Road Trip along the Georgian Military Highway.

Orthodox church on the Georgian Military Highway. Photo © Chris Raven

The Raven Brothers give an intriguing account of their road trip along the Georgian Military Highway. 

by The Raven Brothers 

The Georgian Military Highway winds through the Dariali Gorge, also known as the "Gate of the Alans." It is dusty and unpaved. Si squeezes past a truck from Azerbaijan on a narrow shelf beneath a 1,800-metre vertical granite wall, pumped up on adrenaline. I try not to think about rocks smashing through the windows or a landslide that could potentially push us into the steep valley below. A griffon vulture flies low overhead. This is a dramatic and ancient trade route, and considered one of the most beautiful places in the Caucasus, inspiring both Lermontov and Pushkin, but right now this is far from the "passion and possibility", as Lermontov once romantically described. A stone hits the driver's window, but thankfully there is no damage. Si does well to battle against the switchback corners and hairpin bends, the tyres inches from a shear drop to our doom. Eventually, we cross the Tergi Bridge and arrive in the northeastern Georgian settlement of Kazbegi (1,797m). In the distance, I can see the 14th century Holy Trinity Tsminda Sameba Church perched on the adjacent hilltop. The setting sun kisses the jagged horizon, casting a silhouette on a group of hikers making their way up the mountain. We are immediately surrounded by a swarm of stern-faced locals touting rooms in the main square. 

Unexpectedly, a man appears, his wiry bushy hair is flecked with grey and he has deep lines on his face. He has the demeanor of a mountain warrior, dressed in a brown woollen tank top over a checked shirt, and he looks as strong as an ox despite his age. I notice his teeth are yellow and decaying, and his lips are dry and cracked. The smell of tobacco fills the car.

'You want room?' he asks, his mouth curled upwards in a slight smirk.

'Can we get car insurance here?'

He frowns and furrows his bushy, unruly brows. 'What?' he growls, his gaze unwavering.

'We need car insurance,' Si smiles.

The tout is about to say something, but he is suddenly distracted by the surreal sight of a camel walking along the road. A man with long, white hair chases after the animal, barking commands at its hindquarters. I turn back to the tout and ask once again about car insurance. He shrugs and suggests we try in Georgia's capital, Tbilisi.

As we travel through the green mountains on a smooth tarmac road, the menacing 5,047m Mt Kazbek looms above us. A Sno Valley turnoff zips by, as we approach the small settlements of Sioni and Kobi in the Tergi Valley. The alpine meadows are broken up by rocks that have been stained red by the sweet mineral waters. We climb to the GMH's highest point, the 2,379m Jvari Ughelt "Cross Pass." I grip the seat with my Gluteus maximus, when two large trucks squeeze through a narrow tunnel flooded with water. We notice crosses on sharp bends as we sweep from left to right, implying that not everyone who has driven this scenic highway has survived. During the winter, this stretch of road is notorious for avalanches, but I imagine how beautiful it must be up here with the mountains covered in a thick blanket of snow. As Devil's Valley glows in the evening light, we come to a halt at a scenic viewpoint balanced on a cliff edge. A grumpy local wearing a large floppy hat, sells honey and handcrafted souvenirs. Si photographs a colorful abstract mural above the stone arches. It depicts a medieval scene with a princess and a small, redheaded boy at her feet and white royal battle horses. Since crossing the border, we have been transported to a region of eastern Georgia in the Southern Caucasus known in Greco-Roman times as the kingdom of Iberia - home of the Caucasian Iberians. Iberia was a major Caucasus state during Classical Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. It later merged with Colchis to the west to form the medieval Kingdom of Georgia.

Morning sunlight slowly creeps across the mountains, revealing our spectacular location above the mountain ski village of Gudauri. Si drives the Volvo down the hill to a small supermarket with a café, and I gaze dreamily at a poster of a frothy cappuccino. With wild hair and pasta shell eyes, I greet the friendly lady behind the counter. She resembles none of the people we have seen in the Caucasus region of southern Russia. She has thick wavy black hair, olive skin, and a slightly crooked nose. Si returns from a trucker's wash with a bounce in his step. We watch the supermarket employees arrive for work while sipping our cappuccinos. The boss appears overly enthusiastic and orders a young man to mop the floors as soon as possible. He doesn't immediately take action, instead he shakes his head and trudges through a staff exit door. We listen to the employees chatter away, and I'm surprised to learn that the Georgian language is softer and more musical than its Russian neighbours. The cashier enthusiastically instructs us on how to say "gamarjoba" for hello and "gmadlobt" for thank you.

High on caffeine, I study our route while Si merrily sings to himself. We cross the Tetri Aragvi River, and a warm westerly wind blows through the window, massaging my freshly shaved skin. As we descend 500m to the deserted village of Kvesheti in the green Khada valley, I lose myself in the drive. From Pasanauri, we travel 40 kilometers to the Ananuri fort, which is perched on a hill above the turquoise Zhinvali Reservoir. 

I join Si on the battlements and look out over the Pankisi Gorge. The Kists live in this region, and the 19th century Georgian poet Vasha Pshavela, described the Kists as "a vengeful yet honorable people." After traveling this breathtaking route through the Caucasus Mountains, I begin to get excited about the prospect of arriving in Tbilisi, Georgia's capital city; the beating heart of the southern Caucasus where East meets West.