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TNT Magazine, UK
Sept 2 2012
Free wheeling - Cycing from Georgia to Armenia
2nd Sep 2012 1:50pm | By Celia Topping
We wake with the sun streaming into the tent we'd hurriedly erected
the night before.
Having crossed over the border from Georgia to Armenia on the
overnight train, and aiming to cycle the next 250 miles to the
Armenian capital of Yerevan, we'd disembarked and watched the train
pull away, leaving us with our bikes on a lonely, dark platform in the
Armenian countryside.
After about half-an-hour's painstaking cycle along uneven, pot-holed
roads, lit only by our head-torches, we realised there wasn't going to
be a motel, so hastily put up our tent near the railway track.
Paul, my travelling companion, pokes his head out of the tent and
laughs. In our tired, night-blind state, we've pitched up in someone's
garden.
But instead of waking us to ask what the hell we think we're doing,
the homeowners have left us a basket of fruit and some water and
allowed us to snooze until 9am.
However, as soon as the children of the household see movement, they
bundle over in a frenzy of excitement and drag us into their father's
house.
Amongst much laughter, handshaking, back-patting and miming, we are
sat at a table and offered a meal of cheese, tomatoes, bread and
coffee.
The house is small and poor, yet Alexander, a small, bald-headed man
in his mid-forties, and his younger brother Hajet, a more rotund type,
are insistent that we indulge in whatever food they have to offer.
Then they bring out the schnapps. As it's only 9.30am, I'm pretty sure
I'm not ready for hard liquor, but as it would be rude to decline, I
accept their toast and while by number five I'm feeling a little
woozy, the brothers seem to be just hitting their stride.
The children come in to play and dance, and the men's wives, Diana and
Carine, bring more food. It's a little party put on especially for us.
At 2pm, we manage to extricate ourselves and wobble away as the whole
hamlet waves us off, most as drunk as we are. I guess they don't have
English people pitching tents in their garden that often.
With the panniers feeling incredibly heavy, we begin our cycle up the
Debed Canyon towards Yerevan.
Either side of the undulating road are forests and high rocky peaks
and ridges, dotted with broken buildings, ruined houses, abandoned
petrol stations and rickety Indiana-Jones-style bridges, all shabby
remnants of the Soviet era.
Armenia's history is not a happy one, having been subject to various
invasions, wars, occupations and a horrific genocide as recently as
1915.
Due to emigrations over past centuries, there are more Armenians
living outside the country than in it, including former tennis
superstar Andre Agassi and System Of A Down frontman Serj Tankian.
However, despite past turmoil and national division, since
independence in 1991, Yerevan is thriving once more; Armenia is again
open for business and the people, as we've already found, are
incredibly kind and welcoming.
Just a couple of hours down the road, as we strive in vain to cycle
off our hangovers, the skies turn a dark grey, a rumble of thunder
echoes across the valley, and the heavens open.
We try to shelter under a tree, but the onslaught is so intense, we're
soaked within minutes.
Ahead is what looks like a derelict hotel, so we push our bikes into
the grounds and shelter in an unlocked shed.
Using the bits of wood and cardboard lying around, we make a fire in
an old rusted tin bath and sit back smugly to wait out the storm.
After just a few minutes, an extremely puzzled man appears at the doorway.
He looks at us, looks at the fire, back at us and beckons us to follow him.
It seems it's not a derelict hotel at all; it's occupied, and we've
just set fire to his shed.
http://www.tntmagazine.com/travel/big-trip/free-wheeling-cycing-from-georgia-to-armenia
Sept 2 2012
Free wheeling - Cycing from Georgia to Armenia
2nd Sep 2012 1:50pm | By Celia Topping
We wake with the sun streaming into the tent we'd hurriedly erected
the night before.
Having crossed over the border from Georgia to Armenia on the
overnight train, and aiming to cycle the next 250 miles to the
Armenian capital of Yerevan, we'd disembarked and watched the train
pull away, leaving us with our bikes on a lonely, dark platform in the
Armenian countryside.
After about half-an-hour's painstaking cycle along uneven, pot-holed
roads, lit only by our head-torches, we realised there wasn't going to
be a motel, so hastily put up our tent near the railway track.
Paul, my travelling companion, pokes his head out of the tent and
laughs. In our tired, night-blind state, we've pitched up in someone's
garden.
But instead of waking us to ask what the hell we think we're doing,
the homeowners have left us a basket of fruit and some water and
allowed us to snooze until 9am.
However, as soon as the children of the household see movement, they
bundle over in a frenzy of excitement and drag us into their father's
house.
Amongst much laughter, handshaking, back-patting and miming, we are
sat at a table and offered a meal of cheese, tomatoes, bread and
coffee.
The house is small and poor, yet Alexander, a small, bald-headed man
in his mid-forties, and his younger brother Hajet, a more rotund type,
are insistent that we indulge in whatever food they have to offer.
Then they bring out the schnapps. As it's only 9.30am, I'm pretty sure
I'm not ready for hard liquor, but as it would be rude to decline, I
accept their toast and while by number five I'm feeling a little
woozy, the brothers seem to be just hitting their stride.
The children come in to play and dance, and the men's wives, Diana and
Carine, bring more food. It's a little party put on especially for us.
At 2pm, we manage to extricate ourselves and wobble away as the whole
hamlet waves us off, most as drunk as we are. I guess they don't have
English people pitching tents in their garden that often.
With the panniers feeling incredibly heavy, we begin our cycle up the
Debed Canyon towards Yerevan.
Either side of the undulating road are forests and high rocky peaks
and ridges, dotted with broken buildings, ruined houses, abandoned
petrol stations and rickety Indiana-Jones-style bridges, all shabby
remnants of the Soviet era.
Armenia's history is not a happy one, having been subject to various
invasions, wars, occupations and a horrific genocide as recently as
1915.
Due to emigrations over past centuries, there are more Armenians
living outside the country than in it, including former tennis
superstar Andre Agassi and System Of A Down frontman Serj Tankian.
However, despite past turmoil and national division, since
independence in 1991, Yerevan is thriving once more; Armenia is again
open for business and the people, as we've already found, are
incredibly kind and welcoming.
Just a couple of hours down the road, as we strive in vain to cycle
off our hangovers, the skies turn a dark grey, a rumble of thunder
echoes across the valley, and the heavens open.
We try to shelter under a tree, but the onslaught is so intense, we're
soaked within minutes.
Ahead is what looks like a derelict hotel, so we push our bikes into
the grounds and shelter in an unlocked shed.
Using the bits of wood and cardboard lying around, we make a fire in
an old rusted tin bath and sit back smugly to wait out the storm.
After just a few minutes, an extremely puzzled man appears at the doorway.
He looks at us, looks at the fire, back at us and beckons us to follow him.
It seems it's not a derelict hotel at all; it's occupied, and we've
just set fire to his shed.
http://www.tntmagazine.com/travel/big-trip/free-wheeling-cycing-from-georgia-to-armenia