort of fell by the wayside.

But nevertheless for years, pigeons were the pride and joy of the people here – they were used to carry messages between communities, their excrement was mixed with other ingredients to make a paint to decorate frescoes in the cavernous churches, and they were even used as a bargaining chip in marriage. (I know, can you imagine?! Daughters up and down the land crying: “Dad, am I only worth two pigeons to you?”)

So as we wondered, cycled and climbed up the dusty paths surrounding the hilly caves, I tried to come to terms with the suggestion that pigeons might just be fairies. I tried to imagine their diseased feathers turning into pink, glittery wings and their crooked little feet with missing toes transform into dainty, tiny fairy feet.

And the more I walked, and climbed, and looked, and saw, the easier it became to believe. Because after all, nowhere can be quite this magical and not have been filled with fairies at some point.

So perhaps next time I am in Stevenage town centre surrounded by pigeons, getting dangerously close to me in the hope I may drop a smidgen of food, I will remember this story and see them in a new light. I don’t think I will kiss them though. After all, a fairy in Stevenage would not last long at all.

Travel Tips

Where to stay in Cappadocia?

We stayed at the cavernous Shoestring Hotel, which has an amazing cave-dorm where a bed will set you back a mere 25 Lira (£10). Bargain. But more importantly, the staff are wonderful. They helped us organise our onward travel and made quite a few phonecalls for us to save us from the terrible if-I-speak-louder-maybe-they’ll-understand-me scenarios.

How to get to Cappadocia?

We took the night bus from Istanbul to Cappadocia – run by a company called Metro. You can book it online but make sure it stops at Goreme (some will stop before that but provide a shuttle service – just be sure onward travel is included!) It was not clear online so we ended up booking one through an agent in Istanbul. It cost the same price as online – 65 Lira (about £25). It departs at 8pm and 10pm and also has a day service. The 10pm bus is quicker, and took about 11 hours. The buses are comfortable, and the seats recline quite far back… I slept well at least! There is also a hilarious ‘bus steward’ dressed in a dickie-bow who feeds you cake and pours tea for a midnight snack.

Where to get visas on the Silk Road

Posted on February 5, 2013 by Delia

Last updated – June 2013

GEEK ALERT: This post will probably not interest you in the slightest if you are not also planning a trip across the ‘stans of Central Asia. (These kind of posts will appear from time to time, where I basically get to indulge my list-making-inner-geek by publishing ‘useful information’ to fellow travellers.)

However, for those who are also planning a trip along the Silk Road, and wondering about the big V-question, please read on.

Of course, V stands for Very Vexatious Visas. Said to be the single biggest headache on this fabulous journey, these little slips of paper seem to take more organisation and thinking ahead than some of the bills that go through Parliament… Well have you seen the state of some of them?

And so after about five late nights, 10 different lists and copious glasses of wine, I finally have a plan of how to get our visas while travelling the Silk Road. Our main problem is that we need our passports for work before we leave so we can’t send them off to get visas before we leave – to take a look at our proposed route click here.

I shall update this list as and when things change, as they seem to do so frequently in this corner of the world. This info is a collation from recent blogs and forums, the Lonely Planet and local travel agents in Central Asia. For your reference, I am a British passport holder… with a big 48-page shiny, new passport. Bring on the visas.

Georgia: EU citizens do not need a visa.
Update: Confirmed, easy border crossing, no visa needed.

Armenia: EU citizens do not need a visa from January 10th, 2013 according to the latest info from the FCO here. (Border is currently closed between Armenia and Azerbaijan and also between Armenia and Turkey).
Update: No visa needed, no fee at border.

Azerbaijan:Pick up in Batumi, Georgia. According to recent blogs, this is very easy to do and only takes 3-5 days to come through. Strictly speaking, British citizens do not need LOIs but they are widely regarded to speed things up… I think we will try without. From the embassy in London it takes 10 working days, unless you are prepared to pay quite a bit more to seed it up by four days.
Update: Easily collected the Azerbaiajan visa in Batumi. I think it would have been next day service if it wasn’t for the fact it was Victory Day when we handed them in so we had to hang around for a few days extra.

