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The resort town of Mineralnye Vody (34 photos)

Crimean glade. Polyana, Crimea

Dzhemete village: beaches and rest

Caucasian pyramid Mountains tuzluk sinh and others

What kind of trip is complete without photographs? From Kazbek to Ararat. Fortified villages of Khevsureti: Shatili and Mutso Khevsureti on the map of Georgia

Of all the places visited in Georgia, the fortresses-settlements Shatili and Mutso made the greatest impression on us. Now, a month and a half after the trip, when remembering Georgia, these two fortified villages in the Argun Gorge on the very border with Chechnya are most often imagined. I recall a difficult road on which we proportioned two wheels with a knife-sharp slate. I recall the Bear Cross Pass with treeless mountains on both sides of the pass. Serpentines of broken-down roads, washed away by mountain streams. Fortified houses of three or four floors, in which no one lives. Crypts and towers on the rocks ...
Yes, there are many beautiful places in Georgia, but Khevsureti, if not the most beautiful, then certainly the most unusual region in Georgia.

The road to Shatili and Mutso is a separate attraction for which you need to be prepared. It is passable only from May to September. The one-kilometer-long road starts from the Zhinvali reservoir, which was built in the 1970s to provide Tbilisi with drinking water. At the same time, villages, ancient temples and monasteries were under water.

The first kilometers of the road are bearable, there are even pieces of quite decent asphalt. The road, skirting the reservoir, winds from coast to coast along the Aragvi River. Occasionally there are villages that are quite lively and well-groomed.

Soon the Khevsureti Aragvi flows into the Pshav Aragvi, the confluence is marked by a sculpture of an eagle.

A little later we enter Khevsureti (Khevsuria). The road begins to climb the mountains and gradually becomes more and more killed. The surrounding landscape, meanwhile, continues to delight.

We pass the abandoned building: the skeletons of houses and three tunnels made in the mountains.

I went into one of the tunnels - fetid waters flowed along the bottom, the desire to continue further inspection of the adit immediately disappeared.

These dead-end tunnels are the remnants of a grandiose Soviet project that never came to fruition. In 1984, a decision was made, approved by C.W. Chernenko, on the construction of the Transcaucasian transshipment railway. This branch was supposed to become the new BAM and connect Vladikavkaz and Tbilisi. It was planned to pierce the longest tunnel in the Soviet Union, under the Main Caucasian Ridge, about 35 km long. The work began to be carried out very actively, even changed the river bed in front of the tunnel, but in 1988 it was changed.
So the abandoned tunnels remained standing as a monument to the Soviet unfinished.

We slowly climb the pass, stopping every now and then for photo shoots.

At one of the stops we were overtaken by a handsome young horseman. We will see him again the next day in Mutso, at the end of the road. The horse is the most suitable means of transportation here.

Passing cars greet each other. "Brotherhood of Shatili", as we called the community of people who were imbued with the mountains and gorges of Khevsuria.

By the way, we were quite surprised by the number of cars on the way to Shatili, we thought that there were absolutely wild places here. And here the cars are one by one.

The mountains go bald as they climb, snow-capped peaks appear, however, most of the time they are hidden by clouds.

There is a small parking lot near the Medvezhiy Krest pass. We leave the car there and go up the steep path to the highest point of the pass - 2700 meters. At the highest point, there is a metal structure of several intertwined crosses; in the middle, a bell hangs on chains. We call, take pictures for offset :)

From the pass a view of Outer Khevsuretia opens. This is the North Caucasus. It would be easier to get here from Chechnya than from Georgia, if not for the border. And so already in September the road is closed and the area is cut off from the rest of the world.

After the pass, the road starts to deteriorate significantly. Increasingly, the surface of the primer consists of insidious slate, sharp as a razor, and then traces of landslides are visible, real rivers flow across the road.

The terrain is changing too. Where has frivolous habitable Georgia gone? Here the mountains are frighteningly deserted, and an incomprehensible anxiety is spread in the air.

Only the numerous flocks of sheep, from a height similar to the chaotically moving rice grains, show that people are here, at least in the summer.

We pass the Lebaiskari tower. They write that it is similar in shape to the Ingush towers, but so far we have nothing to compare with.

Soon we descend into the Argun Gorge. Argun, sandwiched between the rocks, roars and swirls. Very soon, its waters will end up in Russia, and then they will flow into the muddy Terek.

