You may be forgiven for not turning up for this walk. A long spell of heavy rain and high winds battered the area throughout the night, with warnings of flooding on many rural roads. The forecast for the day was also very off-putting. So I was not surprised when there were only three of us gathering in the car park at Llanthony Priory at 10.00am.

As we climbed up out of Llanthony, heading for the beer track, the raw sound of motorbikes surged up the hill after us. There was a scrambling event on a nearby field, and with the rain of recent days, not least the last twelve hours, it was going to be a very slippery affair with lots of throttle. It was an all consuming noise and followed us all the way up the beer track, only disappearing as we dropped over the summit ridge on to Offa’s Dyke.

The cloud base was at about 600m and the varying shades of cloud and patchy light were much easier to appreciate in the flesh rather than via a camera. With the exception of two walkers who came towards us from the south, we had the whole ridge to ourselves, and the rain held off.

I was a little nervous about finding the right line of descent into Cwmyoy. Despite there being a cairn, a marker stone and a path all pointing in the right direction, the path soon fizzles out and you have to start making it up as you go along. When I tried it earlier in the week, I ended up wading through deep, wet bracken. I wanted to avoid repeating that experience. So we picked our way down, seeing where we wanted to get to, via runnels of water and sheep tracks. Annoyingly, looking back you can see the path clearly carving its way up the hill. How it cannot be seen at the top of the ridge is incomprehensible.

The outcome was that we reached the path we wanted just as a shower of persistent drizzle came upon us, enough to require at least a waterproof jacket.

From then on it was all plain sailing down to the rocky knoll overlooking Cwmyoy. There, on the summit, we found a little hollow offering us some shelter from the increasing wind, which had, by now, blown the drizzle away, and enjoyed lunch.

You can’t really do this walk without visiting the higgledy-piggledy Cwmyoy church, a victim of landslip and subsidence. Two large buttresses hold up the tower, which leans at a precarious angle. Like a double decker bus, how far can it lean before it falls over? Inside the church there are no horizontal surfaces. Pews slope down from the aisle in the middle. The window behind the altar slopes one way while the altar slopes the opposite way. Also, interestingly, there are no tell-tale cracks in the walls to suggest there is anything wrong. They must have done a great job patching up any imperfections.

From Cwmyoy, we dropped to the floor of the valley, crossed the river and the road before climbing up to a forest track that contoured all the way back to Llanthony. Long before we reached our final destination the noise of engines cut through the trees. It was so loud that we were sure that they were heading our way along the forest track. This noise had been going on for at least six hours. Meeting an elderly local man walking his dog, I made a remark about the noise, expecting him to have a moan. On the contrary, he said it was only one day in the year.

A welcome pint was waiting for us in the cellar bar of Llanthony Priory. Beyond the noise of the scrambling, it had been a quiet Sunday in the Black Mountains – we had only seen three other people in the 10.4 mile walk.

If, having flown in from Tbilisi, I might think that a weekend in Istanbul is a good way to relax and unwind after a trek, I couldn’t have been more wrong. We were met by our charming guide, Melissa, at the new Istanbul Airport to be escorted to the Budo Hotel in town. The journey took about an hour. During that time, Melissa fed us with information. There was something very northern about her accent, enough for me to question where she was from. With a Manchurian mother and Turkish father she has managed to inherit some  northern twang in the odd word. Considering she has lived in Turkey since she was four, it is probably quite remarkable that it is still detectable. You know what they say, “You can take the girl out of Manchester but you can’t take Manchester out of the girl!”

Driving in from the airport, which is some distance away, you soon realise what a sprawling city Istanbul is. With a population of just over 15 million it is by far the largest city in Europe and is double the population of London. It is vast! As we got further into the urbanised area, the traffic became more congested. It was Friday, after all, and all cities become congested as people prepare for the weekend. But it wasn’t just the roads that were congested, the pavements were full. There had been the call to prayers a little before we reached the city and worshippers were gathered kneeling on their prayer mats, wherever they could, adding to the congestion.

Our minibus got as close as it could to the Budo Hotel, but we had to walk the last 100m or so along a street that seemed to specialise in fabrics. Huge bundles of fabric were piled on the pavements waiting to be delivered elsewhere in the city. The shopkeepers and fabric workers sat on little pavement stools, drinking strong coffee and chatting while waiting for customers.

After a few minutes to settle ourselves in, Melissa walked with us towards the centre of town, the hub by the Bosporus where everything happens. Every so often, she would stop us in order to give us bits of information. One of those places was a Nargili cafe, where, predominantly men, go to smoke hookah pipes. We wandered in to find them all sitting in rows, smoking. Attendants helped keep them alight by refreshing the hot coals. There was a warm, aromatic fug hanging in the air. It was fascinating to watch and we were made to feel welcome by the smokers who were happy to show us their nargili pipes.

By now it was beyond three in the afternoon and we had not had lunch, so we found a pleasant rooftop restaurant where we could have a light meal and a beer or two, while looking down on to the busy street below. Istanbul is full of contrasts. Plying their way up and down the main street are modern trams, used extensively as a means to get around the city. Without them the traffic would simply be at a standstill. But, there, dragging a heavily laden trolly along the tramway, is a porter straining to pull his load of precariously piled boxes. Occasionally we would come across trollies stacked against a lamppost waiting for its next load to be laboriously dragged through the streets.

After our bite of lunch we continued further into town, the streets getting busier the further we walked. The shop displays were amazing, with Baclava delicately balanced in the window to catch the passing shopper’s eye. Colourful lighting shops with lamps made of stained glass, exotic rug shops and others selling colourful pottery. There was always something to feast your eye on.

We were also on the lookout for a restaurant to eat in in the evening, and having sorted one, I returned to the hotel to wait for the three who were flying out from England to join us, including Angela. We timed it just right, getting back minutes before they were delivered to the hotel.

Soon we were heading back out again to face the pedestrian gauntlet. Our restaurant required us to sit on low cushions, tucking our legs under a low table. Some found it easier than others and some soon found the position increasing uncomfortable. The food was good.

