I’ve been hyping up the Georgian Caucasus Mountains for a while now. Today we’re finally going to get out into them. We’ll be in the mountains for the entire 4 articles that we have remaining in Georgia, so buckle in kiddos! It’s gonna be a bumpy, windy road, and there will be vomit. But not today 😉

In the last article, we went to Sighnaghi, which was beautiful, but the whole experience was just a little more pedestrian than we wanted. And our insufferable tour group didn’t help one bit. We made a solemn vow to pit ourselves against the elements and travel like locals for the rest of our time in Georgia. And that starts right fucking now!

Marshrutkas: An Introduction

Time to introduce one of the most quintessential elements of a true Georgian travel experience: the marshrutka. A marshrutka is a sort of DIY Soviet bus that you can use to travel long distances at local prices inside Georgia. However, I should note that marshrutkas are not a Georgian thing, rather, they are a Soviet Union thing. Today this DIY form of transportation is a hold-over from Soviet times across nearly every former Soviet Socialist Republic (SSR). From Ukraine to Kyrgyzstan, when you need to get from A to B, the cheapest way to make the trip is via marshrutka. Here’s how they work…

Almost every city in former Soviet territory has an unofficial but universally agreed upon marshrutka “station.” Usually it’s attached to some other major transit hub like a formal bus or train station. Tbilisi’s marshrutka station, for instance, is in the parking lot of Didube Bus Station. When you arrive at a marshrutka station, there will be rows of vehicles (usually white vans, but it varies) each of which will have a sign on the dashboard with the name of the place that it is traveling to. In Tbilisi, some of it is written in Georgian script, but if a marshrutka is headed for somewhere known to be popular with travelers, there is often Roman script present as well. But the drivers usually find the passengers before they even have a chance to read the script — they’ll be running around the parking lot aggressively looking for people who need a ride to their destination until their vehicle is full.

The pricing structure is pretty universal, and works as follows. Every driver has an amount of money in their mind that they should be able to earn by driving to their destination, so they won’t leave until the price is right. It’s basically the going rate for a seat in a vehicle going to X destination, multiplied by the number of seats in a vehicle. I should note that drivers generally don’t care what circumstances lead to them getting the right price. They are trying to fill the vehicles as tightly as possible because that will afford each individual passenger the best price possible, and they can’t leave until everybody has agreed on the price per seat. BUT, sometimes that means sitting in a hot van for hours and hours waiting for the magic number of people to get in the van with you. In these situations, the driver will frequently check in with the people sitting in their van to see if they would be willing to pay a higher price per seat, because if the answer is yes, they’ll jump behind the wheel and leave right that very second. So it’s all a question of whether the passengers are more cheap than they are impatient, or the reverse.

Meanwhile, sometimes there are other marshrutka drivers competing for passengers going to the same destination. In these cases, you’ll see drivers trying to poach passengers from each other, with people trying to negotiate better prices out the back windows of their current vans. If there are two half-full vehicles sitting next to each other bound for the same destination, the passengers of one are likely to join the other because it will allow them to depart faster. Which driver will get the full van and which driver will get the empty van? Love is a battlefield. Still, other times marshrutka drivers will be more diplomatic and proactive and swap passengers like trading cards until they reach an arrangement where everybody is better off. Every van is like a grade school math problem on wheels. You could run some fascinating social experiments in marshrutka stations.

Catching My First Marshrutka

We arrived here early in the morning looking for a marshrutka bound for a place in the Caucasus mountains due north of Tbilisi called Kazbegi. I had never traveled via marshrutka before, but my little brother Joe had traveled through Kyrgyzstan, Kazakstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Azerbaijan in the months prior to his arrival here. So he was a pro. But still, there are nuances that need to be learned in each new country. As a general rule, when I have to enter these sort of negotiations in a new country, I never take the first offer. With no basis for comparison, it’s difficult to know if I’m getting ripped off or not. Once I get the lay of the land, it usually turns out that the first offer was not a good one. However, Tbilisi’s Didube marshrutka station turned out to be the exception to the rule. Here are some pictures I snapped from Didube Station. It’s really just a big parking lot.