We drove fifteen kilometers from the pass to Shatili for over an hour. And finally we see the purpose of the trip - the fortress village Shatili. Due to the mossy color of the houses, the village almost merges with the surrounding mountains.

The Shatili fortress was built at the confluence of the Shatilistskali river with the Argun.

The main function of the village is defensive. But they also lived here, so the houses and towers are built in such a way that you can safely move from one building to another without going outside.

The towers are made of slate slates without any binder solution. The village faces north towards Chechnya.

The houses are two, three and even four and five stories high. On the first floor, residents kept cattle, on the second, goats and sheep lived, and the third was occupied by the owners themselves, keeping hay stocks here.

The houses are mostly uninhabited, one of them has a guest house, three or four are inhabited, and all the other houses and towers are open to visitors.

No prohibitive signs about dilapidated stairs and cliffs, no signs and explanations, as it would be in Europe. Everything is at your own risk and absolutely free.

In addition, some of the rooms still contain household and household utensils. All this gives the impression of the "realness" of the place, as if it was the century before last, you went to visit the owners, and they left for a minute.

However, we walked through the labyrinths of the village the very next morning. The day turned out to be difficult, arriving in Shatili, we set up a camp on the banks of the Argun and the rest of the evening indulged in rest.

And in the morning they found a wheel standing on the rim: ((Putting the spare tire on, we went for a walk through the labyrinths of Shatili.

The inhabitants of Shatili, the warlike Khevsurs, always shunned the rest of the world, lived cut off from it. Without reliable guides and security, it was not worth even getting close to these places.

Memories of the traveler and journalist Zinaida Richter, who visited here in 1923, have been preserved. When she asked for a guide in Shatili, the locals in Barisakho told her: "We are very glad to see you, live with us, but we cannot see you off to Shatili, since we do not go there ourselves. The people of Shatila will kill both us and you."
And only when the stubborn woman said that since the local men are such cowards, they need to wear a skirt, and she will go alone, they saw her off. At night.

It should be noted here that during the events described, the militant Khevsurs quarreled with the inhabitants of Barisakho and for nine years (!!!) were cut off from the outside world. At all, that is, not a single person from the outside world appeared during this time in Shatili! And when Richter ended up in Shatili, the Khevsurs asked: "Who is the king now?" And they were a lot surprised to learn that the tsar is already six years old, but there is the power of the Soviets :))

There were two major battles near the walls of Shatili: in 1813, when the village was burned down, and in 1843, when the Shatilites managed to fight off the troops of Imam Shamil. Moreover, in the latter case, the Khevsurs killed 100 people, losing only two.

The defeated enemies of the Khevsurs (translated from Chechen - the inhabitants of the glaciers) cut off their hands and nailed them to the doors of their houses. Back in the thirties of the last century, dried hands adorned the entrances to dwellings.

The ability to fight with melee weapons has always been considered the main advantage of a man, and enemies did not always attack, so some of the skills spilled out in local conflicts. It rarely came to serious wounds, and even more so to murder in rural skirmishes - to injure heavily was considered an inability and even cowardice. The highest skill is to just scratch the face slightly. There was a kind of price list for the wounds inflicted. The barley grains, which fit into the cut, were the yardstick. Every grain is a ram.

It is also curious how the local healers got rid of the pain:
“If the wound is visible, it must be cleaned and prepared for the operation. If there is no wound, but the person has a headache, you need to find a sore spot. For this, dough was placed on the head. It dries faster on a sore spot. Here it was necessary to cut the skin crosswise, separate it with a spatula, bending it away from the skull, and clean the bone with an iron scraper. Sometimes I had to scrape right down to my brain. "

And this is completely beyond the bounds:
The Shatil people have a protected forest, which they call the Forest of Divine Grace. Every adult Shatilla enters this forest once a year. The Shatila man does it on a strictly defined day, which is known. The first to enter the forest are shatilki - local female representatives, wearing the most magnificent clothes. They then, however, take them off, take them in their hands and put them under one or another tree standing in the indicated forest. After that, male representatives of the village of Shatil come to the same place - to the place where the women are already. The very first female representative that one or another Shatil man who enters the Forest of Mercy sees, must become his woman there. This condition, moreover, should continue all day.
It is possible, at the same time, that the last one - the one who sits in the forest - will turn out to be the mother of the Shatila man approaching her. It is also possible that the female representative seen will turn out to be his daughter or his sister, or, finally, his wife. In any case, this man, who entered the Forest of Mercy, must copulate there with the woman whom he saw first in the named forest. After that, all of them, the Shatilians, who were then in the Forest of Mercy, return to their village - in the evening, having performed the designated form of copulation.