Turkmenistan: We have decided to get the tourist visa (you can get a transit visa for a few days, which basically allows you to pass through the country) but we’re hoping to spend about 7 days there. It means we have to book a tour ahead of our visit and be accompanied by a tour guide at all times. An LOI (valid for three months) is required and we plan to get the visa in Yerevan, Armenia, where apparently it only takes a couple of days to come though. The visa will state entry and exit dates and what parts of country you are travelling to – you can enter after the start date and leave before the exit date. Apparently Yerevan is the best option at the moment as Baku is only open two days a week.
Update: The lady in the Turkmenistan embassy in Yerevan was extremely helpful but warned us travellers have been having a lot of trouble at Azeri border (before getting on boat) if Turkmen visa has been issued in Armenia, due to the ongoing conflict between the two countries. She said for some it has been very bad and they’ve had to get their embassies involved as passports have been taken… She recommended we get the visa in Baku, which we will try next.
Update: We picked up our Turkmenistan tourist visas in Baku on the same day… Eventually. Turns out they only open Monday and Friday. Once you get there you have to fill out the forms and then they send you to a bank (a taxi ride away) to actually transfer the cash. Complete hassle but got there in the end. They are open 9-12.

Uzbekistan: Amazingly, Uzbekistan will let us apply for a visa with only a copy of our passport. About 10 days later we will need to go down to the embassy in London with our real passports to get the visa put in. Therefore we shall be doing this before we leave the UK, it will be the only visa we leave with. LOI not normally needed for UK citizens, but it can speed to process up anyway and some embassies will ask for one. We shall try it without. We have been told you can also get this visa in Baku and Istanbul.

Update: We successfully got this visa from London before leaving, they processed it without our passports (just requiring a copy) then we collected it from London with our passports about 2 weeks later.

Afghanistan: Looks like we can get this in Tashkent, Uzbekistan according to the latest information here.
Update: REJECTED! We tried to get Afghanistan tourist visas in Tashkent, Uzbekistan but were told that the system changed two months ago and now visas must be obtained in home countries. They suggested we got a letter from the British Embassy just confirming who we are and requesting the Afghan Embassy assist us in eating a tourist embassy, but the British Embassy in Tashkent refused to do this. Alas, we will be missing Afghanistan out now.

Tajikistan: Need visa and GBAO permit (for Pamirs), which we plan to pick up in Tashkent, Uzbekistan (open 9am – noon) or Baku, Azerbaijan (open 15:00 – 17:00). Baku sounds the easiest option according to various forums, so we’ll try there first. I found this link particularly helpful.

Update: We got this easily enough in Baku. It took about three working days and the embassy opens from 3pm – 5pm Tuesday to Friday. We put our in on Thursday and picked it up on Tuesday. They do not currently have the GBAO permit stamp but have said we can pick it up easily enough in Tajikistan.

Kyrgyzstan: No visa needed for UK citizens according to the latest information here.

Kazakhstan: Collect visa in Baku, Azerbaijan. No LOI required. Easy and cheap to sort here according to this information.

Update: We picked up our Kazakhstan visas in Tbilisi, Georgia. All went without hitch… Very nice lady in embassy. Took about four working days to come through so we went off for a few days and came back.

China: This is our main problem at the moment and I’m not entirely sure what we will do! We have been told by a local expert it has become ‘very tricky’ to get a Chinese visa in Bishkek and Dushanbe. Currently looking into getting a six month visa before we leave the UK. This is a work in progress…

So here’s our plan:

London: Pick up Uzbekistan visa… maybe China too.
Batumi, Georgia: Pick up Azerbaijan visa
Tbilisi, Georgia: Pick up Kazak visa
Yerevan, Armenia: Pick up Turkmenistan visa
Baku, Azerbaijan: Pick up Tajikistan visa
Tashkent, Uzbekistan: Pick up Afghanistan visa

Tips for Getting Visas on the Silk Road

Make sure you have loads of free pages in your passport – we’ll be travelling with brand new ones.
Take loads of passport photos – I’m thinking at least 20.
Keep an eye on the latest information, searching the Thorn Tree forum is helpful but I think this Caravanistan website is perhaps the most helpful of all – after all, things seem to change every day.

If you have any experience of picking these visas up, then pleas share your thoughts below!