On the way back, Mike decided to buy himself an ice-cream from a colourful Gelato man. The ice-cream is very different from that we eat at home. It is called dondurma and is made from cream, whipped cream, salep, mastic and sugar. It doesn’t matter which stall you buy your ice-cream from they all have a ritual that entertains a crowd while the purchaser is ridiculed. The outcome is that more people subject themselves to the ridicule, increasing the vendors income. Having watched Mike go through the process, I had to have a go. It is great fun, and who cares about the ridicule?

With no chance for a lie-in, Melissa met us at 8.00 ready to start our tour of Istanbul. To save time we took the tram into the heart of the city and visited the Hippodrome, a large 100,000 seat open space that once was the scene of chariot races, circuses and many other entertainments. It was a good idea starting early as we had the place largely to ourselves to begin with. Not a lot remains of the original Hippodrome, but it has retained its shape and you can let imagination do the rest.

At one end there are two columns, the first being the Egyptian Obelisk. This is in almost perfect condition with hieroglyphics up all four sides. The most remarkable thing about this is the fact that it is a single piece of pink granite, 19m tall.  Originally 30m high, it stood in the Temple of Egyptian Pharaoh Thutmosis III, built in the 15th Century BC. It was brought from Karnak to Constantinople in AD 390.  Whether they reduced the height then for transport reasons or afterwards, I don’t know. Whatever the length, how did they transport such a heavy, cumbersome piece of stone all that way? Around its base may give some clue as to how. The obelisk sits on a plinth of limestone, into which is carved images of how it was moved. It was an incredible achievement of engineering, and, the stone looks so good and pristine, it could have been carved yesterday.

The second obelisk, just a few metres away is the  Constantine Obelisk, at 32m is much higher but it is made out of stone blocks, nothing like as tough as the pink granite of the Egyptian Obelisk. It is also not as old.

At the northern end of the Hippodrome is the German Fountain, gifted to the Turks in 1898 to commemorate the visit of the German Emperor, Wilhelm II. It is like a domed gazebo and the fountain is not a fountain in the normal sense but a series of taps and marble basins around the outside. Typical of German plumbing technology, the taps still work.

The crowds were definitely building up. Next we visited the Blue Mosque. This was a bit of a disappointment, not because it is not a splendid building, but because it is undergoing extensive renovations. This meant that none of the beautiful tiles of the dome were available to view, being hidden above a false ceiling held up with numerous disguised scaffold pillars . I am fortunate in that I have been before and seen the effect the blue tiles have on the light. None of that was possible. Despite the renovation works, it is still a remarkable building.

It was a similar story at Hagia Sophia, which is going through similar renovations. One section of it is a complex network of scaffolding reaching right up into the dome. Hagia Sophia started out as a church, built by Emperor Konstantios in AD 360. That was burnt down in a riot in AD 404 and a second church was built by Emperor Theodosius II in AD 415. It experienced a very turbulent time as a church, being destroyed or severely damaged on a number of other occasions.

In 1453 Hagia Sophia was renovated into a mosque, marking the beginning of the Ottoman period and the change from Orthodox Christian to Islamic faith. Minarets were built and other islamic features.

It is now a museum. From the outside it looks like a hotchpot of extension after extension and much of the classic external features are lost. Inside, it is stunning. The sheer scale of the building is incredible. There is much to do to renovate the mosaics, something that will probably take many lifetimes to achieve. The lights that hang in huge chandeliers are fascinating. Each light is housed in an upturned glass globe with a nipple at the bottom end. Although they are electric lights now, each globe used to have a candle in it. The  wax used to gather in the nipple, while soot coated the inside of the globe. They would extract both the wax and the soot, mix it together to produce a type of ink for use in writing.

The visits so far had taken all morning, so taking a break for some lunch at Mihri Restaurant adjacent to a hamami (bath house). The food was good, the atmosphere excellent as it gave us a little respite from the crowds. A harpist played, adding to the tranquility of the place.

Back in amongst the crowds we next visited the Basilica Cistern, a vast, underground water supply for the old city. 170m long, 70m wide and with 336 supporting pillars, many of which were stolen from other temples,, the Basilica Cistern was built by Emperor Justinian in AD 532. It is an incredible, breathtaking piece of engineering. It was able to store 80,000 cubic metres of water fed by 20km of  aqueducts.

Two of the columns are of particular interest and both involve Medusa. One has her head lying sideways at the base of the column while the other has her upside down at the base. There are numerous theories surrounding their position but the most likely is that the Byzantines had little regard for Roman relics and that it was a sign that the christian rulers wanted to get the message across that pagan figures play no part in christianity.

Next we faced the crowds as we walked down to the waterfront near the Galata Bridge, making sure that we did not get hit by a tram in the very narrow streets. We were making our way to the Egyptian Bazaar, or Spice Bazaar. This is a colourful, vibrant, noisy and very crowded indoor market that seems to specialise mostly in spices, dried fruits, confectionary and the occasional jewellery stall. This is a fabulous place to try things, to enjoy banter with the shopkeepers and to buy, whether you want it or not, it is just great fun.

From there we moved on to the Grand Bazaar, an indoor complex of nearly 4,000 shops.  Melissa gathered us at one of the entrances to give us some background information. It was difficult to concentrate on what she was saying because we had incurred the wrath of a security guard who thought we were blocking the way in. We weren’t, and Melissa was keen to stand her ground against his over zealous and aggressive behaviour. You could tell, by the looks on the faces of nearby Turkish men, that they were amused by the altercation, but also impressed by Melissa’s tenacity in not giving in.

We suggested that we probably could manage the rest of the day on our own and that Melissa could go home for a well-earned rest. It was 5.00pm after all. At first, I think she might have felt put out, but we were all beginning to flag, and she must also after feeding us constantly with interesting information. I assured her it was no reflection on her but as this was the last venue on our itinerary for the day, we could manage.

Having satisfied her, we ventured past Mr Angry guard into the Grand Bazaar. It is a maze of passages, far too many to explore at this end of the day, so most of us remained on the main passageway, not going into shops, not engaging with the shopkeepers, most of whom seemed to be selling jewellery, and headed out of the opposite gateway, and back to the hotel via a visit to a bar for a well earned drink.

That night we ate in the Byzantion Bistro Restaurant, 150m from our hotel, that ensured we did not have to fight the crowds. It was highly acclaimed by Trip Advisor and did not disappoint. Excellent food and service.