Although, most likely, this is a legend invented by the defeated Chechens.

Shatili is now actively recovering. For example, they made new balconies, some of them seem to be not balconies at all, but restored toilets.

Shatili claims to be included in the list of World Heritage Sites, which, in my opinion, is a double-edged sword - they will make the road, the number of visitors will increase significantly, the visit will be paid, the aura of the place will disappear.

By the way, some time ago Saakashvili was already offered to make a decent road here. He refused, arguing that Chechens would immediately come to Georgia along the restored road :))

In the meantime, we drove to Mutso, to which there is still 12 kilometers of bad road from Shatili.

PASS BEARS.

It happens - fine, exhausting rain all day long. It's boring when you're at home and looking out the window. But it is disgusting if you, together with your tourist group, move along the route through the Eastern Sayan Mountains. It is good if you have not reached the pass and you do not need to climb up, sliding on wet stones. However, in the forest belt, along the mountain river Ky-Zyr-Suk, walking along the animal paths, squishing with shoes full of water - during this period there is no pleasure. Clothes do not dry out and from the bushes, when you walk, new streams of water break off on you every now and then. There is only one salvation - to go as quickly as possible and to act more energetically in everything. Only in motion is life. Only in this way will you be saved from colds and will not lose courage.
At the parking lot, the first thing you do is prepare firewood. Yes, not the ones that lie under your feet - these are wet through and through and will not burn anyway. Take only dead wood, which will glow even under the most pouring rain. After that, put up tents, and let the attendants prepare food. Before going to bed, you need to change into dry clothes. Then climb into the tent and, warming up against each other, switch off until morning.
One such evening, going to bed in a wet tent, I argued with Pashka for three liters of juice that in the morning we would see the sun. I argued out of despair and anger in order to drive away and budge the apathy creeping up to all of us. And Pashka was guaranteed 100% success. He was triumphant and swallowed saliva, although in order to get his prize he had to go along the most difficult route along the Aradan and Ergaki mountain ranges, take several passes and get out into the civilized world to reach the nearest store.
But in the morning - lo and behold! - the first thing we saw looking out of the tent was the sun, as ingenuous as a baby, smiling at us through the wet eyelashes of the pine trees. Our mood has changed, as has the weather, and even an unexpected loss did not upset Pashka.
The weather cleared up just in time. From the forest belt, we went to the stone belt of mountain passes. They were located one after the other - Snowy, Bear and the Banner of Youth.
We overcame the Snezhny pass without any particular obstacles. On its flat ridge in some places, justifying the name, despite the height of summer, several islands of snow turned blue. And it was all the more surprising that the height above sea level hardly reached 2 thousand meters.
We took this pass without incident, paying attention in passing to the fact that the tracks of bear paws were clearly imprinted on the hardened old snow. At this time, bears are not aggressive. We have come across such "business cards" as this one before. Even below, in the forest thicket, surprises could be expected. And here, where there was no vegetation, but only bare stones, we did not attach serious importance to this circumstance.
The Bear Pass was not far away in the midst of mountain circuses. We walked over the stones quite a bit when it opened up in front of us. We were separated from it only by a magnificent mountain lake - transparent and cold through and through. In such lakes there is no vegetation, and nothing living is found. From one edge it was shallow and across it, straight to the pass, a natural bridge of boulders led. On the slope in front of the lake, there was a small dry and skinny bush.
- Let's break the twigs here, cross the lake, make a fire, have lunch and take the pass! - said the leader of our group. It was already past noon. As soon as the food was recalled, everyone's stomachs grumbled with joy.
We quickly piled up two armfuls of dry and brittle twigs, and the attendants - Pashka and Ksenia - crossed the bridge of stones across the lake to the pass to light a fire and set up the cauldrons. While they were crossing, we broke some more bushes and moved after them.
Suddenly one of us, looking ahead, said in an ordinary voice: "Oh, bear!"
We followed the direction of his gaze and were stunned. Ksenia and Pashka had already crossed the lake (it was 200 meters up to them) and were climbing with armfuls of brushwood and boilers to a small hill. On the other hand, a hefty brown bear was walking slowly towards the same hill towards them, invisible to them, but visible to us. Before an accidental meeting, there were 10-15 seconds left.
- Back! - we yelled in chorus, without saying a word - and our wild scream echoed over the mountain peaks.
Neither Ksenia nor Pashka really understood anything. However, from the tone of our cry, they sensed that something terrible was happening. Oksanka threw brushwood on the stones and rushed, not looking back at us. Pashka, after her, was also about to abandon his armful and cauldrons, ran a few steps and suddenly turned back. Again he picked up both and, already with a load, ran over to us.
The bear, obviously frightened by our terrible cry, did not hesitate to rush through the pass. For 30 minutes, measuring by the clock, we looked with envy at his energetic figure, reduced in distance, which never stopped climbing (we should run at such a speed!). It took us about 4 hours to repeat the same ascent after him.
Crossing this pass, I broke my guitar. It was tightly fitted at the back of my backpack. I walked and peered anxiously behind the spurs of stones - was not our recent acquaintance hiding there? I stumbled and rode a dozen meters on my back.
At the highest point of the pass, near a tour made of stones, where tourist groups leave notes (packed in waterproof containers, information about themselves) and put the fragments of our traveling musical instrument as a memory of this accidental meeting.