Travelling The Silk Road: Our Planned Route

Posted on January 19, 2013 by Delia

In just a few months time we shall be embarking on a trip that, although may seem a bit ‘off the beaten track’ today, is actually one of the most ancient and well trodden routes of the world. The Silk Road, or pedantically speaking – The Silk Roads (as there are actually dozens of different routes) – is the journey the silk took overland from China, through the ‘stans of Central Asia and into the western world, hundreds of years ago.

People spent their entire lives traversing across barren deserts in the scorching heat, warming up their icy, cold fingers in snowy mountains and stopping off at little caravanserais (aka traveller inns) for a shot of belly-warming vodka, before moving onto the bazaars to shift their goods. Actually I’m not sure the vodka bit is true at all, but there sure seems to be a lot of the hard stuff on the road now, and Matty has his eye firmly on the brandy kiosks of Kyrgyzstan that seem to be almost giving the stuff away at about 20p a shot.

So, in April we are giving up our little house in Nottingham to travel as the silk once did (but in reverse order). And we will be doing it all with our good friend Donagh, also known as the Mongoose (a nickname he has not just earned but OWNED when his wild side emerged on many a drunken night). Allow me to introduce him…

The Mongoose enters a cave in Lebanon… I have some much more entertaining photos of him, but I shall break you in gently.

So, it will be me, Matty and the Mongoose taking on the Silk Road.

The Route

We shall be travelling from Hyson Green (our much loved inner city streets of Nottingham) to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, where we shall be working for about a year or so, if all goes to plan.

From Hyson Green we shall be taking the tram to Nottingham Station, and the train to London, before embarking on the Eurostar to Paris for a swift lump of cheese and bottle of wine. From there we will take the night train to Munich, before stopping off at Salzburg in Austria, Budapest in Hungary and Bucharest in Romania, on our way to Turkey.

Then it’s onto the Silk Road. We wanted to visit Iran, but following the savage burning and prompt closure of the British Embassy there we thought it may be somewhat ill-advised so instead, this will be our Silk Road:

When I tell people I’m travelling the Silk Road, I get a fair few blank faces. And if you’d have asked me a year ago I would have met your gaze with equal blankness. But after a little bit of reading (combined with some artistic licence), this is what I am expecting… and the reasons for visiting each country:

Georgia – For its green valleys, mountain scenery and other such beautiful things.

Armenia – For the Cognac (and a ‘riot of flowers’ according to the Lonely Planet).

Azerbaijan – To understand what is ‘not Asia nor Europe’ and cross the mythical-sounding Caspian Sea.

Turkmenistan – For fabulous gold statues, ever-burning gas craters and bugged hotel rooms.

Uzbekistan – For majestic cities, brawling bazaars, ancient desert fortresses and a shrinking sea (fact).

Afghanistan – For the scary armoured vehicle ride to Mazari Sharif (the Mongoose’s current place of residence).

Kyrgyzstan – For horse treks, hunting with eagles and crying ‘wow’ a lot at stunning scenery.

Tajikistan – For the world’s most remote mountain-top road trip (the Pamir Highway) and hospitable home stays.

Kazakstan – For the leafy city of Almaty that sounds too much like ‘Oh Matty!’ to risk missing.

China – For the ‘Desert of Death’ aka ‘The Point of No Return’ or the name it goes by on most maps – the Taklamakan Desert. We don’t talk about this. And of course Xi’an where the Silk Road ends.

So there we go, that’s our journey. The journey taken by hundreds of camels years ago, as they travelled nose to tail, pulling large, heavy caravans through swathes of deep, dry desert sand for miles and miles. Am I scared? No, not at all.* Bring it on.

Follow our journey on this blog. I may do some geeky posts about gear and what to pack before we set off but you can ignore those and join me for the ride from April 22nd if you fancy it.

*I might be a bit scared… Crossing the desert of death in 40+ degrees does sound a little scary, right?

World in Words

By a girl who loves to write, eat and explore…

Tag Archives: The Silk Road

Armenian Brandy: Visiting Ararat Yerevan Brandy Company

The Weird and Wonderful things about Georgia

Georgian Wine: The Best, the Worst and the Rest

Climbing to Gergeti Glacier, Kazbegi, Georgia

Best Georgian Restaurant in Batumi, Georgia

Ani, Turkey: Our first Silk Road city in ruins

Cappadocia, Turkey: Where Fairies and Pigeons are One

Where to get visas on the Silk Road

Travelling The Silk Road: Our Planned Route