Another 8.00am start saw us walking through some back streets to Kalenderhane Mosque. Only cats, and there are many in Istanbul, prowled around outside the mosque. It seemed deserted and it took a while before somebody came to let us in. Starting out as a church, it was converted to a mosque at the beginning of the Ottoman period. because the church was not configured correctly for Islamic worship, the focus of worship is askew of the original with the prayer lines of the carpet on a diagonal. This is clearly visible in the photograph. This was a much small, quieter mosque. Running passed it outside was one of the old, Roman aqueducts that used to feed water to the Basilica Cistern.

From there we headed to a much larger mosque, Suleymaniye Mosque. The mosque was commissioned by Suleyman the Magnificent and designed by the imperial architect Mimar Sinan. An inscription specifies the foundation date as 1550 and the inauguration date as 1557. How they could possibly build such a magnificent building in just seven years is incomprehensible. What is more, the quality of the stone work and the clean lines do not tally with its age. It looks almost new.

The other thing that impressed with this mosque is that we saw it in all its glory, without scaffolding and sections hidden behind workmen’s screens. To all intents and purposes this was a perfect mosque. Again, it was largely crowd free but the peace was interrupted by some young children who thought it was okay to charge around, chasing each other and shouting.

Here is an interesting fact: on the chandeliers, there are a number of white orbs. They are, in fact ostrich eggs. Why? Apparently, spiders don’t like ostrich eggs, so while they are in the mosque, spiders stay well clear.

Afterwards, we went to a rooftop cafe for coffee. Had we not had Melissa with us we would not have known it was there, but it afforded us fantastic views over the city, the Bosporus and beyond.

Next we headed to Topkapi Palace. This is where the sultans lived and administered over the Ottoman Empire. It is a complex set of palaces with a number of gates and courtyards, all leading to an inner court where the Sultan and his immediate family could relax, feeling the breeze coming off the Bosporus and looking out over their city.

The outer courtyard, the Court of the Janissaries, is where the security guards were stationed. These were made up of very loyal soldiers.

Next came the Gate of Salvation that led into the second court where all the kitchens were and where meals were prepared for all 4,000 residents of the palace. Here, there was the Imperial Council Chamber, known as the Divan-i-Humayun because matters of court were discussed while lying on large divan beds. This is also where the harem was. It was while in this court we visited some of the Topkapi treasures with a display of weaponry and armour, all incredibly ornate.

The Third gate, The Gate of Felicity, led to the audience chamber, an area where the sultan would meet state visitors, although he would only meet them through a screen as he would not meet anybody below his equal face to face.

The Fourth Court was the inner court where the sultan could relax. Here there were pools of water to keep the air cool, ornately tiled rooms with large doorways to facilitate a flow of air. It was, by far, the most pleasant area of the whole palace, although the room where circumcisions took place was a little worrying.

Leaving the palace, we headed down to the Galata Bridge through the mayhem of tourists for a mackerel sandwich purchased from an ornate boat at the water’s edge. There were two men serving while others cooked in the background. Both of them had a huge wad of notes in their hand. They were working, and collecting money, non stop. It must be an absolute goldmine.

Afterwards we boarded our boat for a trip on the Bosporus, giving us a chance to sit, relax, take in the view and appreciate just where we were. Melissa did not switch off and gave us a running commentary throughout most of the trip. It was 90 minutes well spent.

Back on shore we took the tram back to our hotel. We had exhausted Istanbul and Istanbul had exhausted us. Melissa was brilliant. I have done several trips to Istanbul but I feel I have learnt more, understood more about the history surrounding Istanbul, and enjoyed it more (despite it being both physically and mentally exhausting), than in all the other trips put together. Well done, Melissa.

That night we returned to the Byzantion Bistro Restaurant, because it was the easiest thing to do, and we knew it was good.

Thanks to Sobek travel for putting the trip together for us and a special thanks to Melissa.

In the morning we were up early to catch the train to Zugdidi. When we saw a double decker pull into the station we were hopeful, but it was not to be. Instead, we had a rather old train with patched up paint work. We were booked to occupy the first nineteen seats which meant we were facing backwards but did have the option to stand and look over the driver’s head at the track in front. It was not the most enjoyable of journeys, despite my earlier excitement, partly because any views to either side were partly obscured by condensation on the windows, between the double glazing. David’s seat was permanently in the reclining position and none of the tray tables were horizontal. As a result, a fair bit of sleeping went on. The only excitement came at the very end of the journey as we approached Zugdidi. There were a number of cattle on the track who responded to the hoot of the horn, but as we came towards a crossing, just before the station, a number of cars took their chance to get across before us. Just when you thought the persistent use of the horn had done its job, a car ambled across in front of the train. I was standing behind the drivers and I could only just see the roof of the car. With brakes applied, both drivers stood up and gesticulated. It was a very close shave.

Alighting from the train we enjoyed some traditional Georgian cheese bread before getting into two minibuses for the four-hour journey to Becho.

It was not long before we left the relatively flat countryside around Zugdidi, on the Black Sea coastal plain, that we started to climb into the Caucasus Mountains.

After about an hour we stopped to visit a massive Enguri Dam, holding back a 25km lake, part of a hydro-electric scheme. The scale of the dam is enormous, being 60m thick at its base, tapering to 10m thick at the top. It is a staggering 240m high. Alex told us that there are grand plans to turn it into a World Heritage Site by creating a whole range of extra-curricular uses for it. They plan to put a glass lift down the face of the dam, a long zip wire across it, to stage concerts at its base, using the natural amphitheatre of its shape to improve sound quality, to project images upon the huge face of the dam, provide boat trips, and much more. I think it will be great to make a feature of such a functional piece of engineering. Good luck to them. With all the timber that had accumulated behind the dam they could include raft building in their long list of activities.

The scenery continued to become more impressive the further we travelled and the deeper we travelled into Svaneti. We began to see the occasional watch tower.

Turning off the main road, we had reached Becho, which is a community of villages rather than just one village. We were staying in the village of Mazeri, the last settlement leading to the head of the valley and Mt. Ushba. In my mind’s eye I was expecting basic, rustic accommodation. I had brought a lightweight sleeping bag with me in case I was unsure about the cleanliness of the bedding. I had brought a trekking towel for the occasional wash and a head torch for night forays to an outside loo, running the gauntlet of large guard dogs. None of these items were necessary, a clean en suite room with everything provided awaiting us. The accommodation was excellent.