Hopping out of our Yandex (Russian Uber), we were quickly approached by an old man offering a ride to Kazbegi in broken English. “Good price! Good price!” he repeated loudly. Yeah I doubt it. We kept walking. After walking the length of the station, there was only one other vehicle headed for Kazbegi. Most marshrutkas in this station were big white vans belonging to loud, surly, swarthy Georgian men, but this one was a Soviet-looking PT Cruiser with a small, unimposing 50-something year old Georgian woman. She offered us the same-ish price as the first person had. That confirmed to me that the first guy wasn’t trying to rip us off after all, but what I did not anticipate was what came next. This lady could NOT find any other passengers bound of Kazbegi. Joe and I sat in the back seat of her car for like 45 minutes watching her run around the station with a worried look on her face without so much as a nibble. Occasionally she would poke her head into the car to ask if we wanted to just pay the full price of the car, but each time we said no. People who travel more seriously (like us) pride themselves on figuring out how to pay local prices, so we were going to wait. I should mention that this women spoke basically zero English and we spoke almost zero Georgian, so these exchanges were not easy. But after 45 minutes had passed, we started doing some math. It was going to be like an extra $20 just to pay for the whole car. So we forked over the cash & we were on the road immediately.

By the end of the day, I had come to a couple of conclusions about marshrutkas. First, I actually don’t think this is a situation where you’re likely to get ripped off. Drivers have very little bargaining power because they have to negotiate with entire van-fulls of people at the same time. It’s like the passengers have a union. To best way for them to maximize profits is to driver back and forth from A to B as many time as they can in a day. So they need to fill their vehicles ASAP, and price-gouging people will only slow them down. Second, in this spirit, we should have gone with the first guy. It would have been cheaper and faster. Oh well.

For the record, the correct price for a marshrutka from Tbilisi to Kazbegi (give or take a few shekels) is 10 Lari (~3.50 USD).

Here’s the route we took with our PT cruiser marshrutka. It’s 157 kilometers / 98 miles and a ~2 hour from Tbilisi, and mere 12 miles from Russia. But it’s at the heart of the Caucasus Mountains!

The Road to Kazbegi

Driving out of Tbilisi, the terrain changed quickly. Soon we found ourselves winding our way between misty green giants. The ominous clouds swirling overhead were threatening to rain at any moment, and the hot air air was thick with moisture. It all fit the bill perfectly for what I picture from former Soviet territory. Just lots of scary cloud formations.

I had resigned myself to not being able to stop anywhere along the way for photo-opps, but given that there were only 3 of us in the car, the woman driving us surprised us when we she slowed to a stop at a clearing. In the spot, there turned out to be a massive lake tucked between the mountains, as well as very old and dreary-looking castle. While our driver went to the restroom and smoked a cigarette, we took a quick stroll through the castle grounds and down to the shore of the lake. It wasn’t exactly a beach, but that wasn’t stopping people from treating it like one. People were swimming and walking around in their bathing suits down there. It looked like pictures of seen from Soviet beaches in the 1980s. Not exactly a beach destination, but people still laid out to tan on the gravely shores of lakes and ponds wherever they could be found. This felt very much like that. Plus a big random castle.

Later research would reveal that the name of this like is Zhinvali Reservoir and the name of this castle is Ananuri Castle. The castle was built in the 13th century and was apparently the site of a bunch of bloody battles. But that’s just a foot note in today’s adventure. Here’s some pics:

Onwards we climbed! From here the terrain got much more intense. Clouds danced through the trees at every hill and valley. The drop-offs of the cliffs we were driving along became more and more severe until my palms were sweating. And where we were not precariously clinging to the side of a mountain face, there started to be lines of semi-trucks lined up on and off. I believe they were waiting to cross the Russian border.

