Georgia

I arrived from Azerbaijan last night to the border town of Lagodekhi, and after spending the morning having a look round and sorting out the usual new-country jobs of buying a sim card and acquiring some local currency, I set off on the short ride South West to the hill fort and monastery town of Sighnaghi. Although only 40kms, it ends in a good hard uphill workout, rising to a fortified citadel.

At the hostel I had booked in to, is another long-distance cyclist. Like me he is from the UK, like me he is mixed race with a good dose of British Blood and some Indian blood too, also like me he has been making his living in Asia in the music world - in his case, playing Scottish and Irish folk music in Hong Kong and Vietnam. Small world.

Louis and I ride on together to Tbilisi, a rolling day over some medium-sized hills, and onwards to Fabrika Hostel, a very hip and trendy former soviet-era sewing factory, decorated and renovated in a Hipsta-style for which I feel like I'm definitely too untrendy for!

I have a choice now. I must be in Kutaisi in the West of the country in a few days, to fly back to the UK. My insurance will expire soon, unless I plant a flag back home, and start a "new trip". Several weeks ago, I managed to bag return (5-hour) flights for just over forty pounds, and guessed roughly when I would be in Kutaisi (not knowing I would lose a week in Azerbaijan to injury). My best choices now are either to ride hard every day and get to Kutaisi in time for my flights; or take a few days off in Tbilisi, from where direct buses and trains go to Kutaisi, some even directly  to the airport.

There are so many stars on my google map between here and Kutaisi (stars mark the places where I've been advised are unmissable destinations, or have read about with interest, online or in guide books, or were already on my bucket list). It would be a shame to rattle through all of them without so much as a headturn, so I go for the second option. I will leave the bike in the capital whilst I'm back in the UK, and return to the same point, and then take time to visit at least a few of the Georgia's historical, geographical and cultural gems along my way.

Tbilisi was well worth giving a few days over to too, with many interesting sites, good food and wine, good company (I hung out with Louis until he left for Turkey, Eliza from Kyrgyzstan, and several Russians), and I also had another chance to go to an English language International Church, the Tbilisi International Church. It's good to be able to encourage fellow Christians along my journey, and also a really good learning experience to discover what challenges are facing Christians around the world, and here I'm faced with a few people living in Georgia because they are escaping persecution in Iran because of their faith, or unable to carry out their desire to live and work in Iran, because of restrictions. Even though meeting people faced with this persecution, I feel as though the religious demographics have shifted in my last 150kms - through Azerbaijan, there are several extremely old church buildings, but the population is largely Muslim. Now, in Georgia, finally I'm back in Christendom!

The flight out is uneventful and it's good to catch up with a few London friends (School days/fellow ceilidh band members Mike, Chris, and Chris's family; Edinburgh church and Munro bagging friend Richard and his family; and Uni friend Mark), but it is a short trip and before I know it, it's back on the plane and back to Georgia.

I did a bit of online shopping and got some things delivered to Mark, which led to the return flight being a little more eventful than the outward one. At some point I knock a remote control switch in the bottom of my small backpack. There is a series of loud bleeps. I instantly realise what it is and in horror quickly try to unpack my bag and get to the offending item, probably letting out a few exasperated noises as I do so. The surrounding passengers are all looking at me nervously - it probably doesn't help that I look potentially a bit Muslim-y. As much as I try to get to the remote rapidly, I just don't make it in time. It is the control for a motion sensor bicycle anti-theft alarm, and a high pierced siren fills the cabin. The nervous looks of the few turn into looks of panic of the many. I fumble at first, and then manage to turn it off "Sorry! Sorry! It's just a bike alarm."

Riding through Georgia is a history-buff's dream. Every corner or hilltop reveals another 1500 year old monastery, or stone-age settlement, or interesting communist-era carbuncle. Just a few of my highlights are the former capital of Mestia with it's ancient cathedral and monasteries; even older Uplistsikhe troglodite dwellings, and the Gelati monastery/Bagrati cathedral near Kutaisi.

On the other side of the equation is the quality of the cycling. Yes the scenery is fantastic and the history impressive, and the food excellent, but the reasonably good main roads have no shoulder, and a number of drivers don't seem to have learned basic common sense driving manners, making these roads not much fun. Smaller roads occasionally start out well but nearly always end in unsurfaced roads, often with horrible thick cloying mud, that bring me to a complete standstill as they quickly gather snowball-style on my wheels and then form a concrete-like glue welding my wheels to my mudguards, requiring an hour or 2 of pain-staking cleaning and unclogging just to be able to move again. The brief moments when the main roads are not busy, or when the quiet roads are well-surfaced, are idyllic, but those moments of cycling bliss are rare. So I would rate Georgia as a super country to visit, but a B-list country for cycle-touring.

Another more sour moment creeped in on my final day in Georgia - I ended up by accident at the back gate of the huge botanical gardens just outside the seaside-town-on-steroids port of Batumi, and am told that camping is allowed for a fee. I pay my 20 Lari (cheap by western standards but twice the price of a proper bed in a private room in some guesthouses in Georgia), and spend the night there, alongside another cycle tourist - Michael from Germany, who shows up from the opposite direction just before sunset.

The next day I leave out of the front gate a few kms from the back gate through which I entered. As I reach the gate one of the security guards throws himself at me and aggressively tells me "ticket! ticket! TICKET!". My ticket isn't readily to hand, so I go to prop my bike up next to a bench so I can open up my bags to get my ticket and the "gorilla" grabs my bike wing mirror and snaps it clean off. I'm obviously very unhappy about this and make my feelings known. Soon the head of security arrives. He's not a lot better, but thankfully a Russian lady with very good English arrives and is able to act as a translator.

The head of security is telling me I didn't pay for camping so I need to pay again. I start to look for the ticket, and can't find it. I'm very upset - the one guy has smashed my mirror, and the other one is accusing me of being a cheat and a lier and a thief. The head guy is telling me that if I don't pay the fee he will prosecute me for riding my bike in the park which he has on camera, apparently this is forbidden, though the security guard on the back gate led me into the park and all the way to the campsite with me on the bike, and about a dozen staff that I've passed in the park haven't said a word to me about not riding a bike in the gardens. I ask him to contact the guard from the back gate who will surely remember me and vouch for my having paid - he was a nice guy and we had a long conversation. The head security guy of course refuses to do this, just repeating his line - pay up or we get the police in to fine you for riding in the park. It's not that much money, but I'm extremely worked up about the gorilla breaking my mirror and the aggressive and accusatory nature of the security head. In the end the easiest thing to do is to pay the fee. I snap a couple of photos of the offending parties and let them know that they will be appearing on my blog (it's good therapy for me to work my way through the bad experiences by blogging them!). I will send a link to this post to the botanical gardens and await their response.

By the time I reach the border, I think I've got over it, but I'm reminded every few minutes as I glance at the space where my mirror used to be, to make sure there isn't one of the crazier local drivers about to mow me down, for now I'll have to make do with instinct and frequent backward glances. It's always a shame when an otherwise good visit to a country is spoiled by 1 or 2 individuals. Anyway - onwards to Turkey!