The icing on the cake was the outstanding view of Mt. Ushba dominating the head of the valley. Cloud was playing around it’s rocky summit, hiding it in part, but it was none the less impressive.

If the accommodation was good, the food was even better. When we went down to dinner at 7.00pm, the table was groaning with food. There was hardly a spare patch on the table for my bottle of “Spend your summer in Georgia” beer. The highlight of the meal for me, was not the range of hot dishes, which were actually not hot, but the tomatoes, which were huge and utterly delicious!

With nothing much to do after dinner, most of us drifted off to bed and managed to squeeze in about ten hours of sleep!

The following morning Mt. Ushba, clear of cloud, stood proudly overlooking the Becho Valley. After a very bread orientated breakfast, we set off on an introductory walk up the valley to visit a couple of waterfalls. This was an easy walk and gave us an opportunity to stretch our legs and for Alex to assess our walking abilities. It was a well-walked trail through beautiful woodland, never far from the tumbling, turbulent water of the Daira River. It was quite warm and humid, but we took it at a fairly leisurely pace.

There were two waterfalls, which tumble over a rock wall that once proved to be a barrier to the erosive energy of a glacier. The ice, unable to make much of an impact on the band of rock, bypassed it, creating an impressive wall for the Daira River to fall over. The right-hand fall, with a greater volume of water, is the much more impressive.

Returning by the same route, we stopped off at a woodland café for our picnic lunch sitting at rustic tables or reclining in one of the hammocks that hung between trees. There was even a pull-up bar between two trees so that the more macho of the group could prove their physical prowess. I had a go but the ten pull-ups I did were so fast I was just a blur to the onlookers. If only!

Vehicles were there to meet us at the end of the walk and transport us to Mestia, the capital of the Svaneti region. Our accommodation was again excellent with more sumptuous food. The timing of our travels was perfect; as soon as we arrived and settled in, it began to rain. Thunder rumbled overhead, but we were comfortable, dry and enjoying a beer.

After another ten hours in the horizontal position and an excellent breakfast, with porridge, we headed off on our walk. However, before we got very far we visited the History and Ethnography Museum. This is a beautifully presented display of church treasures, manuscripts, jewellery, weaponry, musical instruments and historical photographs. I found the manuscripts by far the most fascinating, for no other reason than many of them date back to the 10^th century.

From the museum we steadily climbed above the town and overlooked the smart airport that now services Svaneti with small passenger craft, although we did not see any while we were there. It is obviously the way forward, bringing in more tourists on a short flight rather than the protracted train and road journey, that we did. You do get the feeling that with improved infrastructure and many new accommodation opportunities, the people of Svaneti are preparing for ever more tourists.

The clear skies of the morning were disappearing as more and more clouds began to bubble up, slowly obscuring the highest peaks and the glaciers in between. We still got tantalising views towards the highest peaks, but I found I wanted more, I wanted the full wow factor that I just knew was hiding from us. By the time we had eaten lunch at the top of the pass, looking down into the Mulakhi Valley, another community of several villages, we had to resort to our waterproofs as it began to rain, while thunder rattled around the mountain tops.

We were now seeing many more towers and they were proving to be quite remarkable.

Svaneti has a very turbulent local history. For centuries, different clans would clash over cattle stealing. But it did not end there. Wives and young women were also targeted, so to protect themselves from their enemies they built watch towers where they could store their possessions and their wives and children while the men fought. Most of the towers were built between the 6^th and the 13^th centuries, but some date back even further. They are in remarkably good condition, despite their age.

The blood feuds that occurred all those centuries ago intensified in the 1990s with the departure of the Russians. Today, there are very few instances of feuding, the result of Svaneti opening up to the rest of the world and accepting the 21^st Century, of mediators stepping in whenever two families seem to be heading for a clash. How centuries of tradition can disappear or remain hidden in such a short time, is remarkable. All we knew was that many of the people we were meeting on our travels would have experienced feuds, either personally or from a distance. If only we could have talked to them about it and they could have felt comfortable enough to open up about it to us. It would be great if the museum in Mestia could get some first-hand accounts before they are forgotten.

The following morning, the rain had passed, leaving trails of dragon’s breath across the slopes. Much of the humidity had gone and the conditions for walking were much better. Today, the walk was much more significant, with an ascent of about 1000m, up through forests to the ski slopes near the top of the ridge. It was a beautiful walk through the rain refreshed trees and across meadows, still ablaze with some vibrantly coloured flowers, gentian and yellow crocus. Emerging from the trees we hit the ski runs, pristine with their winter cover of snow, but now stony scars on the hills, where the runs have been manufactured at the expense of all else.

At the top we took some time out at a little kiosk café where Fraser treated himself to some red wine. It was revolting, and, when he couldn’t persuade anyone else to drink it, he was forced to throw it away. Georgian wine, we were learning, was good, but on this occasion, Fraser found that not always to be the case.

The descent brought the now expected afternoon shower before we finally descended into Adishi, which looked charming from our lofty approach, with its array of towers, old houses and farm buildings. On arrival in the village, we realised that we had stepped back in time. The paths through it were strewn with animal excrement, many of the houses were dilapidated and beyond repair. It looked as bad as any village I had seen in other parts of the world.

The accommodation was more basic with no en suite facilities, but it was comfortable, if a little crowded. At least Ian and I had comfortable beds, while David and Mike seemed to have old hospital type beds that sank uncomfortably in the middle.

Despite everything, Adishi is on the up. Five years ago, only three families lived in the village. Now there are twenty. There must have been close on two hundred tourists sleeping there the night we were there, all bringing much needed income to the community. They are talking about rebuilding the school. I think, in a few years from now, Adishi will have made significant changes and will hardly be recognisable.

However, wandering around the village with David later in the afternoon, I somehow hoped it would not change too much. Watching an oxen towing a large wooden sledge over the stony ground is unique to this region. It would be a sad day if this ancient form of transport was replaced with a quad bike! Despite the cow shit on the paths and the dilapidated nature of the village, it has a charm that would be lost with over-enthusiastic development.