In the morning, we were going to leave early, but it turned out that the shop that had been used to eat khinkali was closed. In general, everything is closed. Koba went to look for where to eat - but then, luckily for us, this shop opened. We were fed "spicy soup" - something like hot, only more broth. While they were eating - they saw that the inhabitants were going somewhere with brooms and rakes - Koba said that they clean the city on Saturdays.

We left in the direction of Khevsureti.

We drove along the eastern bank of the Zhinvali reservoir to the north, then further into the mountains, to the northeast.

The road was sometimes asphalt, sometimes country.

Koba said that a holiday is taking place in the mountains in Khevsureti these days.
People climb high up the mountain to the sanctuary, where the priest reads a prayer, but not a standard one, but a local one, with a mention of local heroes (as Koba admitted, the higher the mountains, the more Christianity is mixed with ancient pagan traditions), and then they go down to the village to drink and walk. During the festivities, there are also many local rituals (like stealing someone's things and hiding them). Brother Koba with all his 5 children went to this holiday, but we did not have time for it.

But, according to Koba, we can catch a holiday in memory of the Georgian poet Vasha Pshavela in the village of Chargali. We stopped at Chargali, but there was no holiday - we were told that it would be tomorrow. We visited the Vasha Pshavela Museum - a small rural house with details of rural life of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

We arrived at the village of Korsha. Everything. The buses do not go further. Further - only minibuses, and even those not regularly - when a full car is typed and only in summer and early autumn.
In Korsh we saw the Khevsurian ethnographic museum - household items, Khevsurian clothes.

Koba shows us the tunnels - in Soviet times, they began to make railway tunnels to Chechnya, but they did not have time. So the abandoned ones stand. According to Koba, there are many such completed and unfinished, but equally abandoned Soviet industrial facilities. Someday, I think, someone will make a restaurant or a hotel there.

We begin to climb to the village of Roshka. The ascent along the serpentine from a deep gorge, 7 km, takes an hour. The road is pits and stones.

On the way, we hardly go around a stuck minibus with Georgian students.

In Roshka, several cars and minibuses are parked near the beginning of the route - you can see that the place is popular. There are tents nearby.
As Koba said, there are no electric wires going to the village - they have their own small hydroelectric power station here.
Most of the inhabitants of the village leave it in winter, but a few families remain to look after the farm.

We went out on the trail to the Abudelaur lakes. We immediately saw that the landscape is different from the Juta region - there are many large stones. Handsomely. Clouds hang over the mountains.

The trail goes up all the time. It's not very hard, but it's hard to maintain a high pace. Because of the rubbed legs, Lena is not in boots, but in sneakers.

On the way, we talked with a Georgian family. It turned out that we are going to the same Chaukhi mountain, to which we went yesterday from Juta, but from the other side. I didn't know!
Moreover, there is a two-day route from Juta to Roshka through the pass. Those. we already pass most of it in two days.
If I knew about this in advance, and if I somehow solved the problems with logistics (where can I get a tent for 1 day?), I would have to get from Kazbegi to Khevsureti just like that!

We reach the lakes. The first is small, we go further and see the next - a blue lake with fantastic reflections of mountains in it. Chaukhi, glacier, clouds.

There are a lot of Georgian youth near the lake.