Just as the scenery became truly mind-blowing (and the heights became truly terrifying) we drove straight into the side of a cloud. Honestly, this might have been one of the thickest fogs I have ever experienced. The only thing that rivals it that comes to mind is my roadtrip through Iceland’s Westfjords, which I also did with my brother. I think this was more intense though. I could tell that that there was a CRAZY drop-off just a few feet from the side of our car, but I couldn’t see anything. Just white swirls of fog and wind. As we reached the top of the mountain and began to see ground on both side of the car again, the rain set in. The fog and rain continued on and off until we reach our destination. There were brief moments of sunlight illuminating jagged ridges, small towns, and bright green grass dotted with pieces of ice and snow determined to outlast the Georgian summer. It was gorgeous… until we drove into the next fog bank. And that’s pretty much how it went all they way up to Kazbegi. Here are some pictures from the drive…

Stepantsminda & Kazbegi

Finally, we arrived at our destination. Before we re-enter our narrative, let me introduce you to the famous Georgian mountain town of Kazbegi. It’s basically just famous because the mountain peak that towers over this little town is particularly dramatic and maintains a snowcap year round. This is Mount Kazbek. In short, it’s super pretty! Everybody I had brushed elbows with up to this point in my trip recommended Kazbegi profusely. So the first thing I should tell you about Kazbegi is that it’s apparently not called Kazbegi anymore. The new name for this town is Stepantsminda, which is decidedly less catchy. It’s Georgian for “St. Stephen.” Anyway, people still call this place Kazbegi. It takes a few generations for a name change to really stick. That’s why people still call Ho Chi Minh City by the name “Saigon.” That’s why my grandparents called Mumbai by the name “Bombay.” The list goes on.

Anyway, when we rolled into the main square of —*ahem*— Stepantsminda, it was pouring rain. After some struggle, we realized that the woman was asking us if we’d like her to drive us to the top of the mountain. She said she could also wait for us and drive us back to Tbilisi later in the day. The elements were looking pretty grim, but we didn’t go through all this hassle only to get to the trail head and then opt to be driven up the mountain instead. We told her “thanks but no thanks,” and then with a grimace, I pushed open the door to the rain.

The rain was COLD. And it was heavy. In the time it took me to run to the trunk and dig out my raincoat, I was already soaked. Nevertheless, we took our packs under our ponchos, and set off up the road towards where we assumed there would be trail head. I’m not certain how we knew where we were going, but I remember feeling quite sure of myself. After 25 or 30 minutes of walking uphill on paved roads, we arrived at a charming little restaurant at the base of the actual mountain. We decided to stop for lunch and hopefully let the rain pass. The thing about the mountains—no matter where in the world you are—is that weather moves in and out quite frequently. If it’s raining at the start of your day, you can’t let that dissuade you. Odds are better than you think that the rain will clear up. So we ordered some Khinkali (pictured below) and chilled for a while. Sure enough, the weather cleared up! Also pictured below is a snapshot of a photo of Mount Kazbek that was hanging on the wall of this restaurant. That’s what we were sitting at the base of, and we were about to climb up to the church on the smaller peak in the foreground.

Honestly, I couldn’t believe how great the timing of this weather worked out for us. No sooner had our feet hit the trail than the clouds suddenly began to move off. As the sun reappeared overhead, suddenly the grass around us lit up. The colors were so bright! The path itself was actually quite difficult. It wasn’t long, but it was straight uphill. I wasn’t sure if it could be considered a difficult trail or if I was just suffering from the altitude and being out of shape. My brother, who is actually really into hiking, confirmed this was hard. We had to take a pretty slow pace with frequent stops.

The elevation definitely played a major role here. Our destination was a small church called Gergeti Trinity Church. It sits at an elevation of 2,170 meters (7,120 feet), which isn’t insane, but it’s not nothing. We had been in Tbilisi just a few hours ago, which, at its highest point, is 770 meters (2,530 feet) above sea level. So this was a substantial change.