As with all mornings, we woke to a cloudless sky. From Adishi, we were taking our longest walk of the whole trek and climbing another pass into the next valley.

After the best breakfast so far, we headed up the valley from Adishi, climbing gently as we went. In the clear air, the views began to open out before and behind. Looking back at Adishi, we were amazed to see Mt Ushba again, with its spectacular rocky pinnacles piercing the sky. It is such a beautiful mountain. Ahead of us Tetnuldi and Shkhara were beginning to show themselves above lower ridges. Also coming into view was the spectacular Adishi Glacier.

Near the head of the valley we had a river to cross. In most circumstances, in most countries, we would have been expected to remove our boots and socks, put sandals on and cross on foot. Not here. Here we were provided with horses to carry us the 20m or so across the calf deep water. The horses knew exactly what they had to do, take on rider, walk across river, deposit rider, walk back a little downstream, take on rider etc. etc.

The bank on the other side was densely vegetated with fairly dwarfish trees. The main body of thr group set off before everybody was resdy and for those left behind there was a little confusion as to where the route went through the densely packed trees. We eventually worked it out and soon caught up with the rest of the group at a super vantage point for looking across at the glacier. Every so often, there would be a crack and the sound of falling ice, but by the time we had reacted, it was too late, the sound reaching us long after the event, despite the glacier being relatively close to our vantage point.

We continued to climb, gradually emerging from the trees, which revealed more and more impressive views of the glacier. Traditionally, the cloud was beginning to envelope the summits, which slightly diminished the awe and wonder of the view, but only slightly.

Now that we were above the trees the whole hillside was covered with dwarf rhododendrons as far as the eye could see. Occasionally, another species of shrub protruded from the canopy, but it was predominantly nothing but rhododendrons. I can only imagine the blaze of colour in the spring when they are in full bloom. A good reason to come back in June at some point in the future.

Reaching the top, we sat on the crest of the ridge and enjoyed our picnic lunch in very enjoyable surroundings. Then came the long descent, steepish to begin with, but then easing, all the way to Iphrari and our guesthouse, that, despite being described as basic (because of the shared bathroom), was lavishly furnished with some wonderful antiques, and a few oddities. At the top of the staircase, a large black panther and a large leopard guarded the landing. They were fine in the cold light of day, but made one start in the middle of the night as you stumbled your way to the loo.

After two relatively difficult days with significant ascents, the walk up to Ushguli was easy. We started with a descent to Davberi and then climbed briefly up to some meadows, which in spring would have been a mass of colour. Then we traversed along the hillside, eventually dropping down to the road shortly before arriving in Ushguli.

Like all the other areas we had visited, Ushguli is a collection of four villages. At around 2200m this is the highest permanent settlement in Europe. One of the villages, Chazhashi is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and some restoration of the buildings around the collection of towers has been carried out. Unfortunately, the four towers on the top of the small hill overlooking the site, were, with the exception of one, largely destroyed by the Russians who wanted the stone to build their cooperative farm nearby.

We were staying in the adjacent village of Chyibiani, which has seen a lot of development over recent years. Whilst it is important to be recognised as a World Heritage Site, it can also be the kiss of death for a community. We were fortunate in that we had taken five days to walk to Ushguli, but we are not the norm. Most people drive in on newly built roads. All need feeding. Most need accommodation. They all want souvenirs. Hence, new lodges have been built, new restaurants with lots of large red umbrellas on their terraces, all catering for the hundreds of people that arrive each day, because it is a World Heritage Site. There has to be a cultural and environmental cost. Give it a few more years, and it will be totally spoilt.

In the late afternoon we visited one of the towers, now converted into a cinema, to watch a film, Dede, the story of Svan life in the 1990s with vendettas, kidnap and murder. It was all filmed in Ushguli two years ago using local people as actors. One of the characters from the film showed us to our seats. Although much of the acting was wooden, it told the story graphically and posed more questions about the feuding families than it answered.

With just one more day of walking, following the Enguri River up to its source in the Shkhara Glacier flowing down from Georgia’s highest peak, Shkhara 5068m.

A number of the group had suffered during the week with a bug, which chose to affect me on this last day. I decided not to walk but to starve myself for long enough for the bug to clear through my system. It was probably one of the easier day’s walking, but I knew that I did not have the energy to enjoy it.

When everybody returned, we piled into our vehicles and drove to Mestia for our last night in Svaneti.

Our last day was a travel day, by coach, from Mestia to Zugdidi in the morning. In Zugdidi, we visited a super restaurant for lunch, but it was lunch with a twist. Alex had arranged for us to have a wine tasting during the meal. He chose three bottles, a white, a Qvevri and a red. It was all delicious, but what made it very special was that Alex knew everything there was to know about the processes and production.

Feeling satisfied we climbed aboard the coach for the last leg of the journey, another five or so hours, to Tbilisi. We eventually arrived soon after 8.00pm, twelve hours after leaving Mestia. It left us with little time to enjoy Tbilisi as we were flying early the next morning.

This has been a fabulous trip with a brilliant group of people. Tbilisi is a beautiful city that I feel I must return to to give it justice. Svaneti is beautiful. The high peaks are dramatic and stunning. Culturally, it is fascinating. I’m not sure I would return to Svaneti, however, as I think it will spoil as more and more tourists invade it. I would like to explore the area around the peak Kazbegi, but in June when the meadows are in full bloom. Visit Georgia, our in country travel company ensured that our itinerary ran smoothly. They did us proud. However, one factor that made this trip so special was Alex. His knowledge, intellect and understanding was second to none. Thanks to Alex, we all had the best possible time.

Watch this space for June 2021, when I would like to return for another trip. Interested?

I could not have had two more contrasting flights. The one from Birmingham to Istanbul was far from full and I had two empty seats adjacent to me. I didn’t know what to do with all that space. By contrast, I was hemmed in to the body of the plane by a very large lady who spilled out over the arm rests either side of her. As I was sitting by the emergency exit there was no way I was going to be able to open my tray table from within the arm. Not that I wanted breakfast at two in the morning.

We were met at the airport by Alex, our guide, and whisked us off to the Art Boutique Hotel in the centre of Tbilisi. Everywhere you looked neon signs pointed to casinos and night clubs and, despite it being gone five in the morning, there still seemed to be people around the entrances to these establishments.