Soon a large group of these young people are removed from their seats and continue along the path. To the pass?
As it turned out later, there was another lake further there - White, but we did not know about it :(

We take a break from a quick climb, have a snack, take pictures.

In half an hour we move back. Lena manages to twist her leg halfway and go back not quickly.
The whole way back and forth took 5 hours (if not for the leg, it would have been a little more than 4x).

On our way back we met the very same students from the stuck minibus on the trail. Then, Koba told us that the rubber bands on which the engine was hanging were torn at the bus and the driver tied him with ropes. While the students run back and forth, they will fix it with other drivers.

We go back to the track. On the way we meet men in the first Zhiguli ("penny").
They drove along this road for some kind of holiday. Previously, they had not been here and did not know what kind of road it was. They got stuck hopelessly - their rubber bands, on which the engine was hanging, also torn. In general, on the car (1975!), Everything is tied up with strings or glued with electrical tape. We help them to pull the car off the road so that it does not interfere with the passage.
Guys complain to me about the economic situation in Georgia.
We tell you that we are from Israel. They say they are aware that we are at war now. Saying goodbye, they wish us peace and, in gratitude for the help, everyone KISSES me and Koba.

Let's go further. This is the lower Khevsureti, up to the pass. We rise to the pass, we go slowly - 20 kilometers per hour. Gradually the forest on the hills gives way to stunning green hills. And all this against the backdrop of an incredible sunset.
I try to photograph, but it is obvious that this beauty is impossible to convey.

I think this climb to the Bear Cross was one of the most amazing moments of the entire trip. It was incredibly beautiful.

We stop at the pass (altitude 2800m). On one side of the pass - green hills and sunset, on the other - thick fog.
Lena never got out of the car (she was cold), but I stood there as if enchanted.

We stood for 10 minutes and began to descend.
They went down below the clouds and opened the same green hills, went down below - there is a forest, rocks, a mountain river.

We drove from Roshka about 5 hours, probably despite the fact that it is 50 km.

On the way, Koba decided to fish. We stopped under a watchtower near the river and he was throwing a net - a special net with weights below - it’s somehow very difficult to throw it.

We arrived in Shatili in the dark.

We settled in the guesthouse (50 GEL per person, including breakfast and dinner, shower and toilet not in the room), bathed and dined.
For dinner, the hozayka prepared (right in front of us) khinkali, chizhi-byzh, a standard salad (tomatoes, parsley, onions), and something else, and they took from her half a liter of chacha (a liter - 10 lari).

Lena soon went to bed, and Koba and I drank chacha and talked about business prospects.
According to him, there are wild interest rates on loans in Georgia (15-20 %%), so you can open a guesthouse or a restaurant or something else only with your own money, which is not enough for this.
I advised him to hire drivers - those who, unlike Koba, do not know how to look for foreign clients.

Now, sorting through the photos and remembering the trip, I think it was the best day in Georgia.
And I remember the Bear Cross Pass much more than other, even more impressive places.

At the moment, I have written more than forty detailed reports on the sights of Georgia, in my archives there are twenty more posts waiting in the wings. And if I cannot yet say that I have crawled the whole country up and down, then the main thing that a tourist should see, I saw. From my experience I can say that Shatili and especially the road through the Bear Cross Pass is the most beautiful thing in Georgia. If we compare it with the more advertised Svaneti, then in my opinion it is even more spectacular here, although the nature is completely different and it is better not to make a choice between these remote areas, but to go to both places. However, Shatili has one important advantage: you can go here for a day from Tbilisi, unlike Svaneti, to visit which you should have a few days in stock.

I will begin this story at the dam of the Zhinvali reservoir, next to the Ananuri fortress, exactly in the place where my post about the Georgian Military Road ended. Before reaching the dam, there is an exit from the main road that leads to the other side of the Aragvi. From here, going to the right, you can get to the town of Tianeti and further - by an alternative (and, I think, killed) road to Mtskheta, and to the left begins a long way to Shatili. At first, I flew a turn, for some reason convinced that the road to the other side goes right along the dam, I had to return, but the weather made it possible to take a couple of good pictures of the reservoir and the opposite bank, cut by a primer connecting several villages. These places are significant and interesting in their own way. Zhinvali in the XII century was a rich city, a royal residence. In the 1970s, when a reservoir was built to provide Tbilisi with drinking water, the ruins of architectural complexes and monasteries, along with the evicted villages, went under water. They are still somewhere there under ten square kilometers of water.

Zhinvali reservoir.