I was winded, but the scenery seemed to become more beautiful with every twist and turn of the path. The grass was just such a brilliant shade of green. The patches of wildflowers scattered through this rolling sea of green really accented the whole thing. And the skies were baby blue with beautiful white clouds moving quickly overhead. It felt like a scene out of Miyazaki’s Howl’s Moving Castle, except at a MUCH steeper incline. Here are some pictures I snapped of the ascent:

Finally, we arrived at Gergeti Trinity Church. Sure enough, there was, indeed a road that led straight here. I was winded, but I was glad that we did this on foot. That was the whole point. Unfortunately, the peak of Mount Kazbek was shrouded in cloud. There are a few pictures in the gallery above where you can start to see the snowcap peaking out from the behind the clouds. I can’t even imagine how dramatic this hike would have been if that peak had been fully visible. I could tell there was a lot of snow on the otherside of those clouds.

The view from the church was pretty amazing in its own rite. A cold wind howled and whistled all around us, but I didn’t mind. I had worked up quite a sweat hauling my pasty white ass up the side of this mountain. I went into the church and sneakily snapped a picture of a monk who was studying there. It was a little blurry so I was getting ready to try again, but before I could act, I was kicked out for wearing shorts. The Georgian Orthodox Church takes leg coverage quite seriously. Whatever. I was here for the views. Check out this scene…

From there it was tough climb back down to Stepantsminda. My knees hurt. But the scenery wasn’t any less gorgeous the second time around. Eventually we found our way back to the trail head. From there we began the second leg of our journey back to the town of Stepantsminda. Except this time, it wasn’t pouring rain. That enabled us to actually take in the scenery around us. It was a charming little town. It was definitely more what I was picturing Georgia to be. Nearly all roads leading away from the main paved street down which we were walking were dirt and rock. The houses were mostly made of stone, with old Soviet cars parked out front. Through the fences and windows of these houses we would see old Georgian women hanging clothes on clotheslines to dry or tending to young children. It was actually a really cool walk. I snapped lots of pictures.

Finally, we walked back into the main square of Stepantsminda when a line of marshrutkas was waiting. Basically all of them were headed to Tbilisi. We happily jumped into the first van that appeared to us. We were the only ones in it so we were prepared to wait for a while. After a while, it became evident that there was another van competing for passengers and winning. It wasn’t long before it reached the magic number and left. It seemed that we might have bet on the wrong horse.

There was a Japanese girl who wandered into the square and briefly sat in our van. The driver was trying to communicate with her but she wasn’t getting it so I stepped in to assist. She seemed sure she could save 3 Lari by taking another van instead. We were close to being able to leave, so I was really trying to get her not to leave the van. But in the end, she left so that she could save about 1 USD on a different ride. Honestly, I don’t think it’ll make me sound too privileged to admit that I was really frustrated by the end of my conversation with her. IT’S 1 DOLLAR. I was starting to feel sorry for marshrutka drivers. They’re like politicians! They need to get everybody on the same team in order to make anything happen. So for the next 30 minutes as the driver ran around the square looking for other passengers to take to Tbilisi, while my brother and I made it clear we weren’t going to pay for for the whole vehicle, we also assured him we weren’t going to bail on him, which I think he appreciated. Here’s actual footage of us using sign language let our driver know we were sticking with him:

I don’t think we had a full vehicle when our driver finally decided to leave. He was looking pretty defeated. He didn’t say a word the whole 2 hours back to Tbilisi. I was riding shotgun so I put in my headphones and snapped some pictures on the way back.

Yeah Kazbegi was pretty cool. I wish we would have caught a full glimpse of Mount Kazbek, but luckily our time in the Caucasus mountains was only just beginning. We were only able to get up to Kazbegi because we ended up with a few extra days in our itinerary. If we had been more pressed for time, I would have probably cut this from the itinerary in favor of basing a more extended stay in the mountains out of a small town called Mestia based on the western side of Georgia’s Caucausus range. I didn’t have terribly high expectations for Kazbegi, but it really blew my mind! This was a really fun day trip and really set the tone for what was to come!

Up next, we’ll make the long passage from Tbilisi up into the fairytale region of Svaneti.

GET READY.