I had arranged for some rooms to be available so that we could, at least, snatch a couple of hours sleep before hitting Tbilisi.

Breakfast in the hotel lacked interest.

At 10.00am we all gathered in reception, those who had stayed elsewhere, joining us.

Alex told us he had rearranged the itinerary for the day and was first going to take us to Jvari Church and Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, both UNESCO World Heritage Sites. We were due to visit them on our last day after a ten-hour journey, which he felt would not be the best circumstances to enjoy them.

A forty-minute drive out of Tbilisi took us to the very prominently placed Jvari Church, perched at the top of a very steep hill overlooking the confluence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari Rivers, and the town of Mtskheta. The church is one of the holiest sites for Georgians and marks the spot where King Mirian erected a wooden cross soon after his conversion to Christianity in the 4th century. Inside, in the centre of the church, is a huge plinth on which there is a large wooden cross. There is little else inside. It’s significance and position are its important features.

From the car park in Mtskheta we walked through narrow cobbled streets of shops, cafes and restaurants to Svetitskhoveli Cathedral. The legend behind the church is that a Georgian Jew witnessed the crucifiction of Christ and returned to Mtskheta with Jesus’ robe. When his sister, Sidonia took it from him, she immediately died in a passion of faith. The robe was buried with her, but, as time passed, the exact site of her burial was forgotten. When King Mirian built the first church in Mtskheta, the wooden column needed for the centre of the church could not be removed from the ground. After an all-night prayer vigil, the column miraculously moved of its own accord to the robe’s burial site, upon which the church was built. The column has reputedly performed many other miracles. Svetitskhoveli means ‘Life-Giving Column’.

Driving back to Tbilisi, the bus dropped us off in the centre of town in a large open space by the Mtkvari River with steep hills rising either side of it. After a brief lunch we walked the streets full of elegant buildings and beautiful, meaningful statues. The most striking was the bust of Sofiko Chiaureli (1937-2008), a famous Soviet Georgian actress. On each corner were characters she had played, all in very tactile bronze.

Another very tactile bronze statue, was that of Tamada, the Toastmaster, a very important man in any Georgian party/celebration.

Our wandering gradually brought us round to the Peace Bridge over the Mtkvari River, an ultra-modern steel and glass structure of stunning beauty, whether looking at it from afar or crossing it.

This in turn brought us to another amazing building, the concert hall and art gallery, two steel and glass tubes linked at one end but creating two separate venues. These are the work of Italian architect, Massimiliano Fuksas, who was commissioned by President, Mikhail Saakachvili. Unfortunately, when he lost power the project ground to a halt, so these buildings are not properly finished. While they look impressive from a distance, they look a little unloved close to. One day!

Taking the cable car, we took the easy route up to the Narikala Fortress, a largely 8th century structure with dominating views over the rest of the town. Adding to that domination, a short distance away, is a 20m statue of Mother Georgia. In one hand she holds up a sword while in the other a cup of wine, depicting the typical Georgian character of welcoming guests but vigorously fighting off enemies. Narikala Fortress has seen many such battles and has the scars to show. Unfortunately, it suffered greatly under the Russian occupation, not through battle but when, in 1827, a huge explosion of Russian munitions, stored there, destroyed much of it.

Walking down to the Old Town, we noticed some interesting dome roofs with little chimneys. They are bath houses, making use of Tbilisis’s natural sulphur springs bubbling to the surface. We contemplated taking advantage of the facilities but, after much discussion and uncertainty, decided it might be better if we visit the baths at the end of the trip, when we will feel we have deserved such luxury after our trek, and especially after a lengthy journey in the bus back to Tbilisi. (As it happens, we did not have the time when we returned, so this is a pleasure we can look forward to on our next visit to Georgia)

It was while we were here that I was approached by a television film crew who wanted to interview me for a programme to be broadcast later in the evening. They wanted to know what we were doing in Georgia and why we had come to their country. I explained that I had read an article on Svaneti n one of the travel supplements and decided I needed to go there. It was broadcast while we were in a typical Georgian restaurant sampling a variety of Georgian fare in the Georgian way, sharing and tasting.

Tbilisi is a beautiful city and in the 24 hours I was there I could only scratch the surface. Those that arrived earlier, had the right idea, Tbilisi definitely deserves more time and I will be back. However, I was surprised by the number of night life venues, casinos, night clubs and massage parlours (there were three Thai parlours within 50m of our hotel), not catering for Georgians, but for Turks and Iranians who are not allowed to visit such places in their own country, and probably a lot of high rolling Russians. I find it difficult to correlate a deeply religious society with aspects of life that are demeaning and potentially harmful, to society.

Phase three, the tourist phase, started as we left Mr Bakyt, Adina and the horsemen behind and set off on our journey to the south-west of the country. We were heading to the small town of Kyzyl-Oy. We travelled initially on the main highway between Naryn and Bishkek, as far as Kachkot, where we deposited the walking guide, Oulan. He had proved extremely good, accommodating and informative. Shortly afterwards we turned off on to a grit road, meaning that we could not travel as fast. While the view out of the window was never without its interest, it was not until we ran alongside the Kokomeren River and then the Sinusamyr River, that it became really fascinating. Not only were these two rivers raging torrents of white water, the scenery around them was spectacular, and, with the late afternoon sun on the rocks, it brought out fantastic colouring.

We reached our homestay in the early evening and half an hour later dinner was ready. But that was not the highlight for most, that being the ability to have a hot shower. After nearly two weeks of washing in rivers, or not washing, it was a genuine pleasure to feel hot water and soap all over.

After breakfast, we were off again, continuing our journey along the mesmerisingly turbulent Sinusmeyr River, climbing all the time to a high valley that widened out into a massive plain with high mountains bordering it on all sides. They were only just clear as the atmosphere was much hazier than we had previously experienced.

With another mountain range looming towards us we joined highway 41, the main highway between Bishkek and Osh. Now the journey was much smoother and quicker.

All along the route were yurts where they not only looked after their livestock on the vast openness of the mountainsides but also sold refreshments to passing motorists. Gradually we climbed to over 3000m where we crossed the Ala-Bel Pass. The descent brought us into the Chychkan Zoological State Reserve where we found our guesthouse in the Chychkan Gorge.

We had arrived in good time and Alex offered to take us on a walk but it was a relief that we could say, “No.” With quite a bit of travelling, the trek and the horse riding, all we really wanted to do was to relax and take it easy. Sandie, Simon and I took the ultimate opportunity to relax by taking a one hour massage each with a Russian masseurs called Elena. In conversation with her she told me she spoke Russian, Turkish, Italian and English, but not Kyrgyz. I couldn’t understand how you can be born in a country, live in it for over forty years and not be able to speak the language.

The evening meal was also a pleasant change from the normal soup and main course, which I have begun to realise are too greasy for my liking.

Tonight I had trout, and it was delicious.

The next morning started well with probably the best breakfast to date. However, it did not last long. Having passed through Toktogul and travelled around the eastern side of Toktogul Reservoir, we climbed to the top of the pass and came to a standstill. The fan belt had slipped and stretched and the engine overheated. Basically, we were screwed. Another Sprinter minibus came by and all of its passengers climbed out, passed an opinion to that effect and drove off.

Another vehicle was summoned from Arsonbob to rescue us but, having already spent over an hour on the top of the pass, it would take another three hours for it to arrive.

In fact it took four hours for it to arrive. It was a fairly uncomfortable time as the shade temperature reached 38C. It was difficult to know what to do; it was too hot everywhere but there was more comfortable seating in the bus, but it was slightly cooler sitting outside.

For a while we watched three lads picking up discarded bottles from the side of the road, and there were a lot for them to pick up. It was pleasing to see something being done, but as we watched we realised it was an impossible task. It turned out they only had four bags and as they filled them they emptied them on to the ground creating a pile. What would happen to that pile is anybody’s guess, but judging from evidence just on the other side of the pass, they are fighting a losing battle. A pile of bottles had been created there but over time the wind had redistributed it all over the hill. While we sat there watching, we saw vehicles slow down and throw their empty bottles out of the window. This is clearly a very serious problem in Kyrgyzstan and somebody needs to get a grip of it, and quickly.

On all our road journeys we have noticed a ten metre corridor on either side of discarded bottles. Most are plastic but there is also a large number of glass vodka bottles, which, if they break, become an additional hazard. I don’t want to remember Kyrgyzstan for this but for the absolute beauty of its landscapes.

We played silly games to wile away the time, read, mooched about and tried to remain positive. In the context of things going wrong it was only a few hours of discomfort.

After five and a half hours of sweating it out a relief vehicle arrived. We transferred everything into the new minibus and we left Sergei to wait for his father to come from Bishkek with the new part that was needed to repair the bus.

Forty five minutes after starting the long journey to Arsanbob, we stopped for lunch (at 5.30!). It was a relief to sit in an air conditioned restaurant and to drink a cold beer, as well as eat some very tasty chicken.

Despite it being late in the day, it was still incredibly hot as we climbed, refreshed, into our minibus. The journey now took us through some incredible scenery, which, because we had tinted windows, was impossible to photograph.

Toktogul Reservoir, which we left behind some hours ago, is the largest Reservoir in Central Asia. The River Naryn flows into it. When the river flows out of it another series of dams creates finger-like lakes that snake down the valley. The mountains that plunge down to the water are stunning and almost devoid of vegetation. The evening light just highlighted their beauty, and their starkness. Each finger lake feeds a hydro electric station. There are five in total and the electricity produced serves a wide area including parts of Uzbekistan and southern Kazakhstan. The River Naryn continues and eventually flows into the Aral Sea. It was a little frustrating, because, had we not broken down, we would have had plenty of time to stop and photograph these stunning finger lakes.

Eventually the mountains shrank. Our altitude dropped to below 800m, the landscape flattened and there was agriculture on both sides of the road. Here the road runs parallel to the border with Uzbekistan, which I have to say looked very flat and uninteresting after the two weeks of scenery we had experienced so far. Interestingly, the Kyrgyzstan side of the border was dry and barren, while the Uzbekistan side was green and lush. They have obviously been far more proactive in establishing a useful irrigation scheme using Kyrgyz water.

Gradually, the light faded and we finished the journey in darkness at 10.00pm, hot, sweaty and not at all wanting the full meal that had been prepared for us. Fortunately, I had spoken to Alex about this and our hosts had been advised by him of the situation. The last thing I wanted us to do was to offend our hosts by not eating the food that would, undoubtedly, test the strength of the table legs! As a result, what they gave us was perfect, a little salad, some fruit, just a little savoury and some tea. Perfect.

It was interesting waking up and stepping out of my room on to the the balcony to find out my surroundings. I looked out on to tree covered hillsides, the bulk of the trees being walnut. Arsanbob has the largest walnut forest in the world and this much needed super food has made the area more prosperous than many we had travelled through. To my left, over the roof of the house was a wall of rocky mountain with patches of snow. This was the 4427m Babash Ata, the highest peak in the Babash Ata Range. It forms a stunning backdrop.

While I was in the shower at about 6.00am I heard the arrival of a minibus. It was Sergei. His father met him where we had broken down at 11.00pm, bringing the required parts with him. Sergei managed to complete the repair by 2.00am and then drove immediately to join us.

After breakfast we drove the 6km into the centre of Arsanbob where we left Sergei to catch up on sleep, and walked to a small waterfall on the edge of the village. I guess the water tumbles about 20m over a rock shelf. The route leading up to the waterfall is lined with lots of stalls selling very tatty toys, sweets and little knick-knacks, none of which held any appeal. Just before we reached the waterfall there was a small cave, The Cave of Angels, of significance to Muslims. There was nothing special about the waterfall and we quickly passed it. Up a small slope was a cafe so I suggested coffee. We hadn’t had one for two weeks. It was served by a woman with a monobrow, a straight line of hair right across her forehead. Despite asking for no sugar, they all came with it and it was very sickly sweet.

On the way back through the stalls, I challenged Simon to a duel on the shooting range. It ended in a draw. On another stall I challenged him at throwing darts at balloons. Another draw and we won a Rubric’s Cube.

From there we followed a path through walnut trees that lead us to a viewpoint over the town. It reminded me very much of places like Darjeeling and Shimla, although not a built up, with houses spaced out among the walnut trees. It was very peaceful. One overlooking it all was the impressive Babash Ata.

On the way back to the minibus, and the sleeping Sergei, we stopped off at the market. It was busy with midday shoppers. Everybody we came across was extremely friendly, from children going up to the waterfall, the stall holders to the people in the market. Many wanted to have their photo taken with us. We were made to feel very welcome by all.

After a superb lunch at the house our host took us to a nearby lake for a swim. The lake, although pretty in its surroundings, was not particularly pretty in itself. The shallows were high growing reefs making access difficult. There was really only one point of entry where somebody had cut down the reeds. Instead of the turquoise blue waters of other lakes and rivers we have visited on this trip, the water of this lake was black. Bubbles of methane occasionally drifted to the surface, a surface that seemed to have a layer upon it. Nevertheless, having gone there with the intention of having a swim, that is what I did, diving in from the platform of cut back reeds. The water was pleasantly warm but I made sure I kept my mouth well and truly closed. I wasn’t the only swimmer as Chris, Terry and Claire joined me.

Later, just before dinner five Kyrgyz musicians and a translator came to the house to entertain us. There were two long horn players, two drummers, one of whom also sang, and a hobby horse. It was a lot of fun, especially the competition to see which of us could play the horn the best. We men were useless, but Claire came a close second to Chris who played with some expertise. Clearly, having passed Grade 5 trumpet has its benefits.

Dinner tonight was superb, the main course being stuffed peppers. This household really know how to look after us.

It is always a disappointment when things don’t go according to plan. The day started off well enough when we left our delightful hosts in Arsanbob, and the journey was going smoothly until, 80km from Osh, there was an unnatural and ominous sound from the engine. We pulled over, and after a quick inspection under the bonnet it was apparent that we had a similar problem with the fan belt. Only there was no fan belt. The bolt securing the renewed part of the engine had sheared off rendering us well and truly broken. Alex retrieved the fan belt from a short distance behind us and the rest of us scoured the road and verge for any possible sign of the bolt. No luck.

We were, however, extremely fortunate, for shortly after we came to rest a van pulled up in front of us and the driver could not have been more helpful, despite having a pregnant wife with him. He assessed the situation, attached a tow rope and stayed with us until a relief vehicle arrived two hours later. He even gave us succulent nectarines. He was certainly an angel and did far more than we could have dreamed of in the circumstances. After we left in a relief vehicle he towed our bus all the way to Osh where he had arranged for it to be repaired. Wow, you don’t come across people like that every day!

It was while we were waiting for our relief bus that I went for a bit of a wander, and in doing so came across at least five discarded Morrison’s plastic bags. I am determined to pursue this when I get home. I know they cannot be blamed for what people in Kyrgyzstan do with their bags but why are they here in the first place? Morrison’s bags can be seen everywhere in Kyrgyzstan, in all sorts of shops, and, worryingly, all along the road verge!

Osh is somewhere that I have wanted to go for some time. The city of Osh has been around for over three thousand years. It is a city well and truly entrenched in the Silk Road, a city of history, culture and religion. I had high expectations of Osh but I found it hugely disappointing. There was no old city, just a modern grid city. There were no iconic mosques, no earthen walls, no ancient Silk Road bazaars, just a modern, fairly featureless city. The only feature of interest was Suleiman-Too, a holy Muslim site. It is supposedly the throne of Solomon, but he was born and died in Israel and never visited Kyrgyzstan. Hence, as far as I am concerned, it lost some of its significance. It didn’t help that it was excruciatingly hot and we all felt incredibly uncomfortable. Looking down on to the city below, the dominant feature was roofs and little else.

Leaving Suleiman-Too, we headed for the bazaar. Unfortunately, this did not live up to expectation as we all had different desires. It had its interest and would have been better if we could have split up for an hour or so, but it was so vast, it would have been very easy to get lost. The majority of it was a lot of tat rather than the quality craft products we were hoping for. With some despondency we followed Alex back to the bus and went to the hotel to check in. Even that was a disappointment. It was a long way out of town, virtually confining is to the hotel. It seemed lifeless. There was nobody about; it didn’t have any buzz about it. The rooms were vast and comfortable. The restaurant food was good but had no atmosphere and was dominated by a television screen, which, as we were the only diners, asked to have turned off.

What a disappointment Osh was. We had travelled a long way to get there, not without some hardship, and it failed to deliver in the same way that the trekking and horse riding had.

It was with some relief that the following morning we flew back to Bishkek.

Even driving from the airport to the hotel it was easy to see that Bishkek has more to offer than Osh. Perhaps it should, but it’s buildings are more impressive, even if some of them are lady over from the Soviet era. There is more colour, more vibrancy, more life about Bishkek.

With a little time to spare before lunch, the priority was a cool down in the swimming pool, to soak nearly three weeks of travel away.

I then had a brief chat with Alex and Natalie. It was she with whom I had made all the plans with for this trip. Nothing was ever too much trouble for her and she has done a fantastic job on this occasion. I used it as an opportunity to give her some initial feedback on the various aspects which caused me some concern – basic facilities, quality of some of the accommodation for a group of this nature, litter and the protection of the environment etc. She asked if I had any plans to return with a group and I felt guilty when I replied, ‘not in the foreseeable future.’

For lunch we returned to Azure, the restaurant we visited on our first day, but this time we were much more confident in our choice of food. I still wasn’t brave enough to try the horse rectum!

Afterwards, we crossed the road to a small gift/antique shop to satisfy the shopping needs of the group. It proved a good decision as it avoided all the tat that tends to be on sale in more touristy shops. Guess what bags they put our goods in. Yes, Morrison’s!

Then, back to the hotel for another swim, a beer or two and a bit of relaxation before tomorrow’s flight home, which, I am sure will go smoothly and will not require comment.

So, to sum up this trip, I think it is safe to say that it has been a success. I don’t think everybody has found it easy at times, but I think it is important for people to leave their comfort zone occasionally, provided it is safe. People have faced their fears, tackled them head on and succeeded. It has been a trip of exceptional views, of wonderful experiences, of cultural immersion and, in hindsight, a lot of fun. I think everybody will look back on their Kyrgyzstan experiences with a sense of achievement, with fond memories of the welcoming and friendly Kyrgyz people and with some pride with what they have achieved. I certainly will.